My Lord Beaumont

by Unknown

  Adrian's eyes narrowed, but in a moment his lips twitched with amusement. "It's safer here. And we haven't finished our discussion. You can be amazingly rude, Danny."

  "I don't see as how you figure it's safer here when the whole bleedin' ship's likely to go down any minute!" Danielle snapped irritably. "An' I'm through discussin'!"

  "Suit yourself," he responded to her last statement with apparent indifference but stopped her when she made a second attempt to leave. "But you'll stay put."

  Silence reigned for perhaps five minutes, silence except for the ominous creak of straining timbers and the howl of the buffeting winds. Adrian broke it with the air of one continuing an unlapsed subject. "At any rate, I'm very much afraid it would be beyond anyone's prowess to make it good for you if you've never been with a man before, Danny."

  She turned to eye him for several moments but finally shrugged. "In that case, you ain't got nothin' to worry about . . . my lord."

  Adrian's brows snapped together. "Meaning?" he asked with deadly coldness.

  "Oh, you're a canny one, you are. You was right about me all along. I ain't cherry. Don't hardly remember what it was like, if you want the truth of it. Been whorin' goin' on four winters now, best I can figure it," Danielle said airily.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adrian grasped her and hauled her across his lap furiously.

  He wanted to punish her. He wasn't certain whether he wanted to punish her for the truth or for lying. Because, if it was the truth, it hurt worse than anything had hurt him before in his life. And, because it did, it brought him to a killing rage.

  If it was a lie. He hated lying. He hated the confusion Danielle's lies caused him most of all. Because she pinpointed his doubts with deadly accuracy and threw them back at him. Instead of attempting to correct any misconceptions, she fed them. As if she knew he thought the worst and found a perverse satisfaction in making it worse still.

  He had no more than a glimpse of her face before she averted it, but it was enough. The boiling anger cooled to a slow simmer. He cupped her face and forced her to look at him. "The truth, Danny," he said evenly.

  Her look was mutinous. "Why bother? You wouldn't believe me noways. You made up your mind a long time ago."

  "Try me."

  "There was one. But that's all it takes, ain't it?"

  Adrian gripped her upper arms and gave her a little shake, trying to ignore the sick feeling in his gut, trying to ignore the voice in his head that mocked him for ever believing, even for a moment, that Danielle was as unsullied as she seemed. "Who? Who was it. A beau?"

  Her lip curled. "Sure, that's it. It was me fella. Didn't rightly catch his name though. There an' gone, so he was. He was a bit rough for my tastes though, if you want the truth of it, so I wasn't exactly heart broken he didn't come around no more."

  Adrian ground his teeth in impotent fury. "Christ! You are such a little liar. Now I don't know what to believe. Were you raped? Is that what you're saying?"

  Danielle eyed him steadily. "Would it make a difference?"

  "You know bloody well it would!" Adrian ground out.

  She lifted her brows, cocking her head to one side curiously. "Look, why don't you just tell me what you believe an' what you want to hear, an' I'll see what I can come up with that'll satisfy you. It'll save us both a lot of time an' grief."

  Adrian was strongly tempted to throttle her. He considered it lovingly for several moments, studying Danielle with a look that feigned coolness, while inside his anger roiled. Finally, he reached for the ties of her shirt.

  Danielle stared at him blankly a moment but made no attempt to stop him. It was what she'd wanted, after all. Wasn't it? Still, now that it came right down to it, she found she was down right frightened about the thing, particularly since Adrian's look was more grim than passionate. "What're you doin'?" she asked, trying to stall for time.

  He untied the bows at her wrists, pulled her shirt off, and tossed it aside. "Searching for the truth."

  She lifted her brows, her lip curling slightly as he began to unwind the strip of cloth that bound her breasts. "An' will you know the truth when you find it?"

  He tossed the strip of cloth aside and looked up at her for a long moment. "Yes," he finally said emphatically. "I believe that I will." And with that he turned his attention to removing her breeches, not an easy task since the ship seemed determined to pitch them both out of the bunk. Finally, he succeeded in his aim, however, with neither of them much the worse for wear, and shrugged out of his robe. He directed her then to straddle his lap. She did so, gingerly, but looked up at him doubtfully.

  "Ain't you supposed to be on top? What I mean to say is, I ain't tried it this way before," she added with a weak smile she hoped conveyed the impression that she found the notion intriguing.

  "We could try it, of course, if you'd prefer. But, once the ship pitches us out of the bunk, I wouldn't hazard a guess as to who would be on top then," he said dryly.

  "Oh," Danielle said, nonplussed. "This is good." It felt down right strange to be sitting on his lap bare arsed naked though, and she thought that she might have a difficult time enjoying the thing after all. Somehow, it didn't seem that any of it had gone quite like she'd expected it to. Not that she'd expected romance, by any means, but this was down right . . . . She jumped when he reached up and cupped her breast. "What're you doin'?"

  Adrian lifted his brows. "I assumed you wanted the 'full treatment'. However, if it was strictly stud service you were requesting . . . ?"

  Danielle stared at him. "Well, if you're gonna be nasty about the thing, I believe I've changed my mind," she said stiffly.

  He grasped her waist when she tried to rise. "No."

  She swallowed, audibly, and went still.

  The steely look left his eyes, and he reached up to brush his knuckles lightly along her cheek. Unable to stop herself, she flinched, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. "I won't hurt you, Danny," he said gently. He cupped the back of her head, and her eyes snapped open. They stared at each other for a long moment before he pulled her fully against him, his lips brushed hers, once, feather light, twice, teasingly, with just enough pressure to make her lips tingle into awareness, and a third time, lingeringly. "I'll never hurt you, infant," he said huskily and dipped his head to explore her lips with his own, still in that maddening, teasing way that brought a flush of warmth to her skin, and a rush of impatience. She curbed it, determined to savor the moment since he seemed disinclined to hurry it.

  She hadn't looked for that, hadn't expected it, particularly in his anger. It was almost, she thought wonderingly, as if he savored the moments as well.

  It was reassuring that he didn't mean to simply fall upon her, wrest what pleasure he could from the encounter, and thrust her aside. She wouldn't really have been surprised if he had. She was more surprised that he seemed disinclined to do so -- and grateful. And grateful for his words, though those, as reassurance, meant little. She supposed he meant that he would try not to hurt her or would give her as little pain as possible.

  But the plain fact was, he hurt her every day, inflicted wounds that didn't bleed but would never heal, she thought with sudden sadness. And he didn't even know it. Would he care if he did? Perhaps, she thought, he would. But he couldn't make it stop, because he couldn't cease to be who he was. And she couldn't cease to be who she was.

  She thrust the thoughts aside and reached up to touch him, hesitantly, for she wasn't certain she dared take the liberty. He was Lord Beaumont. And she was no one. But, for just this little time, they were only a man and a woman, and she dared.

  Lightly, she touched his cheek, trailing her fingertips downward along his jaw and then up again to his temple where her questing fingertips discovered cool, silky hair in direct contrast to the warmth of his flesh and the rough stubble of his jaw. She explored that silky mane wonderingly, for she'd expected coarseness, it was so thick, so inky black. She sifted her fingers throug
h it until she reached his nape, reveling in its silkiness.

  She stilled then, waiting in breathless motionlessness as his lips left hers to explore the softness of her cheek. A shudder went through her as she felt the moist warmth of his breath at her ear, and she pulled away, studying him for a long moment before she leaned forward and, in emulation of his caress, explored the texture and shape of his lips in turn, brushing her lips lightly across the firm surface, lightly, while he, in his turn, remained perfectly motionless.

  She lifted her head after a moment and sat back, allowing her eyes to wander over his beloved face before she reached, as she'd wanted to so very many times, to touch it. She'd tried, she thought as she reached up to trace the line of his dark brows with one fingertip. Tried to save herself. She'd enumerated, to herself, countless times, all his failings. And it hadn't helped, she thought despairingly as she traced the noble lines of his aquiline nose. It hadn't helped at all, she thought as she touched his lips and followed their curving outline. Because she'd come to love him long ago in a dream. And, if anything, she loved the real man even more. Painfully. It hurt because it didn't matter and never would. She dropped her hand to his neck and met his gaze, and her heart skipped a beat.

  He knew. He'd read it in her eyes, in her unguarded expression. She veiled her eyes quickly with her lids and slanted a look up at him from beneath her lashes. He thought he knew.

  She allowed her hand to glide along the corded muscle that stretched from his neck to his shoulder, seeking at first only to distract him. He tensed as her thumb grazed his collar bone in passing, and she looked up at him again, holding his eyes as she brought her hand back to explore the spot, using both hands now to discover the texture and warmth and firmness of his flesh. He sucked in his breath, holding it, as her hands glided lower, and lower still until they reached the hard plain of his abdomen. He grasped her hands then, in a grip that was almost painful, studying her for a long moment before he jerked her roughly against him and covered her mouth with his, forcing her lips to part, plunging past the conquered barrier to explore her mouth with his tongue.

  A thrill shot through her at the first touch of his tongue against hers that was part fear, part pleasure, but pure joy nonetheless, for she didn't care if it hurt, in the end, or not, so long as he wanted her. Clearly, he did. Clearly, his restraint had broken, for his kiss fell just short of savagery, bespoke urgent need.

  It bespoke rekindled doubts as well. She felt them in his lack of gentleness. He'd thought her untouched, and she'd, somehow, fed his mind more doubts. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered but now. And there was no future. Whether they lived or died, there was no future.

  She did her best to feed the fires of his need, using every source of inventiveness that came to mind. She returned his kiss with feigned confidence, returning touch for touch, caress for caress. She felt his desire mount, felt her own, until she was dizzy with it, lightheaded, exploring him with feverish hands even as he explored her.

  He grasped her face between his hands and pushed her away, staring at her with steely eyes, hot with desire and anger, cold with knowledge and despair. "Damn you," he said through gritted teeth. "Damn you," he said again and brought his mouth down upon hers, all trace of gentleness gone, his tongue trusting and retreating in a wildly evocative rhythm that sent jolt upon jolt of hot, searing pleasure coursing through her veins. Again, she followed suit, kissing him back in like rhythm, her heart hammering in her chest, in her ears, her breath near as ragged as his, rasping, labored. Her heart clamored more loudly still as his mouth closed upon her plunging tongue, sucking hungrily. A moist warmth flooded through her, settling with an aching heaviness in her loins so that she began to move restlessly against him, seeking to assuage the ache.

  He tore his mouth from hers and settled it upon her breast. She grasped his shoulders to keep from falling as the moist adhesion of his mouth sent shock wave upon shock wave of pleasure through her that was so acute it was akin to pain, feeling every muscle in her body go tense. Her head fell back on her shoulders as he took her other breast into his mouth, a ragged sound that was part gasp, part moan, all maddened pleasure escaped her. She whispered his name aloud in a gasping plea she wasn't even aware of.

  His mouth left her breast and burned a nibbling trail of fire upwards to her neck, to her ear. "Yes," he whispered there. "Take me inside you. Now."

  Dazedly, she reached for him, fumbling, uncertain, trembling as she lifted herself away from him and tried to comply.

  Impatiently, he brushed her hands aside and matched their bodies, man's flesh to woman's. He paused upon the threshold, steadying her against the rocking motion of the ship, and she reached for him blindly, wanting to be held close. He held her away. "No," he said roughly. "I want to see you, watch you . . . ."

  Grasping her hips firmly, he thrust deep, plunging for the core of her being in one swift movement. Danielle cried out, in pain, in pleasure, for it was the wildest combination of the two, each seeking dominance until pleasure won out, jolting through her even as Adrian went still with shocked surprise. Blindly, she reached for him again. "Don't stop, love," she whispered.

  He groaned, pulling her tightly against him, kissing her deeply, even as he sought the rhythm that would complete her voyage to utopia, that would take him there with her.

  She found it almost instantly, crying out against his mouth, shuddering with the force of it. Her release brought his own thundering upon him in wracking, soul-stealing waves that seemed wont to reach into eternity, draining his strength from his limbs until he felt leaden. It took long moments, many long moments, to recover his strength, his wits.

  "You've never known a man before." It was a statement, flat, cool, accusing.

  Danielle stiffened, then pulled away, giving him a long look before she slid off his lap and started pulling her clothes on. "Yes and no," she said with a shrug.

  He snatched her breeches from her grasp. "You were a virgin."

  She pulled her shirt down over her knees, wrapping her arms around them. "So I was. Surprised the hell out of me, too."

  Adrian ground his teeth. "I'm in no mood for riddles, Danielle!" he snapped. "You led me to believe . . . ." He broke off at her disdainful glance. "All right, you let me believe . . . ."

  "As you pleased," she broke in.

  "It did not please me, and you damned well know it."

  She gave him a level look. "But you believed it all the same. What difference does it make anyway if I was or if I wasn't? I definitely ain't no more," she ended on a note of supreme satisfaction. And Adrian had been first. Come what may, that could never be taken from her.

  He gave her a look laden with exasperation. "I would've been more gentle."

  She lifted her brows. "Do you see me complainin'?"

  For a moment, amusement lit his eyes, and something else, but he tamped both emotions down. "That's beside the point. You allowed me to believe that you'd known a man before. Why?"

  "I told you the truth, so far as I knew it."

  He frowned. "Elaborate, if you please."

  Danielle stared at him a long moment, feeling a knot of misery swell in her throat. She hadn't truly expected him to remember, she told herself. But it hurt that he didn't.

  She dismissed the thought angrily and then focused the anger upon him. If he didn't remember, she bloody well wasn't going to rub his face in it, she decided. Chances were, even if she told the bloody great fool, he wouldn't remember, and she didn't think she could bear that.

  She had no intention of allowing him to know that she was hurt and angry, however. He might well guess the rest, or much of it, and she was perversely determined now that he would never know. She forced a shrug of feigned indifference therefore. "There's nothin' to elaborate. I fell in with this fella once, see, an' I figured he'd done the trick. Turns out he didn't."

  Adrian felt a surge of fury, and only partly because he strongly suspected he'd just been ladled another servi
ng of lies. Partly, it was because he feared there was far more truth to her tale than he would care for. "And just who was this fellow?"

  Danielle stared at him blankly for a moment, unable to think of a quick reply. She should, she realized with more than a little irritation, have been prepared for the question. "Well now, if you must know, I didn't rightly catch his name. Didn't ask for it, if you take my meanin'."

  He wasn't certain that he did. He was suddenly very certain, however, that he didn't want to probe any further. Moreover, he realized with a deeply painful twist in his gut, that whatever it was that Danielle had been keeping from him from the beginning he would probably prefer never to know. For she had been keeping something from him. Of that much he was absolutely certain. "I'm not altogether certain that I do. But let it go," he said tightly.

  Danielle relaxed, smiling faintly. "Seems a good notion to me. Particularly since I can think of something a lot more fun to do than discuss what might or might not have happened long ago," she said, reaching up to brush the dark hair from his brow.

  Adrian studied her for a long moment, but he agreed with her. He spent an interesting hour explaining his views on the subject, in careful detail and with languorous demonstrations to prove his point, then moved on to a more energetic display they found mutually satisfying. By the time they'd finished discussing the matter thoroughly, they found exhaustion had chased much of their anxiety away and managed to sleep despite the squawk of straining timbers, the screeching wind, and the wild plungings of the ship.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The crash, when it came near dawn, threw them to the deck despite Adrian's efforts to anchor them. But then, neither of them had been expecting anything like the jolt that catapulted them from the bunk like toy rag dolls and slammed them against the deck.

  The shock wave that reverberated through them on impact had much the same numbing concussion as an exploding fifty pound cannon. It stunned them for long moments, suspending thought. Around them, the scream of timbers giving way to a superior force, the thundering roar of the ocean as it rushed through bursting hull and bulkhead, and the chorus of cries of fear and pain from nearly fifty throats, dinned in their ears deafeningly.