Not Quite Married (21 page)

“You make it sound like the promised land,” she said.

“It is for many people. That’s not to say there is no poverty or hardship. Some who come to America see only the potential profit, without realizing how much work is required or how ill-prepared they are to do it.”

“And Boston. Tell me about it.”

She watched him describing the city, using his hands, chuckling over the characters and the curious local cuisine . . . lobsters, clams, a heavy brown sweet bread, and a mania for beans baked with molasses. She listened with fascination to his colorful descriptions of the newspaper, the local university, the city musical society.

“The place has such vigor,” he said, staring off at the horizon. “It throbs with life the way Britain did a century ago. In this country a man is just a man, no more, no less. There is no privileged elite—except that wrought by courage, skill, and cleverness.”

“You love it, don’t you, this new land.” She looked up, feeling drawn to him.

He grew thoughtful. “I suppose I do. In America a man’s sons can make their own lives—become whatever they can become, instead of stifling under centuries of tradition.”

“And daughters?” she asked. “Are women there still bought and sold with dowries and not taught to read lest they learn how little of the world they may have?”

Aaron was disarmed by her question and looked down at her with a light scowl. Before her, all women were just . . . women. He never considered they might have dreams, ambitions, or curiosity, except in social or domestic ways. Now with a single thought, she turned his neat, “modern” view of the world upside down.

She read the answer in his silence. “No, it will be the same there for women. Men will cast off the bondage of class, privilege, and tradition. Even so, they will press it cruelly on women they claim to love so well.” The light dimmed in her countenance and she grew wistful. “Daughters will be forced to wed and bear children

. . . to set aside their dreams and aspirations and hand their lives over to fathers and husbands without demur.”

He was shaken by her words and how surely they fit her life.

How could any fair, honest man fail to see the truth of what she had said? He felt awkward suddenly, and ordinary. He caught her by the arm and turned her to him.

“What is it you truly want, Brien? What dreams did your father trample in driving you to the altar against your will?”

“My dreams were simple. Freedom to see to the welfare of our estate and to learn and use what talents I possess. Most of all, I wanted my father to know that I was more than just a commodity to be dispatched to its proper place. I wanted my wishes and thoughts to matter, to be respected.” She drew back and pulled her shawl tighter. “I suppose that sounds laughable to you, coming from a woman.”

He stared at her through a confusion of horror and longing.

Longing to be with her. Horror at how closely his own attitudes resembled her father’s.

She was a woman. She was supposed to marry and bear children and make a home. But what if she didn’t want to do that? What if she felt demeaned and suffocated by it . . . like he had when his father demanded he give up his “boat nonsense” and return home to marry an heiress already chosen for him? What if she hated the man she was forced to wed, and couldn’t bear for him to touch her, much less bed her?

“Not laughable,” he said thickly.

She glanced up from the corner of her eye, as if unsure whether to believe him.

“All of that is past, now.” She lifted her chin and turned to go.

“Fate intervened to put me on a very different path.”

Aaron stood frozen by the gunwale with a sweet misery of desire welling up inside him. His chest swelled so that he had difficulty drawing breath. Nothing in life had prepared him for the avalanche of new ideas and emotions Brien laid bare in him.

He had always avoided entanglements; from youth he had disavowed all claims made on him, even by his family. Now, in a few moments, that pattern was so totally reversed that he reeled from it. He suddenly wanted connection and obligation. He
needed
it. And he understood that it was his growing desire for
her
that caused these unprecedented longings for permanence and possession.

He wanted her . . . wanted to hold her fast and breathe her in, to drink her through her kisses and feel her sighing with contentment beneath him. He wouldn’t rest until he did. And just what would it take to make her want him as much as he wanted her?

DYSO, WATCHING FROM the quarterdeck railing, had seen it all. Their words were withheld from him by the distance, but he had read their interaction all the same. A smile crept over his battered visage. He strolled to the bow with his rolling gait, watching the determination on the captain’s handsome face.

WHAT DID SHE WANT?

Brien sat on her bunk that evening with her bare feet dangling above the floor and her nightdress bunched up around her knees.

Each stroke of the brush through her long hair seemed to whisper that question anew. What did she want? Even in her own ears, the answer she had given him that afternoon had sounded selfish and shallow.

She wanted to do what
she
wanted. To pursue
her
dreams,
her
aspirations,
her
choices. But just what were her choices?

Aaron Durham’s face appeared in her mind. Of all of the men Billy Rye might have found wandering around the docks that night . . . Of all of the captains who sailed out of Bristol for the colonies . . .

He wasn’t her choice, but he seemed to be
fate’s
.

Tall, handsome, clever, tender, irreverent . . . she thought of his ease of movement, his stubborn jaw, and the glint of passion that seemed ever present in his stunning eyes. Her throat tightened each time his lips curled into that roguish smile. Something in him called to her, consuming her thoughts by day and her dreams by night.

Most devastating, he knew her secrets and her passion, and he didn’t use them against her for his own selfish ends. Why hadn’t he pressed her harder last evening? Surely he knew she needed no more persuasion to make her tumble into bed with him. And even though she was vulnerable and defenseless against him, he hesitated. It was as though he had handed her control as he placed those combs in her hands.

She bounded off the bunk to probe the side pocket of her open trunk. She held the plain tortoiseshell combs up to the lantern light. Amber. Like his eyes.

Desire hit her with gale force and she closed her eyes, concentrating on the tingling in her breasts and the heat collecting in her loins.

She could not know about the future and what was in store for her, but she had to know if her memories of him were real. She had to experience him, be with him one more time. If it were only passion, she would find it out in the cold light of morning and she would be free of him at last.

Her satin robe billowed around her as she stepped out into the passage. Dyso, lying across her doorsill in the narrow passage, sat up quickly, blinking at her with sleep-clouded concern.

She smiled briefly and put forth one hand, motioning him to stay.

The hulk watched as she gathered her robe about her and moved to the door of the next cabin. Without knocking, she turned the handle and disappeared inside.

Dyso rubbed his face slowly. A faint smile flickered about his mouth as he heaved himself up and lumbered down the passage to his own hitherto unused cabin.

Aaron sat at a large table in the center of his spacious cabin. His boots were off and he wore no shirt, as if half-prepared for bed.

A stack of charts absorbed his attention until the opening of the door jerked his head up.

The glibness of a lifetime deserted him as Brien floated forward into the soft light of the single lantern swinging overhead. There was a radiance about her that transfixed him. His heart began to pound.

“W-What can I do for you?” he said, finding his throat suddenly tight.

“Would you believe me if I said I wanted another book?”

“No.”

“Or a bit of rum to help me sleep.”

“I doubt it.”

“What would you believe?”

“Are you having trouble sleeping?” He stepped around the table.

“Yes.”

“And you think I may be able to help?”

“Yes.”

She came to him and stood looking up at him, searching his face.

Then she pressed something into his hands.

He looked down at the small tortoiseshell combs in his hands and found it hard to swallow. She pulled her hair back from her face and turned her head, offering it to him. His hands shook as he stroked her flowing hair and then tucked the combs into the locks she held for him.

Then she tilted her face up to his and touched his bare chest. “I . .

. I need to know if . . .”

There was no need for her to finish it. He knew exactly what she needed to know.

His hands flew to the ribbons of her robe. It slid down her arms and fell around her on the polished floor. Underneath, she wore a gauze-thin nightdress that clung to her body, revealing her breasts and the enticing curve of her body below. Her roselike scent wafted up to him, sending his thoughts plunging down the front of her.

He ran his hands over her shoulders and down her nightdress to cup her breasts. With a ragged groan, he began to circle her taut nipples with his thumbs.

“Put yourself in my hands, sweetness. I’ll have you asleep in no time.”

She closed her eyes and gasped as pleasurable sensations cascaded through her. He watched responsiveness stirring in the lower half of her body. Her hips swayed and she pressed harder against his thumbs, wanting more, wanting that same masterful touch on other parts of her. Her throaty sigh sent a lightning bolt of response through him.

He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her hard against him, feeling his blood rising fast against her soft frame. She wrapped her arms tight around him, surging up onto her toes to meet his kisses, hungrily sucking his lips and stroking his tongue with hers.

In a single, swift movement, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the wide bunk on the far side of the cabin. Her arms opened to him and he sank down atop her, pressing her down into the feather bed, creating a cocoon around them.

His big hands traced the curves of her body through her thin gown, even as her fingers explored his muscular back. He kissed and nipped her mouth, her throat, and her breasts. She arched against him, wanting more, urging him to more direct contact. He pulled back for a moment, to stare with undiluted lust at the taut, crinkled peaks atop those creamy mounds. He ran his hot face over each cool, velvety nipple and felt as much as heard her moan. He fastened his mouth to each nipple and suckled her until her groans filled the cabin.

When he raised his head to smile down into her eyes, he found her eyes shimmering like molten silver. With a wanton smile, she pushed him back and sat up to draw her nightdress over her head and toss it on the floor by the bed. Her combs soon joined it and she shook her head so that her hair spread about her shoulders.

He swallowed hard, trying to drink in the details of her beauty: the soft tumbled hair, the full, round breasts; the smooth round hips, and silken thighs. She was far more beautiful than he had remembered. The sight of her flushed with passion and naked in his bed was overwhelming.

She slid down to lie beside him again, pressing her long, tapered legs against his bulging breeches on the way. In a moment, his remaining clothes were discarded and his mouth was fierce upon hers. He slid on top of her, searing her skin with his heat, and she parted her thighs to welcome him. Soon he was sinking inside her, surrounded, enfolded. Claimed. They moved together for what seemed a long time, until they were both trembling, poised on the very edge of climax. Then their passions exploded, fusing them into one soaring, unbounded entity.

Brien gasped for air, shuddering occasionally as the peace of fulfillment spread through her. Aaron moved over to lie beside her, his face mirroring the smoky contentment in her eyes. She snuggled against his big, warm body, exhausted and still under the enchantment of what had just happened between them.

Aaron’s mind whirled in lazy, contented circles, marveling at the woman who lay curled against him. She was not the sweet, reluctant maiden of his dreams, nor the troubled, prickly aristocrat who had deigned to sail with him, nor even the self-assured sensation of London society who disdained all claims men made on her. She was a different person altogether, this Brien. Direct and sensual, eager to give as well as to receive pleasure, honest in her confusion, and vulnerable in ways he would never have guessed . . . she was all he remembered and so much more.

“Brien?” Her name rolled sensually on his tongue.

“Ummm?” She rubbed her face against his bare chest and he felt as if she were melting into him, making a niche for herself in his heart.

“Do you think you can sleep now?” he whispered.

“Um-hmm.”

He felt her body relax against him by degrees and ran his hand up and down the arm that was lapped over his waist. He refused to think about tomorrow or possible consequences of this pleasurable turn of events. It was enough for now just to have her in bed and in his arms.

Moments later, he too dropped off the edge of the world, into the sweet release of sleep.

BANGING ON THE cabin door awakened Aaron just past dawn.

He sat up with a start and looked around the rumpled, empty bed, frowning. The meaty fist at the door grew louder. Mumbling a curse and running a hand through his hair, he bounded off the bunk.

“Save your strength—I’m coming!” he barked as he drew on a pair of breeches.

“Captain,” Mr. Hicks called from the other side of the door,

“we’ve hit fog. You’re needed on deck, sir.”

Aaron jerked open the door. “Did you strike sail?” he growled, pulling on a boot. He returned to the side of the bed for the other boot and his shirt. Mr. Hicks stepped in and peered about the cabin curiously. “Aye, sir.”

Aaron caught the man’s scrutiny and was annoyed. “When did you take the last sighting?” he demanded, shoving one arm into the shirt.