Carrying in a large tray, which he placed in the middle of the table, he greeted me with a most gracious smile, as if we were merely longtime acquaintances sitting down to a friendly meal.
“I see you fared well with the gown. And might I add how lovely that color is on you,” he said with a display of courtly graciousness that also added to the discomfort of my situation.
The gown was fashionable but very low cut and swept just off the shoulders. The skirt of the gown opened in the front to reveal my delicate petticoats in a slightly more provocative way than I would have liked. The only real problem with the gown was my inability to fasten all the hooks and buttons down the back. So there I stood in my state of undress.
“I have only one complaint with your dress, sir. You see, try as I may, I am not a contortionist, and I am unable to fasten the gown. Would you mind?” I asked as I stood still casting my eyes to the ground.
Slowly walking over to me, stopping only inches from me for a full minute before tipping my head slowly up, forcing my eyes to meet his gaze, he leaned down close to my ear. “I know I told you I was an expert at buttons and hooks, but what I neglected to tell you was that I am more prone to undoing them,” he purred seductively in my ear.
Before my right hand could land a slap a crossed his face, he grabbed it in anticipation of my reaction, spun me around in one fluid motion and pinned me against the wall with his body. Turning loose of my arm, I used them both to brace against the wall, terrified to move and enrage him further.
He stood so close to me I could feel his breath on the back of my neck as he mocked me with a derisive laugh. His hands were large and his touch burned my skin through the thin cloth as he fastened the gown.
My knees had begun to shake, and I feared I might fall to the ground if not for the fact that I was pinned against the wall by his solid body. Taking one large breath and letting it out slowly and then another attempting to clear my head, I could still feel his hot breath on my neck as he worked to fasten the last few buttons.
When he had finished, he turned me back around and placed my hand over his arm in a gentlemanly fashion as he led me to the table. Pulling out a chair and seeing me properly seated before stepping around the table, he took the seat across from mine.
“Now what shall we talk about tonight?” he asked, rubbing his hands together as if he couldn’t wait for the fun to begin. “Let’s see, do you read much?”
Finding my voice once again, I said, “How are my uncle and crew doing, Captain? May I see them soon?” I asked as I noticed the joy leave his face, replaced with a mask of politeness.
“I told you that they are fine, but how they fare is dependent upon you.” I seemed to understand his thinly-veiled threat.
He suddenly seemed angry. Standing to retrieve the tray of food, I noticed him taking several deep breaths to gain control of his frustration.
“Wine?” he asked. As he turned back around, he had miraculously become the doting host once again.
“Yes, please,” I replied.
“Now I hope you don’t turn out to be like every other woman I know. Appearances can be so deceiving. They are lovely on the outside and no true substance on the inside,” he said mockingly.
He poured me a glass of wine, then handed it to me as he placed a plate of cheese and bread before me, and waited for my reaction.
Gauging that I would get nowhere with him using the direct approach, I decided that I would play along and beat him at his own game.
“I quite know what you mean. All the women I know haven’t a care in the world beyond marriage, children, and a healthy wallet to sponsor their lifestyle. It is simply abhorrent to me the emptiness of their heads, and the way they maneuver for the best matches,” I said, lifting my wine to my mouth and sipping while I studied him over the rim of my glass.
“What of you? Doesn’t your father have someone lined up for you to marry? You have to be what, eighteen or nineteen? Isn’t there someone you are pining for?” he asked.
“No!” I said with a credulous look on my face, while wagging my finger to and fro in the air. “My father has not lined someone up for me as if I am his property to do with as he will. Nor am I a bargaining chip to furthering his place in society. Our family is different, and as such, I was brought up differently. The choice will be mine if the time ever comes that I would choose to get married. But it will never happen, so there is no need to discuss the matter further.”
“What do you mean it will never happen? Is there something wrong with you?
“On the contrary,” I corrected him. “I am completely in my right mind and healthy as a horse.”
“But I thought every woman dreamed of being married,” he said, completely confused.
“I would agree with you to a point. But I see marriage as a life sentence. Men want to rule over them and abuse them, and it’s just not for me,” I said, placing some cheese in my mouth.
“Is that how your father treats your mother? Where did you come up with this thought process of yours?” he asked with real interest.
Nearly choking on my cheese, I coughed a minute, taking a sip of wine to clear my throat.
“My father treats my mother like a queen, but all men are not like my father, and I have seen and heard of too many bad tales of men marrying for fortune, taking a mistress, spending his wife’s entire fortune, then leaving her and the children destitute or worse: a wife living in fear of her husband’s return home because she knows when he does finally leave his mistress he will beat her and torment the children. And I ask you what recourse does that woman have? None! No, thank you. That is not the life for me,” I finished dramatically, putting my empty glass down on the table.
“How did one so young become so cynical?” he asked, staring at me intently.
“I don’t know if it is cynicism or just being aware of what is really happening in the world. Young ladies are cloistered away as if they are a fine China doll. Then they are handed over to the highest bidder for money or title, dreaming of their happily ever after, and what do they really get in the end?” I asked, shaking my index finger at him while looking directly into his eyes as if he were the offending man.
“What do they get besides a nice home and children from the bargain?” he said with a slight air of indignation leaning over the table to fill my glass.
“A gilded cage if they are lucky. A coffin six feet under if they are not,” I stated matter-of-factly.
“I am just surprised by your attitude, that is all.”
“Did I shock you?” I asked as I stood with the intent to close the window. The breeze had picked up, and I was getting cold.
“You have expressed your opinion of marriage and women. How do you feel about Voltaire?”
“I like him. Voltaire wrote, ‘It is better to risk saving a guilty person —”
“Than to condemn an innocent one,” he finished my sentence with excitement, like a child who just received a new toy. Walking over to me, he placed the filled glass of wine in my hand, as he continued. “Have you read any of Rousseau?”
“Of course. Would you like to speak of his latest writings, The Social Contract?” I said as I held my wine with one hand trying to close the window with the other.
“Yes, that very one,” he continued. “Here let me,” he said. Touching my hand as he moved close to me to close the window, a spark nearly popped between us, causing me to jump in surprise.
Taking another sip of wine, I pretended to study something through the window in the distance.
“Did you hear me? I asked if you enjoyed Rousseau’s writings,” he asked again.
“Of course. He is brilliant, but I prefer Montesquieu, The Spirit of the Laws. And I quote, ‘Liberty consists of being able to do what you want to do, and not being forced to do what you do not want to do.’ It just might be the most perfect definition of liberty that I have ever read,” I said reverently.
“And is this what they are teaching young ladies for curricu
lum at modern finishing schools?” he asked with a playful smile.
“No, I am afraid not. I like to borrow my brother’s books and dig for treasures in Father’s library. It’s fascinating what one can find if you bother to look.”
“Most extraordinary,” he said, turning toward me and fixing me with his penetrating eyes. “You truly are most extraordinary.”
As I stood staring into the fathomless depths of his eyes, I found my emotions confused. Never before had I desired to be kissed by any man, as I stood in front of this man being drawn to him like a flower to the sun. What would it feel like? Would I run screaming from the room, or would I never want it to stop?
A knock on the door temporarily broke the spell as he called out to the unwelcomed intruder. “It better damn well be important,” he bellowed while still fixing me with his intense stare. Then turning toward the door as it opened, the young man cautiously entered.
Stammering for just a second, the boy cleared his throat and found his spine. “Ah yes, sir, I was told to inform you that there is a storm coming, and inquire what do you want to do about the two ships still being tied together?” he inquired, diverting his eyes downward.
“Take the sails down on both ships and cut us loose. Tell the first mate to stay close and head for the cove. We will meet up at our regular rendezvous when it blows over,” he ordered with the ease and comfort of one used to being in complete control.
With that the young man closed the door quietly and the captain turned to me again trying to read my face.
“So what does that mean for me? And what about the crew trapped below on the other ship, will they be all right?” I asked concerned for my uncle and the entire crew.
“You will stay here with me tonight, and we will see what we see in the morning,” he informed me with a confident smile playing across his mouth.
Walking to my chair, he again pulled it out and stood waiting for me to take my seat. I finished the glass of wine I was holding and then took my seat. I felt slightly intoxicated, and it had nothing to do with the wine.
“Perhaps you would like some supper now before the seas get too rough,” he said with a slight lift of one eyebrow, as if his statement had a dual meaning.
I swallowed hard. “Yes, I think that might be wise.” I needed time to think, and right now my brain was betraying me. All I could think about was what his gloriously full lips might feel like pressed against mine.
Dinner consisted of fish seasoned and poached with a wine and mushroom sauce, served with steamed carrots, crusty bread, and soft cheese.
After supper, we enjoyed a plate of dried figs and apricots. The topic of conversation ranged from philosophy to the state of the economy in England as opposed to France. And somewhere between the main course and dessert the seas became rougher, and the rain began to fall.
We extinguished the candles on the table, fearing they might tip over. We moved to the window to enjoy the light show displayed by the storm.
The remaining lighting in the room threw off a most intimate glow, when it happened.
Leaning over to put his empty glass down, the ship pitched suddenly, causing me to lose my balance. Grabbing hold of me with one arm, he steadied himself against the wall with the other. Placing his back to the wall, he pulled me around, crushing me to his chest.
His mouth hovered above mine for just a moment before his lip came down on mine ever so tender. Then one hand came up and wrapped around my neck, and his kiss became demanding. Like a starving man finely served a meal, his lips devoured mine as his tongue hungrily sought for more.
My mind was screaming in protest, but my senses were reeling. All at once, I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t care. Nothing in my imaginings had prepared me for the sensation of this. Momentarily lost in the sensation, I let him kiss me deeper as I reciprocated.
His lips left mine as he moved to my throat and then to my shoulders. An entirely new sensation assaulted my mind, and a moan escaped from my throat, and the very core of me began to melt. I pushed hard against his chest with all my might and attempted to voice my protest as his hands reached for the buttons of my gown. I couldn’t tell if the ship was pitching or if I had lost all sense of up from down.
Lifting his head to look into my eyes, I could see the war that raged behind his storm-filled orbs.
Shrugging out of his coat, he simply dropped it to the ground. Lifting me in his muscular arms, he headed for the bed. Tenderly placing me on the bed and weaving his fingers through my hair, he began to kiss me so desperately and deeply, that I could hardly have told you my name let alone what day it was.
I scarcely knew what was happening when my gown fell from my shoulders and onto the floor as I stood there in my thin white slip.
Lifting me up once again, as if I weighed a mere few ounces, he gently laid me across his bed. In one fluid motion, he untied his white linen shirt and pulled it over his head.
Curiosity causing my eyes to wonder every magnificent inch of his muscular, scar-filled chest. My wanton desire turning my limbs to liquid unable to stop what would be coming next and not even sure I wanted to try.
Kneeling in the middle of the bed, he reached down and took my hand, pulling me up to face him. Lightning flashed just outside, lighting the interior of the cabin for only a moment, yet the unbridled passion that reflected back at me sent a lurid sensation up my spine.
Reaching for him as if in need of sustenance, I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled his mouth to mine. Every nerve was raw, and I desired what I did not have words for yet.
My breathing had become sporadic, and my mind wasn’t working. This wasn’t me. I was not that kind of woman. I scoffed at promiscuous women.
I had never before thought that such sensual desire was possible and yet here I was, aching for his touch.
The storm outside raged on, but the only fear I had was being completely consumed by his passion, leaving behind nothing more of me than a burnt pile of ashes.
I barely noticed the pounding at the door and the man, yelling, “Captain, come quick!”
I could not tell you if the groan of anguish came from my throat or his, but slowly, he stood. Torn between duty and desire, he bent to retrieve his shirt and put it on before going to the door. Opening the door, he stepped into the hall to speak to his crew member.
Suddenly, a chill came over me, and I realized what had nearly happened. I could not say for sure if I was angry at myself or disappointed that we were interrupted.
Propriety started to seep into my numb brain. Crawling beneath the quilt, I turned to face the wall. A flush of shame washed over me, and I began to shake. The sting of tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. How could I have so quickly become a fallen unchaste woman? What magic did he used to cast his wicked spell over me? And what would come next?
Quietly entering the room, I heard him rummaging around in the cabinet, his boots hit the ground with a terse clunk one after the other. I wanted him to say something, anything, but instead, he changed his clothes and started toward the bed, stopping just a few feet from where I lay.
If only I knew what he was thinking! Did he think me a strumpet, or a woman of easy virtue?
Turning without a word, he extinguished all the sconces, but one. Then made his way to the cupboard and removed the carafe of whiskey. Pouring a glass, he swallowed it all down at once.
Without a word, he opened the cabin door and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
The raging storm blowing outside was no match for the storm that raged inside of me. Tears flowed hot and free, as my shame scalded and tormented my very core.
Hours passed, and the storm continued, becoming stronger and more agitated, like my mood. My pitiable disposition turned to anger, as my resolve hardened. I pulled back the covers and placed my feet on the floor and was immediately thrown back into bed by a sudden pitching of the ship. My stomach began to feel like the frenzied ocean beating against the ship. Jumping from the
bed, I made a frantic search of the cabin for an acceptable receptacle for my stomach’s contents. Finding an empty bowl, I relieved myself of the evening’s victuals. Feeling spent, I went in search of my clothes.
Finding three more evening gowns of varying sizes in the cabinet, the only alternative was the previously worn evening gown, discarded on the floor next to the bed along with my dignity.
I felt my staunch resolve begin to fade. The memory of his touch burned anew, and the taste of his mouth on mine was more than I could stand.
He smelled of masculinity and salty ocean breezes. His lips were soft, warm, tender and demanding, all at the same time.
I found myself unable to put the dress back on again without reliving every shameful moment of the evening. I pulled a quilt off the end of the bed and headed for the large high-backed chair positioned by the window. Wrapping the blanket around me, I curled up in the chair to await the captain’s return.
Coming out of a fitful dream, hours later, my eyes and mind had difficulty adjusting to the dim predawn light that filled the room. Recollections awakened in me like the rising sun as I stood and straightened my leg, and my cramped neck.
Feeling my way over to the bed because the cabin was still awash in darkness, I decided that I was in dire need of a comfortable bed. The cold room combined with the uncomfortable chair left my limbs stiff and sore.
Climbing into bed, I snuggled deep into the blankets before I realizing my mistake.
Sometime in the dark, while I slept, the captain had come in from the storm soaked to the skin from the rain. Stripping off his wet clothing, he had climbed into bed and fallen asleep.
Fearing that I would awaken him by moving too fast, I attempted to move slowly. I had moved no more than an inch or two when a large hand snaked out and snagged me by the waist, pulling me closer to his unadorned body and trapping my legs under his.
Angelina's Secret Page 4
