by Jane Ashford
He led the horses out of the wind and sea spray, Kawena obediently at his heels, at least. The small stable was empty and smelled of ancient manure and sour hay. “They need a rest or they’ll be blown,” he said. “And you can’t run horses so hard and leave them wet. I’ll look for something to rub them down.” James thrust the reins into Kawena’s hands. “Hold ’em,” he commanded, biting off the words.
He strode around to the front of the house. The door wasn’t locked. Indeed, it wasn’t quite shut; the sea air had warped the panels. Pushing it open, he called, “Hello?” The word echoed back to him from bare walls. “Is anyone here?”
Answered by silence, he went inside. The place was clearly abandoned. There were bits of broken furniture here and there. An armchair exuded tufts of padding and a scent of mold. In a back parlor overlooking the sea, he found heavy draperies still hanging at the windows. He pulled two of them down and carried them to the stable.
Kawena had tied up the two mounts and managed to remove their saddles, which cooled his temper. He handed her a curtain and showed her how to tend to Rex. “It was very foolish of you to try a gallop,” he pointed out.
“I wanted to go fast,” she replied.
She appeared unrepentant. James knew it was his duty to make her regret her recklessness, but he was diverted by how appealing she looked in the dim light. Her dark hair was straggling down her back. Like his, her hands were filthy from the dusty cloth. She had a smudge of dirt across her forehead, and yet she was lovely. Her wet clothes clung to her, outlining every lithe line of her body. Her piquant face was charmingly intent as she worked away at the rubdown without complaint. “You’re shivering,” he said.
“I’ve often been wet, but never when the water was so cold,” she replied.
James was swept by a need to take care of her. “I’ll see if I can make a fire, dry our clothes a bit before we head back.”
“There’s no one in the house?”
He shook his head. “Not for a long time, I’d say.”
They finished tending their mounts. James looked for fresh water for them, and found none. He led the way back into the house, choosing the room with the largest fireplace. He gathered up some of the bits of discarded furniture. The wood was very dry. It broke easily into smaller pieces. “Pull some of the stuffing from that chair,” he told Kawena, and she went to do so. Soon, he’d assembled the makings of a fire. He pried a bit of flint out of the crumbling chimney and used it with his steel knife to strike a spark. It took several tries before the puff of tinder caught. After that, it was a simple matter to coax a blaze into life.
“How clever you are,” Kawena said. She held out her hands to the rising heat. Water dripped from her bulky coat onto the dusty floor. Seeing it, she slipped out of the garment and hung it from a protruding stone in the mantel. “It’s true that riding makes you sore in parts you didn’t know you had,” she said, rubbing one exquisite flank and smiling.
James found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that moving hand. With her coat off, Kawena’s boyish costume left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her damp linen shirt clung to a pair of the loveliest breasts he’d ever seen. Her breeches outlined a lissome waist and beautifully curving hips. He wanted to push his hands through the tangle of her hair and restore the raven waterfall she’d exhibited the day they met. Of course, that would be improper. And wasn’t he thoroughly sick of thinking about what was improper? It wasn’t his job. Girls were supposed to think about that, weren’t they? They were drilled in it, meant to remind a fellow to hold the line, rather than stand before him like some glorious sea goddess, ripe for the picking.
Kawena turned her head and looked at him. Her eyes were as dark as the ocean depths. James felt as if she could read his mind. But if she could, why wasn’t she frowning at him; why wasn’t she turning away? “I’ll…I’ll get more wood,” he blurted out. Smashing up more furniture would be very satisfying.
“I will help you.”
“No!” The idea had been to get away from her. “Stay here and get warm.”
“You shouldn’t have to do all the work,” she insisted.
James gave up. “There’s part of a table in the back room,” he said, pointing. “I’ll check upstairs.”
There was nothing on the upper level, which was one large space open to the rafters, but James spent a bit of time exploring anyway. He peered out the small windows at the ends and examined the dim corners. He wouldn’t return until he was back in control, he decided. Kawena could have no idea how enflaming she looked in her wet clothing. It wasn’t her fault he was seething with desire. Well, it was her fault because she’d insisted on choosing that deuced horse and then gone careening off on him like an idiot. And now she was sitting there in front of the fire, oblivious to the effect she was having on him. He had to go back down. It was freezing up there.
The object of his confused emotions sat on the floor, arms around her raised knees, contemplating a blaze that had grown with the addition of several table legs. She had released the pins and braids from her hair, and it streamed down her back in a midnight-black cascade, just as he had wanted. He stumbled over nothing, flooded with the need to bury his fingers in its silken length.
“I wonder why no one lives here,” she said.
“I think they ran out of water,” James replied, his voice sounding thick in his ears. He sat down on the far side of the hearth. “I saw a well from upstairs, but it looked as if it had gone dry.”
“Why would it?” Firelight washed her face, adding even more of a glow to her complexion.
“Springs shift sometimes.”
“They must have been sad to leave such a place.”
James looked around. There was nothing outside the windows but crags and the surging sea. “Do you think so? It seems rather lonely to me. And it must be bleak here during winter storms.”
Kawena appeared to consider this. “Yes, I see. It is far from the town. What sort of house would you like to live in?”
“A neat little manor, I suppose.” He answered without thinking. Indeed, thinking was nearly impossible with her so near. The wet linen of her shirt was next to transparent. Her breasts seemed to point at him, call his fingers to caress—
“Like your brother’s?”
“What?” James blinked, tore his eyes away. He mustn’t stare at her breasts. He would look at the fire. Yes. Flames. Yellow, orange, a hiss of blue.
“A house like Lord Alan’s?” she added.
James turned automatically. Kawena’s shirt had sagged open at the top, revealing a delicate collarbone and a stretch of pale skin that inevitably led one’s eye downward—
She was gazing at him, waiting for an answer. What was the question? “Larger than that,” James replied, looking hastily back at the fire.
“It seems quite large to me,” she said.
James stared at the fire, forced his thoughts away from where they wanted to go and onto the dry question of houses. Alan’s place was all very well for a man who was interested in little beyond working in his laboratory. “I always think of a home as having a good stretch of land,” he said, somewhat at random.
“For farming?”
James nodded. Of course, that required tenants. And a manor needed a staff of servants. His father was always talking about his dependents. It occurred to James that he didn’t much want a whole herd of dependents looking to him for their livelihood. What did one do, stuck on shore with a bunch of servants waiting for orders? It was like a ship’s crew, he supposed. But it wasn’t really. His crews looked to the navy for their pay and their future, not to him.
“Sometimes I wonder how I will live now in a little house on my little island,” Kawena said. “And what I will do with my time. After I have seen so many other places…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh,” she said, and pointed out the window on her side of the hearth.
James looked, and saw the sand spit they’d crossed to reach this place being engulfed by the rising tide. He sprang up and went to the glass. The water was running fast and already looked too deep to cross safely. A curse escaped him; he should have thought of this. What sort of seaman was he? Kawena’s seductive nearness had addled his wits. “There’s another reason why the place was abandoned,” he said. “Storms probably ate away at the beach. We won’t get off this rock until the tide turns.”
Kawena came to stand next to him and watch the racing water. Their shoulders touched, warm under the cold of wet clothes. She didn’t move away, though. Instead, she leaned closer. “That will be hours.”
Six or more hours. And then it would be night. Was there a decent moon? Intoxicated by the feel of her arm against his, James couldn’t remember.
Kawena turned toward him. Her lips were inches away, which didn’t seem to embarrass her at all. James couldn’t stop himself. He kissed her.
It was fully as exciting as he’d imagined. After an instant’s surprise, her mouth answered his, softening under his urging. James forgot every scruple as she relaxed against him, slipping her arms around his waist, pressing closer. His hands slid down the curve of her back and cupped the bottom so lusciously outlined in her boy’s breeches. He felt as if they struck flame where they touched, as if steam ought to be rising from their damp garments. His body responded with alacrity, straining to get closer still. Why were they clothed? He wanted to rip off his shirt, hers. He wanted to sweep her feet from under her, ease her to the floor and take possession of her beautiful body.
She was under his protection, declared a vastly annoying inner voice. He had undertaken to escort her on this journey, to keep her safe. This blaze of passion was anything but that.
James started to draw back. Kawena leaned in and renewed the kiss, tightening her grip. She wasn’t finished kissing him. His touch had set her alight. It was hard to catch her breath. The feel of him against her was thrilling, rousing a demanding ache, more intense than anything she’d ever felt. She wanted more. Now.
She moved her lips as he had, and the kiss deepened. Kawena grasped fists full of linen shirt and pulled him nearer as she arched up. Her knees wanted to give way. She curled one leg around his.
“We shouldn’t…” Lord James panted when the searing kiss ended, even as his hands tightened, molding her to him.
“Why shouldn’t I kiss you if I want to?” Kawena murmured.
“You kiss me?”
Her father was gone, taking his lectures with him. She was far from home. She might never make it back there. Her mother had always said that a woman should discover what she wanted, and then set out to get it. Kawena slid one arm around Lord James’s neck and pulled his head down for another kiss. She wanted this. She hooked her leg more firmly and strained against him.
When he pulled up the back of her shirt, she did the same to his. When he stepped back to yank off his boots, she followed suit. She protested when he strode from the room, but he was back in a moment with the remaining curtain from the back parlor. He tossed it down before the hearth, and then hesitated. Kawena responded by skimming out of the rest of her clothes. She faced him, smiling, the fire warm on her back, and reached out to run her hands over his bare chest.
Lord James groaned. In one swooping motion he discarded his own breeches and bore her down to the floor, placing her gently on the drapery. Then he knelt over her, gazing down as if stunned. A beautiful man, Kawena thought. The auburn hair on his body glinted in the firelight. His form was finely muscled, his face a chiseled oval.
“Are you sure?” he said.
She didn’t bother to speak. She simply reached out and ran her fingers lightly up and down the obvious evidence of his arousal. He gasped and trembled. Kawena enjoyed that reaction so much that she continued her attentions until he caught her wrist and stopped her.
She met his gaze. His eyes burned as blue as driftwood fires.
He lay down beside her and used his hands and lips to coax and tease and titillate. Kawena had thought she was aroused, but she discovered that she’d had no notion of the possible heights of desire. He kissed her and caressed her until she thought she would expire from sheer need. And when the ache exploded into fulfillment, she almost thought she had. He held her as she rode the waves of sensation. Only then did he enter her, and she had the thrill of his climb to the same peak and shudder of release. She held him as he had her, their hearts pounding in tandem, their breath loud in the deserted dwelling, her spirit soaring with delight.
Afterward, they lay before the fire, sated. His body shielded her from the cold air of the room, and his hand ran through her long hair. Kawena let out a luxuriant sigh. “That was splendid,” she said.
Lord James laughed a little. “You aren’t sorry?”
“No. Why should I be? At home, all the women my age have done this. Most have families by now.”
His hand in her hair went still. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “I…of course I will offer…that is…I hope you will do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“What?”
“In these circumstances, there is no other…” He cleared his throat again, as if something was caught in it. “I want to assure you… Naturally, I will not hang back or fail in my duty to…to make things right.”
Kawena grimaced. It was as his brother had said. She could almost hear Lord Alan listing all his reservations about their journey. What they all seemed to fear so much had occurred, and now Lord James believed he had to pay for indulging his desires. She heard it in the tone of his voice, felt it in the tension of his body. He thought he was trapped. It was stupid, and insulting, and somehow quite melancholy, too. Ignoring the latter emotion, Kawena turned and rose on one elbow to stare down at him. “No,” she said. “Why would you think I wanted to do that?”
He looked confused. “Well, it’s…we… You said that other women from your home had families by this—”
“I only meant that I am of an age to decide for myself what I want. Which I did. And that is that.”
He didn’t seem to believe her. “I don’t think you understand the consequences of…of what we have done.”
Kawena noticed that they were both streaked with dust from the ancient drapery beneath them. It would have been funny, had she been in the mood to laugh.
“People will talk,” Lord James added.
“English people seem to be much too fond of talking. About things that are none of their affair. Let them talk all they want. I won’t be here to hear them.”
She saw relief in his face and looked away before his expression revealed any more. She turned and lay back down, now feeling the hard floor below the cloth. She watched the flames leap. She’d taken what she’d wanted. There was nothing to regret. She didn’t regret it! She groped for the feeling of sated delight that she’d basked in only moments ago. But she couldn’t quite get it back.
Nine
James woke to darkness, wondering why was he was warm on one side and freezing on the other. The coals of a fire gleamed before him. Moonlight shone through bare windows, enough to show him the empty room and the naked woman curled against his chest. It all came back to him then, in a jumble of emotion—the ride, the crag, the bout of passion with the visitor he was supposed to be shepherding around the countryside. He’d let himself be swept away by circumstance, and desire.
He looked down at Kawena, her breath soft in sleep. Her skin gleamed faintly in the firelight, and a tumble of dark hair hid her face. It would take a stronger man than he was to have resisted such beauty and spirit when she’d been so willing, so…insistent.
He hadn’t taken advantage of her. He knew people would say so, and part of him wanted to argue that, of course, he had. That was said to be the way of the world. Men seduced when they could; women fell into their traps. But Kawena had been too i
nvolved in the dance, too enthusiastic, to credit it. She’d wanted him, as he had assuredly wanted her. Still wanted her with an intensity that shook him. She’d pursued when he would have drawn back. Remembering the way she’d touched him, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her now.
Yet there was nothing of the loose woman about her. What a stupid phrase that was, to be sure! She was an intoxicating mixture—forthright, passionate, and surprising. She hadn’t been embarrassed, and then she hadn’t been ashamed. Not in the least. She was like no woman he’d ever met or imagined.
She stirred, and a fall of raven hair slid off her shoulder. Desire shot through James, sharp and hot. Would she come to regret what she’d done when she woke? Would she turn shy and distant? Even accusing? No, she would be…just herself. She wasn’t a person much plagued by regrets, as far as he could judge. He resisted his urge to brush back those dark tresses so he could see her face.
As for his offer to make amends by marrying her—the idea had seemed to make her angry. James realized that, beneath his relief at her refusal, he was a bit piqued by this reaction. He had birth, decent manners, money. He’d been told often enough that he was pleasant to look at. Did all this merit instant rejection? Not that he planned so…precipitous a match. It would never work out between them. But to be so summarily rejected stung a little. And Kawena didn’t understand the consequences of her actions. Society would ostracize her for giving in…
Then he remembered. She could snap her fingers at society, because she wouldn’t be living in it. She’d be thousands of miles away from the gossips, immune to their power. She wasn’t a creature of the world where he’d grown up. Any more than he was of hers. So…all was well then. Things had worked out for the best. Why didn’t he feel better about that?
