A bundle of tissue paper lay on the one he'd designated as her pillow. She gingerly opened the package, discovering a nightgown of rose silk. Its simple design tied at the neck, then flowed from shoulder to ankles in one unbroken spill. She quickly undressed and put it on, emerging from the bunk moments later to stand quietly before her new mate. Masculine appreciation shone in his smoky eyes.
"It's beautiful," she said softly. "I...appreciate your thoughtfulness. I didn't know I'd need a trousseau when I packed for this crossing. I'm afraid you wouldn't have been pleased by my flannel nightdress."
"Surely you know I'd adore you in anything or nothing. Especially nothing."
Her cheeks flooded with warmth. "I hadn't anything nearly this lovely."
He was seated at the table. He leaned forward. "See, there are some advantages to being swept into an unexpected union. Bring me your hairbrush." She gave him a questioning look, but complied. He accepted the brush and positioned her in front of him, then began drawing the brush through her long tresses.
"A bride should know her spouse finds her beautiful and desirable." He paused and took a deep breath. "I've longed to brush your hair like this." He stroked her mane until it shone in the lamplight. He closed his eyes against his mounting sexual arousal. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, his stiffening manhood in her warmth. Join with her in the most primal way.
"Morgan." Her voice was a soft whisper. He opened his eyes to find hers locked on his face. "You've been kind, even though I wasn't earlier today. I'm sorry I reacted so badly at first. I must stop thinking of you as my employer and landlord." She gave a small shrug. "It took months to become comfortable with Morgan instead of 'sir.' Now you're more than a friend or mentor, you're my husband."
The word proved his undoing. He rose and pulled her into his arms. "Rachel, I can't be patient any longer. I want you too much."
She didn't resist when he blew out the lamp and propelled her to the bunk. She climbed under the quilt and waited for him. He stripped away his garments. She went easily into his arms and pressed herself against him, running her hands over his bare chest. "Morgan, you were right. I've wanted you, too. Wanted this."
The silk gown was buttery soft and slippery. The erotic feel of it against her skin thrilled her as he wrapped his thighs around hers. "Not half so much as I've craved you in my arms, sweetheart." His mouth slanted over hers. Her tongue met his boldly, stroke for teasing stroke. Rachel knew she didn't have to hold back. Her body could tell him what her lips still couldn't say—how much she gloried in him.
He tugged at the ribbon at the gown's neck. The silk parted to her waist. His hands brushed the fabric over her shoulders and down around her upper arms. Rachel drew in a sharp breath as he pushed the bedclothes down. Cold air met her bare flesh, only to be replaced by his warm palms capturing her breasts.
She moaned, reveling in his strong hands laying claim to her. "The day we went riding," Rachel panted, "I thought about this. I wanted to retreat upstairs, lie back on the canopy bed, and let you do this. Do everything."
"I'm glad you didn't," he replied in a rough voice. "It's better this way. Now I can touch and kiss every inch of you, Rachel. Wife."
His hands moved over her stomach and lower belly. Her back arched and she lifted her hips. Her hands caught fistfuls of silk as she slid the gown beyond her pelvis. Morgan took over and pulled it down her legs, then thrust it aside at the foot of the bunk.
Fully nude now beneath him, Rachel wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him with abandonment. She caressed his long torso, drew him down into her softness. He was hard and angular; she all yielding, pliant flesh and tender sighs beneath his hands. Wherever his fingers brushed, there was heat.
"Christ, you don't know how hard it's been," Morgan mumbled. "Even in those damnable widow's weeds, I craved to have you like this, nude and willing. I've longed to taste your skin."
His mouth moved to a taut nipple. His tongue flicked and swirled over it. Rachel whimpered and ran her palms over his bare shoulders. "Easy, woman," he groaned. "Don't make those wanton sounds, or I'll forfeit the last shred of control."
But she couldn't seem to stop the low keening, deny the urge to arch her back and offer him more of her twin aching breasts. Morgan feasted with his hands and mouth, kneading her firm flesh. He sent a trail of moisture from the underside of one breast to her navel. His tongue dipped there and probed. The fingers of one hand slid down to coax her thighs apart.
"Please say you're ready, love," Morgan rasped, "I can't wait. If I don't get inside you now, I'll go out of my mind."
He rose to his knees, releasing a low feral sound of triumph as Rachel spread her thighs and reached to twine her arms around his neck in welcome. He entered her with a measured thrust. Face hovering inches above hers, he gritted his teeth. "I know you haven't been with a man for a long time. Am I hurting you?"
"No, it's…good," she breathed, wrapping her legs around his hips.
"Jesus, too damned good," he grunted, making her gasp as he withdrew and thrust deep inside again. Rachel moaned and clasped his buttocks in her fingers, delighting in the muscular feel of his flesh and the power of his hard body claiming hers.
She had no memories of being naked like this in Cletus' arms. She'd rarely taken off all her garments when they'd been intimate, for Cletus seldom had patience to wait until she'd discarded them. He'd merely pushed things aside and gone at her. She couldn't remember what it felt like to move beneath him, but she was certain it had never been this maelstrom of heated sensation and burgeoning desire.
She wanted this, she acknowledged, with no shame and no fear. She lifted her hips to meet Morgan's thrust. Again and again. But he stopped abruptly and withdrew. "Sorry about that," he muttered as he gave her a chaste kiss. Too chaste, considering what they'd just done.
"Sorry? But I thought making love was what you wanted!"
He chuckled against her ear. "Not sorry for making love, my daft little darling. Sorry I didn't do it longer and better."
"We did what married people do," she shrugged. Aware of a vague dismay, she tried to keep Morgan from sensing it. "Now we can get some rest."
He gave an even deeper chuckle. "Nice try, but you won't put me off with taunts tonight. I'll be ready again soon." He began to stroke the flesh of her bottom with sensual fingers. "The argument earlier, waiting so long, even the knowledge that for the first time I was making love to a wife—all that affected me. But I'll prove myself worthy several times before this night's through. Name your favorite pleasure, my lady, and I'll begin anew with whatever that may be."
Rachel pushed him away. "Several times? You can have me every night for months! Why must I let you use me several times tonight?"
"Let me use you?" he repeated numbly. "I'll grant a certain inequity exists at the moment, but it's hardly fair to claim I used you, Rachel. It took every ounce of self control not to pummel you into the mattress, as long as I'd been desiring you. This was our first time together. Surely Cletus lasted longer after your first time."
Rachel gnawed at her lower lip. She'd never compared one bout or night with Cletus to another. She genuinely remembered very little about lying with him, beyond his crude grabs and the fact she'd kept her eyes closed. And often prayed he'd finish, the sooner the better. No, she definitely hadn't wanted it to last longer.
"It's not fitting to talk about that," she announced firmly.
"Perhaps you're right. So hush now and kiss me, Madam Tremayne. I'll stiffen in a trice and we'll give it another go." He rolled her beneath him and slanted his mouth over hers. She pushed against his shoulders until he tore his lips from hers.
She gasped for breath. "You aren't serious? Again, right now?"
"You truly anticipated one quick tussle would sate me? After waiting months to bed you? Hardly. We're going to spend hours pleasuring one another, Rachel. Through the night into the morrow. We don't have to leave this bunk at all, you know. I'm not sure I'll permit you leave i
t for a week." His hands massaged her full breasts again.
This time she flinched. "I realize you're my husband now, so I must submit to your desires, but—"
"Nay, madam." He was suddenly furious, scrambling out of the bunk, hissing at her like a wet cat. "You will not submit to me, Rachel Tremayne. You will not endure nights in bed with me. If you believe that's your place as a wife, then your first husband was an idiot!"
"See, you're disappointed already!" She curled into a tight ball and fought the angry tears forming in her eyes. She was acutely embarrassed, but also intrigued by what he'd just said. Cletus had been foolish about many aspects of life. Couldn't this be another? She knew some women viewed sex as enjoyable, and had wondered if what Cletus had shown her was all intimacy could be. It had seemed different just now, with Morgan.
She blushed to recall how he'd used his mouth on her, the bold ways he'd touched her everywhere. Cletus had merely fondled her breasts once or twice, then jammed a knee between her thighs and expected her to receive him. If she was lucky. In their later years, he rolled on top of her and penetrated her, whether she'd been willing or not. He'd never licked and suckled....
But she'd reveled in Morgan doing that, and more. She was embarrassed, but curious, too. "Are you upset that I didn't please you?"
"Rachel," he admonished without rancor, "you please me. Never doubt that I find you all I could want in a woman. It's nothing you did. I'm irritated by what you said. Your attitude about the whole endeavor." She heard the slosh of liquid.
"Now I made the occasion for you to drink," she observed.
She heard a muttered expletive before the bunk creaked and Morgan was beside her again. She laid a tentative hand on his bare chest. "Can I tell you something?"
"I should hope so. You are my wife," he growled. "Damn, but I've a knack for being churlish toward you at times. I don't mean to sound like a boor. Go on, talk to me." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close against his side. "I'll be patient and listen."
"I've always suspected there was something more than...what just took place. I asked Cletus once, but he got upset at the question. It was never wise to push him, so I let it go. But if there's more, would you...show me?" When he didn't speak for a long moment, she shook him lightly. "Morgan?"
"I—I honestly assumed you knew," he said in a hoarse whisper. It was the first time she'd ever heard him stammer, and she realized he must feel awkward too. "Ah, sweetness, I'm sorry. I'll share all I know about pleasure. Do you want to begin now?"
"I want...well, you said earlier I didn't have to be shy after we were married. You know, about looking or—"
He seemed to sense her distress, and laid her hand on his belly. "You never needed to be shy with me, Rachel. Certainly not now. Explore as much and wherever you like, though it's likely to stir a distinct impatience."
She let her hand slide lower. Morgan tensed, but didn't move. "When you show me more, I mean, other things, will it be painful?" she asked in a whisper, marveling at the feel of his velvet strength beneath her fingers. "The whores said some things are unpleasant."
"Whores?" Now he pushed her hand aside. "Whom in God's name have you been talking to? Surely no one in Crowshaven."
"My cousin owns a brothel outside Washington, near the seat of our national government. I visited the house as a girl."
"Your cousin's a madam? The proverbial black sheep?"
Rachel reflected momentarily on her cousin and the other relatives on her mother's side of the family. Most were called unconventional, even eccentric. But she knew every one of them to be harmless, if a bit unusual in their political and social views. "Not in my mind. I think she's terrific. A wonderful person. You'd think so too, if you knew her."
"If you say so," he capitulated easily. Then his words became thoughtful as he absently stroked her shoulder with gentle fingers. "Your notion of a man using a woman's body begins to make sense. But strumpets lie beneath men for coin. It's purely business being transacted, with no caring between the parties."
"So, it wouldn't be—"
"It will never be like that between us. Was it unpleasant just now? You seemed to enjoy it well enough."
She felt her cheeks flush scarlet. "More than I expected, actually."
"Didn't your cousin and the trollops describe intimate matters in detail enough that you'd know what to expect when you married? Naught about a woman's pleasure?"
"Sheila taught me how to kiss and said to open my legs to admit a husband between them. She said he'd show me everything else I needed to know, that I'd know when the magical thing happens. But something must be wrong with me. There's never been anything I'd describe as 'magical'."
Morgan's arms slid around her in a loving embrace. His deep baritone was soothing, lulling her back from nervous distress to the secure feeling she craved in his arms. "A woman needs male guidance for the magic she spoke of to happen. That's what I apologized for earlier. I knew I hadn't created it for you. But I will."
"You're sure? It's not me?"
Morgan's low chuckle reassured her more than his words. "I'm positive, little Colonial. Before we reach New York harbor, I shall prove it." She yawned against the warm flesh of his throat. "You're tired," he observed.
She nodded and snuggled against his shoulder. His warmth all around her was a strong sedative. "Morgan, if you can prove that, show me what I don't understand about this business of being man and wife, I'm not sorry that I married you."
"Good," he whispered, "If that's what you meant about 'disappointing' me, you've no cause to fret. 'Twas I disappointed you, Colonial. You're just too sweetly confused to know it."
Chapter 13
Morgan stirred shortly after dawn. Rachel was awake and watching him. "Good morning, Madam Tremayne." He gave her a lazy smile, letting his hand run from her bare shoulder to her buttocks. It rested there lightly in a possessive gesture that both charmed and slightly bothered her. She didn't need to be reminded first thing of how he'd won the battle to make her his wife. "Might have warned me you awaken with the chickens. Habit you developed in the Colonies on that farm, I expect."
Oh, but he looked smug, a conqueror gloating over the vanquished. She never should have let him see her vulnerability the night before. "My country has been an independent nation for nearly a century. It's populated with much heartier souls than yours, yet you persist in referring to it as some minor extension of the Realm."
"Heartier souls? You'd be an expert judge, naturally, having endured this lovely bundle of flesh being dragged over the dust in a...what is that charming term? Prairie schooner?" The wolfish grin widened as he laughed.
She shot past him and out of the bunk. She squirmed into a plain black frock. Morgan rolled onto his back, ignoring his blatant nudity and the fact the bedclothes had been knocked down around his knees. Rachel fought the urge to shift her gaze. He calmly laced his fingers behind his head. "Living on the Western frontier is supposed to prove you're hearty and independent?"
"I think it does."
"Ah," he nodded. "You wanted to walk home alone in the village after dark, and would have undertaken this voyage alone. Not one night out, and the men were already trailing in your wake like hungry sharks. You, my dear little bride, are foolhardy, not independent. There's a difference."
"Foolhardy?" Rachel glowered at him, chagrin at his undress forgotten. "Foolhardy was believing you'd actually help me! Trusting you was foolhardy! I should have known better, with someone who regards other men as opponents to be outmaneuvered for coin, and women as outlets for his excessive lust."
"That's unworthy. I was kind and compassionate last evening. Another man might have used your body—as you so impolitely described it—until you were unable to get up and walk this morning."
"Well I still can, and I'm going to get something to eat." She opened the cabin door, letting in the acrid tang of chilly salt air.
She'd taken only a few steps across the open deck when her elbow was caught in pow
erful fingers. "I specifically warned you against this, Rachel," Morgan snarled. "You'll not come out here unescorted."
Her face was instantly on fire when she discovered a group of tars watching the exchange. They were plainly amused by the sight of her arguing with her naked bridegroom. "You're not dressed, sir!" she hissed.
"I know, and I'm freezing my cock off, thanks to you!" He jerked her back inside the cabin and pushed her into the chair. "Sit there until I put something on. We'll go to the mess together."
"I'll never survive with you hanging over me every minute for a month or more! Those men don't look as though they mean any harm. You just like bullying me. You've exaggerated the danger to frighten me."
He flung open the cabin door. "Goatish abuser of the fairer sex. Bully, liar...Your endearments serve their intended purpose, madam wife. Have full run of the ship." He gave her backside a rude push. "We'll see how long it takes before you're looking to be rescued from the clutches of yon seamen. Mayhap you'll appreciate the bully you married after you've had a taste of their treatment." He thrust her outside and bolted the door behind her.
Determined not to let the crew read her shock and dismay, she took a seat at an empty table in the ship's dining room. She kept an eye on the hatch as she buttered her bread, watching for Morgan's arrival, but he didn't come. She decided to take him at his word and ignore his presence completely.
She stood at the rail after breakfast and gazed at the broad expanse stretching before the bow. How like Morgan's eyes the ocean looks when it's calm like today. She glanced around at the sailors and found none, fit as they were, who could surpass him in build or rugged yet pleasing features. How could she expect him to understand what being his wife meant? It was complicated on so many levels, and there was no way to explain part without explaining all of it.
The familiar deep baritone reached her ears on the light breeze. She turned and saw Morgan talking to a knot of sailors. He glanced in her direction and purposely looked away a second later. She gnashed her teeth. He was out to spite her, of course! Wasn't that always the way he reacted when thwarted?
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