She was a novice, an innocent. As if she had never done this before in her life. He stood beside the bed, his gaze raking her from head to toe and back again. She could feel moisture flooding her sex, but nothing was going to happen because for the first time in her life she thought she might faint. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think . . .
And then his two hundred pounds dropped onto the bed, he shoved up her knees and entered her, all in one swift lunge as if his control had also snapped, giving way to the overwhelming demands of lust.
Although Holly would likely never believe it, the captain had also been celibate since his marriage. Their pent-up passions could not outlast the first few thrusts. Waves of sensation crashed over them, shaking the bed enough to feel as if they reverberated through the bedchamber and out the window to encompass all of Bloomsbury. A physical explosion that shook them to the core but blew away within moments, leaving only a lingering hope of more and better to come.
Chapter 12
Royce opened his eyes, instantly awake and ready for action, as always. Except this time even his hard-headed awareness couldn’t fend off a momentary wave of disorientation. Instead of his spartan bunk, he was surrounded by heavy velvet curtains allowing in enough light to reveal that the sun was well up, far past his usual time of rising. And he was unnaturally warm. The result of another body tucked tight to his side, he discovered. And most likely the cause of the erection that threatened to pierce the bedcovers.
Holly!
Home.
As memories of the night before flooded his mind, Royce favored the burgundy velvet canopy with a smile of pure male satisfaction. He’d done much better the second time, bringing his wife and himself to the peak gently, slowly, building sensation upon sensation until they finally gave in to the ultimate fulfillment. The third time had been faster, more intense, and just as spectacular, both of them finally falling asleep from sheer exhaustion. And now . . . Royce turned on his side, his engorged penis sending a happy shock skittering through him as it poked his wife in the back.
Picking up a length of Holly’s dark hair, he dangled it under her nose, which twitched quite adorably before she batted at his hand and turned her face away. Reaching over, he dropped the ends of her hair all the way to her mouth, tickling her nose on the way by. Wake up, woman. I’m ready for more.
Her eyes snapped open, her body stiffened. He could feel her assessing where she was, what was stabbing her in the back. Anticipation rising, he waited for her to turn into his arms.
“What time is it?” she demanded, sounding far more alarmed than amorous.
“As late as eight or nine, I would guess.”
“The babes! They’ll be starving,” Holly cried and grabbed the bedcovers.
His hand clamped round her waist, holding her tight. “They’re nine months old, woman. Surely they’ve eaten from something besides your tit before now.”
“Let me go!” One hand clapped over her mouth, she stared at him, horrified. “I beg your pardon, Captain.”
“Royce!” he roared back, then stared, appalled, as her head went up, eyes blazing defiance even as her body braced itself for a blow.
“Go,” he mumbled. “And, Holly,” he added when she was nearly to the door of her room, her flimsy nightwear clutched around her in a vain attempt to shield herself from his gaze, “I’ll never hit you, I promise you that.” No matter how much the provocation.
He had to give her credit for not slamming the door on her way out. Clearly, this morning’s frustration was a sterling example of the differences between fucking a whore and bedding a wife. Even one who knew what it was to be a whore.
Royce heaved a heartfelt sigh and began to dress.
On the third day after Captain Kincade’s arrival, life at Marigold Cottage began to settle into some semblance of normalcy. Agnes Penrod, the nurse, was back on her feet and thoroughly happy to have what she termed “a surprisingly competent little helper.” Tildy, the housemaid, had returned from the sickbeds of her sister and brothers, so the cottage was now neat as a pin, in spite of the presence of two demon crawlers in their midst. Enticing odors drifted from the kitchen, where Jesse was back helping his mother feed a household that now included a large gentleman of hearty appetite.
With the captain off to the docks to check on his precious ship, Holly was making an inspection of each room, ensuring all was in order. This time when he returned, she hoped to make up for the dismal homecoming he had experienced the first time. Satisfied not only by the enticing odor of baking bread but by the kitchen’s generally neat appearance, Holly passed on into the stillroom, where she stood gazing up at the rows of jars sitting on shelves along one wall and recognized the irony of her satisfaction. Last autumn, she had actually helped Mrs. Balfour preserve all those fruits and vegetables. She’d hung herbs from the ceiling to dry then jarred those up as well. Amazing.
The echo of her scornful protests against the cooking lessons Lady R included in their curriculum hissed through her head. Yet now she stood proud, making a mental note to bring the captain here to show him she was good for something besides nursing babies and warming his bed.
Suddenly, a grimace twisted her face. She’d been such a fool. In spite of all her good intentions, as well as being badly shaken by Charles’s desertion, her stiff-necked certainty that she always knew best had been resurrected with a vengeance. She knew what she owed the captain. Royce. And yet their small tiff the previous morning lingered, casting an aura of awkwardness everywhere but in bed. Though not with the children, she amended. He was amazing with the children. They had taken to him as if they’d known him all their lives. But in her head and heart he was still “the captain,” not “Royce.”
And to top it all, they’d quarreled over Fetch. Of all the things in the world to quarrel over—Nick Black’s apprentice and a thirteen-year-old child of the streets from Seven Dials. They were infants, the pair of them.
And yet they weren’t.
Holly stood quite still in the cool, dark stillroom as the hot words she and the captain had exchanged rang through her head.
“You’re not to allow them time alone,” Captain Kincade had decreed.
“They’ve been together since they were children,” she’d protested.
“They are children,” the captain roared back, his blue eyes snapping fire.
Holly stared, totally unable to sympathize with what she considered an attempt to lock the barn door after the horse was stolen. “But that’s why Fetch wanted her here. So they could talk without someone looking over their shoulder.”
“Talk, hah!” the captain said with a snort. “I’ve had many a lad that age aboard my ships, and “talk” isn’t what they were thinking when we hit port.”
“She’s thirteen!”
“And how old were you your first time?”
“Older than that!”
“Think, woman! Do you want a nursery maid with a babe of her own?”
“That’s disgusting.”
He nodded sagely, hands on hips. “Aye, I’ll agree to that all right. Which is why you’re not to leave them alone. I’ve seen the gleam in that boy’s eye, and I promise you I know what he’s thinking.”
Their conversation had taken place in the privacy of Holly’s bedchamber, and at that point she’d dropped into a wingchair set before the fireplace and rested her head against the high backrest. Air whooshed out of her lungs. “I’ve heard stories,” she said, “all the children in a gang sleeping together for warmth—
“And each boy with his dollymop. A companion, someone to lookout for. And, yes, who knows what else? But we have a responsibility—”
Holly’s laugh cut him off. “You are aware of the irony, Captain. Setting me as a watchdog for a girl who likely lost her innocence younger than I did.”
“Set Jesse on them. That should do it.”
Ha! Stupid man. “Fetch’ll scare the poor boy off in half a minute.”
“I’ll spea
k to them both. I’m sure Fetch would prefer Jesse as gooseberry to you or Tildy or Mrs. Balfour.”
“How can you be such a stiff-necked prude,” Holly had demanded in outraged tones, “and still be married to me?”
And then, of course, when he’d failed to answer, she remembered. He’d married her not for herself but to gain his blasted ship. That’s all she was, a means to an end. He owned the cottage and everything in it, including herself. And she must not only endure Captain Kincade for the time remaining on his shore leave, she must be accommodating. More than accommodating. But smooth sailing it wasn’t going to be. She imagined the protest Fetch would make augmented by a roar from Nick Black when she thwarted his protegé’s desires.
As contrasted with the captain’s roar if she didn’t.
Devil a bit, it just wasn’t fair! She had thought marriage would solve all her problems.
Guess not.
Holly was standing there, worrying the problem of Fetch and his Cathy, when someone knocked so loudly on the front door the sound reverberated all the way to the stillroom. Had the captain forgotten she’d given him a key?
“Missus, missus?” Tildy called, bursting into the room. “You’ve a caller, a real toff.” She handed Holly a card. “Pushed right past me, he did. He’s waiting in the parlor.”
Oh, good God! Holly blanched as she read the name. Charles. Charles Everard.
She smoothed the folds of her gown, patted her hair in place, and marched toward the parlor, head high. Except for their brief encounter in the park, she had not seen him since the night he had told her to pack up and leave the cozy love nest he had set up for her. Love nest, ha! The heartless wretch had no concept of love. Not that a courtesan expected it, of course. But to toss her out like that, and all because she was bearing his child . . .
Mawworm. Numbskull. Muttonheaded nincompoop! With each step Holly fanned the flames of her anger. How dare Charles come here?
He told you he wanted to see his children. And you ran off without giving him your direction.
Holly’s footsteps faltered. Be quiet! she growled at her inner voice.
Be glad he’s found you while the captain is in town.
Oh dear God, yes. The noble captain would feel obligated to protect her, no matter how distasteful he might find the situation. Once again, Holly straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and forced her feet to cross the threshold into the parlor.
Charles was standing in front of a window, examining the room as if attempting to find a piece of furniture worthy of the backside of a well-bred son of a prominent banking family. She suspected he had not succeeded. A faint sneer distorted his handsome face as he said, “I had to hire a Runner, Holly. Pay money to find my own children.” He slapped his gloves into the palm of his hand. “I am not pleased.”
A slither of fear shot through her. What if Charles took a notion he truly wanted the twins? Could he take them from her? When it came to a fight, the courts would inevitably side with the Everards over a woman of her background. That day in the park she thought she’d run from him because she still had not forgiven him for abandoning her, but perhaps, deep down, she had feared exactly this.
“When you gave me my congé,” she told him, voice cool, head high, “I was under the impression you wished never to see me or any child of mine ever again. Why should I expect you to change your mind?”
“Because I told you so?” Charles taunted. “That day in the park.”
“I assumed you were merely being polite,” Holly lied.
“Hell and the devil, Holly, I meant every word!” She blinked as his fists knotted, his smooth features transforming into a mottled mask of pink and red.
Holly drew her Academy training around her like a cloak. “Won’t you please sit down, Charles. I am certain we can discuss this in a more civilized manner.”
He sank into a chair, plunged his head into his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “but you have no right . . .” His voice trailed away to silence.
Holly arranged herself on the sofa across from him, stalling for time while gathering her thoughts. “Truly, Charles, I thought you wanted no reminders of the short time I spent in your life.” That her voice did not waver, she considered a miracle.
He groaned. “And so I did, I admit it. But somehow it ate at me. Two pieces of me living and growing, and I had no idea what they even looked like.”
“I won’t give them up. Never!”
His head snapped up, a lock of brown hair tumbling over his forehead, gray eyes wide. “Good God, Holly, what would I do with a pair of babes? I can just see Lady Evelyn’s face when I make my offer. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, and bye the bye, I’ve a ready-made family for you to accept as well.”
“You’re getting married?” Holly’s words were barely above a whisper.
“If she’ll have me. And she surely won’t if I come encumbered with twins. Your captain may be a saint of high order, but Lady Evelyn would faint dead away if I told her—her mother, sisters, and aunts along with her.”
“Oh.” After a moment to consider his veracity, Holly said, “Well, in that case I am happy to let you see them. Though I warn you, do not expect sweet cuddly babes. They are veritable demons, forever in motion.”
Captain Kincade returned home to Tildy’s hiss of, “There’s a gentleman in the parlor, Captain. With the missus and the babes.” She rolled wide eyes toward the open door.
Three strides and Royce was treated to the sight of a well-dressed young man sitting stiffly on the edge of his chair, his head turning as his gaze followed first one fast-scrambling twin and then the other. What the . . .?
And then he recognized the dastard. What in the bloody hell was Everard doing in his house? Those who knew the captain best would have flinched at the ominous note in his voice as he barked, “Holly, what is the meaning of this?”
Chapter 13
“Captain!” Holly bounced to her feet like a puppet on a string, looking as if she’d been caught filching the crown jewels.
Everard, after seeming to be frozen to his chair, slowly pushed himself upright. “Kincade,” he mouthed so stiffly Royce could swear he heard the man’s jaws crack.
Holly sucked in a harsh breath before managing, “He wished to see the children.”
Royce raised a blond brow. “You wished to see my children, Everard? How curious.”
Surprisingly, Charles Everard stood his ground. “Damn you, Kincade, they weren’t your children when you were extorting money for their keep!”
“A bit of cash was the least you could do. But I gave them my name, and now they’re mine. I’ll thank you to keep your distance.”
“They’re Charles’s blood!” Holly’s determined voice penetrated the hostility thickening the air between the two men.
“They were his blood while still in the womb, and he walked away.”
“And I’m sorry for that,” Everard burbled. “I had no idea how it would feel to be a father.”
“He’s to be married soon,” Holly interjected. “He only wants to see them occasionally.”
Arms crossed, Royce looked the much slimmer Charles Everard up, down, and back again. “Is that so?”
“Yes, dash it all. I mean no harm.”
Royce gave him the look that had made many a man far stronger than Everard quail. “You don’t think you’ve already done enough harm?” Wisely, Everard remained silent. The captain scowled as he took a few moments to study the problem. “Very well,” he said at last, “you may see the twins, but not more than once a month, and not when I am in residence. To make sure of it, I’ll post a guard.”
“A guard!” Holly gasped.
Royce favored Everard with a disdainful curl of his lips. “One of Nick Black’s men. That should do the job.”
“You’re trying to scare him off!” Holly protested.
“And that would make you sad?” Royce challenged, his blue eyes so stormy they were close to gray.
“No, of course not,” Holly countered hastily, “but if he merely wishes to see them, surely that’s not a problem.”
“Who knows what he wishes to do with them? I’ll post a guard.”
Do with them? Did the captain actually share her former fear that Charles might steal the twins? Or—could it be?—he was more worried about Charles coaxing her back to his bed? Merciful heavens, was it possible . . .?
A glance at her husband’s stern face, his posture adamant, his arms crossed over his chest, and she realized argument was useless. Holly allowed her shoulders to slump, giving up the fight. At least for the moment. After a curt nod, Royce turned to Everard. “You’ve seen them. Time to go.” The banker’s son departed almost as swiftly as a cuckoo popping out of a clock, grabbing his hat from a grinning Tildy on his flight to the front door.
“How could you?” Holly wailed as the door shut behind the father of her children. “Rag-mannered nonsense, that’s what it is. Throwing him out, posting a guard . . . are you mad?”
“My house, my rules.”
Arms akimbo, Holly huffed a great breath before spitting out, “It’s my house. I’m the one who lives here month after month while you sail the seven seas.”
“I sail the Atlantic and the Caribbean,” Captain Kincade responded, his jaw set so hard he could barely get the words out. “And—”
“Charles’ money paid for this house!”
“And if I see him again, I’ll likely choke the life out of him!”
Holly Page 9
