Patricia Potter (22 page)

“Are you a rogue, Captain?”

His eyes met hers. “I’m told so.”

A familiar tingling started in the small of Lauren’s back, working its way upward. She wanted to lean over and touch him, to feel his touch again. Was it
because
he was a rogue? Had she some terrible weakness she’d never realized until now? But though he sometimes looked the part, she’d never really seen him do anything ungentlemanly. He’d never acted the rogue with her, and she had the strangest need for him to do so.

The excitement she’d felt up on deck during the duel of ships returned, stimulating all her senses, bringing alive all the sensations she’d never known were possible. The scent of him was sharper, the nearness more intoxicating, the exchange of words more suggestive.

Nothing was real at the moment except Adrian Cabot—the bright, searching look in his eyes, the teasing around the sensual lips, the bright heat of his presence.

Lauren struggled against the almost drugged feeling she had. And she had only one weapon to shield herself.

“How did you become a blockade runner?”

“I was drummed out of the British Navy,” Adrian said, his lips quirking up at one side.

Lauren looked at him in disbelief.

“At least informed I should probably leave,” he amended.

“Why?”

“You are the most inquisitive woman I’ve ever met,” he said, changing the subject. He realized at the same time that her curiosity was one of the reasons he was so attracted to her. He usually became quickly bored with the women he met, but Lauren was interested in everything, her mind bright and eager. And despite his anger at her disobedience this afternoon, he’d somehow known she would be there on deck, and in some strange way he would have been disappointed if she hadn’t been. Bloody hell of a contradiction, he told himself, but she’d mixed him up like that ever since he met her.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“So I am,” he said complacently. “I would rather talk about you.”

“I’m not at all interesting.”

“I don’t think I believe that, Miss Bradley.”

Lauren felt that tingle grow into full-scale buzzing. He had a way of saying “Miss Bradley” that curled her toes. His lips fondled and teased the name, his voice drawing it out with extraordinary sensuousness.

He poured her another glass of wine, and Lauren sipped it nervously. Her appetite had died in the intensity of the feeling between them, and her body seemed to be straining forward, as if to get closer to his.

Lauren’s glance went down to his hands, which were holding a glass of wine. The hands were strong and capable, the fingers curled around the stem of the glass with restrained strength.

Like everything about him. Despite his outward ease, Lauren had already felt the restlessness, the power, the unpredictability that dwelled within him. As he said, he was at least part rogue. And that part was irresistibly attractive to her. She’d heard of women who were attracted to that kind of man, to danger and to dangerous men.

She’d never thought she was one of them. But then she was learning a great deal about herself, some of which she wasn’t sure she liked.

She’d once thought a long walk in the woods was life’s supreme pleasure. But after this afternoon, after feeling the spray of water from cannon shot, the elation of watching Adrian elude his pursuers, of seeing the brilliant smile of victory, she knew nothing would ever compare with those hours aboard the
Specter
.

“Lauren?” She looked up and met his intense gaze. “Where did you go?”

“Go?”

“In your thoughts just then?”

“Home.”

“Maryland?”

No, Delaware. To a house on the edge of a lovely wood, to peace and safety. To a peace forever gone.

She nodded.

“Tell me about your brother and father,” he said softly, the teasing gone.

Lauren swallowed. Perhaps it would help to talk about Laurence. Perhaps it would strengthen her resolve, fortify her against his appeal.

“Larry was my twin,” she said, hating the trembling in her voice. “Both he and my father were doctors.”

“Twins,” he said. “There’s a strong bond.”

“I knew … when he died. I felt it,” she said. “He was hundreds of miles away, but I knew.”

His hand released the glass of wine and reached for her hand, his fingers grazing over hers, the contact light, meant to be comforting.

But he didn’t say anything, and Lauren was grateful. She didn’t think she could bear to hear sympathy or platitudes from the man responsible for Larry’s death. And he was responsible. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

Still, she did feel comforted in a strange way.

“Your father?”

“A fever. Several months before … Laurence.”

“Laurence,” he repeated. Lauren and Laurence. So closely named. So obviously close in mind. He knew, from the wistful expression on her face that her brother’s death had been a terrible blow. His own brother’s death had been painful, even though they had not been close, even though Adrian had felt betrayed in so many ways. But John had been his only family, and he’d felt the loss acutely.

Still, his own bereavement had obviously been far less than the grief Lauren had experienced. For one of the few times in his life, he felt protective. And he hurt for her, for the sorrow in her eyes, for the loneliness he knew she must have felt, still felt. Adrian wondered whether she seemed so elusive because she darted in and out of grief. An obviously recent grief.

He rose and went around to her, resting his hands on her shoulders, feeling the tenseness in them, the sadness she was so obviously holding inside. He missed the laughter, the challenge, yet he liked this side too. This caring, sorrowing aspect showed him another dimension of her. She looked up, her eyes wide and confused and full of something that made his heart tear inside.

Adrian leaned down and kissed her. He felt her mouth respond, slowly at first, and then with a sudden reckless craving.

He pulled her up, and his arms went around her. He wouldn’t let her run. Not this time.

His lips encountered something wet and salty, and one of his fingers went to her face, tracing a narrow path. A tear or two, no more, had wandered down her face. He kissed the moisture away, and then his mouth moved slowly along the soft skin of her face, and he felt her breath, a warm breeze whispering against already fevered flesh. A blaze flared in his lower regions, wild and hungry. She was like a tempest: sudden, intense, beautiful; her moods were as changeable and swift as the most unpredictable storm.

He ached as he had never ached before. There was a growing pressure inside, so strong he could barely contain it, yet she’d been so skittish. She was a lady, entirely a lady, and she would rightfully expect marriage. Yet even now he was not sure of his future, or whether he could recover Ridgely. For so many years, that and that only had been the focus of his life. And during those years, he’d held himself apart from women, giving them his physical self but no more. He knew Lauren Bradley would never be satisfied with that.

He knew now that neither would he.

But first he had to regain Ridgely. He would never be whole again without it.

Even Ridgely, however, faded for the moment as passion spurred passion, and need goaded need.

His lips moved down to hers, and her mouth opened. Swirling eddies of desire enveloped them both, tumbling them along in a vortex that eclipsed everyone and everything except each other.

A whisper in the back of Lauren’s mind warned and berated, but it was chaff in the wind, unsubstantial compared to the power of her other feelings. She wanted to touch and press and explore. She wanted to feel him close to her. She wanted to prolong the dizzying, warm, exciting feelings she knew she shared with him, for he, too, was shaking slightly, and part of her savored her ability to do that to him. He had often seemed so aloof, as if nothing really touched him.

But she was touched too. And she was afraid nothing again would ever be the same in her life. Yet she could no more resist the magic of the mood, of the moment, than she could stop breathing.

She was responding to his every movement in a way she’d never thought possible. She had always been passionate in her beliefs, in her love of nature, in her fierce loyalty, but she’d never believed she had a woman’s passion. Now she did. And she didn’t know what to expect, or what to do, or what would happen. She only knew her body was reacting completely on its own, in ways she considered wanton and loose.

And yet that knowledge meant nothing compared to the warm, irresistible feelings flowing through her body like a tide. Swelling and ebbing, and then swelling again with renewed energy. Feelings and sensations so new as to disable and disarm.

Lauren found her tongue every bit as aggressive as his as she followed his lead, exploring and teasing and adventuring. She savored each new jolt of sensation, of dizzying gratification. Her gaze found his eyes, and they were no longer that cool deep blue, but more like blazing blue fires. She felt the tension in his body, the barely restrained passion in his hands, which moved seductively at the small of her back. Their touch, even through her clothes, made her shiver.

The kiss deepened, his lips hard and demanding against her now tremulous ones. And suddenly fear overwhelmed her. Everything was happening so fast. So much want. So much need. So much feeling. Her hands, which had been around his neck, stopped their movement, the slight whisper-soft tickling of his skin. She leaned back in his arms, seeking a respite from the emotions overtaking her, emotions that were overruling every sensible, reasonable, responsible part of her. She felt a bewildering pain in the deepest part of her, a longing for something she didn’t understand, and the strength of that need terrified her.

Adrian felt the slight stiffening, and reality jarred his senses. She was not a “light o’ love,” not one of the experienced courtesans he’d known in London. Her eyes now were wide with a mixture of wonder and dismay. And she was more enchanting than any woman he’d ever met.

There was so much unexpected passion in her, passion made more fascinating by her innocence, by the sense of discovery he saw in her eyes and face. He knew he was the first to awaken it, and he yearned to bring that discovery to the ultimate fulfillment, to see those eyes brighten and shine as he knew was possible.

But not now. She was an innocent, and he was in a dangerous profession. Moreover, he had a goal to accomplish before he could offer a woman security and an honorable name. He could not risk leaving her with a babe, not now. No matter how much he wanted, needed, her.

His hand wrapped around a tendril of hair the texture of finest silk, and he knew a fierce throbbing ache in his groin. It would be so easy to take her back in his arms, but for once his own needs were less important than someone else’s. His hand went to her cheek.

“You feel so soft,” he said in a low voice, wanting to say something else. But everything had been too quick, and the future was still too unsure. They needed time to explore their feelings. He would be in Charleston often.

“Adrian …”

His name on her lips was husky. It had an inflection unlike any he’d ever heard before. Gentle. Hesitant. He liked the sound.

“I’d better go,” he said, his fingers rubbing her chin, the tip of one finger tracing the line of her lips, “before I do something you might regret. I don’t want that to happen.”

Lauren didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to be here alone with her thoughts. But she also knew if he stayed much longer, she would be lost.

Her body trembling with need and regret, she nodded slowly. Still her hand rested on his waist, reluctant to relinquish the contact.

She didn’t want to face the shadows of night, the need to think again about what had to be done, to realize that in two days she would never see him again, that, if she did, the emotion in his eyes would be harsh and condemning, not fiery and soft at the same time.

Lauren forced herself to turn away, her feelings desolate and empty as she did so.

“Lauren …” She heard the rumble of his voice behind her, “When we get to Charleston …”

But she never heard the end of the sentence, for there was a knock on the door.

“Capt’n, we’ve sighted another sail.”

Lauren turned back, saw his face tense, the soft voice suddenly hard. “Stay here this time,” he said. “Your promise, or I’ll send a man down to stand at the door.”

She nodded. At the moment, she wanted nothing so much as to hide. Not from a Union ship, but from the weakness he created in her. As the door closed behind him, she whispered, “Be safe.”

CHAPTER 12

Socrates was gone when Lauren woke the next morning. She had lain awake late as she felt the ship’s direction and speed change, and then she relaxed as the engines resumed a normal pattern. Evidently Adrian Cabot had eluded his pursuers once again.

Somehow, she had finally dozed off, haunted by images: Larry and Adrian, her father, Mr. Phillips, Jeremy. All were standing over her, arguing, the faces twisted with their own passion.