The Captain's Frozen Dream

by Georgie Lee

  Reaching between them, she undid the buttons of his coat, eager to be closer to him, to lose herself in his strength and heat. First one came free, then another, until at last the heavy wool gaped open to reveal the shirt beneath. Running her hands along the length of his stomach and up over his chest, she pushed the jacket from his shoulders and down on to the floor. His shirt was crisp and white beneath his waistcoat, the sleeves billowing out along his arms, the material unable to hide the taut muscles beneath.

  He broke from her to lay a trail of feather kisses along the length of her neck, tracing the long arch of it to the hollow as he pressed her back into the leather, shifting his body to cover hers. She took hold of the buttons of his waistcoat and slid them slowly through the holes. He rose up on straight arms to watch her work, his breath teasing her nose. When she reached the last button he shook out of the garment, allowing it to fall to the floor before settling back down over her. With the outer garments gone, he embraced her, not as the consumed explorer, but as the man she’d first fallen in love with, the one who’d confidently overcome all her reservations to secure her acceptance of his proposal.

  He slid his arms beneath her and she felt the gentle tug and pull as he undid one button after another along the back of her dress. She didn’t object. For one wonderful night she wanted his touch to soothe away all her uncertainties and to feel as carefree and easy as she had during the days when they’d walked across the Downs together, the past, the future, none of it touching them. Only the present had mattered, just as it did tonight.

  Sitting up on his knees, he tugged the gown down over her body and she arched her hips to allow it to slide free. She wasn’t ashamed to face him in her stays and chemise, but was as eager as him to trace the flesh which made up their beings.

  He took her hands and drew her up on to her knees to face him. She pulled off his shirt and cast it aside, then ran her hands over his hard chest and the taut stomach beneath. Catching her wrists, he slid them around his waist, then leaned forward to kiss first the top of one breast and then the other. She sighed, clutching his waist and revelling in the gentle pressure of his lips on her bare skin. Over the crackle of the fire, she caught the subtle swish of her stay laces sliding through the holes before the fitted garment gaped free and the chemise billowed out around her body.

  He moved out of her embrace and stood beside the bench to undo the buttons on his breeches and push them down over his hips. The power of his desire for her was evident when he straightened, but there was little time to admire it as he took her chemise by the sides and pulled it over her head. He dropped it to the floor and they faced each other, the firelight dancing over their bare bodies. It wasn’t the first time they’d been naked together, but they’d held back before. Tonight, Katie wanted to rush forward and lose herself in the male power of him.

  He knelt down between her legs on the chaise, then laced his fingers in hers and with a gentle tug, pulled her forward. She didn’t resist, but straddled his thighs. Trembles ravaged her as he slid further beneath her and the heat of his manhood pressed against her, eager for entrance. He’d been vulnerable with the admission of his need to reach her, now she wanted to lay herself bare to him, to allow his body to fill the loneliness in hers and warm her against the cold memories crowding her past.

  Then he backed away.

  ‘Conrad?’

  He brushed her face with his hand. ‘I want to, you don’t know how much, but I can’t. I can’t risk you or a child any more now than I could before.’

  Her body ached with disappointment, but she understood. Her mother had fallen pregnant with her in a moment of weakness with her father. She couldn’t do the same thing and was grateful to Conrad for bringing her back from the brink and placing his concern for her above the demands of his flesh. ‘You’re right.’

  She reached for him, drawing him down to her. His powerful body covered hers, pressing her into the supple leather as his hand slid along the curve of her waist. She gasped as he found her centre and his fingers began to tease her need. While he caressed her, he lowered himself to take one nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue in time with his maddening touch, nearly distracting her from grasping his manhood.

  He groaned as she tightened her hand around him, his fingers maintaining their steady pace as she struggled to hold hers. She’d been a fool for not marrying him before he’d left and sacrificing the delights of the marriage bed to her fears and worries. Under the steady rhythm of his caress, the past faded until only his skin against hers remained. He was here now, his mouth hard against hers, their breath and heartbeats nearly one until she cried out her release as she brought him to his.

  Wrapping his arms around her, he settled them both down against the leather. The air of the study nipped at the perspiration covering their skin. Katie laid one leg over Conrad’s, settling into the crook of his arm as she used to whenever they’d dallied in the high grass. Something of those innocent days lingered in the stillness between them, stealing their voices. Katie didn’t mind the silence, fearing words would break the tranquillity created by their exploration of each other.

  Conrad laid a gentle kiss on her forehead, in no more hurry to break the peace between them than she was. He settled his chin on the top of her hair, holding her close. She rested against him and, closing her eyes, listened to his breathing and the shift of the coals in the grate. Soon, his chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of sleep, but her restless mind kept her awake.

  She lazily traced the curves of his chest, sliding her hand over his damp skin. The opal on her finger glittered in the firelight and the sight of it made her freeze.

  Her mother had given her the ring the day before she’d walked out of her and her father’s lives for ever.

  Katie rolled over and curled on her side, separating herself from Conrad, who groaned and mumbled before settling back to sleep. She twisted the ring on her finger, her bliss gone. After this intimacy, Conrad would expect their engagement to continue and for them to marry, but she couldn’t. The moment Mr Barrow snapped his fingers, Conrad would be gone again, leaving her to wait and worry and wonder if he’d ever return. Losing him had been like losing her childhood and innocence for a second time and she refused to endure such suffering again.

  Katie pushed herself up and reached for her chemise, drawing the rough cotton over her cold skin. She wrapped her arms about her to warm herself, but continued to shiver. She’d seen the sacrifices her mother had made for her father and how not one of them had been returned. She wouldn’t make the same mistake or, like her mother, be made so lonely by wedlock that fleeing from her husband and child to die of fever in some London rookery was preferable to staying.

  When, if, Katie did marry, it would be a real union of two committed people, and her children would know the one thing she’d never been given by either of her parents—true love.

  She avoided looking at Conrad as she slipped back into her clothes, shame biting at her for what she was about to do. It wasn’t right to leave this way, but she couldn’t stay, or hope to stand strong against all his arguments for their future, not after she’d been so weak with him tonight.

  She clutched her half-boots and crept to the door, nearly to it when Conrad called out.

  ‘Where is he? Where’s he gone?’

  Shaken, she turned to see him lying on his back, the calm which had eased the lines of his face gone. His eyelids twitched and a line of perspiration spread out beneath his hair as he fought against the dream tormenting him.

  ‘Find him,’ he cried, his fingers digging into the leather as his head tossed back and forth. ‘He can’t be out there alone. He won’t survive.’

  ‘Conrad?’ Katie hurried back to the bench and sat down beside him. She pressed her hand to his bare chest, his cold and clammy skin unnerving. ‘Wake up.’

  He didn’t rouse, but continued
to suffer in the grips of his nightmare.

  ‘Henry, we have to find him. We have to get everyone back,’ he cried out with cutting agony.

  ‘Wake up, Conrad.’ She shook him, trying to free him, but he wouldn’t rouse.

  ‘I can’t find him!’

  At a loss for what to do, Katie leaned in close to his ear, inhaling his heady scent as she whispered to him, ‘You’re safe now, everyone’s safe, you’re home.’

  She stroked his cheek as she continued to speak the soothing words until, at last, the rapid rise and fall of his chest calmed and he ceased his thrashing. His hands eased at his sides though he continued to mumble, his words growing fainter and less distinct as he settled back into sleep. She remained beside him, caressing him until she was sure the dreams were gone. Then, she withdrew her hand, slid on her half-boots and rose.

  Stopping at the study door to cast him one last look, guilt twisted her stomach as much as regret. She shouldn’t sneak away, but it would be a mistake to stay. He’d defied expectations and returned this time. He might not be so lucky next time. She wasn’t going to open her heart to him only to have it crushed, to spend more time waiting for yet another person she loved to leave and never return.

  * * *

  Conrad jerked awake, struggling through the haze of dreams and reality to focus on the room and remember he was no longer trapped by the ice. He reached for Katie, desperate for the solace of her, but she wasn’t there. Last night, he hadn’t been able to free himself from the nightmare, but through the clinging mist of snow and cold, he’d heard her voice. It had pushed back the blinding white engulfing him until only the bliss of darkness remained. He peered through the faint dawn light searching for her, but the room was empty except for his discarded clothes on the carpet which were no longer tangled with hers.

  She’s gone. Panic shot through him before he settled himself. She’d been up before sunrise the day before to study the creature. She was probably in the conservatory, hard at work.

  Conrad tugged on his clothes, stepped into his boots, then made his way down the dim hall, eager to sit with her and watch her draw. Despite the pleasures of their play, the most recent nightmare had left a tightness inside him only she could ease.

  He pushed open the conservatory door, surprised to find it empty except for the still fronds of the palms. From the top of the table, the creature grimaced at him, as quiet in its rest as the house. The dread which had awakened him began to creep through him again but he shoved it back.

  She must be in her room. He was about to go upstairs when something caught his eye. Katie’s sketchbook no longer sat on the table and the books from Conrad’s study were neatly stacked beside the bones. Her satchel which had rested under the table the day before was also missing. He didn’t have to visit her bedroom to know she was gone.

  She’d given up on him, just like Aaron.

  He rested his hands on his knees as the image of Aaron’s hopeless eyes meeting his from across the tent rushed back to him along with the pain of crushing failure. He’d promised to get them home, but Aaron hadn’t believed in him, choosing to die in the ice instead, just like Katie had chosen to walk away instead of trusting him with her future.

  Anger swept in to kill the pain and Conrad straightened. He slammed his fist down hard on the table, making the bones jump.

  After everything he’d done to come home to her, after everything he’d told her, she’d slipped away like some pilfering crewman who’d been at the rum.

  He whirled on his heel and stormed through the room towards the back door, knocking fronds out of his way as he passed. His men had been more loyal to him than Katie, even when he’d driven them like sledge dogs to carry what little remained of their supplies. At night, they’d collapse exhausted in the canvas tents. In the morning, they’d look at him with their bearded and chapped faces, their eyes and lips red from sunburn and thirst as he urged them to live and struggle for one more day. When the food was nearly gone and the wind was pushing them back from every inch they’d fought to claim, he’d fed them on dreams and a future they must live to see. He once thought that future included Katie. It didn’t.

  Rage battered him as he stepped out into the grey of daybreak. If he’d known she’d turn on him like a mutinous crewman, he would have left her on the hillside with Mr Prevett.

  Conrad jerked to a halt, his shame deepening. Maybe the rumours Matilda alluded to were correct. He’d believed what Katie had told him about Mr Prevett, but what if she was lying, just as her kisses had lied to him last night? Even if she wasn’t, one indisputable fact was true: Katie didn’t love him, she never really had and he’d been too blinded by his own desperate desire to reach her to see it.

  He marched into the stable as bitter memories rushed in to blot out the cherished ones he’d carried with him in the snow. The way she’d resisted his proposal, creating excuses for why they shouldn’t marry and forcing him to argue each one away. Then, when he’d finally secured her promise, her reluctance to set a date. Even when she’d known he was leaving, she hadn’t cherished him enough to enjoy with him a few glorious nights as husband and wife. He’d done everything in his power to prove himself a man worthy of her love and trust, one who’d see her through the most difficult of trials. In the end, she’d thrown it all back in his face.

  He opened and closed his hand, shaking it out in an effort to dispel the trembling. At least he hadn’t told her everything, degrading himself further by revealing what the Arctic and his mistakes had done to him. No one could know.

  Mr Peet stepped out of a stall, startled to a halt by the sight of Conrad. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Saddle the horse. I make for London.’

  ‘Now?’ Mr Peet leaned his pitchfork against the wall.

  ‘Now.’ He’d placed his career in enough jeopardy to reach her, and he’d been rewarded with nothing. It was time to go to report to Mr Barrow and forget her.

  As Mr Peet shuffled off to fetch the saddle, Conrad worried about what waited for him in London. He’d once thought to face it with Katie, but he’d been mistaken. He drew in a ragged breath, focusing on the sharp scent of hay and horses to help shake off his concern. He wouldn’t second-guess his decision to leave any more now than he had when he’d led his men off across the ice in search of a whaling station. Nor would he ever again try to create love where it didn’t exist. He’d already made a fool of himself chasing after Katie. He wouldn’t do it again.

  Chapter Five

  Six weeks later

  ‘It’s with great honour I present to you the new president of the Naturalist Society, Captain Essington,’ Mr Stockton, the Naturalist Society Secretary, announced to the gathered crowd.

  Conrad bowed, every muscle in his back stiff as Mr Stockton placed the heavy president’s medal around his neck. As he straightened, the large audience filling the library broke into thunderous applause. The sound proved as unnerving as any Conrad had faced in the north.

  He forced himself to smile as he stepped down off the stage to greet the numerous people lining up to congratulate him. While he shook their hands, the heavy gold chain holding the medal bit into his neck and he adjusted it, despite wanting to pull it off and throw it to the ground. He’d tried to bury the failures he’d experienced in West Sussex and the Arctic deep inside him along with the shame of Aaron’s death when he’d ridden away from Heims Hall, but the adoration of all of London kept reviving it. Like Mr Barrow, they’d been too amazed by his return to concern themselves with his failures, and too eager to toss accolades at him he didn’t deserve.

  ‘So, you’ll accept the presidential medal, but turn down the King’s,’ Mr Barrow mumbled as he approached Conrad.

  There was no reason to repeat why he didn’t deserve anyone’s praise. The Second Secretary would only shrug it off as he had before. Conrad wished he could be so cavalier about
his failings, but the gapped-toothed smiles and maimed hands of his men didn’t allow it.

  ‘My father once held this post, it’s only fitting I should, too.’ It was the only honour he’d been willing to accept since returning because it continued his father’s legacy, the one Lord Helton had tried so hard to crush.

  ‘It would be more fitting to finish your book and get it to the printers.’ Mr Barrow frowned, drawing down further his long face lined with his experiences and framed by the greying brown hair spreading out from his temples.

  ‘I’m hard at it, sir.’ It was a lie. In the past six weeks, Conrad had done all he could to avoid reviewing the journal and writing the book Mr Barrow craved. While Conrad had wasted time at Heims Hall, the Second Secretary had rushed Conrad’s report to the printers without Conrad’s approval, assuring Conrad’s fame, and the demand for a more detailed account. If it was up to Conrad, both the report and his journal would have been allowed to sink into nothingness like Gorgon.

  ‘Work faster then. All England is dying to read the full story.’ His order given, Mr Barrow strode away, eager to court the more esteemed members of the society.

  Conrad shifted the metal around his neck again, eager to be anywhere but standing here like a trained market-bazaar monkey, but he’d accepted the duties of the office and he must face them, good and bad.

  ‘Mr Rukin is here. I’d like you to introduce me to him,’ Matilda insisted, motioning with excitement to a tall gentleman of some forty years with thick salt-and-pepper hair standing near the bookshelves. ‘I understand he’s a widower in search of a new wife.’

  ‘Another time.’ Conrad sighed, eager to return home instead of playing matchmaker, even if it meant staring down at the journal and all his failures. Though he didn’t need the original reminder, the horrors remained as fresh now as the day they’d happened.