More Than You Know (24 page)

It was after midnight before Rand rapped lightly on Claire's door. He had just left Cutch in command for the next watch. The winds were easy from the east and the seas were smooth.
Cerberus
was running at a good clip, and a full moon lighted her way.

That same moon cast everything in Claire's cabin in a pale blue-and-gray light. Rand eased himself inside and leaned against the door, locking it behind him. Claire was sitting at the foot of her bed, her face and figure limned by the light. She pulled the brush through her hair one more time before she set it aside and came to her feet. Her thin lawn nightgown drifted from her knees to her ankles.

"Rand?"

That she said his name as a question surprised him. He had become accustomed to her knowing him. “Could it be anyone else?” he asked.

"You were so quiet. First in the companionway, then at the door. I had to be certain."

Though he realized she hadn't answered him precisely, Rand let the matter rest. “Come here, Claire."

She hesitated, but only for a moment. She crossed the room to where he was standing.

Rand raised one hand. His fingers brushed the scooped neckline of her shift from her shoulder to just above her breast. The movement raised her nipple against the heel of his hand. “I believe you have something to tell me,” he said lowly.

Claire's own voice was not raised above a whisper. “It doesn't matter what use you might make of me,” she said. “I find I want you too much to mind terribly. You don't have to worry that there will be terms. Even one."

His fingers curled around the edging of her nightgown and tugged. He drew her closer. “And if
I
want marriage?"

Claire was careful to keep her face expressionless. She shook her head. “I wouldn't do that to you."

"Do what?"

"Allow you to take on one more responsibility."

"One more burden, you mean. That's what you're thinking."

She didn't deny it. Rand's fingers loosened on her gown. His hand drifted lower until he was cupping her breast. Claire felt her breathing become unsteady and shallow. It didn't seem that he held only her breast, but her heart as well. Without any discernible movement on his part, Rand was able to lift her on tiptoe. Using his other hand, he palmed the nape of her neck. It only took the smallest pressure to make her lift her face.

His mouth slanted across hers. Open. Hungry. Deep. His tongue plunged into her mouth. His lips pressed hers hard. He felt her hands rise between their bodies. She gripped his jacket and held on tightly. She could have been drowning, he thought, and she reached for him when she couldn't draw a breath.

He picked her up, carrying her the short distance to the bed. The covers were folded down, but he laid her on top of them. He had thought about this—her body, slim and pale in moonlight, her beautiful breasts tipped with silver. She lifted her arms languidly as he raised the nightgown over her head, and when he was silent, just staring at her, she seemed to know and gave him the practiced smile of a temptress.

"My God, Claire.” Then he covered her mouth again.

She felt that he would crawl inside her skin if he could. It did not seem to be enough that he could touch her everywhere, that she opened and responded with sybaritic sensuality. He wanted what he couldn't touch as well: her sigh, her secrets, her soul.

Claire helped him out of his jacket and shirt. He removed his boots and stood to get out of his trousers and drawers. She was still kneeling when he sat back down. He reached for her, circling her back, and brought her close enough to take her breast in his mouth. Her fingers curled in his hair, holding him there. He heard her breath catch, and then he drew her down to the bed.

His palms ran across her skin from her shoulders to her wrists. He kissed the inside of her elbow and, later, the inside of her thigh. She contracted around the two fingers he slipped inside her. Her throat arched and a voice that she did not recognize as her own said his name.

There was pressure at the juncture of her thighs. The heel of his hand rubbed her. She pushed into him, hips grinding. He whispered something against her hair that she could not make out over her own harsh breathing. She held his shoulders as the heat and tension inside her mounted. He kissed her again, this time with the same slow rhythm as his fingers moving inside her. She whimpered at first.

Then she cried out. There were starbursts behind her closed eyes, pulsing white lights that beat in time with her heart. For a moment it was just as if all the stars in the sky were rushing toward her. For a moment it was as if she could see.

Rand kissed the corner of her mouth, her chin. His lips touched her eyelids and he tasted the salty dampness of her tears. His entire body went still.

"Claire? What—"

But she was shaking her head and there was nothing sad in her faint smile. She found the side of his face and brushed his mouth with her thumb. “Later,” she said softly. “Come inside me now."

Rand levered himself up. He raised Claire's knees and pressed them back. He looked down at himself, at her, and realized he wanted her to see this, to know how powerfully erotic the sight of their joining was. “Look at us, Claire,” he said. Then he took her hand and made her see for herself.

Afterward they lay quietly, curled together, her bottom against the cradle he made for her. There was a heaviness in her arms and legs. And between her thighs there was a pleasant throbbing. “I can still feel you inside me,” she whispered.

Rand stroked her naked shoulder. “I wish I was.” His first thrust had been deep. The fingers she had curled intimately around him had not insisted on gentleness, and she asked for nothing except his passion. He had wanted to stay with her, joined just as they were, balanced on the curl of a wave, but her body contracted around him, her arms, her legs, and then the damp, velvet walls that held him to her. He rocked against her, again and again, unable to help himself or wanting to. Claire spoke only once and then the sound of her voice had seemed unreal. “Did you really tell me you wanted me to—” His mouth nestled close to her ear and he whispered the last words.

"I think I must have,” she said. Claire didn't have to touch her cheeks to know they were flaming. “There wasn't anyone else here."

He chuckled and kissed the spot on her shoulder his thumb had been idly rubbing. Silence lay over them like another blanket. Rand did not especially want to disrupt it, not when it felt so comfortable and right, yet he didn't see that he had a choice. “You said you'd tell me about your tears."

A peculiar stillness settled over Claire. It was not rooted in wariness or fear, but in absolute calm. It took her a moment to recognize it for what it was: serenity. “I suppose this means it's later,” she said.

"Yes.” Rand's palm lay over the curve of her hip.

Claire reached for his hand and laced her fingers with his. “For a few seconds it was as if I could see,” she whispered.

He couldn't believe he had heard her correctly. He started to speak, but she silenced him by squeezing his hand.

"It wasn't sadness that made me cry, Rand. It was joy. That's what you gave me.” Almost involuntarily, Claire moved a little, pressing back against his chest and thighs. She lifted his hand and brought it around her waist. She used his body like a sling to support her while she rested and healed. “Have you ever pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes?” she went on. “Pressed hard enough to get a burst of color or light behind your lids?"

"I've done that,” he said.

"That's what it was like,” she told him. “Red and orange and yellow. And lots of white light hurtling toward me.” Claire lifted his hand to her mouth and kissed it. “It was as if I had remembered how to see. You gave me that when you gave me pleasure. It was a gift as beautiful as it was unexpected."

He simply held her then. She didn't seem to expect any reply, and Rand was glad for that. The hard ache at the back of his throat would have prevented one.

Sleep claimed Claire first. For a time Rand remained propped on one elbow, looking down on her while she slept, just to remind himself that he could.

It was the absence of Rand's warmth that woke Claire. She stretched, sleepily at first, then with more purpose. Her fingertips curled around the edge of the bed. Her toes found the frame. “Rand?"

At the sound of her voice, Rand turned away from the stove. “I'm over here,” he said. “I was adding some coals.” He dropped the small shovelful in and shut the door. “In a few more days we'll be in warmer waters. You won't need this at night."

"I don't need it now,” she said. Claire ran her hand over the depression his body had made in her bed. “I was fine until you left."

He put the shovel down and went back to the bed. He sat on the edge. “But when you get up you're going to thank me."

"I'm not getting up."

"Yes, you are. Now that you're awake, I want to show you something."

Claire snorted softly at his tactics. She would have been sleeping soundly if he hadn't left the bed. To her way of thinking, adding coals to the stove had been his not-so-subtle way of waking her. “Is it late?” she asked, pushing herself up to her elbows.

"Define late.” He watched moonlight cover her breasts as the blanket slipped to her waist.

"Late as in the sun has been up for an hour or more."

"Oh.” He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. “Then it's very, very early.” Rand felt a smile nudge her lips. Her hands circled his neck and held him close. She deepened the kiss and would have brought him down on her if he hadn't taken her by the wrists and gently released himself. “Come on,” he urged her. “I promise you, you won't be sorry."

"I'm sorry already,” she said. “May I have my robe? It's in the armoire."

Rand handed Claire her nightshift, then found her robe. He helped her into it and belted it for her. He used the ties to draw her close just long enough to kiss her hard; then he nudged her toward the door while she was still too dazed to protest.

Claire tried to dig her heels in when she realized they were going into the companionway. “Where are you taking me?” she whispered.

"To my workroom."

"In the middle of the night?"

"Seems so.” He tugged her hand and pulled her a few steps forward. “Pretend it's the middle of the day."

"But I'm in my nightgown. What if someone sees us?"

"Don't worry about that. How will you know if I don't tell you?"

Claire's brows rose. Speechless astonishment gave way to laughter. When he finally dragged her into the workroom, she was nearly breathless with it. Claire threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. She kissed him on the neck, on the underside of his jaw. “Thank you for that,” she said softly against his mouth. “Thank you for expecting so much from me. Until you, no one believed I could laugh at myself. I'm not certain I believed it either.” She kissed him one more time, hard. “Now, what is it you're so driven to show me?"

Rand led her to the worktable and pulled out a stool for her. “Sit here.” Claire responded dutifully. She sat up straight and placed her folded hands on the table. Her mouth was primly set as she put forth her best imitation of a compliant schoolroom miss.

Amused, Rand told her, “There's moonlight enough in here for me to see if you smirk."

"Then I shall be very careful not to."

"Hmmm."

Claire's head cocked to one side as she followed his movements. He left her alone at the table and walked behind her to the shelves of specimens, then beyond that to the books. She heard him murmur a few titles under his breath before he found what he was looking for. He returned to her and placed what was in his hands on the table in front of her.

"Go on,” Rand said. “You can look at it."

Claire's hands unfolded and she reached for the book. She ran her fingers around the edge of it, judging its size and thickness. It was a cloth-bound book, not covered in leather. The cut of the pages was uneven and the spine was not professionally bound. “This is one of your journals,” she said. There were a few others like it on the shelf, she knew, mixed among his books on botany and wildlife. “Mr. Cutch let me explore your library a time or two. I thought I might like him to read from your science books, but I came to realize I wasn't ready for that."

"He told me."

She nodded, glad Rand didn't press. “What's special about this journal?"

Rand reached over her and opened it about a third of the way back. “This journal isn't actually mine, in that I didn't write it. It's a collection of some of the writings of more than a score of scholars. All of them naturalists, some of it going back a few hundred years. Go ahead, you can touch the pages."

Claire laid her fingertips lightly on the pages that were open to her. “The duke has some illuminated manuscripts among his collection,” she said.

"They're more valuable than what I have here.” Rand placed his hands on her shoulders. “The page you're open to right now, for instance, is something that was written only a hundred years ago. It's a recipe for distilling cherry bark into a cough syrup. The writer drew a beautifully detailed picture of the tree, the leaves and fruit, and the bark. I bought it from a family in Boston a few years ago. They found it lining the bottom of a trunk they were prepared to burn."