by Regan Walker
The dining room of the hotel was bathed in candlelight, each of the tables covered with a pink tablecloth and bearing a small candle. There were many other candles above them in the two magnificent chandeliers. Tara felt as if she’d entered the home of a wealthy European, save for the tropical flowers of red and yellow gracing the sideboards that made clear she was not in Europe. Tropical air wafted in from the open windows, providing a welcome breeze. From where she and the captain waited just inside the door, Tara could see several couples had already been seated.
A short older gentleman with dark brown hair and a well-trimmed mustache that curled up at the ends walked toward them wearing a very conservative black coat and trousers with white shirt and waistcoat, the latter embroidered with gold.
“Bon soir, Capitaine Powell!” the man said effusively, his French accent clearly displayed. “Philippe told me you had arrived. It is my great good fortune to host you and your lady.” Then fixing his gaze upon Tara, he smiled. “Quelle surprise, et très jolie!” Quickly he looked to the captain. “Please to introduce me.”
The captain gave a soft chuckle, seemingly amused with the little Frenchman. “Miss McConnell, meet my good friend Pierre Lavalette, the owner of this fine establishment.”
The Frenchman beamed his pride, bowed and remarked in a melodious voice, “Je suis enchanté.”
The captain waited for him to rise. “Pierre, may I present Miss Tara McConnell of Baltimore.”
“Ah, une Américaine.” The Frenchman gave Tara a slow appreciative smile while twisting the end of his mustache with the fingers of one hand. He was an interesting little man with elegant manners and gestures, who was obviously proud of his fine hotel and his acquaintance with the English captain. But then Nicholas Powell wasn’t just a captain of his own ship, though that was achievement enough. In the last few days, Nate had told her the captain was heir to an English shipping empire and that his family sent many ships into the West Indies and to Eastern Europe for trade.
The captain surveyed the stylishly decorated room. “Business appears to be good, Pierre.”
“Ze French merchants, my old friends and former partners, ze keep me très occupé.” Then with a quick turn of his wrist in the air, he added, “I have no complaints.”
“Do you have a table for Miss McConnell and me?”
“Mais oui!” he exclaimed, gesturing for them to follow him. “I have saved my best for you!” As they walked together, the Frenchman made an aside to Nick. “Ze kind you like, a quiet table, sheltered from the others.”
The table to which Monsieur Lavalette led them was set off to one side, surrounded by palms set in pots forming a natural barrier between the table and the rest of the room. Though Tara was bothered by the idea the captain had previously dined with a lady in the secluded spot, she was glad she did not have to endure the curious stares of the other guests, for as they walked to their table, many heads turned in their direction.
* * *
Nick had seen the open expressions of interest in the eyes of the men as they stared at Tara when she crossed the dining room. He had expected it, for her honey-colored hair glistened in the candlelight and her skirts rustled as she glided to their table, even more graceful on land than she was on the deck of his ship. Her movements rendered the lines of her alluring body, a body he now knew quite well, nearly ethereal. It made him feel all the more possessive of the woman he had claimed as his. He was well pleased with the potted palms that provided a screen for the table Lavalette had selected.
He had not forgotten Russ’s suggestion that they have Champagne, and knowing the Frenchman would stock it, he ordered them a bottle. He had much to celebrate. He had met the pirate head on and, though he had not emerged unscathed, he and most of his crew had their lives. And he was quite certain the Prince Regent would be pleased with his efforts to remove, at least for a time, the threat to the British merchants plying the waters of the Caribbean. Then there was the beautiful American hoyden to consider. Though she continued to be coolly polite, always observing a safe distance between them, he knew she was not indifferent, not after their night together. He was her first lover and intended to be her last. Tonight he would wine and dine her and then, perhaps, he would make love to her—to demonstrate she was his and always would be.
The food Lavalette’s well-trained waiters served them was very French and very good. It began with the rich, buttery taste of pâté de foie gras, followed by greens with cucumber, lemon and egg. The main course was a platter of crabs stuffed with breadcrumbs, minced vegetables and island spices. Side dishes of saffron rice and a yellow-squash soufflé complimented the meal.
He could see by the smile on her face Tara was enjoying herself. “You like the food.”
“It is nearly like being at the Albouys’, only with a French touch.”
He couldn’t resist the smile that spread on his face as he poured her more Champagne. “So it is.”
Dessert consisted of mango tarts. He loved their sweet but delicate flavor, which reminded him of the syllabub the Albouys had served in Bermuda. After being confined to the hold of his ship with no food at all, and then forced to live on the rations the Spanish captain had shared with them, he was relishing the excellent food.
Tara, despite her praise for the French cooking, ate sparingly, as if making an effort to appease him when she had no appetite. He did not ask what troubled her, afraid it might be memories of the pirate and not wishing to remind her of those days. And yet, he wondered, was she sad to see the pirate go? Cofresí’s parting words to Tara, speaking of his love, still had him seeing red. She was his and the thought of the pirate touching her made his temples throb. He didn’t dare think they might have shared some tenderness of which he was unaware.
Soon they were thanking their host for the delightful meal and climbing the stairs to the corridor that led to their rooms and the gallery built on the front of the hotel.
He led her past the doors to their rooms, and she asked, “Where are we going?”
He took her hand. “To observe the view.”
They stepped though the door at the end of the corridor out onto the gallery and into the night. The air was warm and sultry.
“It’s so glorious with the lights from the ships in the harbor,” remarked Tara.
“But not so bright as to dim the stars,” he said, casting a glance at the sparkling lights set into the velvet blue sky, “or you.”
He was looking at Tara now, not at the stars. Alone on the terrace and with Tara so close he could smell her familiar jasmine scent, Nick pulled her into his embrace. He would wonder later if her willingness had been the Champagne or the night itself, but she did not resist. He held her for a moment, content to feel her softness against him. Then he nuzzled her hair and began kissing her neck, working his way to her lips. Tenderly he kissed her, hearing her sigh. When she opened her mouth, he deepened the kiss, mingling his passion with hers. God, he had missed her.
“Tara, I want you,” he whispered into her ear.
“You only desire me, Captain,” she said, pulling back, “and that is not enough.”
“It will be enough for tonight, and then on the way to Baltimore, we can explore the ‘more’ that lies between us.”
Her blue-green eyes were glazed with passion from his kisses and Nick sensed she would not say him nay. He led her back to the corridor and to his room.
Once inside, he drew her to him.
“We should not do this…again,” said Tara. “It can lead nowhere.”
“Perhaps it can. And you want it. I feel you do, Tara. So do I.”
“I cannot deny that I have little resolve when you are so close and kissing my neck as you are.”
His lips were, indeed, on her neck as he trailed kisses along the ribbon she wore around that slim column, the ribbon that had tantalized him all evening. Slipping her small sleeves from her shoulders, he bent his head to kiss the ivory skin untouched by the sun. He didn’t hurry—the slow seduc
tion he had in mind would take some time. And when it was over, Tara McConnell would know with certainty that she had been claimed as his.
“I have much to teach you, Tara, but that will come later.”
He ran his hands through her hair, freeing it from the pins. Then with deft attention to her gown, he undid the buttons. Her gown slipped to the floor, followed by her chemise. He lifted her onto the feather bed. Not wanting her ardor to cool, he quickly removed his clothing and joined her.
“You are mine, Tara. As I told you once before, there is no going back.”
* * *
In truth, Tara knew once she had given herself to Nicholas Powell, the door to her innocence and to the past would be closed. She was a woman and tonight she would be his woman for she wanted him with all her being. She had missed his rough hands and his ungentle ways and, though he might want to marry her for reasons that left her wanting, she could not say good-bye without this one last night between them.
He was taking his time, seeming to love every inch of her. Though she’d had too much Champagne and not enough food, Tara was aware of his every touch, every caress. Lovingly he cupped her breast, sending ripples of current through her. Soon he replaced his hands with his mouth. Her fingers entwined in his hair; she drank drinking deeply of his kisses, holding him to her.
“Oh, Nicholas…” I love you. She would not voice the cry of her heart aloud but she could not help crying it in her mind. She did love this man, this English sea captain, and God help her, she would take what he offered, though it might be less than she wanted. Writhing beneath his hands as he teased her woman’s flesh, leaving her wet and wanting, she heard herself moan as he said her name over and over. Perhaps he cared more than she thought. She wanted him to care.
The night breeze wafted in through the windows of his room as he rose above her. “Tara, my woman, my love—” He thrust into her and Tara felt her muscles tightly constrict to hold him there. Joined together they let their passion carry them to the heights they had reached once before. Only this time, Tara was a full participant, moving with him toward the precipice where, overcome by the wonderful spasms that gripped her, she cried out her release together with his.
Chapter 19
Tara woke to the morning sun streaming in the windows and realized with a start she was alone—in the captain’s room and in his bed. Immediately she looked around for her clothes, though she had no desire to don the female frippery with all the buttons. It would delay her return to her own room.
Rising from the bed, she spotted his black satin banyan lying on the settee. She reached for the garment and pulled it on, securing the tie. Seeing the key to her room on the side table, she retrieved it, gathered her clothes and hurried to the door. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, she opened it and peered down the hall. Seeing no one about, she slipped into the corridor and into her room a few feet away, unseen by the other guests.
A short while later, a maid knocked on the door of her room. Glad she had changed into her own dressing gown, Tara greeted her as she carried in a tray of island fruits, rolls and coffee. Tara wondered if the servant had been waiting for her to return.
“I will see a bath brought for you, miss,” the black woman said as she set down the tray. “The captain said you were to sleep as long as you liked, so I’d not come before now to be sure you had risen.”
The explanation seemed overlong to Tara but she was thankful for the maid’s discretion. Perhaps she was kindly allowing Tara to preserve her honor, or perhaps the captain had arranged it. Tara realized just then that she’d not hidden the captain’s black satin robe. The maid’s eyes darted to where it lay over the back of the chair. Fortunately the good woman said nothing.
“Captain Powell said I was to tell you he would return at noon,” the maid said. “He wanted to check on his ship this morning.”
So, he had not deserted her as she had thought, but had left word of his whereabouts. Tara supposed it was an act of kindness to allow her privacy after their night together. She could find no fault in him for that. But she did find fault in herself for once again falling prey to his practiced advances, a willing accomplice to his seduction. She had planned to give him the moonstone ring last night, but somehow forgot to do so at dinner, and then later, well, any thought of it fled her mind when he’d begun to kiss her. Damn the man for being so attractive and damn me for loving him!
Tara thanked the maid, and once she had eaten, she bathed and dressed. Unwilling to wait for the captain’s return, she decided to walk to the ship. As she reached the last of the hotel’s steps leading down to the street, Peter came up to her, a dimpled smile on his face.
“Were you waiting for me, Peter?”
The boy with the brown curls smiled more broadly. “Aye, Miss Tara. The cap’n told me I should. He thought ye might take a fancy to walk to the ship and he’d not have ye go alone. The docks can be a rough place even in the daytime.”
She supposed it should bother her that Nicholas Powell knew her so well he could predict her actions. But she’d been more than a month on his ship and they’d had more than a few adventures together. It gave her pause to realize just how well he knew her after last night, for he had made love to her more than once. “That was thoughtful of him, Peter. I’ll be glad for your company.”
The busy port town was just waking up as they walked along together. Peter happily chatted away, telling her of all the changes to the ship.
“The cap’n’s taking on more cargo for Baltimore and the crew’s busy seeing to repairs. I’ve never seen old Nate so particular with fixing something. Ye’d think that rudder was his own babe the way he watched the workers like a mother hen. Mr. Adams, back at work after that blow to his head, has been yelling all morning about the damage to the canvas. An’ the carpenter is cursing up a storm about the hole in the bulwark. Ye sure ye want to go there just now?”
She couldn’t resist grinning at the boy. “Yes, I am sure, Peter. I want to see the crew and check on the wounded. Are they healing all right?”
“Well, aside from Smitty, who had a relapse. He’s been confined to his hammock and ordered not to resume any duties just yet. The rest are coming along fine. McGinnes is complaining about having to bring Smitty his meals, but I don’t think he really minds. We’re all glad Smitty is on the mend.”
* * *
Nick had risen early, feeling confident and satiated from the night before. Things would come right with Tara; they had to. Though, as he considered the thought a second time, he wondered if even a night of lovemaking would convince Tara to marry him. The hoyden could be stubborn.
He was just about to climb up the gangplank when he noticed a man standing on the deck of the ship docked next to the Wind Raven. He was tall and dark like Nick, and something about his movements seemed familiar. Nick glanced at the name on the schooner. Sea Kitten. It meant nothing to him. But as he studied the movements of the man, he thought he recognized him. Walking down the dock to get a closer view, he looked up—and into the eyes of his brother.
“Martin! It is you! I thought I recognized that way you have of standing on a ship’s deck.”
“Nick?” his younger brother asked with an astonished look on his face, so similar to Nick’s own save Martin had the dark blue eyes of their mother. “I had no idea you were here! I thought you’d be in Baltimore or on your way home by now.”
“I might have wished it so.” Nick said, then raced up the gangplank and embraced his brother. “I thought you were still in London!”
“I had an adventure in the Midlands, my last task for Prinny. After that, much to Father’s delight, I decided to return to the family business. What about you?”
“I’ve had a few diversions of my own. First there was the storm that took out a mast and lost me a man. Then Prinny’s errand off Porto Rico had me tangling with a pirate. Cofresí—know of him?”
“I’ve heard of him. He’s taken a few prizes among our fellow merchantmen. What were you
doing with him?”
“It’s a long story. If you’ve time, and some hot coffee, I can give you the gist of it.”
“Sure, come to my cabin. God, it’s good to see you! I can’t believe it’s been only months.”
As they walked toward the aft hatch, Nick asked, “This is your ship? I didn’t recognize the name as one in the family’s inventory.”
“Father’s gift to me for seeing the light. As you know we are now reconciled. The name of the ship is another story. It may take more than one cup of coffee to tell you that tale.”
As they reached the aft hatch, a woman’s voice reached from the deck below. “Martin?”
Nick grinned at his brother. “Brought a lady along, did you?”
His brother’s expression suddenly grew serious. “Do you remember the redhead you met the last time I saw you at home?”
“How could I forget a lady so fair, Martin? Surely you do not think I’ve changed that much in so short a time.”
“Well, be on your best behavior,” said his brother, reaching for the ladder. “That lady is now my wife.”
“Oh, ho! You do have a tale to tell.”
When they reached the deck below, standing in the companionway was the gorgeous redhead to whom Nick had been introduced the last night he’d been in London. “Hullo again,” she said rather shyly.
“Nick, you met my wife before we were wed. She is now Lady Katherine Powell.”
The redhead smiled and extended her hand. “Seeing as you are Martin’s brother, you may call me Kit. All my friends do.”
“I’m delighted to see you again, my lady,” he bowed over her hand, “and even more delighted to learn you condescended to wed my brother, a mere knight to your ladyship.” In his mind, Nick remembered the first time he’d met her. Martin had introduced the blue-eyed beauty as the Dowager Baroness of Egerton.
