Like a woman possessed, Fia dug into the chest, heedless of disarranging the contents. A pair of women’s shoes, the heels painted a pale blue to match the silk, flashed into view, and Fia halted to compare the shoe to her foot. It was inches too long. “Och, Thomas, you are dressing a giant.”
Fia could almost see the mystery woman encased in pale blue silk and lumbering about in the blue heels. The troll-like image faded into that of a beautiful fairy queen and Fia’s heart sank even lower.
Aye, a man of Thomas’s looks and position would have a woman with long, blond hair and pale blue eyes to match the carefully stored silk. She would be tall and beautiful and practiced in all of the feminine arts. No doubt such an accomplished woman already resided at court and was fully accepted within that closed circle. Perhaps that was why Thomas was so eager to return to London and annul their marriage.
Fia slumped against the trunk, a shoe clutched in one hand and the packet of tangled embroidery threads in the other, and wondered why she felt so . . . betrayed. He’d never pretended to care for her and yet, somehow, she’d been secretly hoping that he might come to do so. In the few weeks she’d known him, she hadn’t been able to shake the thought that they were somehow meant to be. That fate had brought them together.
Now, looking at the lovely shoe, she wasn’t so certain. She was so lost in her unpleasant reverie, she almost didn’t hear the footsteps coming down the hallway until they were almost at the door. As the knob turned, Fia gasped and leapt to her feet, shoving the fabric and scattered threads into the trunk.
She slammed the lid shut only to see the tip of a pale blue shoe peeking beneath the bed just as the door began to swing open. With a kick, she sent the shoe sliding farther under the bed just as Thomas stepped into the room.
He offered her a tired smile. “You’re awake. I hope the squall didn’t frighten you.”
Fia’s irritation faded completely. He was wet from head to toe, as if he had been swimming in the ocean and not sailing upon it. His clothing clung to him as lovingly as ever ivy had clung to a castle wall, his white shirt open to reveal his tanned throat and clinging to every well-defined muscle. She’d known he was a powerful man, but to see his arms ripple as he moved, the way his broad shoulder tapered to a stomach lined with muscles, made her knees go curiously weak.
“Fia?” Concern had deepened his voice. “Are you well?”
She hurried to find her voice. “I’m fine.”
“Good. Where’s Mary?”
“Angus hit his head. She went to see to him.”
“I hope he is well.”
“I’m sure he is or we would have heard from her.”
“So we would. Did you bear the storm well?”
“Aye. I was just—After the sea calmed, I didn’t have anything to do so I—ah, I was bored.” Her voice was breathless with the need to keep his attention away from the trunk. The loosened lock creaked with every move of the ship, loud enough to be heard all the way to shore.
By some miracle, he didn’t seem to hear the creaking iron. He leaned against the table, a mere arm’s length away, and Fia had to curl her fingernails into her palms to keep from staring. “’Twas quite an exciting experience. I thought to write a scene with a shipwreck in it,” she said.
“A shipwreck?” He grinned, and she felt the force of that devastating smile all the way to her knees. “Such is your faith in my skill as captain.”
She chuckled. “I have complete faith in your skill, but I know nature to be an unforgiving mistress who cares naught for such things.”
“Aye, she put on an impressive show this night.” He sighed wearily and rubbed his neck, water dripping from his arm. “I came to find dry clothes and perchance some sleep.”
“You can leave the deck now?”
“Aye, we’re through the worst of it. Simmons will send for me if things change.”
His drenched shirt hung in almost transparent folds about him, the wet curls on his broad chest glistening. She wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through those crisp hairs and watch the water drip down his chest, past the flatness of his stomach and on to—
“I don’t know what you are staring at, comfit, but perhaps you’d like to come and help me into a dry shirt.” His smile was wicked and angelic at the same time.
Her breasts tightened at the images all too quickly forming in her mind. “A shirt. Where do you—”
He pointed to a chest of drawers bolted to a far wall.
“Of course,” she said, hurrying to it and finding a clean shirt. “What of a towel?”
“There’s a cloth hanging in the wardrobe.”
The large wardrobe was directly beside the chest, so she opened it and found the towel, then brought them both to Thomas.
He took them and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Nay, I should thank you. It was quite comfortable here in your cabin. The bed in ours would not have been so comfortable.”
“I shall add it to the bill.”
“Bill?”
“You already owe me a kiss.”
“A kiss?” Understanding came at once. “You won the card game and not Lord Montley?”
“Aye.”
“But you said nothing and that was days ago!”
“I would have said something sooner, but we had other things to discuss.”
“Our rules.”
“Aye. I believe you said I should smile more often.”
She nodded mutely.
“A kiss would bring a smile quicker than anything else. Perhaps I should claim it now whilst I am too tired to do more.” His gaze flickered over her, resting on her lips, her neck, her breasts.
Fia shivered as he undressed her with his eyes.
He laughed softly, and a wave of longing swept through Fia with such intensity that she nearly sank to the floor. She needed to look away from those torturing eyes and that bared chest. With a supreme effort she dropped her gaze to the floor and saw . . . the lavender ribbon.
A cold hand clutched at her heart. She knew only a little of Thomas’s past, but she knew he needed to trust and would do so only reluctantly. Why oh why had she allowed her imagination free rein with the trunk?
Fia took a casual step toward the ribbon. If she could just keep his attention off the floor . . . It was a pity she was not Argyll, the great seducer of men, from her play Tempest at Sea. Argyll knew how to draw a man’s attention and keep it.
Fia closed her eyes, imagining the way Argyll would approach this.
Opening her eyes, she locked her gaze with Thomas’s, she allowed her fingers to trail lightly down the high neckline of her dress. Surprise at her own boldness mixed with a hot flush of pleasure when Thomas’s eyes followed the slow movement as her fingers reached the cleft between her breasts. His breath quickened to match her own, and she knew that she had his complete and undivided attention. A crate of ribbons could have been spilled at her feet right then and he’d never have noticed.
Fia took a casual step toward the center of the room, and Thomas’s heated gaze followed her. He seemed to have forgotten about changing his wet clothing, forgotten they’d been talking, forgotten everything but her.
Just one more step and the ribbon would be safely hidden by her skirts.
She lifted her foot but couldn’t move. Her skirt held her as securely as if it were nailed to the floor. She pulled on it, but to no avail. She glanced down and had to swallow a grimace; her skirt was caught in the hastily shut trunk. She tugged at it with a desperate hand, but it didn’t budge.
“A-ha,” intoned a deep voice. “I see you’re back to your reiving ways.”
Fia bit her lip. “Och, nay! ’Twasn’t reiving. I was bored.”
“So you mentioned before.”
“There was naught to do, so I decided to write a new play, and the storm made me think about pirates and so I was trying to imagine what a pirate might keep in his trunk, and I saw this one and—” She gripped her hands together. “I didn’t take
anything.”
Fia expected anger, outrage, a loud and violent reaction. What she saw was Thomas’s beautiful mouth curving into a reluctant smile. “What did you hope to find?”
She prayed the slight pitch of the ship wouldn’t send the blue shoe sliding into view. “Gold,” she confessed.
His lips quirked. “I take it you didn’t find any.”
She eyed the trunk regretfully. “Nay, though I wish there had been.” Anything other than clothes for your lover.
Thomas crossed to her, his gaze trailing a heated path down her body. “’Tis your misfortune, little thief, that you’re not very good at hiding things. I saw the shoe under the bed when I arrived, so I knew you’d been visiting places you hadn’t been invited.”
“Och! And you didn’t tell me! I was so worried you’d be angry and—” She plopped her fists on her hips. “You had to know that!”
“I can only wonder what you would have done if the trunk had been filled with coins.”
“Real gold coins? Like Spanish gold?”
He chuckled at her excited voice. “Aye, like Spanish gold.”
“I might have taken some,” she admitted. “But only if you had a very large number.”
He laughed then, the sound rumbling in his chest. “You are incorrigible.”
“But honest,” she replied. “Surely that’s worth something.”
“Aye, comfit.” He reached out and cupped her face with a large hand, his skin cool and still damp from the storm. “’Tis worth something indeed.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his hand. She couldn’t think for the passions that stirred through her, couldn’t breathe.
He slowly slid his hand from her cheek to her neck, his thumb resting lightly on the base of her throat.
Fia shivered and gripped his wrist, holding his hand in place. “Sassenach, please . . .” She didn’t know what she was asking for, only that it was more than she had now. More than he was really offering.
But she didn’t care. She wanted his complete attention, every bit of it.
With a sudden groan, he pulled her against his chest.
She expected to feel the coldness of his wet shirt through the front of her dress. But the water that seeped through her bodice was as heated as he. It soaked through the thin wool, causing the material to cling to her peaked breasts. His scent came to her—fresh salt water mingled with a tantalizing dash of sandalwood, masculine and tempting.
He moved his mouth to her ear. “I am near desperate with wanting you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, wonder mixing with passion. “I told myself I could do this—see you and keep possession of my reason—but I fear I was wrong. I just don’t give a damn about reason when you’re about. All I want is more. More of you. More of your scent. More of your taste.”
The sweet warmth of his breath brushed across her cheek. It was maddening to be so close to those carved lips and not have them on her, kissing her, tasting her . . . She threw her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers.
He stilled in surprise, but she tightened her arms and opened her mouth under his. The roughness of his unshaven face excited her. She slipped the tip of her tongue past his lips—he tasted of the sea and the heat of desire. She tangled her hands in his hair and moaned her passion into his mouth.
He gave a muffled groan and caught her against him. His hands slid over her back and lower, grinding her against the hardness of his desire. He molded her to him, refusing to allow her to part from him.
She was lost, spiraling in a world of pleasure. Threading her hands through his thick hair, she ran her tongue over his jaw, reveling in the scrape of his unshaven skin. She wanted him now and forever. They were meant to be. The signs were all there. She wanted the feel of him, the taste of him. He might regret this come morning, but she never would.
Hot desire ran through Thomas’s veins like burning oil, sweeping thought away in a torrent. It was madness. He had come to the cabin worried that Fia was frightened by the storm, only to discover that she’d blithely rifled through his trunk. He should have been angry, even though he knew the contents of the trunk were naught, but then he made the mistake of touching her, and all else had fled before a sudden and thorough onslaught of hot, primal lust.
The smoothness of her skin, the delicate hollows of her neck, the silken mass of her hair, all lured him until he could no more quit touching her, tasting her, than he could think. She was his, and he would have her.
He savored the sweetness of her mouth, nipping and teasing the lush lips until they parted and welcomed him into their honeyed depths. He plundered her mouth again and again until she was moaning with unnamed need. He left her lips to taste the delicate line of her jaw, and she clutched at his arms.
Her head fell back, revealing the white column of her neck, and he was afire anew. Thomas trailed his mouth to her shoulder, then farther still, to where her dress pressed her breasts into a fascinating cleft. He was determined to free those lovely mounds from their prison of wool.
With eager fingers, he undid clasp after clasp. The wool parted slowly to reveal dazzling white skin partly covered by a modest shift. As the last clasp released, her dress dropped to the floor, its hem still firmly caught in the trunk.
Fia’s plain linen shift clung to every curve, every hollow, and Thomas had never seen a more provocative garment in his whole life. He tugged on the ties and was rewarded with a satisfying ripping sound.
Within seconds she was naked, nothing between them but his wet clothing. Thomas ran his tongue around the delicate swirl of her ear as he let his hands roam freely, wildly, across her bared back. His mouth trailed down her neck to her shoulder and then to her breasts.
He laid her carefully on the bunk, his mouth never breaking contact with her breasts. Full, lush breasts tipped with rose-hued nipples that begged to be tasted. They were magnificent. They were perfect.
His mouth trailed farther down to the flatness of her stomach, to the tangle of fine, tight curls. She gasped with pleasure, her back arching convulsively as his tongue found her wetness. He worshipped her with his mouth as he frantically ripped off his own clothing.
He could tell from her gasps of pleasure and the clutching insistence of her hands that she was as lost in wonder as he was. Sweet Jesu help them both. They were drowning in this wild passion.
He wanted to take his time, to slowly initiate her in the pleasures of lovemaking, but the demands of his body and hers were too much. Within seconds he was positioned between her thighs. His body was tense with the effort to control his passion, since he knew this would bring her pain, but she surged up to meet him with eager hips and clutching thighs. She whimpered for a moment as he stroked into her, murmuring into the silk of her hair, lost in her wet warmth. Again and again he thrust into her, each stroke an agonizing, delicious exhilaration.
She gasped, and her hands tightened on his shoulders. He paused, taking in the sight of her on the crest of her pleasure. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, the lashes fanning in thick crescents, her lips parted and swollen. His mouth covered hers and she tensed, gasping as waves of intense sensation rippled through her. A surge of exultation pulsed through him and carried him on a wave of passion.
Afterward, his breathing was loud in the silence of the room, only the faint howl of the wind and the lazy rocking of the ship reminding him where he was. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms, refusing to think of anything other than how perfectly made she was for him. She was his. He would deal with tomorrow when it arrived. For once in his life he wanted to stop thinking and just feel.
As if she agreed with his unspoken thoughts, she snuggled into his arms, her cheek against his shoulder as her breathing slowly returned to normal.
After a few blissfully peaceful moments, he raised his head and looked at her. Fia was sound asleep. Thomas admired the faint flush on her creamy skin, the way her pink lips parted as she slept.
She was his, at least for no
w. As for the annulment . . . he closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. He’d think about that on the morrow. He’s just spent four hours battling a storm, and combined with such lusty lovemaking, he was too exhausted to think.
Without another coherent thought, entwined around Fia, Thomas went to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Fia awoke slowly, her back pleasantly warm from the sun. She smiled drowsily and snuggled deeper into the rumpled sheets, her bare skin gently abraded by the rough blanket.
Remembrance flooded through her in vivid detail. She trailed a hand over her neck, where Thomas’s roughened cheek had left its mark. Her hand dropped lower still to the tenderness of her breasts. The sensation sparked a thousand memories of his roaming hands, the warmth of his lips, and the feel of his body against and inside hers.
Who knew lovemaking could be so glorious? A deeply contented smile curved her mouth as she turned over and pushed the blanket aside, stretching out in the sunlight like a contented cat.
Thomas had been so passionate last night. In his desire, he had murmured a thousand lies into her ear, each one sweeter than the one before. And she had let him. She had wanted him to say she was beautiful and perfect, that she was made for him.
Afterward she had fallen asleep in his arms, sated and happier than she had ever been. She wished he hadn’t been called away from her side; it would have been pleasant to awake with his arms still about her. But his duties as captain of the ship couldn’t be denied.
She smiled at the streams of sunshine flowing through the unshuttered windows. ’Twas a glorious day, the merry sea topped by a blue, blue sky, as if celebrating the fact that she and Thomas were now man and wife in the truest sense. The thought made her grin all the way to her toes.
Had this been one of her plays, Thomas would now return, throwing the door wide, his expression brightening on seeing her still in his bed. He would come to kneel at her feet and then, in the sweetest of words, he’d proffer his heart.
Much Ado About Marriage Page 19
