Revenge of the Barbary Ghost (27 page)

He perched on a rocky ledge a ways away from her and watched her expressions as she told him all. “How did you meet St. James and his sister?”

“I met them in my come-out Season, in London. Though I was already engaged, I remained there with my parents, for my mother adored the London Season and would never leave until there was no one left in town worth visiting. St. James was just about to buy his commission, and Pam was in London with her aunt.” She hugged her knees, her gaze unfocussed. “I found her a delightful change from the other girls who were as green as I, but twice as idiotic. If I had met her before I engaged myself to Reginald, the engagement might never have happened, for she was independent in a way I admired, and wished to emulate.”

“What do you mean, you would not have become engaged to Reginald?” He stared into her eyes; they were misty with remembrance, the gray like the ocean on a turbulent day.

“I never loved him,” she said, simply, “I was bullied into accepting him and regretted it almost immediately, but did not have the courage to jilt him.”

He took in a deep breath; so, he did not have to fight a dead love for her regard. What was holding her back, then, from accepting his proposal? Simply her need for independence, the trait she most admired in Miss St. James? “Did you … fall in love with Captain St. James?” The pause had been occasioned by a sudden fear of the answer, but he forced himself to finish the question.

“Oh, Lord, no,” Anne said, meeting his gaze and smiling, sadly. “Marcus was always … well, he gave me confidence. He flirted with me, and introduced me to other young men who flirted with me. He was good for my sense of worth, my battered pride and dignity. I had been humiliated into thinking that what I had to offer was not enough, that somehow my humble appearance was more damaging than my intelligence could ever compensate for. Together with Pam, they made wonderful friends to me.”

“But you never considered marrying him?”

Her expression veiled. “Perhaps I did. He asked me often enough. I thought he would be an undemanding husband, since he wanted nothing more from me than my purse.”

He felt a fury well up in him, and yet a gladness twinned it. He knelt in front of her again and grabbed her hands, clutching them both to his chest. “Then I thank God he died!” he growled, his tone filled with suppressed ferocity. “You deserve more than an undemanding husband, Anne. You deserve a husband who
will
demand of you … all the love in your heart, and the sweet satisfaction of your body and all the commitment of which a woman of your ilk is capable.”

Her breath caught. “Tony!” she cried, staring up at him.

He knew an advantage when he had it. With fumbling fingers he undid her cloak and let it fall away. The roar of the ocean beyond the cave mouth filled his ears, but he felt it all slip away as he stared into her gray eyes. Gray should be cold, but her gaze was warm, welcoming, like mist over heather. He touched her cheek, cupping the soft contour in his hand. “Anne, I’ve tried to command you, I’ve shouted and bullied. You’ve stood steadfast like no other woman. I shouldn’t admit it, but I admire your self-reliance. It is beautiful, womanly. But …” He broke off.

Her gaze never left his as he trailed his fingers over her neck, down the silky skin of her bosom.

Anne wondered if he could feel her heart pound. The warmth in his brown eyes, the sense she had of him pulling her toward him just with the depth of his gaze … she was lost in feeling, her recent self-discovery making her raw with a desire to have him touch her. Had he sensed that, and was that why he had taken her bonnet off and now trailed his thick fingers over her skin? He left a path of fire, and she sighed, trembling and closing her eyes.

His arms enfolded her and he laid her back on his coat and her cloak. Her hands went up to his shoulders to keep her steady, because she felt everything whirling around her. But the sensations didn’t diminish as his bulky shoulder muscles flexed under her fingers and his lips touched hers, delicately at first, then with increasing pressure and heat.

She should be uncomfortable on the rock floor of the tunnel, but he protected her with his arms about her, cradling her as he kissed first her lips, then her cheek and chin and … oh! He pulled at her fichu with his teeth and removed it, then down her throat he kissed, trailing to the pulse at the base and licking, his tongue warm and wet. His breath was hot and shivers ran down her spine as he kissed, lower and lower; now his lips pressed to the soft skin of her bosom. She arched in his arms, her body shivering to life, sending trills of feeling down her back, over her arms, up her legs, all coming to a heated point within her cradle of desire.

“Kiss me,” he commanded and claimed her lips.

She obeyed. But such a kiss! Impudently, his tongue sought shelter in her mouth and thrust, reminding her of that sexual dance unknown to her except in thought and vivid conjecture. Her skin warmed as if licked by flame, as he moved to lay upon her.

He pushed against her. “Does this frighten you?” he asked, thrusting, the evidence of his need hard against her.

Sighing against his neck, she whispered, “What, the thought of that unnatural invasion? Or rather, the thought of that very
natural
invasion?”

“Yes.” He kissed her neck and moaned, pressing against her.

“No,” she murmured, lost in ardor, “for rather than the natural abhorrence I am supposed to feel as my maidenly modesty is threatened, I feel a … reluctant curiosity.”

“Reluctant?” He chuckled and kissed her again, deeply, and more minutes were lost in a whirling fog of sensual enchantment. “You do not
feel
reluctant, my lady, and we could ease that curiosity forever, here and now.”

She opened her eyes to look up at his face above her in the dim light of the cavern. His eyes, dark pupils dilated, had a drugged sensual look, the eyelids drooping, his lips with their mingled moisture still clinging, his cheeks suffused with wanton color, just as her own were, no doubt.

“I am not a child, sir, who cannot wait to have my curiosity sated,” she said, tartly, seeing ahead the yawning chasm of mindlessness, and fearing the plunge. “I will wait to a more appropriate time and place for those answers.”

He kissed her again, harder, with an urgent yearning that called out to her. He tugged her bodice lower, and kissed the swell of her bosom. She found that she was whispering his name aloud, and it echoed back to her repeatedly, like the sound of the waves. She could feel his heart pounding, but he suddenly stopped, his body arching away from her.

“If we do not stop now,” he growled, his voice hoarse, “then I shall either disgrace myself or be in some pain.”

“What do you mean?” Her education had left her with some lapses, then?

“Don’t make me explain.”

“Please,” she whispered, reaching up and cradling his face in her hands. “Please, tell me. It appears that I know so little about some things.”

He moved off of her and pulled her to him. She faced away from him, and his arms bound her close to his body, his lips to her ear. The sensation of his breath made her eyes roll back in her head, but she concentrated, listening to his explanation. Faltering at first, he explained that to continue to kiss and touch would arouse him more, while he made every attempt mental and physical to keep from releasing, and that circumstance, were he successful in keeping from spilling his seed, would eventually bring him some pain.

“Oh. We shouldn’t kiss. But … we can talk?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. He hugged her close and kissed her ear. “Yes, we can talk.”

She was embarrassed by his frank explanation and shocked by the mechanics of his body, but less than she thought she would be, given what she herself was feeling toward him. He held her so close, she could feel the evidence of his arousal; it was enticing—that swollen lump butted against her bottom, clearly defined even through thick layers of clothes, and she longed to push back against it. Arousal, he had called his feeling, and so hers must be termed. Arousal,
sensual
arousal. She could now give a name to what she had occasionally felt.

Her heart pounded. It was all a muddle, a jumble of confused feeling and sensation, and would require the coolness of solitary reflection to sort out. The lantern had flickered and gone out, so the cave was dim, and the only sound was the roar of the waves and wind outside the cave drowning out every other noise.

For a few minutes she just lay still, feeling the steady, reassuring thump of his heart against her back. But then she rolled over in his arms and looked up at him, examining the perfect planes of his face in the shadowy dimness, high cheekbones, jutting jaw, and the dark, thick brows that hovered over his gorgeous eyes. “You are a very handsome man,” she said, her breath catching in her throat, as she trailed one finger over his jaw.

He stared down at her. Would he lie and tell her she was beautiful?

“Anne,” he said, and kissed her lips, gently now. “I think you’ve spent your whole life with an excess of consciousness about beauty, or the lack of it. What does your mirror tell you about yourself?” he mused. “Do you see your eyes, gray like mist on the moors, and yet so warm, so inviting? Do you notice your beautiful lips, plump and pink and wanton? They make me ache with desire, and I can never see them without wanting to kiss them.” He did so, again and again.

She relaxed, closing her eyes and enjoying the kissing. He was not going to pretend she was a beauty, then, as other lying men had done, in anxiety to attach her for the benefit of her wealth. And yet he had praised her looks in ways that she knew could be true. When he finally stopped kissing her, she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. “Why did you shout that awful proposal the night Grover almost killed me?”

He smiled, ruefully, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. She traced the crinkles with her fingers, then laid her palm against his cheek. His face was warm, and the skin hear his hairline was damp with perspiration, even though the cave was chilly.

“I knew, in that moment, that to lose you, either to death or distance, would hurt damnably,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes. “My only thought was, I must have you and keep you safe.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you figured that out yet? Anne,” he whispered, and cradled her face in his big hands. He searched her eyes, and said, “I never thought to say this in my whole life to a woman. I never expected to
feel
so much, to
want
so much, to
need
one woman so
damn
much. I
love
you, Anne, completely, down to the depths of my soul.”

Seventeen

The confession was made. He had wondered how he would say it, when he would say it. If he
should
say it. But it was done.

She didn’t reply, and a coldness permeated him.

He wound his arms back around her and squeezed her tight. “So, no more nonsense about helping Pamela with her smuggling. I know you intend to, Anne, I can tell, even though you have not confirmed or denied it.” He kept talking, afraid now that she would gently tell him she didn’t love him. “But you must not do any such thing.”

“I must do what I wish,” she said, beginning to squirm. “Who would I be if I acquiesced to your command in this case, when it concerns a friend so dear, one who has lost almost everything?”

His stomach clenched. Trying to keep his tone casual, he said, “When do you intend this? Is it already planned, or will you learn more? Have you already agreed?” The sharp edge of his words knifed through the echoed susurration of waves that filled the damp cavern. He hadn’t succeeded at keeping his tone relaxed.

She stilled in his arms, then pulled away from him and sat up. Through the dim half-light of the cave, she stared at him, her gray eyes wide. “Questions. We always come back to that, don’t we, Tony? I’ll tell you no more, for I won’t have you do something drastic.”

“Drastic? What do you mean?” He sat up. “Drastic? Like stopping you from making what could be a fatal mistake?”

“You must have some faith that I can take care of myself.” She rose and dusted herself off. “I’ve lost all sense of time. How long have we been down here?”

“I’ll not let you change the subject, Anne.” He scrambled to his feet and took her shoulders in his hands. “Look at me!” he commanded, shaking her and staring into her eyes, ducking slightly to confront her downcast gaze. “You must do nothing dangerous. If Pamela is going to risk her life, let her. This is not your fight.”

“I am my own woman, Tony.”

She put her arms around his chest and hugged him. The smothering fear of losing her overwhelmed him and he clutched her to him, hugging her close. He must tread carefully. She was like quicksilver; the tighter he tried to hold her, the more rapidly she eluded his grasp, slipping away from him to re-form, whole and alone, separate. He knew damn well the only way to handle her was gingerly, and yet his anxiety for her well-being made him hasty. “Be reasonable, my dear one,” he said, softly. “This is not your fight, nor are you responsible for helping Pamela St. James with whatever scatterbrained problem she has gotten herself into.”

Anne stiffened.

At least she was listening, he thought. He must press on, regardless of the consequences. She
must
listen to him. “Her irresponsibility must not taint your life with its stain. I would be remiss if I did not point out to you that she is already dangerously close to being considered a fallen woman. While her brother was alive, she was protected by his nominal residence in this house, but—”

She jerked from his arms and backed away, eyes blazing with anger. “Enough!” she said, her voice echoing in the cave mouth. “Enough, Tony.” She gathered her cloak and swirled it around her shoulders, fixing the clasp at her throat. “I must do as I see fit.”

Anger made him impatient. “I will not let you endanger yourself, nor will I allow that young woman, with her foolishness, to damage your reputation.” He grabbed her arm, desperate to make her promise not to join Pamela St. James in her enterprise. “Listen to me, Anne! I will take you away from here, to Bath. Let me take care of this, and I promise you, I’ll make sure Miss St. James stays safe.”