The Price of Pleasure (11 page)

The idea troubled him. But it shouldn't now. She
was
returning. She
would
have children, a family, friends. Though she was ensconced in her hut, he called out to her, “Victoria, I
will
return you safely home so you can have all those things.”

After a moment, she called back in a grudging tone, “Move to the right if you want to see the stars.”

G
rant woke when the first fat drop of rain slogged his forehead. He swore when it was followed by another and another, until he was pitched into a tropical storm. He'd slept in drizzle out here before, he told himself—he just needed to accept the situation.
That night wasn't nearly like this though,
a part of him argued. He glanced up at the hut, knowing it was dry inside.

Share with her or remain outside. He rose but didn't approach, determined to stay away. He settled under a leaf, pulling up his collar. This wasn't so terrible….

When he began to breathe rain, he swore violently and grabbed his pack, making his way up the ladder. He sluiced off the worst of the water and entered to find her snug and relaxed. Seemingly unconcerned at his entrance, she didn't even sit up.

He took off his pack, knelt, and delved into it. All of his clothes were soaked. He sank back on his heels.

“I'm going to enjoy watching your skin rot because of your beloved propriety.”

He stopped scratching his arm and glowered at her in the dark.

“There's no light.” Her tone was exasperated, as though she dealt with a difficult child. “Your modesty will be preserved.”

“My modesty is not the issue.” Sleeping with his ward in her room. Without his clothes on. This was just bloody brilliant.

“What is the issue then?”

“Your
modesty. Just turn so I can get out of these clothes.”

With a long-suffering sigh, she rolled away from him. “Take Cammy's bed.”

He stared at the ceiling while he stripped down, then felt his way to the homemade mattress of grass.

The exertion from the day caught up with him as soon as he placed his head on his forearm. His eyelids grew too heavy to fight. He had a last hazy thought:
Isn't so bad sleeping here with her…situation like this, sometimes you have to bend the rules….

Grant was rewarded with the most amazing dream of his life. Victoria was curled next to him under her quilt, her breast soft in his hand. He cupped the other and, to his amazement, he felt her fingers on his torso, trailing lower.

His breaths grew ragged. His hand closed around her breast—the warmth, the unbelievable softness of her skin, could he possibly have dreamed this perfection? He cracked his eyes open, just as her lashes fluttered up. Vulnerable and soft with sleep, she was irresistible. He probably was still dreaming…. Leaning in close and slanting his lips over hers, he brushed his thumb across her nipple. She gasped and her hips rolled forward.

As he continued kissing her, outlining her lips with his tongue, her hand traveled down to explore his erection. He shuddered when the pad of a curious finger brushed the slick head, and groaned as a smooth nail trailed up the base. If she continued touching and squeezing him like that, he would spend. He wanted to. It had been so long….

A shock of light flooded the room. Grant froze. Victoria's whole body tensed.

“And to believe I scoffed at the idea of using you as an example of a proper British gentleman,” Ian boomed from the doorway. “Let me tell you, I am now ready to carry the torch!”

Ian was leaning into the hut, flashing Grant a proud grin.

“What the bloody hell?”
Under the cover, Grant's hand still was wrapped around Victoria's breast, and her hand grasped him. Her lips thinned, while his teeth clenched. They both jerked away from each other. She was quicker than he, and when she moved, half her blouse caught at his wrist. She yanked it closed, but it remained an open V down to her flat belly.

“Aww, look at you two lovebirds.”

My God, the humiliation is complete.
“Go to hell, Ian.” Grant threw his boot at the entrance, flushing to remember all the lectures he'd given Ian. He'd believed everything he'd told him, but one week on this island had undermined a lifetime of care. Had he really just had his hand on his ward's breast?

“Hell? Already been there,” Ian informed them. “That storm was a monster—”

“Where's Cammy?” Victoria interrupted. “Has she worsened?”

“She suffered a little mal de mer, but we got through it fine,” Ian said. “When I left, Cammy was in her cabin reading as voraciously as she's hit our tea supply.”

“Cammy?”
Grant mocked his use of the woman's nickname.

“That's what she asked me to call her.” Turning to Victoria, he said, “Lady Victoria, I'm Ian Traywick, cousin to the ogre just here.”

Victoria surveyed Ian in an appraising manner. “Thank you for caring for her. I can't tell you how much I've worried.” She glared at Grant.

“It's my pleasure. Cammy's a wonderful lady.”

“She is, indeed.” Victoria smiled then, beaming at Ian as if he were some hero of old.

Grant's breath whistled out. He'd seen her smirks and sneers, but her smile…Her teeth were perfect and white, her eyes lit up, and God help him, she had a beguiling dimple in her cheek. Even Ian seemed taken aback and looked to Grant for direction. Now, with her cheeks rosy from sleep, her hair curling in thick white and golden strands all about her shoulders, the dip between her breasts bare—he had no defense against this….

Would Ian?

Her shirt was open. He pinned a flat hand over her chest.

She gave him a fierce look, slapped at him, then tumbled away.

Ian was struggling not to laugh.

Grant snapped, “We'll be in the camp shortly. Since Miss Scott's on board, have her choose some clothes for Victoria from the trunk I brought.”

“I live to serve.” Ian flashed one last grin and turned to go.

“Ian?” Grant called. “I can trust you won't say anything about this?”

Ian turned and placed a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Would I betray a confidence?” He ambled away, snickering.

They were ruined.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he cast about for something to say. “You moved to my bed last night.”

She gave him a nasty look. “No, you moved to mine!”

He had. Christ, this was awkward.

She was looking away, bundled in her cover, knees to her chest. He grasped his forehead with one hand. “I apologize for this. It should never have happened. It
won't
happen again.”

She waved his words away. “You keep saying that, and yet you keep touching me and kissing me.”

His shame turned to anger. “I believe you were touching me quite enthusiastically as well.”

“I was half asleep!”

He'd let her have her lie. “I need to get dressed.”

This time instead of making a derisive comment about propriety, she grabbed her clothes and dashed from the room.

When he descended, he found her dressed, staring at the
Keveral.

“We're leaving today?” she questioned softly as though she didn't believe it.

“With the next tide.”

“And you will stop in Cape Town?”

He hesitated, tempted to remind her that she was in no position to make demands, but finally answered, “Just long enough for Miss Scott to see a doctor.”

“Leaving today,” she mumbled again, her face pale. Never taking her eyes from the ship, she said, “I have to get some things before I go.”

“Then you've got the rest of the morning. I'll accompany you.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I want to be alone.”

Unfortunately, Grant knew her request was reasonable, but he didn't want to let her out of his sight. “Very well.” She'd
think
she was alone.

He gave her a head start, then followed, sure that she would have sensed him behind her if she hadn't been so distressed. Just when he'd decided that she did know he'd trailed her and was purposely dawdling, doing nothing, probably talking to flowers, she entered a clearing.

He found her kneeling by a makeshift cross, marking what was obviously her mother's grave. He remained hidden, watching her tearfully whispering, wincing when her small shoulders shook.

The realization of what Grant was taking Victoria away from hit him hard. She was leaving more than just the island, or even a way of life.

He'd begun thinking of her as a prize, a goal, a
means to an end
. Now he saw her as a young woman who hurt. Someone who was under his care, but was afraid.

She opened an old wooden box placed by the grave, and from inside she took a length of twine with something on the end, like an amulet. When she placed it around her neck, he knew that she would indeed leave with him, and so he crept away, truly allowing her privacy.

Two hours later, Victoria returned with a box of mementos and a motley collection of seashells. He found her at the edge of the beach, regarding him and the men packing up the camp with uneasy eyes. He gathered up the clothes sent from the ship and met her there.

She stared at the bundle he pressed on her as if it were incomprehensible.

“Do you remember—?”

“I remember,” she whispered.

“I'll stay here in case you need help.”

Mechanically, gaze forward, she began undressing.

He twisted around. “And I'll turn to give you privacy.”

“I'm done,” she said minutes later, her voice flat.

He faced her, unnerved by what he saw.

This morning, he'd encountered her first smile. Later, he'd realized he'd never wondered how
she
felt about all this. Now, another blow—garbed in a light-blue day-dress, she looked like such a lady, such a
young
lady, that his shame deepened. This morning, the way he'd touched her…It seemed inconceivable as he considered her in that dress.

He frowned. She fidgeted with it, though it fit her slim form well, with straight narrow sleeves and a tightly gathered waist. A large, fussy bow sat on the neckline and clearly irritated her. She ripped it off, leaving a smooth, clean bodice, and looked at him, daring him to say something, but he thought it much better. She needed no embellishments.

Victoria glanced out at the ship and her face tightened. Something about her, with her fire banked and her considerable pride tempered, touched him. He'd finally figured out that he was attracted to her strength. And now to her vulnerability as well? When was he
not
attracted to her?

Even when her body trembled, she raised her chin. And he'd be damned if he wasn't proud of her.

 

Tori stared at her home, overcome that she would never see this place again. She felt as hollow as the island seemed, though not much had changed here. They weren't, after all,
packing up,
but it was lifeless just the same. Haunting, even.

“Victoria, it's time,” Sutherland said, his tone emotionless.

Unable to move away, she was startled when he picked her up, until she recalled that women were always conveyed over the water. Sutherland was ever the gentleman, carrying her with a detached politeness that belied his passion just hours before.

He handed her into the boat to the small man, Dooley, as though she were fragile china. She stiffened and scrambled to her seat. Some of the sailors regarded her with curiosity, some smiled. She thought Sutherland glowered at anyone who looked at her, but she could have imagined that.

Being around his crew made her uneasy, but that feeling was blunted by the numbness of leaving. When they pushed off and the oars sliced into the water, the overwhelming scent of jasmine was lost to her for the first time in years. Her island grew smaller. She could see flocks of birds like dots, suspended over the trees, and cascades like silver threads fluttering to the ground. For all the dangers and hardships they'd faced there, her home still looked like heaven.

Too quickly, they reached the ship. Sutherland took her hand, helping her up to stand below the ladder as they bobbed with the waves. When her feet rested on the first rung, she turned back to him. He climbed up as well, standing next to her, steadying her.

“It's nothing to be afraid of,” he said for her ears only.

“
I'm not afraid,”
she whispered to him. But she didn't move. She craned her neck up to see the ladder crawling on and on up the side of the ship. If a person should fall from that height…

He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “Come, now, Victoria. We need to be off.”

Anger drowned the worst of her fear. His detached politeness for the crew—so they wouldn't suspect he'd been fondling her throughout the night—riled her.

She climbed easily, even in her godforsaken dress, with him just down and to the side of her the entire way. She'd resolved not to look down, and finally made it to the deck, clutching the rail like a lifeline. While the others stepped aboard and raised and stowed the boat, Grant gave out orders.