A grim-faced Wishart entered with a tussled, sleepy Mr Bones. Eyes bleary from sleep behind his spectacles, his thin hair sticking up, the doctor carried a large black book under his arm. A Bible, she saw when he placed it on the table and riffled through the pages.
Was this how they recorded their agreements? Would he have her swear on it?
Solemnly Michael and Wishart moved to one side of Bones, standing shoulder to shoulder.
‘Simpson, bring Miss Fulton over here,’ Michael said curtly.
With a twinkle in his eyes, Simpson took her arm and walked her to stand beside Michael and then stepped back.
This was the oddest contract agreement she’d ever seen. Not that it would stand up in court whatever form it took. Not signed by a woman.
Bones picked up the Bible.
‘Make it quick,’ Michael said.
‘Will you, Lionhawk, er, Michael Preston, take…?’ He paused and looked at Alice.
What? Mouth open, she stared at him.
‘Your name,’ Michael muttered. ‘Give him your name.’
‘Alice…’ Simpson prompted helpfully.
‘Alice Primrose,’ she said.
‘Primrose?’ Michael gave her an amused glance.
‘Take Alice Primrose Fulton as your lawful wedded wife as long as you both shall live?’
‘I will.’ Michael’s voice rang out clear and firm.
A wedding ceremony? She tugged on his arm ‘What on earth are you doing?’
‘It’s a dowry, Alice. It comes with a bride.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I never meant that and you know it.’
Bones tapped the book. ‘You can’t force her, Cap’n.’
Michael’s face darkened. ‘Give us a minute.’ He took her by the upper arm and dragged her to the window. With his back to the room, her arm firmly in his grasp, he leaned close to her ear. ‘Do you want me to tell your brother you intended to prostitute yourself?’
His fierce expression said he would do it. It seemed her pirate had ethics. A moral code that didn’t include ruining respectable females. Or was it something more? She would keep her honour, her respectability. What did he have to gain? ‘Why?’
‘You said you’d introduce me to society,’ Lionhawk said in low, harsh tones, clearly angered by her hesitation. ‘What better way than as your husband?’
Her husband. The thought made her foolish heart tumble. She felt dizzy, and breathless, and reckless with longing. But longing was a liar.
He gave her arm a little shake. ‘Where is your courage, Alice?’
Courage. Was that all it took?
Why was she hesitating? He was clearly a wealthy man who could put Fulton’s back on its feet, the whole purpose for her wager in the first place. Balancing the position of mistress against that of wife barely made sense. And yet she hesitated.
Dare she trust him? Probably not. As long as she kept that in mind in their dealings, then his offer was far better than she had any right to expect after her attempt at seduction.
She squared her shoulders. ‘All right.’
If she hadn’t known better, she might have mistaken the breath he exhaled as a sigh of relief. It was probably just frustration.
Tucking her hand under his arm, he drew her back to stand in front of Bones, who raised a brow. Michael gave him a nod. The seedy man looked at Alice and repeated the all-important question.
She glanced up at Michael. He gave her an encouraging smile.
Something inside her seemed to click into place, like a lock sliding home. It seemed…right.
‘I will,’ she said and her voice sounded strong.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ Bones announced. He beamed.
She blinked. She was married. To the man at her side. A man she barely knew, but who made her heart beat faster, and her pulse race. In the past those wicked feelings had been her downfall. She’d do well to keep them in check, to remember this was a marriage of convenience. A bargain struck purely for financial gain.
‘Congratulations,’ Wishart said. ‘I think.’ He grasped Michael’s hand and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret this night’s work, my friend.’
‘So do I,’ Michael muttered. ‘That’s it. You can leave.’
A chill ran down Alice’s spine. Was he already having second thoughts?
The grinning Simpson, the tired-looking Bones and the grim-faced Wishart filed out. They were alone.
Her head felt suddenly light, dizzy with surprise. She was married.
‘I think you are supposed to kiss the bride,’ she said.
‘Blast,’ he said, looking uncertain. ‘I was supposed to do that in front of them, wasn’t I?’ he scowled. ‘This is the first wedding I’ve attended.’
Her insides softened at his obvious attempt to hide his chagrin. ‘Better late than never.’
Before she ended the last syllable, his mouth was affixed to hers.
He kissed her well and he kissed her thoroughly and it was only when he stopped that her senses returned.
‘Now,’ he said, his chest rising and falling almost as fast as her own, ‘where were we?’
‘The wedding night?’ she murmured.
He laughed, kissed her again, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings down the back of her gown, while his tongue swept her mouth and his lips worked their magic.
Married. To this gorgeous, if somewhat frightening, man who wreaked havoc with her senses. Delicious rippling pleasure shimmered beneath her skin and fluttered deep inside. Trembling with urgent desire, she turned to give him easier access to her back.
Blast it. She should be cool, unaffected, not panting with desire. This was merely the sealing of their bargain. Did she have no control at all?
Tomorrow. She’d resist him tomorrow. Tonight she’d pretend they were lovers.
His fingers freed her hair and the buttons of her dress.
He slipped her gown from her shoulders and pushed it down around her waist and went to work on her stays. In no time at all, he cast them aside, ran his hands over her back, swept her hair aside and was kissing her nape with a reverence that sent shivers down her spine.
Now he would see what sort of bargain he’d made.
Would he be disappointed in her boyish figure and lack of curves when he realised her stays were designed to fool the eye into thinking she had more on offer? Men preferred lush curves to bony ribs, unless they came with a nice plump pocket. She winced. He was going to be disappointed in both.
Resisting the temptation to cross her arms over her breasts, she turned and faced him. He groaned low in his throat and she followed his gaze to her tightly budded nipples beneath the fine lawn of her chemise.
Shameless. Heat blazed across her cheeks.
‘Lovely,’ he whispered.
Effortlessly, he swept her up and in three swift strides carried her to the bed. She felt like a doll in his strong arms. Vulnerable, yet safe. An odd, unsettling combination.
Gently, he laid her down. In one swift motion, he pulled her gown free of her hips and legs, then stretched out alongside. Cradling her neck on one strong forearm, he gazed into her face, searching her expression. For what? Permission?
It seemed that underneath all the arrogance, her pirate was an honourable man. She smiled and he bent his head and took her lips in a searing kiss.
Warmth rippled under her sensitised skin. She wanted to feel him against her. She arched into him. Pressed her hips against his, ran her hand through his hair, down his shoulder, over his back.
Her tongue tangled with his, dipped into the wine-sweet cavity of his mouth. He sucked on it.
Sweet agony. Payment in kind. She moaned.
He drew back, his eyes slumberous. ‘What a surprise you are,’ he murmured. ‘A perfect treasure trove.’
He trailed a path of dizzying kisses down her jaw, nuzzled her neck, his lips traced her collarbone until she thought she would go mad with the exquisite, unbearable, buil
ding tension.
Through her chemise, his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. His touch sent a shock of little thrills to her core. Delicious. Intriguing. Like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Panting, she combed her fingers through his hair, caressing, encouraging.
He kissed the rise of her bosom. His tongue flicked across her nipple and it tightened in pleasure at his attention through fabric rough against her sensitive flesh.
He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled.
Desire hit hard and fast, like a lightning bolt. Her body clenched, then flooded with heat. She moaned. A chuckle rumbled in his chest and he slid a hand over her stomach, down her thigh, small gentle circles, moving closer to her centre, moment by moment. Teasing when she ached.
And then his hand, warm and heavy, cupped between her thighs. A burst of pleasure made her gasp.
His hot, wet mouth left her nipple. It tightened with the sudden chill as he licked his way across the valley to plunder her other breast with delightful, taunting effect.
She tilted her hips and ground against his hand, seeking increased pleasure.
‘Patience, princess,’ he murmured, laughter in his voice. He sat up on the side of the bed, ripped off his loosely tied cravat and worked at the buttons at his throat.
At some point, she must have pulled his ribbon loose because his hair hung dark around his face, brushing his shoulders. It wasn’t as black as his beard. It was dark mahogany with sun-kissed streaks of honey.
Married. The thought sparkled like a diamond, too bright to look at too closely. Long ago she’d given up thoughts of marriage and children, devoting herself to Father and her work at the hospital. And now, to be married to such a handsome virile man under such odd circumstances, seemed fantastical. He’d tried to destroy everything she loved with his plundering ways. She should be treating this as a duty, not a pleasure. She should be angry because he’d given her no choice.
She didn’t know if she wanted to weep or laugh, she felt so confused.
He unbuttoned the neck of his shirt, revealing dark sworls of hair in the opening. Her stomach rolled lazily. Her insides tightened.
Lord help her, she couldn’t resist him.
Her doubts would have to wait until morning, because right now the wanton part of her had taken control.
She tugged the fabric from his waistband, eager to see more of his magnificent form.
He slipped from her grasp, leaping up from the bed. She followed his progress around the room, snuffing the candles one by one, filling the room with the scent of warm tallow and shadows.
The oil lantern hanging from the centre beam was the last to flicker out, leaving the room dark and warm.
Slowly her eyes adjusted. Above her head the round face of the moon peered through the skylight. The sheets glowed white, while the gryphon grew in stature and menace. It all had a rather Gothic feel.
The maid and the pirate. It would make a wonderful title for a Minerva novel.
Only they were husband and wife. A blush stole up her body as the darkest shadow in the room loomed over the bed. She prayed that it wouldn’t end in disaster.
Chapter Ten
The sight of the small vulnerable figure staring up at him with huge eyes swelled something in Michael’s chest. Pride of possession. Beneath it, he felt a deeper emotion. One he refused to acknowledge.
For one horrible moment, he’d thought she’d refuse to wed him in front of his men. He wasn’t sure what he would have done. But in the end her resistance had collapsed and she was no longer a Fulton.
It was all that mattered.
Tonight he would seal their bargain. Cleave her to him. The marriage had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, another way to separate the daughter from the father. And, if the truth be told, it meant he could accept her tempting offer with a clear conscience.
Perhaps he hadn’t lost all trace of honour.
He gazed down at her. Practical little Alice with the middle name of Primrose. If he thought hard he could actually remember primroses from his youth. A quiet little flower with sunshine in its face. It suited her. His wife.
He sat on the edge of the bed and took in the delicate curves and hollows beneath the transparent shift, the swell of small breasts, the peaking nipples, the darker triangle at the apex of her thighs. His to enjoy.
He heaved his boots off, tossed them across the cabin, and turned to her. ‘One of us is definitely overdressed.’
She laughed softly. The sound reached out like a gentle caress. He might even be able to make her happy, Fate willing.
He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and heard her seductive sigh.
Not an innocent.
An odd burst of anger caught a breath in his throat. He shoved it aside. The past didn’t matter. She was his from this day forwards. In one smooth motion, he yanked his shirt over his head and stretched out on the bed. She arched into him, warm, delicate, with sweet softness in all the right places. The scent of her arousal filled his senses.
He brushed her mouth with his lips. They parted to his tongue. He nibbled and licked and played with their soft fullness. Delicious. Honey-sweet. He thrust his tongue into her mouth and tasted her, wet and warm and softly welcoming. Her moan of pleasure pulled at the taut rope of desire he’d been holding in check for hours. Nay, since the moment she dragged him out of the Conchita’s galley.
He broke the kiss to gaze at her face. Shadows hid her eyes and highlighted her cheekbones. She looked fragile beside his large frame; breakable.
He wasn’t used to gently bred females. Would she be terrified, as he’d heard some men tell? Would she lie beneath him and grit her teeth and do her duty? Or would she, as he hoped, throw herself into pleasure?
She pressed her palm against his chest. ‘So soft, and yet so hard.’
His shaft jerked at her unintentionally salacious words. ‘That’s not all that is hard,’ he murmured, trying not to laugh in case he hurt her feelings.
He guided her hand to his falls. Gently, hesitantly, but not at all unwilling, she gauged the shape of him with her fingers.
Too gentle. He wanted to grasp her hand and press it against his arousal. But that might make her afraid, and so he let her delicate fumbling drive his torment ever higher.
‘Does it please you, princess?’ he asked softly after a moment or two.
Even the cold moonlight could not hide the rush of blood to her face, or the way she snatched her hand back.
‘Don’t fear it,’ he said. ‘I promise I won’t hurt you.’ He bent his head and captured her mouth.
With one hand cradling her nape, Michael cupped her bottom with the other and pulled her hard against his groin. She gave a little wiggle, obviously feeling pleasure.
A groan of frustration clawed at his throat as her mound skimmed over his sensitive flesh beneath the cloth.
He deepened the kiss. Slowly he eased one thigh across her legs, while his free hand explored the graceful line of her throat, the rise of her breast, the tiny ripple of ribs beneath skin. The dance of her tongue against his and the rapid rise and fall of her chest and little purring sounds in her throat drove him towards the lovely female flesh between her thighs.
A light touch, a skim of fingers and palm revealed the heat and moisture of her desire.
He pressed down with the heel of his hand and she raised her hips, arching into his hand. So wonderfully responsive. He kissed her breasts, suckled, and she rocked against his palm.
He glanced down the length of her delectable body. In time he would know every inch, but right now she was gloriously aroused and ready for him. Triumph surged in his veins as her emboldened hands wandered down his shoulders and arms.
If he didn’t get inside her soon, he feared he might not last. He pulled away. A small cry of disappointment from her lips jangled every nerve in his body. Hands trembling with the effort to maintain control, he unbuttoned his breeches and peeled them off.
She’d not be disappoint
ed long.
He leaned over her and slid his knee between her legs. The silky soft skin of her upper thigh brushed the head of his shaft, a mere whisper of the pleasure ahead.
It took every ounce of his will not to drive himself home. With lust straining at a leash stretched beyond reason, he kissed the tip of her nose, her delicate cheekbone, dipped his tongue in the hollow of her ear and felt her skin’s shiver of excitement with a deep sense of wonder.
His wife. Small, yet strong enough to fight him every inch of the way. He kissed her lips and her tongue probed his mouth greedily, searching out his tongue as if she couldn’t get enough of the taste, her little gasping breaths and her fingers raking through his hair, enchanting and incredibly arousing.
Her legs came up around his hips and her heels pressed against his buttocks, her tilted hips demanding what she wanted.
Not an innocent. Thank God. He’d never survive.
Bracing on one hand, he sought her hot centre. His questing fingers parted the delicate folds of skin, slid into her velvet depths and found her hot and slick and ready. He gently guided his shaft into her heat. So tight and wet and hot. She sighed. Ripples of pleasure coursed through his veins and he groaned deep in his throat.
Mindless, he drove into her.
He lifted her with one hand beneath her slender buttocks, opening her to him. She was just so damn tight. He wanted to feel the friction against his hard length, feel his testicles tight against her soft bottom.
He took a deep breath. If he lost control now, he’d be nothing more than a rutting beast. Her hands drifted lower, across his shoulders, sliding down his back. His muscles twitched and shivered beneath the light exploring touch.
She drew in a breath. ‘Michael?’ she whispered. ‘What…?’
He stilled and swallowed a curse. Of course she’d feel the marks with her gentle healing hands.
What had he been thinking? He never bared himself in front of a woman. Not after the first time he’d seen a harlot’s pity. He hadn’t been thinking. He hadn’t had a logical thought since he’d pictured her in his bed.
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