Much Ado About Marriage (25 page)

He could tell from her gasps of pleasure and the clutching insistence of her hands that she was as lost in wonder as he was. Sweet Jesu help them both. They were drowning
in this wild passion.

He wanted to take his time, to slowly initiate her in the pleasures of lovemaking, but the demands of his body and hers were too much. Within seconds he was positioned between her thighs. His body was tense with the effort to control his passion, since he knew this would bring her pain, but she surged up to meet him with eager hips and clutching thighs. She whimpered for a moment as he stroked into her, murmuring into the silk of her hair, lost in her wet warmth. Again and again he thrust into her, each stroke an agonizing, delicious exhilaration.

She gasped, and her hands tightened on his shoulders. He paused, taking in the sight of her on the crest of her pleasure. Her face was flushed, her eyes closed, the lashes fanning in thick crescents, her lips parted and swollen. His mouth covered hers and she tensed, gasping as waves of intense sensation rippled through her. A surge of exultation pulsed through him and carried him on a wave of passion.

Afterward, his breathing was loud in the silence of the room, only the faint howl of the wind and the lazy rocking of the ship reminding him where he was. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms, refusing to think of anything other than how perfectly made she was for him. She was
his.
He would deal with tomorrow when it arrived. For once in his life he wanted to stop thinking and just
feel.

As if she agreed with his unspoken thoughts, she snuggled into his arms, her cheek against his shoulder as her breathing slowly returned to normal.

After a few blissfully peaceful moments, he raised his head and looked at her. Fia was sound asleep. Thomas admired the faint flush on her creamy skin, the way her pink
lips parted as she slept.

She was his, at least for now. As for the annulment . . . he closed his eyes and settled into the pillow. He’d think about that on the morrow. He’s just spent four hours battling a storm, and combined with such lusty lovemaking, he was too exhausted to think.

Without another coherent thought, entwined around Fia, Thomas went to sleep.

Fia awoke slowly, her back pleasantly warm from the sun. She smiled drowsily and snuggled deeper into the rumpled sheets, her bare skin gently abraded by the rough blanket.

Remembrance flooded through her in vivid detail. She trailed a hand over her neck, where Thomas’s roughened cheek had left its mark. Her hand dropped lower still to the tenderness of her breasts. The sensation sparked a thousand memories of his roaming hands, the warmth of his lips, and the feel of his body against and inside hers.

Who knew lovemaking could be so glorious? A deeply contented smile curved her mouth as she turned over and pushed the blanket aside, stretching out in the sunlight like a contented cat.

Thomas had been so passionate last night. In his desire, he had murmured a thousand lies into her ear, each one sweeter than the one before. And she had let him. She had wanted him to say she was beautiful and perfect, that she was made for him.

Afterward she had fallen asleep in his arms, sated and happier than she had ever been. She wished he hadn’t been called away from her side; it would have been pleasant to awake with his arms still about her. But his duties as captain of the ship couldn’t be denied.

She smiled at the streams of sunshine flowing through the unshuttered windows. ’Twas a glorious day, the merry sea topped by a blue, blue sky, as if celebrating the fact that she and Thomas were now man and wife in the truest sense. The thought made her grin all the way to her toes.

Had this been one of her plays, Thomas would now return, throwing the door wide, his expression brightening on seeing her still in his bed. He would come to kneel at her feet and then, in the sweetest of words, he’d proffer his heart.

Fia’s eyes grew teary. Every woman deserved such a scene. She loved so many things about Thomas. She loved how serious he was and how he took responsibility for everyone around him. She loved his quick sense of humor and the way his men cared for him. There wasn’t a single one of his crew who wouldn’t die for his captain.

She wrapped the sheet about her and scooted to the edge of the bunk, her eyes on the door. If this were one of her plays, Thomas would appear wearing a long, swirling cape of blue thrown over his shoulders, his black hair glinting in the sun and his white shirt unlaced to reveal his strong chest as it had last night.

Pure, hot desire would smolder in his velvety brown eyes as he knelt to place a lingering kiss on her hand. Then, gazing into her eyes, he would tell her of his love.

She heaved a deep sigh. ’Twas almost as good as when
Nicoli the Unruly had swept the lovely Rosalind from the bower in
The Lady of Ghent.
Fia stretched her bared legs and wiggled her toes in anticipation.

Almost as if on cue, a noise arose out in the passageway. Fia leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat as the door opened. Could it be Thomas? Was he coming to tell her that he—

Mary’s red head appeared around the door. “Och, ye’re finally awake!” The maid entered the room, her arms full. “Just look at ye, lyin’ abed so late.”

Fia hid her disappointment. “Aye, I overslept, but I’m awake now.”

“Good, fer I brought ye some company, I did.” Mary laid the gown and petticoats she was carrying across the back of a chair. Then she reached into the bag over her shoulder and pulled out a ball of brown fur.

“Och, you brought the wee rabbit!”

“Aye, fer he’s drivin’ the entire crew mad, hoppin’ about and gnawin’ on every rope he can find. Apparently some of them are too important to trust to a hungry rabbit.”

Fia rubbed the rabbit between its ears before setting it on the table. He immediately hopped to the blue shoe that now sat upon it and sniffed suspiciously at the painted leather. “The animals are well after the storm?”

“They’re better than Angus. He nigh broke his noggin.”

“Oh, Mary, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know he’d been injured that badly.”

“Och, ’twas no’ so bad; he has a head like a rock. He’s fine now, though ye wouldna know it to hear him complain. The man’s a nuisance when he’s ill, refusin’ to drink the possets I brought him and sayin’ he’s dyin’.” Mary tsked
as she busied herself about the room. “But men ne’er dinna deal well with illnesses.”

“Aye, Duncan wasn’t one to handle being confined to bed, either.”

Mary lifted a gown off the chair. “I brought ye some fresh clothes. I even managed to iron the skirts, thanks to the cook, who heated me iron over his own stove in the ship’s galley.” The maid pulled a pair of slippers from her pocket and placed them by the bed, then went to shut the door. “’Tis good ye’re still undressed, fer I ordered ye a hot-water bath. The rain filled all of the barrels on deck, so there’s plenty of water to be had.”

“A bath? On board ship?”

“Aye, I found a large barrel in the hold that will do the trick. The first mate complained when I confiscated it, o’ course, but the ship’s cook has been helpful. He’s warming up the last o’ the water right now.”

“That’s lovely! Mary, have . . . have you seen Lord Rotherwood today?”

“Aye, he’s on deck bellowing orders. Angus said the captain is grumpier than a bear in a trap, and the men are tryin’ to stay out o’ his way.”

Some of Fia’s good mood slipped away. “He’s in a foul mood?”

“Aye, snapping at everyone. He even snarled at Lord Montley and threatened to throw the man off the ship, though I dinna blame him fer that. I’ve oft wanted to—Och, I left yer special lavender soap in me cabin. I’ll be right back.” Mary scurried off and Fia dropped back onto the bed, her heart thudding.

Why is Thomas in such a bad mood? He couldn’t possibly have been disappointed last night.
Suddenly the grand scene
Fia had imagined earlier seemed woefully unlikely.
Does he regret what happened? Does our passion mean nothing to him, and he still wishes for an annulment?

It was a lowering thought. Yet she had to admit that it was a possibility. Thomas was a sophisticated and worldly man; perhaps to him lovemaking was merely a pastime, while to her, it meant—

What? What
did
it mean? She didn’t dare think about it until she knew how Thomas felt.

Her throat ached where a lump of emotion had lodged itself. No matter what happened, she wouldn’t allow him to see how disappointed she was that he hadn’t found their lovemaking an emotional experience, as well.
Montley told me that the court is rife with icy hearts and cold ambition. Though the signs were all there, I didn’t realize he was warning me about Thomas.

What was she to do now? When the ship docked, perhaps she should take Mary and Angus and the animals and set off on her own adventure. After a few months, she’d forget all about Thomas and their night of passion. In the meantime, she could find a sponsor for her plays on her own.

Or could she? Without the proper introductions to the right people, she might never find a sponsor. And where would she stay? She had limited funds and many to support. Perhaps she could sell the amber amulet. No, she’d promised Duncan she’d place it in Elizabeth’s hands and Fia couldn’t turn her back on her promise.

Ignoring the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, she lay across the wide bunk, her arms outstretched as if she’d expired.

She pictured herself huddled against the outside gates
of a huge manor, the wind and snow swirling about her as she tried piteously to start a fire with nothing but a broken piece of a flint and some damp twigs.

Her dress would be torn and shabby, her feet wrapped with dirty rags. Eventually she would die from the cold and they would find her wasted figure in the snow, her fingers clutching her brilliant plays.

Fia’s head and arm hung dramatically over the edge of the bunk; she was the very picture of an innocent maid dying wrongly accused. She’d bet her best quill that Thomas would be sorry then. Aye, he would come to her deathbed and kneel, his head bowed over her lifeless hand as he realized that it was his cold heart, not the weather, that had frozen her to death and—

Mary bustled back into the room, halting at the door. “What are ye pretendin’ now, lassie? Ye look as though ye’ve gone and died right there on the poor cap’n’s bunk.”

Fia’s face heated as she scrambled to sit upright. “I was just thinking about a play I am writing.”

“A new play?” Mary’s eyes brightened as she bustled Fia into a robe. “Och, tell me about it.”

A brief knock sounded on the door and Simmons nearly skipped into the room. “Good mornin’ to ye, milady!” His ruddy cheeks stretched into a wide smile that grew wider when his gaze fell on Mary. “And to ye, too, Mistress Mary.”

There was no disguising the admiration in his voice. Mary’s blue eyes raked the first mate up and down, her mouth prim with disdain. “Och, now, and what do ye think ye are about, boltin’ into her ladyship’s room without so much as a by-yer-leave? Ye knock and
then
ye wait fer someone to tell ye to come in!”

“Sorry, mistress.” Simmons regarded her rounded
frame with admiration. “I’m bringin’ ye the tub, like ye requested.” He stepped aside and waved in what seemed to be the entire crew, carrying pails of hot water and a half cask that must have been the washtub.

Mary watched as the men filled the makeshift tub with gently steaming water. “Dinna fill it too full. ’Tis a small tub and the water will splash out if ye do.”

After Simmons and the men left, Mary dipped an elbow into the tub. “’Tis not much of a tub, but the water is hot.”

Fia nodded. The small tub seemed to sum up her whole situation; she had to compress her unruly feelings into a smaller space than they wanted.

Mary shot her a quick, assessing gaze. “Och, dinna look so disappointed. ’Twas the best I could do and—”

Fia hugged the maid. “I’m very grateful for the tub. I’ll fit, too. Just not all at once.”

Mary chuckled. “Climb in, lass. Just think: ye might be meetin’ the queen soon! ’Tis unlikely to be as soon as we’d hoped, though; the storm blew us off course a bit. But another few days will pass quickly enough.”

Fia’s heart sank. “We’ll be longer at sea?”

“Aye. Now, in the tub with ye.” Mary bustled to the door. “I’ll fetch ye up some drying cloths.” She shut the door behind her.

Fia sighed, tossing her robe onto the bed and settling into the small tub. It was ludicrously tiny and both of her legs hung out. “A bath,” she said scathingly. “More like a puddle if you ask me.”

Thomas the rabbit hopped to the edge of the tub and stood on his hind legs, sniffing the air.

Fia smiled reluctantly. “’Tis a paltry excuse for a tub, is it not?”

He apparently agreed, for he hopped back to the blanket, which had fallen to the floor, and flopped onto his stomach.

Fia sighed, trying hard not to succumb to the weight that pressed on her. “It appears that Thomas regrets what happened betwixt us, and it pains my pride. It’s never nice to be regretted.”

The rabbit’s nose quivered as if he agreed.

“I need to stop thinking about his high and mighty lordship and pay attention to why I came to London: to find a sponsor for my plays.” She picked up a cloth and rubbed Mary’s lavender soap across it.

“I was foolish to think that just because my feelings for him have grown, that his feelings for me were doing the same.” Fia rubbed her arms with the soapy cloth, using far more force than was necessary. “Perhaps if I act as if nothing has happened, he will do so, too. At least then I’ll still have my pride.”

The rabbit rolled to one side, presenting its back to Fia. “Aye, I’m fooling myself, aren’t I? The man fascinates me as no other, yet he never seems as taken with me. I don’t know much about relationships, but it seems poorly constructed to have one that is so lopsided. And I’ve a feeling that things will only get more complicated once we reach London.”

The rabbit placed its head upon its paws and sat quietly, as if thinking.