“What if one of us becomes ill again?”
“Pardon my plain speakin’, miss, but if ye think about bein’ ill, ye’ll be ill. Ye’d best be prayin’ t’ the Lor’ A’mighty fer our lives. That’ll take yer mind off the illness.” The wizened, old sailor crossed the room and stood at the door. “Don’t let any calm fool ye, lass. It’ll be a temptation t’ free yerselves, but ye best stay put ’til ye hear the dolphins and gulls.”
“Yes,” she nodded her agreement. “Thank you for helping us, Schmitty.” He merely nodded before he shut her door firmly behind him. This was not what she had expected of her trip. She thought there would be smooth waters and a quick journey. She had been so very wrong.
* * *
Circe lay on the edge of the narrow mattress secured by the ropes that Schmitty had woven around them. She tried to put as much space between herself and Taggart as physically possible. Every once in a while, she kicked him in the shin with the heel of her shoe to make certain he was still in the land of the living. He would moan, and she would let him sleep a while longer. Thus far, the only positive part of this storm was that neither one of them was ill again.
The ship was tossed about like a child playing with a toy. On several occasions, Circe feared she would have to use the knife Schmitty had left with her, but each time she reached for it, there seemed to be a lull in the storm. Schmitty or Captain Adams would briefly appear during those lulls to check on them, and then they were left alone once more. The porthole window was the only way Circe could keep up with the time of day, and even that was not always accurate. There were several instances when it was the middle of the day, but it appeared to be the darkest of night when the clouds rolled in, cutting off the sun’s rays.
She was exhausted from her long vigil, and the constant worry had her stomach tied in knots. A lone tear leaked out of the corner of her eye and ran towards her temple.
“This was a horrible idea,” she muttered.
“What?”
Reese’s voice was laden with sleep, and it affected Circe more than she wanted to admit. “Nothing. Go back to sleep,” she ordered.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” she denied as she tried to sniff discreetly.
“Yes, you are.”
“One measly tear. Is that all right with you, Lord Taggart, or should I not show any weakness at all?” she shouted, frustrated. He remained silent and she found that irritated her more than if he had argued with her. “Go back to sleep,” she muttered. She felt movement behind her, and then one of his arms wrapped around her ribs and pulled her close. Circe dug her fingers into the edge of the bed, fighting against his hold. She twisted her head around to try to catch a glimpse of him. “What do you think you are doing?” she demanded.
“You’re exhausted. It’s your turn to rest. I’ll keep watch.”
“You have been knocked on the head. How do you expect to stay awake?”
“I will, trust me.” When she hesitated, he made his final point. “You are going to make yourself truly ill if you do not get some rest. I will make certain we are safe.”
“Schmitty said not to be lulled by the calm.”
“I heard.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I was in a bit of a fog, but I heard. Now, rest.”
“I do not have to have you as a pillow to rest.”
“Are you certain about that?”
“Yes,” she said, resettling herself towards the edge of the bunk. She felt a small pillow being unceremoniously shoved beneath her head. “Thank you,” she muttered.
“Hmph.” After several minutes of nothing but the sounds of whining winds, pounding rain, and an occasional thunderclap, Reese asked, “What was a horrible idea?”
“Leaving England and my family. Coming on this trip. Trying to escape who I am, and thinking I could go to another country to find someone to love me for who I am instead of running from me because of it.” She gave a derisive laugh. “Listen to me, pouring out my problems to Wild Lord Taggart.”
“I really wish you would quit calling me that. You know, you aren’t the only one who left England to start over.”
“Oh?”
“And call me Reese. After all, we are sharing a bed.”
“Never,” she snorted. “And this was not my choice. You will never be my choice.”
“Why not?” he asked, sounding offended.
“Because I am looking for a man who is finished being a rogue. I want a family and normalcy, Lord Taggart. I want children who have parents that are married and proud of that fact. I do not want to prove to the world that the institution of marriage is just a way to make women inferior to men, not that I believe that we are, you understand. I want a man who loves me and will not seek comfort, and other things, from other women. A man who is not weak.”
“And you believe these things of your father? Of me?”
“Not of my father, but you…”
“Yes?”
“I am going to sleep,” she muttered avoiding the rest of the conversation.
Chapter 4
Reese mulled over Miss Hayhurst’s words. He studied her back, and the chasm that separated them. She most definitely had a plan set forth for herself and a man such as himself had no part of that. It was more than likely for the best. Although he found himself attracted to her, after all she was a beautiful woman, he was not on his way to Barbados to begin an affair, nor was he looking for a wife. Duncan seemed to have finally found success in marriage, but Reese did not hold out the same hope for himself.
He shifted onto his back to move into a more comfortable position. He put his arm behind his head as a pillow since he had forced Circe to take the only one on the bed. It was difficult to tell what time of day it was, but he speculated that it was late afternoon. Of which day was an entirely different question. He felt certain they were still on the same day he had been hit in the head, but he couldn’t be certain because of the way he had drifted in and out of consciousness. He felt he should be above, helping the men, instead he was down here like an invalid.
The ship was still rocking to and fro, but the lightning and thunder had abated somewhat. He watched the shadows dance on the ceiling of the room to pass the time. His mind drifted and he wondered if he would ever be able to trust a woman again. He very seriously doubted it. He had truly believed that Isabelle had loved him as he had her. In fact, he had loved her so much, he had been willing to destroy his relationship with his brother and his family. Unfortunately, accusations were leveled at his deceased lover by his step-aunt, Lucy, before she had taken her own life in front of him.
He had finally gathered the courage to hire an investigator, to find out whatever he could about Isabelle. A few short weeks before the duel, the investigator had returned with the truth about Isabelle, and it had been devastating. Perhaps that’s why I acted a little wilder than usual, he mused silently. He thought back to his last few weeks in London before the duel and after the investigator’s revelations. He had drunk hard, played harder, and loved even harder. No, he had not loved. Never again would he tie the sexual act to love. He had had sex, pure and simple, with any woman who was willing — widows, courtesans, and a handful of debutantes who were most definitely not virgins. Not one of the women he had been intimate with had been married. Not until Dandridge’s wife had lied to him. He had made himself a promise he would never again dally with a married woman. All of the encounters had left him feeling empty, and that had never happened to him before.
He had discovered that Isabelle had been devious and only out for what would benefit her. Never again would he be used by a woman in such a manner. He vowed this to himself every day. His visit with the investigator replayed in his mind. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, but he didn’t, because it reminded him of the true nature of women.
“I have the information you requested. It was rather challenging to find.”
“Oh?”
“You’re not going to be hap
py. In fact, you might wish to sit down.”
“Just bloody tell me,” Reese demanded.
“It seems that Lucy was somewhat correct, even if she didn’t have all the facts.”
“Well?”
“Isabelle did have several lovers other than yourself and His Grace.”
“Dammit!” He wanted to punch something or someone.
“If you punch a hole in my office wall, you will pay for the repairs.”
Reese gave the other man a withering look.
“If you hit me, I will hit you back.”
“Just go on,” Reese ordered. “How did Lucy find this information out?”
“They shared many of the same lovers. Lucy used the men to find out information about Isabelle.”
“And Isabelle?”
“Her ultimate goal was to have a child.”
“Bloody hell, she was married to Duncan. If she had given it enough time they would have had a child.”
“She wanted one as soon as possible. No one could say whose child she was carrying when she was murdered. One thing was definite, she had plans to leave England.”
“I know. I was part of them.”
“Isabelle was merely using you, Taggart. Once the two of you, and her maid, arrived in Barbados, she was going to send you packing.”
“What? No, you’re wrong. Your information is wrong. Isabelle and I were in love.”
“She manipulated you, Taggart. She had to leave England if she had any hope of living her life as she wished. When you won that plantation she saw it as the perfect escape.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“She was most definitely in love, but not with you.”
“Then who?”
“Her maid.”
“What?” Reese asked as he found his way to a chair and slowly lowered himself onto it.
“Do I really have to repeat it?”
“This is a horrible joke.”
“I talked to the maid myself. They wanted to live a quiet life where no one knew them. They knew they would forever be maid and mistress, but neither of them seemed to care as long as they were together. Isabelle desperately wanted a child, so she did what she felt she must to ensure she became pregnant. You winning that plantation was her, and her maid’s, chance to escape England and her family. She was willing to leave everyone behind.”
“And the plantation? How does that fit into this? Why was she so eager about going there?”
“She hoped once you all arrived there, she would be able to send you back to England and keep the plantation or escape to the Colonies.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“She was desperate.”
“I don’t believe it,” Reese scoffed.
“I figured as much. The maid wrote you a letter explaining everything. She only asked that you burn it once you read it and tell no one, not even your brother.”
“He was married to her. He deserves to know the truth, as well.”
“What purpose would it serve? He’s happily married with a child on the way, and the past has been well and truly buried. Let it stay there for him.”
Reese grudgingly took the proffered letter and jammed it inside his inner coat pocket. He took out the agreed upon amount of money, placed it on the desk, and turned around and walked out of the office. He did not remember his journey back to his rented rooms, but when he arrived, he sat down and ripped open the letter.
Lord Taggart,
I understand this is going to be difficult for you to understand, but it is past time you know that Isabelle and I loved one another. I still love her even though she’s no longer with us. We knew each other for well over a decade and fought our feelings for so very long. We kept hearing how unnatural it was. She even went through with her marriage to your brother despite her lack of feelings towards him.
Please do not think she was heartless. She did care about both of you in her own way, but she had to be true to herself and our love. In the end, it didn’t matter for her life was cut too short. I will mourn her and what might have been for the rest of my life. My dear Isabelle would not want you to be bitter. She would want you to go on with your life and find someone to love. Someone who truly loves you in return. I wish you all the best.
Sincerely,
Miss Jones
Reese stood and crossed to the small fireplace in his room. He started a small fire then he tore the letter to shreds and tossed the remnants onto the fledgling flames. He stood there and watched the papers curl and burn until nothing remained but ashes. Unable to hold back the burning anger any longer, he reared back and slammed his fist into the fireplace mantle. He looked down, saw his broken skin, and the blood trickling across his knuckles. Where he should feel pain, he felt nothing. He crossed the room, grabbed the whisky bottle, popped the cork out, and began drinking away his memories and his emotions.
After finding out, he had turned to whisky and women in an attempt to forget. Instead, months later, the bitterness at finding out the truth about the woman he had loved still caused a rawness and emptiness inside him. No woman had been able to heal his embittered soul, and he didn’t want one to. Between Isabelle and Lucy, it was better to remember the truth about women, that they were willing to do anything to get what they wanted including deception and murder.
He blew out a heavy sigh, closed his eyes, and willed sleep to take him over and give him a reprieve from his memories.
* * *
Circe wiggled against the firm, warm cushion, enjoying the way it aligned with her body. She settled closer to the warmness and felt a tingle of pleasure ripple through her. Oh, how I love this dream, she thought with a contented sigh. This was the dream where she slept in the arms of her husband. He was always faceless and covered from his neck to his ankles wearing a long night shirt. His feet were covered with socks she had lovingly knitted for him, and his head with a night cap that matched, but it did not matter for this was the man she would spend the rest of her life with in holy matrimony and begetting children. In her dream, she always rolled over to face him. She would reach up to cup his face covered with overnight whiskers and pull it down to her for a kiss. Just seconds before their lips touched, she would wake and feel cold, disappointed, and lonely once more.
She squeezed her eyes tightly closed, not wanting the dream to end. Scooting even closer to the warmth, Circe froze when she heard a deep moan and felt hot, moist air stirring the wispy hairs at the base of her neck. Never before had she experienced this in her dream. Suddenly, she realized that there was a warm and heavy weight resting across her waist, and the fingers of her right hand had become entwined with the fingers of a much larger hand that felt… She paused in the middle of the thought as she twisted her hand so she could feel the details of her husband’s.
His hand was not entirely smooth as she had always guessed a gentleman’s must be, as her father’s was. Instead, his felt like it had experienced hard work. He had several callouses and she wondered what they would feel like skimming over her body. Circe shuddered at the illicit thought and felt a blush spread across her suddenly heated skin. Her body tightened in anticipation in a place she had only secretly explored in the dark of night or occasionally when she bathed. Her skin heated even more as she remembered the conversation her mother had with her in regard to reproduction and sexual intercourse. Her mother, in her usual frank and scientific way, had been factual and to the point. Then in an odd twist that had piqued Circe’s curiosity, her mother had mentioned things such as pleasure and gratification and gotten an odd look on her face. That afternoon her parents had retreated to their bedchamber, both claiming to have come down with a headache, and Circe had not seen them until the next morning. When she asked them if they felt better, they had shared an intimate look and smile, and merely said that they did. She idly wondered if she would share such intimate looks with this dream husband.
Suddenly, the dream husband’s hand let go of hers, and his fingers traced th
eir way up her ribs, tripping over each one as if he were counting them to make certain she had the correct number. She wondered, a bit embarrassed, if he would be put off by the amount of flesh there. Circe knew she was not every man’s dream. She was not Rubenesque, but neither was she waif-like. She was sturdy, well-built, enjoyed her food, and did not pick at it as some women did. She did not overeat, but what she did eat tended to stay with her, unless of course she suffered from seasickness.
“Perfect,” the word was mumbled in her ear so low she almost missed it.
“How did you know what I was thinking?” she asked her dream husband.
“All women seem to worry about their bodies,” he said in a voice that teased her memory. Where have I heard him before? she wondered. When he cupped one of her breasts, that she had always believed overly large, she moaned. “So unbelievably perfect…and responsive,” he said as he gently squeezed and reshaped the mound, making the other one feel abandoned. As if understanding her body’s needs, his hand moved to the other one to show it equal attention.
“Please,” she said, scooting backwards even more in an attempt to get as close to him as she possibly could.
“You’re killing me,” he whispered against her ear and dropped a kiss on her neck.
She kept her eyes closed and worried her bottom lip. Never before had she felt her dream husband kiss her. Did she dare risk rolling over in his arms and doing what she had longed to do night after night for years? Yes! Do it! she screamed at herself. He’s your husband, and you love this man and he loves you. Giving in to her subconscious, but deciding to keep her eyes closed, she scooted away from him and rolled onto her back. She slowly followed his arm upwards, starting with his hand that was lightly resting on her stomach. She skimmed her fingers over his shoulder, collarbone, and neck until she reached his cheek.
Just like in the previous dreams she cupped his whiskery cheek in the palm of her hand and guided him downwards to her mouth. At the first light brush of his lips against hers, she fought to keep her eyes closed, fearing the lovely dream would end if she opened them. Never before had it gone this far. It seemed so incredibly real, her body was on fire, and she was moving restlessly, trying to get closer to him. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, causing her to gasp in surprise, and that was when his tongue entered the cavern of her mouth, seeking out hers. She met his every move and countered with some of her own.
Wild Lord Taggart Page 5
