Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

  When Gabe would have said more, Wilton stepped closer. “You had best obey me, Pennistan. This is my domain. Here even your duke brother could not save you from a flogging.”

  Wilton closed the door. The steward hurried toward it and knocked. They were well across the deck when Gabriel heard it open. When Charlotte stopped, so did he.

  “Gabriel Pennistan, you are a lying, thieving spawn of Satan,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “I cannot believe that for even one minute I thought you innocent.”

  “Why should it matter to you that Wilton is a relation? I spoke of him before.”

  “Not that. Wilton tells me that Viscount Sidmouth has damning evidence of your complicity.”

  She was close enough to reach out and push him as she proceeded to list each one of his sins. His back was to the railing of the ship, and he grabbed both her hands as much in self-defense as in an effort to end her tirade.

  “What are you talking about? What does Wilton know?”

  “He has no details,” she said, backing away a step or two. “Wilton says they have evidence of a bribe so tempting you could not refuse it. That the French Minister of Police, Fouché, was involved. There is talk of it being a hanging offense.”

  “There was no bribe.” It was all he could think of to say in the face of such an outlandish suggestion.

  “How convenient, my lord. Now that you are free and on your way home, you have no recollection of such an offer.”

  “It’s absurd. You told me that Fouché is not even in Paris now.”

  “I also told you that even out of favor he wields more power than any man outside the army. In a matter of time, he will be back. He has more lives than a cat.”

  “My father agreed. He hated him, called him a liar, to his face, a man without honor and without a goal beyond his own self-interest.”

  “All of it true, from the stories I have heard,” Charlotte said, “but a dangerous thing to say to someone so powerful.”

  “My father was a power himself.” That prompted another thought. “If I was seen to side with the French, it would have gone a long way to discrediting the family name. I can only swear to you that I would never have done so. I am being completely honest.”

  “And how many do you think have said that? Honesty is not something I expect from anyone. Complete honesty is impossible.”

  “Your cynicism is too much a part of you. Honesty is possible. You have only to choose to believe. Tell me, are you and Wilton lovers?”

  “YOU ARE INFURIATING,” she said, facing him again, clenching her fists to keep from slapping him. “Words are as much a weapon to you as that absurd knife you carry.”

  “Not answering me is a whole different kind of honesty,” he said, taking one step away from her.

  “No.” She managed not to shout it, but stepped even closer to him as she answered. “Wilton and I have never been lovers. He is married. I do not take lovers who are happy in their marriage.”

  “I believe you.” He used two fingers to raise her chin. She thought she could feel his heartbeat through them.

  “Now tell me that you believe what I said, Charlotte.”

  She shook her head.

  “We have been as close to each other as two people can be. Doesn’t your woman’s intuition tell you something?”

  She jerked back from his touch and his words.

  “Or are you like me?” He reached out and ran a hand down her arm. “Every time we are this close all I can remember is how much there is left between us that is not finished.”

  She did not, would not, admit that was true.

  “Ah, you cannot even admit it to yourself, can you? Will this help?” He took her into his arms and kissed her, softly, sweetly, but with a hunger barely held in check.

  “No, my lord,” she said, pushing him away. She was tired beyond bearing. “No, my lord. If you think to use sex to convince me of your innocence, you are completely mistaken.”

  “Charlotte,” he said, sounding wounded. “I only thought to clear the air so we could talk honestly.”

  She laughed, and he did too.

  “All right,” he said between gasps of laughter, “that was a lie, I admit it.”

  And in that one silly moment, she believed him. Believed him innocent. Believed him.

  He took her arm and they moved along the deck as though it were early evening instead of almost midnight.

  “Tell me why you make all these trips to France.”

  She almost did. Their promenade was so natural, his question so simple.

  “Is it because of the children, Charlotte? You are so solicitous of them, especially Claire. Are you her mother?”

  Observant but not a genius, she thought with relief. “No, I am not their mother, and that is the truth.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because I helped destroy their families.”

  “Oh, Charlotte, I do not believe a word of that.”

  “You are amused?” She stopped the promenade and confronted him.

  “No, I would never make light of your pain, but it is so clearly impossible.” He took her arm and made her walk beside him again. She had no idea who was watching, that was the only reason she allowed it.

  “I am sorry I made light of your confession, Charlotte,” he said again. “It is only that while you may have done some things you regret, that would disappoint me, I find the idea of murder hard to credit.”

  Before she could reply, they were distracted by the bell announcing the change of watch.

  There was the clatter of the lines as men came down from the rigging and the thud of feet as the new crew came onto the deck. Charlotte saw a few eye them with curiosity despite the fact that Pennistan had found a spot at the stern and out of the way. All the activity gave her a blessed moment to think.

  “My lord, kindness is a pathetic choice of weapons.”

  “Make no mistake, my dear, if I wanted a weapon, you would know,” he said as he followed the progress of a man moving up the ratlines. “I will not press you anymore but will wait until you want to tell me about it. It will be a rational test of my patience.”

  Now she smiled. Did he turn everything into a scientific assessment? Discussing rats with Pierre. How ridiculous. And yet there was something very appealing about a man who made the best of what he was given. What if they had met in a ballroom? What if she had met him instead of meeting Charles Strauss? Change the subject, she commanded herself. “Did you take some time to look at the night sky this evening?”

  He nodded, looking down to hide his disappointment at her change of subject.

  “After all your efforts were you able to see the Great Comet with your friend Dr. Burgos?”

  “Yes.” He watched her for a long moment and then raised his hands in surrender. “All right, Charlotte. I promised patience. We will change the subject.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, smiling at him, if only to see the surprise on his face again.

  His surprise melted into a grin as he caught her game. He leaned to her, pressed a quick kiss on her lips and laughed as she stumbled backward. Not for all the money in the treasury would she admit that his touch had made her knees weak. He grabbed her arms and held on to her until she was steady again. Even then he did not let go right away.

  “This test of who can discomfit who the most could lead somewhere interesting.”

  His grip was light. She had a choice.

  “It would lead to an argument,” she said in as dismissive a voice as she could muster, pulling out of his grasp, wondering what he was like in bed when not half drugged by spirits and exhausted. “I am not interested.”

  Liar. He mouthed the word, but did change the subject. “So, we are to talk about astronomy? Did you see it, Charlotte? The Great Comet?”

  “Of course,” she said. “That was one comet that was hard to miss. What an amazing spectacle. They do not come along very often, though. Why do you study the stars?”

  “Rhys Braedon is a
true lover of astronomy. Working with him made it interesting and worthwhile. Even exciting. As for me, I feel as though I own the night hours when I am alone. That anything is possible. That God created life on other planets. That their astronomers may be doing the same thing I am. Or they are centuries more advanced than we are and will be dropping from the sky to visit when we least expect it.”

  “Is it wise for a man of science to have such an imagination?”

  “Yes, of course, where do you think great ideas come from? If Jenner had not been curious, do you think we would have a vaccination for smallpox?”

  She considered the truth of that and wondered if Jenner had ever said anything as bizarre as Gabriel Pennistan had just said. She kept that to herself. “I know nothing about astronomy, not even how to tell the planets from the stars.”

  “It’s very simple. Would you like me to show you?”

  When she nodded, he stood behind her, instructing her in the way to look at the stars, to watch for the steady lights. Those were planets. From there he helped her make sense of the jumble of night lights by starting with Orion’s belt and working up, and then down to the “legs.” She watched the stars but was more aware of Gabriel’s arm along her shoulder, his face close to hers, the way his body sheltered her.

  She tried so hard to pretend indifference that her body rebelled with a violent shiver. Gabriel pulled her shawl more firmly around her.

  “It is very beautiful,” she said, abandoning resistance and relaxing against him. Not defeat. Surrender.

  “Yes, it is,” he whispered.

  When she turned to him, his face was close enough to kiss, his eyes on her as though she was the beauty to which he was referring.

  For a moment he was all she wanted. “Be honest, Gabriel,” she whispered, “admit that this exercise in science is only an excuse to put your arms around me.” She moved from his embrace, and the truth was trumped by sanity. “I think we should check on the children.”

  20

  CLAIRE WAS SOUND ASLEEP, as was Pierre, though he was a little more restless than his sister.

  Gabriel followed Charlotte into the smaller cabin. “I thought it was you who needed an excuse to be near me.” He came to her, but did not take her in his arms. “Charlotte, I have put my life in your hands. You have put your life in mine. If that is not trust, then I do not know what is. If we are both looking for a reason to be together, then we need only take that trust a step further and be honest and admit what we both want.”

  She waited for him to be honest first.

  “Did you notice, Charlotte, that your bed is big enough for two?”

  She knew it was too late to argue herself out of it. She wanted him. Wanted sex with him. Only once more so that she had no time to find that his failings far outweighed his virtues.

  Reaching up, she unhooked the hammock and let it trail to the floor. “Come,” she said. “You see, I will admit it. You told me our first time that you would make me beg. But I will not beg. Not ever.” She pressed her lips together and then smiled a little as she held out her hand. “Come to bed with me.”

  “You told me then that the sex we had was out of pity,” he said, closing the distance between them. “Not this time.”

  She laughed, and was surprised to hear the genuine humor when what she was thinking was not amusing at all. “Are there any more comments we need to leave here with our clothes?”

  He shrugged out of his loose-fitting jacket, letting it fall to the floor. “There will be no pity this time, Charlotte.”

  Closing the distance between them, she undid his shirt and helped pull it off. Then she trailed her hands down his chest. He was too thin but still felt strong. “No pity.” She closed her eyes and pressed her face to his heart. “It was not entirely out of pity the first time.”

  He was undressed before she was, and after helping her with the laces on her dress, he stretched out on the bunk and let her entertain him with her disrobing. She had done it a hundred times at least. It was a dance she had perfected and often enjoyed. This time her clothes were an obstacle. Why stand here when she could be beside him? She wanted to hurry with the undressing, and she did.

  Only to herself would she admit that she wanted Gabriel Pennistan for the sheer pleasure of it. How long had it been since she had wanted a touch more than she wanted to see arousal as proof of her power?

  With a shiver, she decided to leave her shift on and slid beside him under the blanket. He didn’t complain and helped her remove the shift, pulling it over her head, remembering, bless him, not to trap her hands as he kissed her stomach, breasts, neck. When the shift was tossed aside, he captured her lips with his own. Gentle, thorough, invitation and demand, accepted and returned.

  He raised his head, his bright eyes speaking passion as his lips had. She felt his heartbeat under her hands and with her lips felt it quicken. His cool supple body grew heated and tense as she pulled him close and held him. The roll of the ship, the sound of the water set the pace for them as they explored each other with a thoroughness that belied the intensity of her yearning and his need.

  “I want you more than I have ever wanted any woman. I want your body, your hands, your mouth and even your mind. Your heart. Well, I know I can never have that.”

  How many men were honest, even in bed? In all her experience, only this one. She stopped trying to understand, to be in control, and let her mind flood with feeling. She did not so much hear his words as feel them.

  “My best hope is that for a moment I will touch your heart and you will feel mine.”

  He matched his speech with kisses, each leaving a stream of warmth that settled in her belly and made her want more. He used his hands as he had his lips, caressing, finding new places to touch so that want was a power all its own. He cupped her with his hand and teased her with his fingers as if she were a virgin who needed to be shown each step, all the possibilities.

  She moved beneath him, wanting him inside her even if it meant an end to this bit of paradise. With a laugh of purely male satisfaction he touched her, just so, and she arched against him, taking all that he could give, ready to beg. He was more generous than that, and with a kiss he plunged into her and together they left the world behind and soared through the stars.

  She felt as though her heart and soul were stripped as bare as her body. He moved to lie beside her and smoothed the damp strands of hair from her face and smiled at her, then closed his eyes. “Even blind I would know you. I would recognize the feel of you, the scent of you. I could feel your heart, your pulse, and know you by any name, in any place.”

  He fell asleep first and she watched him until she too drifted off, comforted by the rhythm of the ship, the sounds of the night, the warmth of his body next to her.

  The ship’s bell woke them both though it was still night, or at least not yet dawn.

  They made love again, more heated and urgent than before. The smell of land was in the air. Soon, too soon, they would be in Portsmouth.

  Perhaps he slept again after; she did not. He was as honest as any man she had ever met. As true in moments of anger and passion as he was when he was considering the bits of science he had discussed with her. She made to move from the bed, before his honesty bled into her. He reached out a hand and took hers. “One more kiss.” He pushed himself up in the bunk and pulled her across him so that she was cradled in his arms.

  When his lips touched hers, she realized that in a different time and place they could have meant something to each other. She rested her head on his chest and listened to his heart. “Gabriel, we are nothing more than two strangers brought together by the absurdity of war.”

  “Hmmm” was all he said.

  He had his eyes closed and she thought he might still be half-asleep. Then he said, “We will not always be at war.”

  She smiled, and she felt him laugh a little. “We are changed forever.”

  “For the good, if we allow it.”

  “Oh,” she said, “y
ou are an unbearable optimist. How can what happened in our past make us better?”

  “I don’t know your past, Charlotte, but I know you now and see the generosity and courage beneath the hardness. Where did that come from if not your past? My father was never the same man after my mother died, my brother much less arrogant after he married.”

  “I can give you a dozen examples of the absurdity of that but will settle for one.” She moved to lie beside him, putting as much distance between them as the small bed would allow.

  “I met Charles Strauss at the beginning of my first London Season and married him before summer.”

  Gabriel reached for the blanket and drew it over them.

  “He was handsome in a rugged way and one of the most charming men I had ever met. It was all in his eyes, the way he would lean in as you spoke, the sympathy, the amusement. He was born to be a diplomat. That is what he called himself and how society accepted him.” She stopped, not at all sure how much to tell him. Suddenly not wanting to tell him anything.

  “Charles Strauss?” he asked, and was quiet a minute. “I have a good memory for names and I’ve never heard of him.”

  “We did not travel in your social circles, my lord.” She looked up at him and, when he only nodded, turned to stare at the ceiling again. “If we had a titled gentleman or lady at one of our soirees, it was because they considered themselves artists or egalitarians. My parents were wellborn but not wealthy, and socialized with a more artistic circle than the ton welcomed. It was the perfect place for a diplomat from a small European country to find a wife. He was from Gradsbourg. Do you know it?”

  “A little.”

  “I learned later that the only interests Strauss represented were his own. I did not find that out until it was much too late to escape.

  “My mother thought it a perfect match. He was older; to her that was a sign he would be careful with me. He planned to return to Europe; she thought that would give me a chance to bloom in a society not as constrained as England’s. He was experienced; she thought that would be exciting.” She stopped there. “Let me up, Gabriel. I need to dress.”