The Last Honest Seamstress (30 page)

She smiled and reached for her purse. "Then by all means, let's leave before they get started again."

He stood and pulled her chair out for her. As Fayth glanced around the room, she noticed they weren't the only people eager to retreat. The Captain evidently noticed, too.
 

"There’ll be a crush at the coatroom." He took her elbow.

"Are we going home then?"
 

He guided her into line to wait for their coats. "Not if you don't want to."

There was something suggestive in his voice. She hoped she didn't just imagine it. "Did you have something in mind?"

"I thought we might stroll up the beach toward the wharf. Maybe have a little dessert aboard the ship." He sounded too nonchalant, leaving her wondering what he meant by dessert.

Without thinking, she glanced down at her celebration gown.

"Oh, you're not dressed for a stroll. I'm sorry."

"No, please." She took his arm. "The carriage is parked at the wharf. We need to walk there by some route. The beach sounds more,” she paused, “pleasant."

He noticed her pause. There was a suddenly hopeful look in his eyes. "Your gown?"

"It'll wash." She laughed.
 

They reached the coatroom. He handed their tickets to the harried girl on the other side of the counter.

Minutes later they walked along the deserted beach. Gray dominated the evening sky. The earlier rain had subsided, but more threatened.

"If this weather persists, tomorrow will be an abysmal day for an inauguration. Can you picture the crowd in Olympia with umbrellas and raincoats?" The Captain spoke as they strolled arm in arm under his umbrella.

"Easily. I don't think our politicians deserve less after their blatant campaign against suffrage." She snuggled close against him. Oh, he felt good. Her heart pounded at the turn of her thoughts and what she contemplated.

"You'll get the vote soon," he said.

"I hope so, but it should have been part of Washington's state charter."

Elliott Bay stretched dark and forbidding beside them as they walked along the waterfront. Waves broke into whitecaps, stirred by a damp, cold breeze. Fayth shivered.
 

The Captain tucked her hand under his warm arm. "Cold?"

"I was thinking of the water. On a night like this it terrifies me. Wild, beyond control, bottomless. I'm glad you stand on the shore here with me, safe."

He looked touched, and hopeful again, as his gaze followed hers to the water. Surely she didn't misread him.

"As they go, that isn't a rough sea," he said. "A good sail, a capable crew and this weather will take you for a ride worth braving. There's nothing like feeling the thrill of speed as you sail with the wind at your back, heightening the illusion you're flying. Traveling at the speed of the wind, not a hair on your head is disturbed. Almost, you are the wind." He stood looking out across the water.

Fayth watched him. Tall and proud in profile, he looked very much as he did when he captained the
Aurnia
. Very much like the man she had always imagined she wanted.

"Of course, these days we don't rely on the wind. Our steam engine is more reliable. A finely tuned engine gives nearly the same thrill."

"The ocean is your first love. I was never wrong about that."

His fleeting expression confused her. What did she see written in it? Denial? Hope? How could that be?

"She's a good love. At night the waters rock you to sleep like a lover's arms and in the day the spray refreshes your sense of being. Still, it's not quite the same as warm, feminine arms, a real embrace."

Lover's arms? Real embrace? Was he asking what she thought?

Broken shells and kelp littered the shore around them. Fayth picked her way through, heart thudding wildly. Feminine arms. He wanted her embrace, but did he want her love?

He pulled her toward the pier where the
Aurnia
was docked. "It's cold at water's edge. What do you say I make you some tea and we warm up onboard?"

Was this the invitation she had hoped for? She looked into his eyes, trying to discern his true intentions. But blast him! He'd always been good with a poker face, too calm and controlled for his own good, or hers. His eyes were masked, giving nothing away. She wanted to rattle him, for him to be as vulnerable and hopeful as she. She could play his game of innuendoes. "I would
love
that."
 

His expression didn't alter as he guided her toward the vessel and up the gangplank. Fayth paused at the top, allowing Con to skirt around her. He jumped to the deck and held out his arms for her, sweeping her down from the plank. The smell of bay rum filled her senses as he lowered her to the deck.

The
Aurnia
was deserted. The crew celebrated statehood in town, no doubt with whatever they could put in their glasses to raise in toast to the new state. Con guided her past the instruments in the wheelhouse back to the shipmaster's quarters, his hand planted firmly in the small of her back. She liked the intimacy of his touch, the warmth of it. Who was she kidding? She loved his touch.

In his quarters, she took a seat and watched as he lit the stove and lamps, admiring what she saw. Lean, hard lines. Muscles. Strength. Did she possess the nerve to go through with becoming his wife? Really becoming his wife and all that entailed. The possibility of children, having to give up the shop to raise them. Life always gave choices, but never simple answers, especially for women. A price must be paid for everything, even passion. Did it make good sense to risk the security she had for passion? What good was good sense in and of itself?

For far too long, she had locked her emotions away, lived life according to logic and sense. When was the last time she had felt passion stirring, and yielded, even in the slightest, to its calling?

Memories of the night of the Great Fire flooded back with startling clarity. The deck of the
Aurnia
, a stiff breeze, flames and smoke in the distance, and Con. Heat, passion. She would be his, make him hers. As for the consequences, come what may.

A soft glow reflected in the polished surfaces. Fayth shifted in her seat as Con put water on to boil. Soon a pleasant warmth filled the room. Con removed his coat. After the damp coldness outdoors, the warmth made Fayth peacefully drowsy and serene.

"Your cabin is beautiful." She watched him get cups and jars of loose tea from the cupboard. "I've often wondered why you leave it to stay at the house. We have nothing to compare."

"Maybe you do."

Hope as dancing as the lamplight flickered within her. The water boiled. He made tea and set a cup in front of her before joining her at the table. As she let hers cool, she rose and wandered around the cabin, admiring his pictures, his books, pointing at things and waiting for his explanations, enjoying his gaze as it followed her about. Was he leering? He'd better be.

"I'm disappointed." Fayth held a framed photograph in her hand. "There isn't a single picture of you without a beard. You'd be most devastatingly handsome without one. This?"

"Grandam. I think you'd be devastatingly disappointed, probably accuse me of having a weak chin."

"I hope I get a chance to make that judgment myself." She inspected the picture. "She looks very stately, maybe even imposing."

"She's nothing but kind. Would you like to meet her, Fayth?"

Could he want her to meet his family? He'd mentioned something about them before, so long ago she'd nearly forgotten. Walking about the room had roused her from her previous drowsiness, awakening her nerves, fears, and hopes. The frame trembled in her hand. She set it down, hoping he hadn't noticed. Could he mean?

"I would. Will you bring them to Seattle?"

"If you like, but Grandam doesn't travel well. Claims not to have any sea legs, says I didn't get mine from her. Doesn't like the train much better. Besides, it doesn't run all the way here."

"I might consider going to San Francisco." She smiled at him. "Would you take me?"

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go." His words were laced with innuendo.

Her mouth went dry with anticipation. "Anywhere?"

"To heaven and back, Fayth. Anywhere." His eyes looked dark, but he didn't move from his chair. He didn't move a muscle. Why couldn't she ever read him? If he wanted her, why didn't he come get her? She looked to the galley, unable to resist goading him.

"I thought you mentioned dessert. I don't see a cake, a pie, anything."

"Don't you?" His voice became very deep.

"No, and I'm hungry." She matched her tone to his. He lost control. Desire danced in his eyes. If there was a deeper emotion behind it, he kept that masked.

"There's a cake in the cupboard."

What a strange and intimate game they played. Neither spoke of cake. She held his gaze. "Then by all means, serve it."

He stood suddenly, pushing the chair back with such force that it toppled over. He didn't pause to look back at it. The next instant he swooped her up and carried her down the hall back to the bedroom, never letting her gaze escape his. Her heart beat an uneven rhythm so loud he must have heard it.

Con's neatly made bed filled the room. She looked toward it and couldn't resist teasing him. "What does it say about a man when his bed fills the whole room?"

"In general, I couldn't say. Specifically, I'd say it's too damned lonely sleeping alone in such a monstrosity."

His answer surprised her as much as his sudden action. He set her on her feet in front of the bed and stood behind her. She felt his hot breath on her neck and the stillness of him. It took her a minute to realize he was giving her a chance to retreat. A chance she didn't need.

She turned around to face him, leaned into him, encouraging a kiss. His lips came down on hers, warm and wonderful. She circled his waist with her arms, pressing against him, marveling at how much more substantial he was to hug than her girlfriends. So manly, so perfect.

He bent at the knees to level their heights, pressing her close. He pulled away for a moment to peer seriously into her eyes. Did he fear another backing away? She had to show him she meant business. Trembling, she unbuttoned the first buttons of his shirt, and traced the outline of his collarbone lightly with her fingers.

He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands over her back, caressing her, pulling her against him until she felt his hard arousal through her skirt. She pressed willingly into him. Oh, he was wonderful, and if this was only lust for him, she didn't care. He caught her under the knees. She let him take her and carry her to the bed, kissing his bearded chin as they went. He laid her down and positioned himself beside her.

"Fayth, you aren't teasing me, are you?"

What did she see in the serious depths of his eyes? If only she knew. Did he ask for love, or only compliance? A night, or a lifetime?

"I'd never tease." She ran her fingers over his cheek, stroking the corners of his mouth. He turned to suckle her fingers like a baby at the breast, licking between them with his warm, wet tongue until she shuddered with pleasure and pulled them away.

"You know where this is leading?"

"I'm not a complete innocent." She pulled his head to the cleavage exposed by the V-neck of her dress.

"Fayth, don't tempt me if you're not serious."

Heated lips met her cool skin and she sighed. Oh, why was she unable to resist this handsome man? So much so, that she willingly risked everything for a night with him. She moved his hand to her breast, unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from him. What a fine naked chest he had. Strong, firm. She slid her hands over it, pinched his nipples lightly as he pulled the dress from her shoulders, and with warm fingers between her breasts, untied her chemise. They fell back onto the bed, both topless, him braced above her, joined at the waist.

"Man alive, Fayth. You are beautiful."

Draw him in, Fayth. Draw him in.
 

He lay warm and hard against her, but too many clothes encumbered them. Needing to feel his skin against hers, she shimmied beneath him, scooting the dress past her hips, arching toward him. He bent, sucked her breast. She heard her own gasp. Such a small sound. She hoped he didn't think it described her pleasure at his touch. That was too large, too universal to be described by an utterance.

He sucked. She gasped. Exquisite pleasure. Tight nipples. A tightening deep within her.

Draw him in.

She fumbled with his pants. He rolled next to her, slid his hand up underneath the length of her chemise to the opening in her pantaloons. A gentle moan. She flattened her legs open against the bed. He stroked her gently.

"There?"

"There." Was that her own high-pitched, breathy voice that answered? She arched against his gently massaging fingers, trembling, more vulnerable than she'd ever been.
 

A cough came from the door. She snapped her legs together. Con froze, released her, fell over her, shielding her with his body.
 

An adolescent, cracking male voice came from the door. "Captain?"