But no. If he was honest, he wanted more than that. He wanted more of Fia—but not at such a price. She was unlike any woman he’d ever met. She tantalized and teased without the least knowledge, and that, added to her beauty and wit, intrigued him more than any powdered and perfumed court beauty ever had.
But it wouldn’t last; passion never did. Even his mother, who’d run away for love, had eventually been thrown aside by her new lover. Love—passion—didn’t last.
Duty was all one could count upon, all one needed. And duty had nothing to do with the lush woman who stood before him, her chin raised in challenge, her mouth begging to be tasted.
“Fine,” he said harshly, irritated at his reaction to her impudence and spirit. “I’ll find you a damned sponsor for your plays, and we’ll have our annulment.”
She flashed him a smile. “Excellent.”
Thomas found himself looking at her full bottom lip, and suddenly the air grew thick with desire. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her, holding her against him, sinking into her softness.
She must have felt the change, too, for her breath quickened, her lips parted, her skin flushed. He could see where her heartbeat pulsed in her slender neck, and his gaze traveling down to her full breasts where they were so warmly displayed by her wool gown. God bless Scottish wool. Thin Scottish wool. Soft Scottish wool.
And then somehow he was no longer looking at that wool but feeling it. That wool filled his hands as he hauled her against him, capturing her mouth with his. She melted into his arms, her sweet curves pressed to his.
Thomas ran his hands down her sides to the gentle swell of her hips, and then on to cup her ass, her gown clinging to his fingers.
She gasped against his mouth, murmuring “Och, Sassenach!” in such a sweet, husky voice that his passions fanned into a blazing flame.
He held her tightly, plundering her mouth as ruthlessly as he plundered Spanish galleons. Fia eagerly accepted his embraces, sliding her hands over him in return, seeking and touching until he couldn’t think or breathe.
He slipped a hand through her long hair and her curls clung to his fingers like silken kisses. God’s blood, she was as sweet as fresh snow, yet warmer than a summer day. He slipped both hands around her firm, delectable ass and lifted her against him. To his bemused delight, she parted her legs and clung to him, her skirts riding up to her thighs.
He couldn’t take her. Could not. The knowledge made the kiss wilder, the embrace more daring. Desire flared fiercely through Thomas, filling his sails with a hot gale so suddenly, he feared he might capsize. He knew he needed to stop the embrace, but his mind was no longer functioning beyond the immediate sensations that crashed over him.
Fia grasped at his shirt, her legs clutching him tightly, as desperate as he was. He slipped his hands from her ass to her thighs and walked the two steps to the wall, pressing her against it. She arched into him, squirming with desire.
It was almost more than he could bear. He shifted her until his turgid cock rubbed between her legs. His breeches and her chemise were the only barriers, the only protection, but it was enough.
Though Thomas ached with the need for her, for the taste of her, for the feel of her, he knew this was as far as they could go. As far as they dared to—
The door flew open. “Thomas, Simmons says the course to—” Robert’s voice stopped short.
Fia’s eyes shot open, and she looked over Thomas’s shoulder with a horrified gasp.
Damn you, Montley!
Her face red, Fia squirmed free of Thomas’s embrace, frantically trying to pull down her gown.
Thomas turned to glare at their intruder, but all he faced was an open door. Montley was gone. Left boiling with desire, his cock achingly erect, his heart still thundering in his chest, Thomas yearned to punch his friend’s face.
An adorably mussed and red-faced Fia had gathered her rabbit and was trying to pull her snoring dog to its feet. “I-I really must go—Zeus, wake up! I’ll just return to my cabin and—blast it, Zeus, get up!”
A twinge of conscience caught Thomas. “Fia, I’m sorry Montley—he acts as if this is his ship. Still, this is my fault. I shouldn’t have imposed upon you.”
“Imposed? I’m as much to blame as you.”
He frowned, suddenly realizing that her cheeks weren’t rosy from embarrassment. Instead, they appeared sunburned, as if . . . He lifted a hand to his chin, which was rough with stubble from the days inside Duncan’s castle. “Damn it! Fia, I fear that my whiskers have scraped your skin. I’m sorry.”
She touched her cheek and winced. “Whiskers will do that?”
“Aye, they can.”
She is such an innocent, he told himself fiercely. But she won’t be if I keep finding her alone. “I must admit something, Fia. I have trouble resisting you.”
She sent him a surprised look. After a moment, she said quietly, “And I have trouble resisting you.”
“That bodes ill for our decision to remain chaste. For the safety of our plans, we should make sure Mary is present whenever we meet.”
“I can do that.”
He turned toward the door. “I’m needed on deck now, so I’ll leave you.”
“I—yes. Thank you.” She nodded, her motions jerky, her gaze averted.
A million words crowded to Thomas’s lips, but not a single coherent sentence. With one last glance, he turned and left, leaving the door open behind him.
Scowling, he strode down the passageway to the ladder. Damme, how did I allow myself to lose control in such a way?
The wind whipped across him as he reached the deck, cooling his ardor even more and calming his thundering heart. He began to pace the length of the ship, hands clasped behind his back, the wind whipping his hair as he locked gazes with the white-crested sea and wrestled with his thoughts.
There was something about Fia MacLean that befuddled him. She was such an intriguing mixture of innocence and sensuality, guile and beguilement. And he could not be in the same room with her without yearning to taste her.
He thought of their conversation in his cabin and had to shake his head. She was a cheeky wench, he’d give her that. She’d accepted his demand for an annulment but had added the price of finding her a sponsor. She was never at a loss for words, and he’d do well to remember that.
She was from a different world than his. She didn’t care or know that his family name was tied to the ancient Norman conquerors or that he was from one of the purest bloodlines in England. All she cared about was seeing her plays upon the stage.
Oddly enough, after working so many years to maintain and build his reputation, it was intriguing to find someone who didn’t value it at all. And if that was the case, then her interest in him wasn’t caused by his position or wealth, but in him as a man. That, too, was unique.
Shaking his head, he paced faster, ignoring the side-glances from the men as they went about their work, the cool air calming him. Over and over, he relived the scene in his cabin, lingering over the new memories: the scent of her hair and how it had clung to his hands; the sweet taste of her skin beneath his lips; the way her voice had deepened and grown husky as passion had overtaken her, too.
Then he remembered her embarrassed air when he’d left, and he winced. Whatever her flaws, she hadn’t intentionally led him into temptation. He’d done that all by himself.
She needed to know that she was safe upon this ship and that he’d never again cross the boundaries of good behavior. He owed it to his own good name as captain of the Glorianna. It’s what I’d do for any woman aboard ship, not just Fia.
He gazed at the ladder that led below deck. He should reassure her of his intentions, yet that would mean facing her again, and he wasn’t certain he could. Not while his body still ached for the feel of her.
A shiver ripped through him at the memory of her strong legs gripping his hips. His body ached anew, and he had to stifle a groan. Damn it all, but she’s too sensual for a wife. As a mis
tress, though . . .
He gripped the railing and stared unseeingly out to sea. How can I even think such a thing? She is an innocent. Am I like my mother, so governed by primal urges that I cannot even perform my duty to my family and queen?
Scowling, Thomas pushed himself from the railing and resumed pacing, vowing to never again succumb to temptation, no matter how often she smiled. No matter what it took.
Chapter Eleven
The door slammed, startling Robert, whose whiskey sloshed onto the table.
“Where in hell have you been hiding, you cur?” Thomas snapped.
Robert winced and took a delicate sip of his whiskey. “Pray speak quietly, for I have a tender ear whenever I venture upon the sea.”
Thomas threw himself into a chair, his face as dark as a thundercloud. “I’ll see that more than your ears are tender if you don’t explain why you put Fia in my cabin.”
“I was being chivalrous. There are few places on the ship to house guests, and your cabin seemed the most suitable to a lady. Besides, she is your wife.” He frowned at the whiskey that had spilled; he still had a Scotsman’s dislike of wasting good drink. ’Twas but one of the many inherited traits he seemed unable to remove, try though he might.
“She will not be my wife for long.”
Robert sat up straighter. “What’s this? Do you plan a murder? Shall I help you toss the body from the side of the ship? Before you carry out your nefarious plan, be sure to learn Lady Fia’s handwriting. Her painfully expressive cousin is expecting a letter every week and if he doesn’t get it, he will have no hesitation in marching to London to fetch it.”
“I am not afraid of Duncan MacLean.”
“You should be. In fact, you’re fortunate he didn’t realize why you were attempting to crawl into his castle.”
“Oh, he realized it soon enough. I found the missive without problem, but then MacLean found me and I awoke unlettered.”
“Did he say aught?”
“Nay, but I’m certain he knew.” Thomas frowned. Though he and MacLean had never spoken of it, the laird’s smirk had told its own story.
“So you risked life and limb for naught.” Robert’s jaw tightened; his gaze flickered over Thomas. “When I saw you on shore so bloodied and beaten, I was almost ready to kill him. Tell me of this letter you came to fetch.”
“Walsingham wanted the missive and knew ’twas in MacLean’s desk in a hidden compartment.” Thomas added darkly, “That’s one thing the arse bothered to tell me. He certainly never mentioned MacLean had a lovely cousin that he was guarding like a prize jewel.”
“I wonder why Walsingham didn’t mention Fia? The castle was more heavily fortified because she was there; MacLean would not leave her unprotected.”
Thomas frowned. “That’s true.” He’d had much the same thought over the last week. Why hadn’t Walsingham told him about Fia? It was unfathomable that Walsingham would miss a major development like that.
In fact, the man had said that with MacLean gone, none but a few elderly servants would be at the castle. “Something happened, but I don’t know what.” Thomas shook his head. “Anyway, as I was saying, I had that damned letter in my possession. I wish I’d made it to the ship with it.”
“’Tis a miracle you managed to escape alive. You are the luckiest bastard I ever met.”
“No, I’m not. I lost the letter, and I wonder if ’twas worth a wife.”
“I wonder that you follow Walsingham’s commands like a puppet. He uses you most hard and yet you care not.”
“He does no such thing,” Thomas said, annoyance clear in his tone. “He offers me adventures, excitement, and ways to set the Wentworth name with the queen.”
“He places you in danger every chance he gets.” Robert’s blue eyes blazed. “Walsingham is a maggot on the underbelly of the earth, yet you are determined to think well of him.”
“Walsingham has done more for England than you admit. One day, you will understand.”
Robert had to bite his tongue to keep silent. It would do no good to rail against the minister. In the dark days after the death of Thomas’s father, Walsingham had slipped into Thomas’s good graces. As a new earl, Thomas had been grateful for the older man’s quiet support. Robert had to admit that Walsingham had been an invaluable source of advice to Thomas during those hectic and sad days when Thomas had struggled to set his father’s estates in order. During those weeks, he and Walsingham had forged a deep bond that now often put Thomas in grave danger.
Thomas didn’t shy from that danger, for he’d been raised to put duty above all else. But that Walsingham would ask so many dangerous tasks from a man he professed to care about did not ring true with Robert.
No, Walsingham was the sort of man to find one’s weakness and play to it—all the way to the gory end, if it suited his purposes.
Robert took a sip of whiskey to wash away the bitter taste of his thoughts “Speaking of monsters, have you seen the creature your lady wife has secured in the hold? I think ’tis a horse, though I wouldn’t swear it.” He leaned across the table for another mug, poured a stately measure of whiskey into it, and slid it across the table to Thomas.
“Aye, I’ve seen it.” Thomas took a sip of the whiskey. “And it’s seen me.”
Robert shuddered. “The men were talking of it, so I went to have a peek and . . .” He lifted his arm and a straggle of lace drooped from his sleeve. “It tried to eat me!”
“You’re fortunate it didn’t get your arm.”
Robert smoothed his sleeve. “I’d rather have given up a finger than my lace. ’Tis Italian, you know.”
Thomas grunted.
Robert regarded him for a moment. “Well? Tell me by what foul manner you plan on ridding yourself of your lovely wife. Shall it be by knife? Sword? Pistol? Poison?”
“No, we are to get an annulment from Queen Elizabeth. I was forced at sword’s end to wed the chit, and the queen won’t enjoy hearing how one of her own was so cruelly abused. With Walsingham’s help, she will agree to set the marriage aside.”
“And what of Fia? She will have to agree to the petition as well.”
“She agrees it must be done.”
Robert caught a hint of sharpness in his friend’s voice. “Oho! The web tangles! She is glad to be rid of you!”
Thomas gazed at him with a considering look. “As usual, you act the virgin, yet there is something of the harlot in your gestures.”
Robert’s grin was swift. “A minor talent. I have others.”
Thomas knew better than to argue with this piece of impertinence. For all his foppish ways, Robert MacQuarrie was the most gifted swordsman and navigator of any man Thomas had ever met. He sighed and rubbed his chin, wincing when he touched a lingering bruise.
Robert regarded him over the lip of his mug. “You certainly took a beating at MacLean’s hands.”
Thomas tossed down the whiskey, welcoming its burning warmth. “It could have been worse. I was to be consigned to the dungeons, but Fia intervened.”
“She saved you? Then ’tis love. What other reason would she have to go against her own kith and kin?”
Thomas frowned. “Cease your jesting.”
“’Twas no jest,” protested Robert. “Now that I think on it, you have all the symptoms of being in love, as does she. Do you find Lady Fia attractive?”
“She’s a beautiful woman. Every man on this ship would agree to that.”
“Ah, but no other man on this ship is feeling the cut of jealousy.”
“Jealousy? When have I been jealous?”
“When have you not been? You glare at everyone when she is about, including her own cousin. And then there is your attraction to her—” Robert grinned. “Forgive me for mentioning it, but I couldn’t help but notice it when I accidentally walked into your cabin yesterday eve.”
Thomas’s face heated. “You should have knocked.”
“However I came to interrupt you, you had the look of a jealous husband.
I know, for I’ve witnessed it many a time.”
Thomas was hard-pressed not to answer Robert’s grin with a fist. “I admit Fia has an effect on me, and I’ll be well rid of such a troublesome wench. London cannot come too soon.”
“And then?”
“And then the maid is free.”
“Free to do what?”
“Whatever she wishes.” Thomas took a deep draught of his whiskey. “There’s only one thing I must do. In order to gain the lady’s cooperation, I promised to find a sponsor for her plays.”
“You had to promise? Or you made this gesture out of the munificent generosity of your own heart?”
Thomas didn’t answer.
“Ah.” Robert took a long sip of his whiskey. “Tell me something, mon ami; why seek an annulment at all? Why not keep the beauteous Fia as wife?”
“What sort of a question is that?”
“A practical one. Isn’t she of noble birth?”
“Aye.”
“And pleasant to look upon?”
“More than pleasant,” Thomas said grudgingly.
“Quick of wit?”
“Too quick of wit for my tastes.”
Robert quirked a disbelieving brow. “You prefer a witless woman?”
“No, of course not. Just one who isn’t so prone to speaking out of turn.”
“Hmm.” Robert nodded thoughtfully. “And I know that you find her physically appealing.”
Thomas stirred in his chair, assaulted by memories. “Aye,” he admitted reluctantly. “I can scarce look at the maid without becoming as ready as a ship in a full wind.”
Robert looked delighted. “She torments you, eh?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Robert counted on his fingers, “So she’s wellborn, beauteous, filled with wit, blessed by passion and character, and you cannot keep your hands from her . . .” He threw up his hands. “Explain why you should not be on your knees thanking the stars to have been gifted with such a wife!”
“She’s also untamed and half-wild; she says what she thinks when she thinks it, regardless of the appropriateness of it; would rather be with her animals than people; runs about with her hair tumbled to her shoulders and her skirts clinging to her; wears muddy boots like some stable boy—” He shook his head. “Damn it, Robert, I don’t have to explain this to you. You know how brutal the court can be; she’d be scorned and ridiculed.”
Much Ado About Marriage Page 13
