by Jo Goodman
“Please, just hold me,” she said, a catch in her voice. “Hold me. I have never been so alone. I might as well be dead.”
This time he did shake her and then held her so tightly he could feel the beat of her heart against his chest. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”
She shuddered against him, caught in his warm embrace, and tried to think of nothing save the security of his arms as he rocked her gently and murmured her name in her ear. Her hands were trapped between their bodies and as his strength seeped into her she gradually pushed him away. “I’m sorry,” she said, recovering a measure of her reserve. “I’m being selfish. I don’t mean to burden you.”
Rhys’s hands slipped inside his dressing gown’s pockets. In the left one he felt the gold band he had given Kenna and pocketed when it fell off her finger once too often. He wondered if this was the time to give it to her. “You’re no burden, Kenna, and I never want you to think you can’t turn to me. I understand you feel alone, but you’re not.” Rhys decided to wait to return the ring to her.
“I shouldn’t have said that. I know better. Thank you.” She picked up her nightgown from the bed and twisted it uncertainly in her hands. “If it weren’t for you I would still be at Mrs. Miller’s.”
He had no desire to pursue that topic. She obviously did not realize what had waited for her in Tremont’s bed. Rhys watched her turn the nightgown over in her hands and a brief smile touched his face. “Turn around so I can play the lady’s maid. How did you manage to dress yourself?”
Kenna turned obligingly, bending her head forward so he could reach the uppermost fasteners. “It was difficult. I merely persevered.” She felt Rhys’s fingers touch her bare skin, pause, then begin working on the back of her gown with brisk efficiency. She would not allow herself to dwell on how many times he had performed a similar service for other women. “Thank you,” she said politely when he had finished.
“Would you like me to ask for fresh bath water? It’s a mix of rain and salt water, but it serves the purpose well enough.” He pointed to the copper tub. “I confess that was meant for you, but since you weren’t here when it arrived I was not going to let it go to waste.”
Kenna was touched by his thoughtfulness. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but there is no need to bother anyone now. I’ll wash at the basin.”
“As you wish.” He walked over to the desk and began pulling out charts, a log book, and the ship’s manifest. “I can look over these things now.”
Kenna glanced over her shoulder as she slipped out of her gown, concern knitting her brows. “Should you? I mean, you seemed so tired when I came in. Shouldn’t you try to go to sleep?”
Rhys did not look up from the things he in front of him. “I doubt that I can,” he muttered. More clearly he said, “This won’t take long.”
Shrugging, Kenna put away her gown then went to the basin. Unaware that Rhys was watching her, she sighed happily as she took off her shoes and wriggled her pinched toes. She dipped a cloth into the clear basin water and cooled her face with it, letting drops of the water trickle down her neck and dampen the lacy edge of her chemise. A sliver of lavender soap lay near the washbowl. Kenna used it to lather the cloth and washed her face and throat.
Eyes forward, Rhys commanded himself, and then disobeyed his own edict. He watched Kenna slip the chemise over her shoulders until it rested around her waist, baring the tantalizing curve of her back to him. She soaped her breasts and shoulders, drew the cloth along the inside length of her arms, then rinsed. His eyes fell on the manifest in front of him but his vision blurred. The lines on the paper merged and formed the slender outline of Kenna’s body. It took no effort to imagine the narrow curve of her waist, the smooth contours of her incredibly long legs, or the arched thrust of her buttocks. The vision in front of him turned and though he held her gaze, his fingertips traced the column of her throat then the vulnerable flare of her collarbone. He cupped her breasts and they swelled at his touch. Her flesh grew warm as he brushed her abdomen. There was a hushed intake of air when he cradled her hips and brought her flush against him and…
“Did you say something, Rhys?” asked Kenna as she turned away from the basin and fastened the buttons at the neck of her nightgown.
Rhys blinked at the paper and the picture in his mind dissolved. He looked up at Kenna, saw that she had completed her bathing and was dressed for bed, and he guiltily wondered if she could guess the direction of his thoughts. Her expressive eyes were curious. “No. I didn’t say anything.” He pushed back the papers. “You’re ready for bed?” Stupid, he thought. It was obvious she was ready.
She nodded slightly and stifled a weak yawn with the back of her hand. “I’m more tired than I thought.” Kenna went to the bed and pulled back the blankets. She sat down on the edge and fiddled with the lace cuffs of her sleeves. “Rhys…”
“I won’t bother you, Kenna,” Rhys said quickly, believing he understood the reason for her hesitation. That her head lifted sharply at his words seemed to confirm his suspicions. “I know you have not had the time to become accustomed to our marriage. I don’t want you to worry that I shall force intimacy upon you. In fact, I was thinking that I could sleep on the window seat. It’s long enough and I should be quite comfortable.”
Kenna was mortified at this turn of conversation. She had only been going to ask him to put away his charts and books and come to bed. It seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with her. She glanced past him to the window seat. “You’ll be miserable there,” she said quietly, color staining her cheeks. “It will be cold and you’ll probably fall off the edge before morning.”
Rhys shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”
“All right.” She put a pillow and two blankets at the foot of the bed then slipped beneath the remaining covers, turning on her side to face the wall so he would not see the tears that misted her eyes.
Rhys stared at the stiff set of her shoulders for a moment before he got up from the desk. Telling himself he was doing the only sensible thing, he took the pillow and blankets, threw them on the window seat, then blew out the lantern.
Kenna found little satisfaction in hearing Rhys toss and turn as he tried to make himself comfortable on the padded seat. Darkness and distance gave her courage. “If you do not intend this to be a real marriage, then why did you say there will be no divorce?”
Rhys thumped his pillow. “Pardon. What did you say?”
Would talking to him never be easy? Kenna repeated her question in a rush, stumbling over the words. She swore if he didn’t understand her this time he would go to his grave without hearing the words again. He was silent for so long that Kenna thought this was indeed going to be the case.
“What do you mean by a real marriage?” he asked finally.
“You know.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I intend ours to be a true marriage. You shall be in charge of all the staff, oversee the running of our home. I doubt you need my permission, but you may harangue me at your leisure over any trifle I’ve forgotten, or complain bitterly that I’ve spent far too many hours immersed in matters of trade. We shall go out together and make a polite show of being a most loving couple, leaving our differences behind us. I will endeavor not to flirt overmuch if you will promise the same. An affair for either of us in our first year of marriage would be in bad taste, I think.” Rhys was lying on his back, fingers locked behind his head, and for all that his tone was serious, he was smiling broadly. “Have I got the way of it? Is this the real marriage you spoke of? Pray, tell me if there is something I’ve forgotten.”
Rhys was so pleased with himself as he developed his speech that he never heard Kenna getting out of bed. His first indication that she had done so was when her pillow thudded into his chest and effectively wiped the smile from his face. He grabbed the pillow, intending to pull her down, but she had already released it. In the blue moonlit shadows of the cabin he could see the pale outline of her gown as she stalked back to bed. He took aim and the pillow thumped
unerringly on her derriere.
Kenna paused, not quite believing he had retaliated in kind, then a wicked smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She turned, picked up the pillow at the ends, shook it so the feathers clumped together, and advanced on Rhys. He held up his hands to ward off the blow but Kenna was giving no quarter. She walloped him over the head.
The pillow exploded. A puff of feathers rose above Rhys’s face then drifted downward, settling on his cheeks, eyelids, and in his open mouth. He sat up slowly and deliberately, giving Kenna time to run but knowing there was no place she could hide. He brushed the feathers off his face as Kenna backed away. He heard her give a nervous little laugh as he stood and picked up his own pillow.
Now it was Kenna who held out her arms to keep Rhys at bay. She retreated until she felt the back of her knees connect with the bed frame. She sat down abruptly and scooted to the far side of the bed. “Unfair, Rhys!” she said, choking down laughter. “I have no weapons left.”
That gave Rhys pause and he shook his head slowly. “Oh, Kenna, you have not begun to tap your arsenal.”
In her innocence she looked around frantically for something she might hurl at him. Her search lowered her guard and Rhys hit her shoulder with the pillow, knocking her to one side. She made a grab for it, missed, and prepared herself for another soft blow. When it didn’t come she peeked at him through her fingers. His shoulders were shaking, an unmistakable sign that he was laughing at her. She supposed she did look rather funny, curled up with her face in her hands and her backside an obliging target.
“Please, just hit me and get it over with,” she said.
“Anything to oblige my wife,” said Rhys. The pillow connected with her rump.
With cat-like quickness Kenna caught it from behind and yanked hard, pulling Rhys off balance so he fell on the bed. His fingers lost their grip and though he waited to be clobbered again Kenna merely busied herself fluffing and smoothing the pillow. His eyes widened as she placed it at the head of the bed and promptly rested her own head upon it. The final straw was when she pulled a blanket over her shoulder and serenely closed her eyes. Her smile was terribly complacent.
“Oh, no,” said Rhys, giving her a shake. “You are not going to get away with it. That’s my pillow.”
“Wife-beater,” Kenna murmured, not unkindly.
“Thief!”
“Wretched man.”
“Robber!”
“Poor, abused Rhys Canning.”
“Sleep-snatcher!”
“Sleep-snatcher?” Kenna’s eyes opened. “I take offense to that remark. It’s a horrid sort of man who would dare call me a sleep-snatcher. Especially when I’m quite willing to share.”
“Share?”
Kenna closed her eyes again and a wisp of smile touched her mouth. “Mm-hmm. Share my pillow.”
“It’s my pillow.”
“A moot point, don’t you think, since it’s in my possession.”
Rhys grinned as he stretched out beside her, propping himself on an elbow. “Kenna, are you trying to seduce me?”
“Seduce you?” she asked sleepily. “I think I mentioned once before that I haven’t the least idea how to go about it.”
Rhys gave her an arch look. “I wonder,” he said under his breath.
“Hmm?”
He slipped down further, pillowing his head on his arm. “No idea at all?”
Kenna touched her cheek where his warm, sweet breath had caressed it. “None.”
“Oh.”
Was it disappointment she heard? She peeked at him through her lashes. His face was very close, his mouth hovered near her own. “I would kiss you good night, but I fear you may misinterpret the gesture.”
“I wouldn’t,” he said earnestly.
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well,” She moved her head a fraction and brushed his lips with hers. “Good night.”
“Kenna.” His exasperation was obvious.
“What?”
“Aren’t you going to give me part of the pillow?” he asked innocently.
It was Kenna’s turn to grin. “Beast.” She slid the pillow over a little and felt Rhys lay his head close to hers. Though her eyes were still shut she could sense Rhys looking at her. “Go to sleep, Rhys.”
He sighed, pulling part of her blanket over him, and closed his eyes. “So you really weren’t trying to seduce me.”
“Only trying to give you a comfortable bed.”
“Thank you.” He meant it. The window seat offered questionable comfort. “Good night, Kenna.”
She murmured something in reply and in a few minutes they were both asleep.
When Kenna woke it was still dark. She stretched slightly, feeling a confining ribbon of heat beneath her breasts. It took her a moment to understand it was Rhys’s arm that held her and that it was his bare leg that lay between her own. She was lying with her back against his chest, her hips cradled against his thighs. The warmth of him felt delicious next to her and she wondered if it was wicked to find it enjoyable.
She lifted her arm and laid it on his, matching the length and breadth of his hand with her own. Though her fingers were nearly as long as Rhys’s, her hand looked impossibly delicate against his. Very lightly she let the tips of her tapered nails trace the length of his lean fingers, drawing gently over his knuckles. Holding her breath, hardly believing the direction of her own thoughts, she lifted his hand and pressed it to her breast. She remembered how it felt when his hands had touched her breast of their own accord, the fine damp heat of his mouth when it replaced his hand and suckled her, arousing slender threads of fire that tugged at her loins. That memory, and the desire to make it more than a memory, gave Kenna courage.
Careful not to wake Rhys, Kenna turned in his arms. She listened to the sound of his even breathing, laid her palm against his chest and felt the steady beat of his heart. It did not matter that the room was dark or that she could only make out the curve of Rhys’s shoulder and the beautiful shape of his head. Even if her eyes had been closed she would have seen the firm thrust of his jaw and the hint of vulnerability in his chin. She knew the breadth of his shoulders, the strong column of his throat, the aquiline angle of his nose. These things she remembered in her mind’s eye.
While one of Rhys’s arms rested on the curve of her waist, the other supported his head. She realized that sometime during the night she had confiscated the pillow. Kenna raised her hand and touched Rhys’s forehead, brushing back a lock of his dark hair. Her fingers crept lower, caressing his temple and tracing the outline of his ear. The soft pad of her thumb touched his jaw.
She wondered what Rhys expected from her. How had he thought she would react to the news of their marriage? Had he anticipated she would be uncooperative of his plan, demand a divorce and return to Dunnelly? Had he believed she was so small-minded that she could not appreciate what Rhys was doing to protect her?
Kenna drew one fingertip along Rhys’s nose and smiled to herself when he wrinkled it. He was a kind man, she thought, and she had been perfectly horrid to him on more occasions than she could count. That he should want to help her in spite of all she had done to him moved her more deeply than she could express in mere words. She touched his lips, feeling the soft cadence of his breathing, and knew she wanted to feel his breath against her cheek as he whispered her name. No one had ever said her name the way Rhys did, invoking a specialness that often gave her pause. Kenna wondered if she loved him.
The sash that held Rhys’s robe together came undone beneath Kenna’s fingers. She edged the satin lapels apart, baring his chest. Her hand slipped inside and her palm stroked his warm skin. Nestling closer, she breathed in the clean scent of him, masculine and faintly musky. Kenna’s fingers trembled as they glided over the ridge of his ribs and dipped lower, fanning out over his hip. Her knee nudged his and she insinuated her calf between his legs, delighting in the texture of his skin flush to hers. Sighing softly, she wo
ndered if she dared kiss him. Her mouth hovered near his chest but the fraction of an inch that she had to move to touch him seemed a distance too fraught with danger to risk.
Suddenly Rhys’s chest began to shake and before Kenna understood that he was laughing, she found herself turned on her back and pinned to the bed. Rhys’s hands snaked around Kenna’s wrists and held them above her head. Most of his weight lay against her, one thigh trapping both her legs and his chest flattening her breasts. She blinked up at him, eyes widening at the wicked grin that outlined two rows of even teeth.
“The truth, madam,” he said huskily. “Were you trying to seduce me?”
Kenna shook her head solemnly. “Torture could not wring an admission from me, sir.”
“I wasn’t thinking of using torture…exactly.” His lips brushed her mouth and his thighs pressed against her hip so she could not mistake his arousal. “Have you rethought your position?”
“I think my position speaks for itself,” she said cheekily though she blushed at her response.
Rhys growled, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “Let me rephrase my question.”
“Please.”
“Do you want to make love with me, Kenna?” There was no smile in his voice now, no jest. The silence between them was thick and still as he waited for her reply.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“Why?”
Kenna could only stare at him blankly.
“Is it because we’re married?”
She could answer that with some assurance. “No.”
“Then because I happen to be the man in your bed.”
Kenna bristled. Did he think she would behave so wantonly with any man? “No!”
His smile was bleak. “Good. I won’t be used again.”
Kenna had the grace to be ashamed. “The last time…those things I said…I didn’t mean—”
Rhys gave her a shake. “Don’t lie to me now. I found your honesty admirable. You meant what you said. You used me for your own purposes. You hated me, remember?”
She nodded. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I did mean those things, but I don’t hate you now.”
