Captain of My Heart (27 page)

A suspicious thump sounded against the
ceiling, and it occurred to Brendan that a brick was not the only
thing that had been warming his bed.

“C’mon, Luff! Here, boy! Daddy’s got some
goodies for ye!”

An avalanche of sound thundered down the
stairs, claws skittered madly on hardwood floors, and the setter
came skidding into the dining room on his haunches. Cackling with
glee, Ephraim set the plate on the floor after a wary glance to
ensure Abigail’s absence, and watched as the dog bolted the
leftovers.

“Abby’ll have a damned fit if she sees him
eatin’ off the plates. Ye don’t mind, do ye, Merrick? They git
washed real good. Oh, Matt! Come back here, boy, I almost fergot!
Annie Pillsbury dropped by this morn, a-wonderin’ if yer gonna take
her to the dance tomorrow night at the Daltons’ house.”

Matt, his cheeks flushed with drink and his
red hair rumpled, stared at him, uncomprehending. He pushed his
spectacles up with a freckled finger. “Annie?”

“Aye, Annie! Ye know, that pretty little
blonde—”

Matt made a dismissing motion with his hand
and continued down the hall.

“You git back here! I’m askin’ ye a question,
dammit! Are ye takin’ her or aren’t ye?”

Matt was almost to the stairway. “I’m taking
Leah Rutherford.”

“That where ye were when Annie came
a-callin’? With Leah?”

“None of your damned business!”

“Is, too, my business! Ye were with Leah,
weren’t ye.
Weren’t ye?”

Matt whirled, his freckles fading into a
pre-temper flush, and thin crescents of fog nestling in the bottoms
of his lenses. “As a matter of fact, I was
not
with Leah,
nor Annie. I was with Penny Morrill, all right? Now, shear off! Who
I see, who I don’t see, who I bed, who I don’t bed, and who I take
to the goddamned dance is none of your stinking affair!”

“Penny Morrill?”

“Aye, Penny Morrill!”

“You mean to tell me ye have the likes of
Annie Pillsbury and Leah Rutherford a-yappin’ at yer heels and ye
prefer some blowsy tart who ain’t nothing but a she-bitch in
heat?”

Matt went crimson and slammed his fist into
the wall. “Goddammit, just stay out of my life, you cantankerous
old goat!”

“Cantankerous old goat? Who you callin’ a
cantankerous old goat? Why, I’ll have no cussed son of mine takin’
that tone of voice with me, you hear me? I raised ye to show
respect, and I’m damned sick and tired of not gittin’ it! And
furthermore—”

Seeing Brendan standing there in helpless
confusion, Mira grabbed his arm and hauled him down the hall at a
speed that would have done Rigel proud. Behind them, the argument
exploded, permeating the walls, sending cats streaming out of the
room in every direction, and bringing candlelight to the windows of
the previously darkened house across the street. Reaching the
relative safety of the kitchen, they skidded to a stop, clutching
their sides with laughter.

When he could speak, Brendan gasped, “You
display an amazing ability to extricate yourself from these, er,
situations, Miss
Moyrrra!”

“It comes from many years of practice,
Captain!”

Laughter stilled, and he found himself
looking down at her, his smile warming as he studied her
mischievous eyes, the impish tilt of her nose, the creamy
perfection of her skin. It was a striking foil to her dark hair,
carelessly upswept and now coming loose from its pins after their
headlong flight. How simple it would be to plunge his fingers
through that thick mane and free the rest of it. He swallowed,
suddenly feeling all tight inside.

“Are you all right, Brendan?”

“All right?”

“Well, you’re breathing hard . . . I didn’t
hurt you with that snowball, did I?”

He’d totally forgotten about the snowball.
Any more of her innocent flirting and he’d be lost. “No, no, of
course not.”

“I wish you’d stay here tonight.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . well—” He gave a little laugh,
glanced away, and said hastily, “Because you’re a bonny lass,
Moyrrra,
that’s why.”

Moyrrra.
She loved how his tongue
seemed to roll over the
r
, his lilting voice rising up and
down like the notes on a musical scale. He looked down at her, a
lost expression in his eyes that was totally at odds with the
actions of
Kestrel
’s blithe and gallant commander. She
shivered and crossed her arms over her chest, grasping her elbows,
with the weird premonition that he was going to kiss her.

And wishing with all her heart that he
would.

“What does my being . . .
bonny
have
to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it! Now,
please, I must go.
Now
.”

She touched his arm. “Brendan, I think you’re
running from me.”

“I’m not running, I’m fleeing.”

“Why? And from what?”

“From . . . from . . . doing something I’ll
regret.”

His blue coat with the red facings had been
drying beside the hearth; now he tore it from its peg, shoved his
arms into the sleeves, and yanked his shirt cuffs down with quick,
jerky motions. It was the same coat he’d worn into battle on
Kestrel,
and in it, he looked perfectly dashing, perfectly
handsome, and every inch the gallant captain he was. Mira watched
him with hungry eyes. His wool stockings and breeches defined the
hard musculature of his legs, the lean, masculine beauty of his
thighs. His neckcloth was loose, his sleeve lace spilling over his
hands. He snatched up his sword and buckled it on. She’d seen him
wield that sword on
Kestrel
’s decks with a fencer’s
expertise, yet still, those hands—sensitive, fine, and
skillful—belonged to an artist.

She wondered what they’d feel like against
her skin. Caressing her body.

And if she didn’t stop him now, she might
never know. He was running away
again.
Acting like a damned
fish out of water, like so many sea officers who spent too much
time aboard ships and not enough in sleazy dockside taverns. Where
was that Irish lightheartedness? That weightless grin? That blithe,
carefree spirit? Hell, if she wanted him to kiss her, it was clear
she’d have to initiate it herself.

She planted herself between him and the door,
crossed her arms, and announced, “So, Brendan, are you going to
kiss me or not?”

His hand, just reaching for his tricorne,
froze. That one higher-than-the-other brow shot high and he stared
at her, speechless. Mira was hard-pressed to conceal her grin.
After Matt’s philandering ways, Brendan’s reaction was almost
comical.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, are
you?”

He looked very flustered. “Am I what?”

“Going to kiss me.” Saucily she tilted her
chin and gazed up at him with mischievous eyes. “I loved it when
you kissed me before. I promise I’ll like it even more now.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, looked at the
wall, looked at her, and began to fidget. “Well, to be truthful, I
was considering it, but given the fact that your arsenal ranges
from wild horses to snowballs, I think it might be a folly, and
therefore—”

“Captain Merrick
,
please, none of your
blarney!”

“Brendan,” he reminded her, slamming his hat
down on his head and diving toward the door.

She caught his arm. “If you think you’re
going back to that damned ship without giving me a kiss, you
will
be sorry!”

He let out his breath and stared hopelessly
down at her. Then, the corners of his mouth began to twitch, and
finally, he grinned . . . and Mira felt as though someone were
pouring sweet, hot syrup over her heart and dribbling it right down
into the nether regions of her stomach. Softly he said, “I suppose
if you don’t do me any bodily damage, I might beg a kiss from you
before I leave . . .”

“There’s no need to beg, Brendan.” She smiled
up at him, and touched his arm. “You see, before you, I’d never
been kissed. Not
really
kissed. And I’ve decided that I like
being kissed by you very, very much, and therefore I want to be
kissed again. You don’t mind, do you? My breath’s clean and I know
how to kiss back. As for what should follow, I’m uneducated, but I
know you can teach me. Honestly, Brendan, don’t look so shocked.
You’re on your way to becoming the town’s newest hero, and I want
first claim on you.”

“Faith, lass, what has brought all this
on?”

Seeing you in action on your ship,
she
wanted to say.
Seeing the man you really are beneath all that
badinage.

“I missed you.” She glanced coyly down at the
floor and poked at it with her toe. “A lot.”

He was paling beneath his seaman’s tan.

“Of course, if you don’t really want to kiss
me, I’ll understand. Maybe you already have a girl in some far-off
port. Maybe you have one here. Maybe you don’t like me. After all,
the encounters you’ve had with me have been far from, uh,
pleasant.”

“Oh no, Miss Mira. Even the most painful ones
have been pleasant.”

He said it with such innocent sincerity that
she almost burst out laughing. She looked up at him, and he looked
down at her and grinned, and something stirred deep within her
heart. He stepped closer, so close that she could see the little
tawny sunbursts in the darker, amber-colored irises of his eyes.
Again she caught the scent of shaving soap and wet wool, fresh air
and melted snow.

And the sea. Always the sea. He looked down
at her, tall, impossibly handsome—and bending his head down to
hers, their foreheads touching, he cradled her jaw in his
hands.

Those hands that she wanted all over her.

She felt herself melting like snow in
July.

She closed her eyes. His lips grazed her
forehead, and she felt his breath fanning her brow and stirring a
wisp of loose hair. Anticipation quickened her heartbeat. It became
hard to breathe.

Gently, he tipped her jaw up, lifting her
face to his like a flower to the morning sun. She felt his thumbs
stroking her cheeks, clearing away loose, damp strands of hair; and
then his lips were against hers.

As before, she was rocked to her very core.
Sensation slammed through her; dizziness and heat, honey and syrup,
all whirling through her blood and centering in a bundle of nerve
endings somewhere at the junction of her thighs. She clamped her
legs together, the strange but wonderful ache intensifying as she
reached up to wind her arms around his neck and press herself
against him. His lips ground against hers, sweet and demanding,
hungry and hot, and she felt his fingers slide into her hair,
freeing the last of the pins and sending the thick tresses tumbling
down her back. Strength left her body and she clung to his neck by
her arms alone. Where her knees had been, there was only water.

The world was swimming by the time he tore
his mouth from hers. Dazed and shaken, Mira reached up and placed a
trembling hand to her lips. They were still there. Throbbing,
tingling, singing. She stared up at him, her eyes huge in her
suddenly pale face.

“Now,” he said softly, “I think you realize
what I am running from.”

She could not speak. She could not think. And
she could not trust her legs to hold her up. She took a step back,
her spine coming up against the wall. She was grateful for the
support.

“Are you happy now,
Moyrrra?”

She nodded, swallowed, and ran her tongue
over her lower lip. It felt swollen, and tasted of him.

“Brendan?”

“Yes?”

“Have you . . . kissed many women?”

He grinned. “Enough.”

“Do you ever kiss the same one twice?”

“On occasion.”

“Wh-what occasion?”

“If she’s pretty enough. If I happen to like
her. If I think her da won’t come after me with a loaded
musket.”

“Am I . . . pretty enough?”

“Aye,
mo stóirín,
you’re a right bonny
lass.”

“And . . . and do you like me?”

“Aye.” He hesitated, then added, “More than I
should.”

“And does my father—my da—make you
nervous?”

“Nervous?”

“Aye.” She swallowed, and kicked at an
imaginary spot on the floor. “He’s scared off plenty of other
would-be suitors.”

“Your da doesn’t scare me,
Moyrrra.”

“Are you sure?”

He laughed, a rich, melodious sound that
brought the heat back to her insides. “I’m positive, lass.”

“Then, Brendan?”

He gazed down at her, thoroughly
enchanted.

“Would you please kiss me again?”

“Good God.”

And with that, he pulled her against him once
more.

Chapter 16

He insisted upon returning to his ship for
the night.

She insisted upon keeping him at her
father’s.

And so they argued, until Ephraim caught them
at it and threw his considerable volume to Mira’s side, and
Brendan, outnumbered, outshouted, but certainly not outwitted,
finally said that she could drive him down to the waterfront to
pick up his things. Although he’d agreed that he would return to
the Ashton house, it was his secret intention to bid her good-bye
and spend the night safely aboard
Kestrel.

In the stable it was cold and dark. He felt
Mira’s lips against his once more, as she reached up and put her
arms around his neck. She pressed herself against him for a long
moment, and he laid his cheek atop her rose-scented hair and held
her tightly. Then she slipped away, laughing, and he heard a horse
whickering softly as a stall door opened. He stood there in the
chill gloom, his pulse pounding in his ears, his breath sounding
hoarse in the darkness. He felt as though he were caught in a
sudden squall before he could get his sails reefed.

Helpless.