by Jo Goodman
“Not as far as I know. Here, let me play the lady’s maid.” He lifted Lydia’s feet, first one, then the other, taking off each shoe in turn. She didn’t even protest as he reached under her gown and rolled down her stockings. “You used to have a personal maid, someone who did this sort of thing for you, I suspect. Or at least helped you with your clothes. Do you recall anything about her?”
Lydia shook her head. “Nothing.”
“The case could be made that she and Fa’amusami share some of the same features. Almond-shaped dark eyes, black hair, a softness in the way they speak. Perhaps it’s Pei Ling you’re thinking of.”
“Pei Ling.” Lydia said the name slowly, trying it out. It was completely unfamiliar. “She was my maid?”
“Your maid and something more. I think she was your greatest protector, save Samuel.” Nathan was a little surprised to discover that in all he had told Lydia about her past, he had never mentioned Pei Ling. Had he done it purposely, afraid that she would remember everything if he spoke of her? Knowing Lydia’s nature, and the things Samuel had shared offhandedly one time about how Lydia had met Pei Ling, Nathan suspected the Chinese girl was more friend than servant.
“Did she like you?” asked Lydia. She pushed at her gown, covering her bare calves, while Nathan massaged her feet.
Nathan raised a single eyebrow at her display of modesty. It was really too bad, he thought, that the fa’a Samoa did not have a more far-reaching influence. “Like me?” he repeated. “That’s an odd query.”
“You said she was my protector. I wondered if she helped me elope with you.”
“No. She didn’t do that. But I think she trusted me.” At least she had. Nathan couldn’t imagine what Pei Ling might think of him now. The letter he had written her, the explanation he had hoped she would share with Samuel, was it enough to make him less offensive in Pei Ling’s eyes? He wished he knew. Pei Ling’s thinking could very well be a hint of what he might expect from Lydia some day. “She was dedicated to you,” he said. “If she liked me, then I’m not so certain she likes me now.”
“But then she doesn’t know you as I do,” said Lydia.
Nathan didn’t say anything to that. Moving Lydia’s feet to one side, he unfastened the buttons at her throat and eased the gown over her shoulders. Her complexion had become rosy from her time in the sun and there were freckles across her collarbones. He leaned forward and kissed each one.
Lydia let him push her back gently on the bed. She raised her hips to allow Nathan to remove her gown and slip it down her legs. He kissed the dark shadow of her navel through her chemise as he worked the dress off her. “Tell me about Pei Ling,” she said. “Perhaps it will help me recall something.”
Nathan dropped Lydia’s gown on the floor and, a moment later, her pantalettes. He sighed and sat up fully. Only one of them was engaged in the task at hand and it was a most unsatisfactory arrangement. “I suppose I must,” he said. His voice hinted at regret, though whether it was because of what he had to give up immediately or what he could lose in the future was unclear to him.
“I really don’t know very much about her, not from anything you’ve said, but Samuel once told me something about you and Pei Ling...”
“Yes?” she prompted when he fell silent. She sat up a little, supporting herself on bent elbows.
“Pei Ling is fiercely loyal to you with good reason,” Nathan explained. “Samuel says it’s because you saved her life.”
“You must have heard it wrong.”
“No, I don’t think so. At the very least you saved Pei Ling from a life, that much I know. She was being offered up to sailors as they bounded off their ships in San Francisco Harbor. She was tied to the man at her side as if she was his pet, and he was selling the right to take her leash for two bits. You must not have been standing very far away, waiting with your friend James Early to take a shipment for delivery at his warehouse. Right in front of your eyes, a sailor bought Pei Ling, leading her behind a stack of crates in the nearest waterfront alley. Apparently you rushed to her rescue, paying the sailor twenty dollars in gold to give her up and fifty more to the man who was selling her.”
“I can’t imagine it.”
“I can.” Nathan could just see Lydia marching up to a sailor probably twice her size and demanding the release of his whore. All along he thought she had the sense of a jackaroo. He had come to realize she also had the spirit of a lioness.
“My,” she said softly, trying to see it in her own mind. “I suppose I acted that way because James was there.”
Nathan was not going to let that pass. “I believe you acted entirely on your own, though your father did mention that once James realized you were not leaving the wharf without Pei Ling, he helped you come up with the money. James was not as eager to enter the fray as you.”
“Perhaps he was not so impulsive.”
“Probably not,” Nathan said. “But neither was he so courageous. Then or now. It happened three years ago, Lydia. You were only seventeen, Pei Ling even younger than that.” He did not mention that she had saved Pei Ling from the cribs only to have Samuel eventually choose the girl for his own bed. The marriage problems of Samuel and Madeline were something that Lydia would have to learn about entirely on her own. He had no intention of explaining what he barely understood himself. “James Early was never a proper match for you.”
She smiled, liking the proprietary tone he used. “And you are?” she asked, giving him a look that was both sly and mischievous.
He didn’t want to think about her question too deeply. Nathan answered as he knew she expected him to. He pounced on her, pinning her to the mattress with her arms above her head. His face was just inches above her and his light-gray predator eyes captured her attention. “You know I am,” he said with husky menace. “Say it.”
Lydia shook her head and dropped the gauntlet. “Make me.”
He kissed her first. Not on her mouth as she expected, but on her shoulder. His lips were warm, her skin warmer. His teeth caught the wide strap of her chemise and tugged, easing it over her shoulder. Taking advantage of her bare flesh, Nathan feasted. Starting with her collarbone, his mouth placed tiny, tasting kisses along its length. The curve of her neck and the hollow of her throat held the fragrance of the lei she had worn on their trek from the falls. His lips tickled her skin, making her shiver and shift a little restlessly as he moved closer.
Nathan’s knee nudged the hem of her chemise. It traveled upward, over her calves, her knees, and came to rest just at the top of her thighs. Nathan bent once and kissed the silly, insignificant scar on her knee with such reverence that in that moment Lydia knew she was absolutely adored. He stripped off his shirt, his trousers, and drawers. It was not often that he was entirely naked when she was still clothed. It was exciting in a way. She kept thinking the next thing he would do would be to remove her shift. It never was. The anticipation was deliciously maddening.
He kissed her breasts through the thin cotton shift. His tongue made a wet circle on the cloth and the extra abrasion of the material made her nipples stand up hard and stiff. He took his time arousing her, pressing his mouth to her breasts again and again, drawing the fabric through his lips, then her nipple, worrying both with his teeth. When he heard her whimper, he stopped.
Lydia’s fingers dug into his thick dark hair and tried to force him back to her breast. He smiled. The dimples that melted her heart appeared briefly. He was also shaking his head, refusing to budge.
“Say it,” he said.
Though Nathan’s methods were especially persuasive, Lydia wasn’t ready to give in just yet. It was a matter of pride—and pleasure. “You’ll have to do better than this,” she said. But her voice was very, very husky.
Nathan reacted swiftly, turning Lydia over on her stomach and straddling her thighs. “I can do much better,” he assured her. His voice was momentarily near her ear. His breath was hot on her flushed cheek.
She tried to raise her head and see hi
m, but she couldn’t. He was already leaning back, his hands reaching behind him to stroke her calves. The backs of her knees were incredibly sensitive to the light caress of his fingertips. She bit the underside of her lip to keep from crying out this time and swallowed the other sounds of her desire.
Pushing the hem of Lydia’s shift upward to the small of her back, Nathan cupped her buttocks in his palms and gently kneaded, gradually working lower to the tops of her thighs. There were two small indentations at the base of her spine. He touched a knuckle to each in turn, then kissed them both, flicking his tongue in the tiny depressions.
His hands slipped under her shift, up her back. His thumbs traced the ridged length of her spine, then across her shoulder blades and along her folded arms, stopping where her wrists cradled her head. His hands caressed the tender and sensitive inside of her arms, then slid under her and held her breasts in the heart of his palms.
Lydia said his name softly, pleadingly. Nathan bent close to her mouth and she said it again, breathlessly this time.
“Is that all?” he asked softly. “Just my name?”
She nodded quickly, squeezing her eyes shut before she changed her mind and said the words he wanted to hear.
Nathan moved off her thighs. At first Lydia was bereft by the loss of him, but then he was lifting her so that they were both kneeling on the bed, her back flush to his chest. He supported her with one arm beneath her breasts; the other cut diagonally across the flat of her abdomen. From behind her he pushed her thighs apart with his knee. She was open to him now, vulnerable in her wanting.
She turned her head slightly, wanting to give him her mouth. Instead it was her neck she inadvertently offered up to him. His mouth did not sip her skin now. Like the rest of him, his kisses were hard and hot. The hand on her hip moved to the inside of her thigh, stroking, caressing. His fingers slipped into the downy tuft of hair between her thighs at the same time his tongue speared her mouth. Lydia cried out this time. Nathan smothered the sound.
She felt the strength of his arousal against the cleft of her buttocks. She rested her weight against him and felt him suck in his breath, taking the air from her lungs. He broke the kiss. She gasped. Nathan made his husky demand. “Say it.”
“You’re…you’re a proper match.”
Nathan laughed. It was more of a growl, the sound coming from deep in his throat and slightly raspy, definitely triumphant. It was enough to prickle her skin.
Lydia made a small protesting movement when he didn’t lay her down, but except for a gentle reassurance, he paid her little heed. “This way,” he said lowly, lifting her hips. “Lean forward now.”
“But—” She didn’t finish because it would have been a senseless gesture. She was already doing as he asked, and Nathan was entering her from behind. Her cheek rested against the back of her hands at the foot of the bunk. Lydia’s sable hair spilled over her shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Nathan’s every thrust filled her, his every withdrawal left her aching. His hands stroked her from breast to thigh, pressing, molding, learning the shape of her. The position he held her in was novel and exciting and highly pleasurable. He rocked her body and she met his thrusts, surging against him until she felt the tempo change, his penetration become quick and shallow, and then his entire body tightened. He found his release in her.
Nathan drew her on her side and they lay together spoon-fashion, his hand resting on Lydia’s hip. He caressed her, sometimes dipping to her inner thigh. His breathing slowed while hers quickened in anticipation of his touch. Nathan did not tease her long. He wanted her to feel the same pleasure she had given him and she was almost there, just skimming the surface of her climax, every sense heightened to him. He whispered her name and pressed more deeply, intimately.
She felt as if she would shatter if he didn’t hold her and he seemed to know how it was for her. When pleasure shuddered through her, Nathan’s embrace secured her and his body absorbed her trembling excitement. Her name became a softly spoken litany on his lips and his gentleness in that moment touched her deeply.
When she turned toward him as he lay on his back, Nathan glimpsed the sheen of tears in her eyes. Before he could question her or raise his concern, she was pressing her mouth to his in a remarkably chaste kiss. “You make me so happy,” she said quietly. Lydia rested her cheek against the curve of his shoulder and fell asleep.
Nathan was sitting on the padded bench beneath the porthole when Lydia woke. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his back pressed in the corner. He was wearing his trousers and nothing else. A band of moonshine slanted across his folded hands, but his face was in shadow. Deep in thought, his eyes focused vaguely on some point across the room, Nathan was unaware that Lydia had wakened, or that she was watching him.
She was glad he didn’t know. He might have moved or come to her or said something and she didn’t want anything from Nathan except the pleasure of looking at him.
It was his hands that she noticed first. She could hardly look at them without thinking of how they felt on her body, how the beautiful shape of them, the long fingers, the slightly rough pads of his palms, could make her feel beautiful in turn or give her such pleasure.
Her eyes made out the outline of his arms and shoulders in the darkness. His skin was smooth, pulled taut over defined muscles. She could almost feel the embrace of those arms, the circle of safety and security, the crook of the shoulder that pillowed her head. She raised her eyes fractionally, searching out the sharp lines of Nathan’s profile, the Roman nose, the lean jaw, and the cleanly cut angle of his cheek.
He moved then and his face was briefly illuminated in the beam of moonlight. The predator eyes, those beautiful, implacable, no-quarter eyes were turned in her direction. Their glance was piercing, almost savage, and then it was shuttered, shadowed again as he grimaced, as though in pain, and rested his head against the wall, his eyes closed.
Lydia sat up, wrapping the bedsheet around her like a
lava-lava. She approached him quietly, the only sound the whisper of the fabric against her skin. She stood beside him, not touching, not speaking, and waited for some sign from him that she was welcome in his thoughts or a relief from them. It came a moment later when he reached for her wrist, drawn to her by the fragrance that would always remind him of the island, but which was Lydia’s own. Nathan made room for her on the bench, slipping his arms around her as she leaned into him. His cheek rested against her hair.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she said. She turned her head a little and his chin nudged her temple. He kissed her lightly and the simplicity of the gesture, the warmth of it, curled Lydia’s toes.
“I’m not,” he said. He had watched her for a long time before he moved from the bed. Those moments had been the single most peaceful moments of his life. He would never regret them. “Have you been awake long?”
“Not long.”
They were quiet. Outside, waves slapped rhythmically against the Avonlei and above them on deck, a seaman on nightwatch played a wooden flute. There were footsteps, someone dancing, and then deep laughter and sporadic applause. Lydia found herself smiling and Nathan’s arms tightened fractionally.
“They’re having a good time tonight,” she said.
“Hmm.”
“They must be as reluctant to leave the island as we are.”
“Probably.”
“Fa’amusami said something tonight that bothered you.”
“She did?” he asked, pretending ignorance.
“About that murder on the other island. You went back to see her father.”
“Weren’t you bothered by it?”
“Of course, but...”
“Yes?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought...”
He waited. Did she know? Could she remember?
“Nothing,” she said finally, softly. “It was nothing.”
Nathan was glad she could not see his relief. It could only make her wonder all the mor
e. He did not want to discuss his conversation with Fiame and he did not want to think any more about the island girl’s violent death. Did death follow or precede him? He could not admit to Lydia what he had no proof of himself.
Raising one hand, Nathan shifted Lydia’s hair over her left shoulder. His fingers played in it, stroking, sifting. It was almost as peaceful as watching her sleep.
His voice was low and resonant when he spoke. “You should have another wedding,” he said.
“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Another wedding,” he repeated, his hand stilling momentarily. “I’ve been thinking about what you said our first night on Avonlei, about not remembering our wedding. We should get married again before we go to Ballaburn. There’s a church in Sydney I think you’d like and I know the priest. Father Colgan has been a good friend to Mad Irish, and Mad Irish to the church. He would do the ceremony for us.”
Lydia was moved to silence. His gesture touched her so deeply that she felt tears prick her eyes. Against her back she could feel Nathan’s heart pounding in his chest.
He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with her stillness, her quiet. “I haven’t said it very well, have I?” he said self-consciously. “I don’t suppose you remember me asking you to marry me the first time, either.”
She only shook her head. Even the smallest words were stuck firmly in her throat.
“I see.”
For a long time he didn’t say anything else, and Lydia began to think he wouldn’t.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
He put forth the question abruptly, a shade defensively, as if the answer were not a foregone conclusion.
His uncertainty was precious to her, and with it came Lydia’s realization that her husband was not entirely confident of her affection, of the place he held in her heart.
“I should like to be your wife,” she said, finding his hand and placing hers over it. “I should like it above everything.”
She didn’t mean what she was saying, he thought. She couldn’t, not when she didn’t know him for the man he really was, the man who had tricked her, lied to her, and was doing both those things to her now, almost without compunction. Almost. It eased his mind that the feelings of regret and pity were there. They meant he was not totally beyond redemption.
