The True One (One and Only Series Book 2)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  Then she saw him. Her blinding smile landed a blow in the center of his gut.

  “Good morning, Stephen. His G . . .”

  “Please, Mrs. Faircloth. We discussed this. Giles, please.”

  “Your rank has prominence. Yet you continue to address me formally.”

  “I stand ceremoniously.” He gave a slight bow.

  “Giles . . . was showing me everything on the ship. How impressive.” Her eyes twinkled with glee.

  “Surely you’ve been on a ship before?” Stephen’s voice displayed his irritation.

  “Not like this one. And I have a personal escort.” She gazed at Giles bestowing her admiration.

  Stephen glared through a red haze. At the first sign of a squall he’d throw the damned duke overboard.

  “If you will excuse me, Mrs. Faircloth, I see the captain signaling me.” Giles engaged a conspiratorial smile. “Perhaps Stephen will finish your tour. He is familiar with everything on a ship. After all, he is a captain.”

  “I’d be honored.” Keeping one eye on Giles, Stephen held out an arm. Contrary to what some believed, he’d been raised with manners.

  Giles’ smile grew bigger. He gave a slight bow and headed to the stern.

  Cocky devil.

  “You’re up early.” Stephen took Jenny’s hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, and led her around the deck. Just her nearness was enough to send his blood humming.

  “I’m an early riser.”

  “The circles under your eyes tell me you didn’t sleep.” He shoved a curving shock of hair away from his forehead.

  “Tossing and turning will do that. Even the rocking of the ship did not lull me to slumber.” She raised her gaze to his. Violet amethysts sparkled with intensity. “I’ve missed you.”

  His heart stopped. At least his breathing did. Her plump lips begged for his kiss. The knee-jerk reaction made him lose his footing. Could he blame the stumble on his weak ankles? Maybe his bones had healed, but being immobile was not an easy acceptance for a man with his impatience.

  “Good God, Jenny. You cannot say that to me.”

  “Why not?” She faced the wind as though she’d merely mentioned the time of day and continued with her stride.

  “Because, knowing you want me makes me want you all the more.”

  Her bottom lip formed a pout and her pert little nose lifted in the morning air. “You leave me alone each night.”

  “For all that’s holy,” he gritted through clenched teeth. He spun on his booted heel, steering her to the door under the quarterdeck. His steps quickened as he towed her to the cabin, then jerked her inside, slammed the door, and pinned her against the wood.

  His tongue demanded entry and took it. His sweet Jenny kissed him back, long and deep and hard. Tongues thrust and parried, until their lungs near to exploding, they broke apart, each gasping for air.

  “My God, woman. You’ll be the death of me. This is why I leave you each night. This is why I cannot stay. For if I did, there would be no denying my hunger.”

  Her eyes beseeched him. She pulled his head down for another kiss.

  Lost in mind-numbing elation, he kissed her with a yearning, a craving so great, only she could appease the fire burning within. He kissed a path across her cheek and left a damp trail down her throat, over her collar bone and down to the sweet sensuous swell of her bosom. Keenly aware of every sensual breath, every intimate sound she made, his rod surged with need.

  A ragged breath escaped her and she arched against him. His arms tightened around her. In a moment of insanity he bent, slipped one arm under her knees, and carried her to the bed. His body demanding he take her, gratify his longing, grant his body, and hers, ecstasy.

  When he placed her upon the covers, reality crashed, replacing his crazed madness. He dwelled on a ship with fifty men hovering about. His chest heaved. Blood propelled through his veins. His manhood throbbed. When her eyes glazed over, he nearly swallowed his tongue. Swollen lips pouted, insisting to be kissed. Air hissed through his teeth. Her arms reached for him, his will at an end.

  He shoved his hands vehemently through his mane, wanting to tear his hair out by the roots. He flung himself from the bed. “God’s blood, Jenny. Have you no shame?”

  Her eyes flashed and their glorious warmth turned cold. “What . . . how dare . . .?”

  He’d wounded her. He crumpled to the spot beside her, then jumped up again as if the comforter was on fire. He dare not touch her. He flexed his fists in frustration.

  “Forgive me, sweet Jenny. I’ve lost control of what little wits remain. Have no doubt of my need for you. But I will not take you on board this ship with a lusty crew watching our every move. I’ll not give ammunition to a loaded gun and that’s what we’d be doing.”

  She scampered off the bed and readjusted her bodice. “Shame? I have no thoughts when you touch me. My body takes over and I am unable to think.”

  “Jenny, please. I’m sorry. The blow was aimed at myself. Not at you.”

  “It makes no difference.” The glint in her eyes grew soft. “I know you were thinking of me. Wanting to protect me.”

  A ragged breath escaped and he cursed under his breath. “Well, I didn’t do a very good job of it. I bloody well massacred the principled notion.” He took a step nearer. “Bloody hell, Jenny. This is new to me. I’ve never been so twisted and felt like my gut was being wrenched from my body.”

  Oh, hell? What had he just admitted?

  “I mean, I’m not in the habit of curbing my lust . . .” Her eyes shot fire and he stumbled over his words. “I mean . . .” Fear of revealing too much—of what, he still wasn’t sure—he’d said the wrong thing. He’d been as tactful as a bloody jackass.

  “Put your tongue back in your mouth,” she huffed as she twisted her gown to cover her bosom. “I understand.”

  He gaped in shock. How the hell could she understand when he could not even comprehend his own actions?

  Chapter 19

  Jennifer feared more what she needed to tell him, than his panicky clarification. For now, Stephen controlled his desires out of respect. After she revealed her secret, he may rebuff her altogether. Dread swamped her belly.

  “I think it best we go no further until we talk,” she said.

  “Talk,” he repeated in a deadened tone.

  “Stephen. I need to tell you something.” Her voice faltered, weakened with apprehension.

  His gaze took on a mistrustful attentiveness.

  Good Lord, she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I think you should sit down.”

  He crossed his arms and took the familiar stance she’d seen so often of late. How handsome he looked with his hard chin hoisted and his legs braced ready for battle. A thrill crashed through her insecurities, overriding her apprehensiveness. Power radiated from him, attacking her woman’s center, sharpening her need. God, the man was too handsome for her own good.

  “What do you have to tell me?” His eyes bore into hers.

  She slipped to the table and took a seat. “Please, Stephen. Sit with me.”

  With a grunt, he dropped to the opposite chair, his back as stiff as when he’d stood. How could she speak when he glared at her like that?

  “Alright. I’m sittin’.”

  She grasped her fingers to keep her hands from shaking. She glanced to her lap, and then forced her gaze back up. His eyes resembled dark thunder clouds over a green stormy sea.

  “Well?”

  She jumped. “You don’t have to shout.”

  “If you don’t want me to shout, then you best be telling me what’s got you so worked up.”

  She swallowed. “I need to tell you about my family.” She held her breath, waiting for a response. When he said nothing, she hesitated, searching for
words. “Um . . .”

  He leaned one arm on the table between them. “Just spit it out.”

  Blast, the man.

  “I’m trying. If you didn’t glare at me like a hungry bear, maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous.”

  He blinked. The lines creasing his brow eased. He reached for her hand and covered her fingers with his own. “All right. Tell me.”

  His eyes engulfed her. Tenderness and concern filled their depths, giving her needed strength. “My family may not be too happy to see me.”

  “Is that’s what’s got you worried? Of course they’ll be glad to see you? After all it has been a long time.”

  “It’s the way I left.”

  “You ran off. Surely they wouldn’t condemn you for wanting to begin a new life with your husband? That’s what a wife does. She follows her husband.”

  “But, you see? It . . . it just isn’t done. Not in my family.” Her tongue hid behind her teeth. Summoning courage, she took a deep breath and tried again. “My father . . . is . . . well . . .”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” He brought his other hand forward and now both engulfed hers. His tenderness jeopardized her control. “Is your father a murderer? Is your mother in Newgate? Because it does not matter.”

  No. It’s worse.

  Just spit it out.

  “My father is of noble birth.”

  There. She’d said it.

  Nothing.

  No shouting. He still held her hand.

  “You know my married name,” she continued in a strained voice. “You do not know the name of my family. Or maybe you do.” She bit her bottom lip. “Before I married my husband, I was Jennifer Louisa Gascoyne.” She searched his face for any sign of recognition.

  One brow arched in question. “You say the name as if it has some significance.”

  “How about Salisbury?”

  “As in the . . .” His breath caught on what he’d been about to say. Then his eyes narrowed and glittered.

  She plunged on. “My father is Marquess of Salisbury.”

  “The British conservative statesman?”

  Jennifer bobbed her head.

  Stephen’s jaw grew taut. He jerked back. “He’s The Prime Minister, for God’s sake.”

  Unable to watch his face change again, Jennifer hung her head. “Yes.”

  “He is your father?”

  She nodded again, without looking up. A brusque whistle stung her ears. “So you are a Marquess’s daughter.”

  Fear choking her, she raised her gaze to meet his. What was to happen now? She held her breath, dying to know his thoughts. She swallowed, searching for something to say. Something that would relieve his mind regarding her father’s title. She tried for a laugh, unfortunately the sound came out like an awkward croak. “He’s just a man, like any other.”

  “Like any other. Hmmm.” He leaned back, propped one boot on his opposite knee. His arm rested on the table between them. “So this is what you were afraid to tell me? Why?”

  “You have this aversion to nobility.”

  “What? Where did you get that idea?”

  Her mouth fell open in shock.

  “You’ve mentioned the aristocracy several times with . . . with repulsion. What was I supposed to think?”

  “If you’re referring to the duke, I don’t like being tricked or lied to. His was one of omission, not that we asked, but I knew he did not present the whole picture. There had to be more, and he was not forthcoming. You must admit, his current status—the one he bestows—is far from a titled lord.”

  “But, Giles explained he did not want the other sailors to know.”

  “I imagine some already do. It’s in the way the man carries himself.” When she opened her mouth, he shrugged. “I know what he said. I’ll keep his confidence. But I never said I didn’t like the aristocracy.”

  All she could do was stare. Stephen had her at sixes and sevens.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head, Jenny. I have a temper and a way of speaking my mind. Living on the sea for long periods of time, I’ve not had to curb my tongue. My voice matches my size. Which of late, I’m lacking a bit of meat on my bones.”

  “Then you agree my father is just a man?”

  “A very important man.” His eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose.

  “Then you should understand my apprehension.”

  He straightened, dropped his booted foot to the floor, and once again gathered her fingers within his own. “Jenny. You’re his daughter. He’ll welcome you with open arms. Might even bring a tear to his eye.”

  “Ha. A fat lot you know.” She pulled her hand free. “He disowned me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  She sniffed. “Because he is a most infuriating, unreasonable man. Or at least I once thought so. He was right, of course.”

  “Right about what?” His deep voice softened.

  “Right about Johnny.” Her shoulders dropped with her sigh. “He was weak. I suppose I should have been smart enough to realize my father tried to protect me. I should have trusted him.”

  “You were a young lass with stars in her eyes.” His reassurance melted her heart.

  “You’re wrong about one thing, though. I’m not sure he will welcome me with open arms. You see, I didn’t just leave my home. I ran away. I disgraced my father. A second son was not marriage material for his esteemed daughter. He didn’t decline Johnny’s suit. He would not even consider it.” She glanced down to her clasped hands in her lap. “I disobeyed him. I committed a cardinal sin.”

  “I can’t believe a man would turn away his daughter. He had to be worried.”

  A tear slipped from her eye and she hastily wiped it away.

  “Jenny, look at me.” He slipped a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. “He’s your father. He loves you. How could he not? A father’s love for his little girl, not knowing if she’s alive or dead . . . probably all he’d ever thought about was your coming home. Trust me on this.”

  She lunged from her chair and landed smack on his lap. He cradled her in his big caring arms. Clinging to him like a frightened child clung to their life-saving parent, she buried her face in his neck wishing she could stay—just so—for all eternity.

  “Now, now, Jenny. I’ve got you.”

  After soaking his shirt with her tears, she decided she’d wallowed in self-pity long enough. “I’m sorry,” she sniffed.

  “Nothing to be sorry about. I’ll always be here for you—as your friend.”

  Chapter 20

  Cold dread shivered down her spine.

  Bile threatened to choke her.

  She forced the queasiness in her stomach to calm and hoped Stephen’s words did not mean what she suspected. “Friend?”

  “I want to be your friend. I would never vanish from your life without a word. I will always be here if you need me. I promise you that.”

  “As my friend.” Her voice sounded defeated to her own ears.

  “Do you not want me for a friend?”

  She balled up her fist and clonked him on the head. If she had something breakable within reach, she would clonk him with that too. She shoved from his lap, anger pumping through every vein.

  “No I do not want you for a friend. Blazes, you are a stubborn man. Is that all I am to you?”

  “What are you getting all riled up about?”

  “Friend,” she spat. “How dare you. How dare you!” She marched across the short space to the little hole for a window. “Damn you, Stephen. Are you such a coward?”

  That got his gourd. “I’m no bloody coward, you raving madcap. What are you bleating about?”

  She would not cry again. Not over this. She whirled to face him. “You stu
bborn, arrogant pig.”

  “Calling me a pig, are you? What the bloody hell’s gotten into you?”

  She whirled around placing her hands on her hips. “Not five minutes ago you had your tongue down my throat. You had me panting and ready to give myself to you. You wanted me. You cannot deny it. Is that the action of friends?”

  Surely that was not guilt that crossed his face.

  “How can I refute what we both want? But I won’t . . .”

  “Won’t what? Call it by the name it is?”

  His face turned as red as his wild mane of hair. “Just what name would you be giving it? I warn you before you speak. Don’t sully what’s between us.” His anger intoned in every word he spoke.

  Her mouth dropped open. “Then what would you call it?”

  “Desire.” He stood. “A man’s uncontrollable desire for a beautiful woman. A woman he didn’t give the chance to say no.” He took a step closer. “A woman he cherished enough to take her with him to paradise.” He gritted every word through his teeth but pain lurked in his eyes.

  “I didn’t want to say no. You did give me the chance, and for my answer I willingly and eagerly gave you my body.”

  He flinched. An unfamiliar expression flickered in his gaze just before it vanished. What had she said to cause a second of vague suffering? She wondered at which statement. Her body—did he want her heart? Every word she’d said had the ring of total honesty. If he wanted her heart, why was the stubborn man throwing the word friend at her?