A Season of Seduction (17 page)

Becky wondered if he knew pink was her favorite color.

Probably. He seemed to have read her mind. How else could he know that the Indian arrowhead he’d found on a hunting expedition outside Boston held so much more meaning for her than any gaudy bauble?

With a wistful sigh, she turned back to the tapa, admiring the design on the fabric as she unfolded it. She frowned when it lay open on her bed, for there was a large slit in its center. She took up the note that Jack had tucked into its folds. As she read it, she sat down hard on the edge of the bed.

She stared at Jack’s words in rising excitement. “Not a shawl.”

“What on earth is it then?” Cecelia asked, focused on her embroidery.

“He says it is a ‘
tiputa
,’ a mantle of sorts, from Pitcairn Island.”

“Ah.”

“From Pitcairn Island,” Becky repeated emphatically. “You know, where some of Captain Bligh’s men settled after the infamous mutiny. Jack has been to Pitcairn Island!”

“Is that so?”

Oh, goodness. Cecelia didn’t understand. Becky flattened her hand over the rough fabric. Jack had written that a young man had given it to him as a gesture of friendship—though he’d been wearing only a loincloth and shell jewelry, the man had spoken English and he’d been of lighter complexion and skin than the Polynesians; clearly he had been a grandson of one of the mutineers.

“Cecelia,” she said, managing to keep most of the censure from her voice, “have you never read about William Bligh and the
Bounty
?”

A groove deepened between Cecelia’s brows as she looked up. “I believe I recall hearing about it.” She gave a dismissive shrug of one thin shoulder. “It all happened before we were born, though.”

“Yes, but Jack has met the descendants of one of those famous outlaws. Those men will be remembered forever, and Jack has met them! He’s seen them!”

“I see.” Clearly Cecelia did not comprehend her excitement. Sighing, Becky looked down at the
tiputa
. How incredible that Jack had seen this, that one of the family members of the famous mutineers had made it.

She’d treasure this forever, along with all the other fascinating objects he’d given her. A part of her knew she should return them, that she was encouraging him by accepting them. But she couldn’t help it. They were too utterly wonderful to give up.

She opened Jack’s note again and let her eyes linger on the final line, written in his tight, compact script:
When will I see you?

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I think I’ll write a letter.”

She’d finally snared Cecelia’s attention. Her friend’s gaze snapped up. “Oh? To Mr. Fulton?”

“Yes. To thank him for… everything.”

A sly smile curved Cecelia’s lips. “Seems to me you don’t intend to return them after all.”

For the past few days, Becky had been torn between sending back the gifts and keeping them. Now, she couldn’t help the soft smile that tipped up her own lips when she looked at them again. “To be truthful, I don’t believe I can.”

“He has charmed you with oddities.”

“Yes.” Becky turned to Cecelia. “But I should not be so easily swayed, Cecelia. My husband charmed me, too, at first.”

Cecelia shook her head. “I do regret encouraging your involvement with Mr. Fulton, Becky, but I cannot help but to think that you and he have the possibility of forging a true affection for each other.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I do.” Cecelia hesitated, and when she raised her eyes to Becky’s again, concern shaded them. “But I know you will be cautious.”

“I will.” Becky’s gaze wandered back to the intriguing gifts Jack had sent her. “I must be.”

The following morning, Becky awakened early and couldn’t get back to sleep. Jack was coming to call today, and she was more confused than ever about how to approach him. If her heart had warred with her mind before, it did so doubly now. Her nerves jangled with a mixture of eager anticipation and curdling dread.

She’d struggled all night long with what she should say to him. She’d written a speech in her mind, but didn’t know whether she’d be able to follow it. It depended on his reactions, she supposed.

By the time the footman entered the drawing room to inform her and Cecelia that Jack had arrived, it was all she could do to contain her nerves.

Both ladies rose, and Cecelia gave her a quick hug. “He’s just a man. Never forget, men are simple creatures.”

With that, she slipped out of the drawing room. Becky waited, hands clenched before her, and a few moments later, the door opened, and Jack stepped inside.

She sucked in a breath, for he was as handsome as always, but today he’d done nothing to rein in his roguish edge. He wore sleek black trousers tucked into black Wellington boots, with matching black waistcoat and tailcoat. In one hand he clasped a heavy, tattered book.

Becky swallowed as he snapped the door shut and turned to her. His brown eyes flashed with a predatory mix of possessiveness and desire, but he held himself aloof and comported himself like a gentleman.

His gaze roved over her before coming to rest on her face. “Becky.”

Pressing a nervous hand to the dark green silk of her bodice, she curtsied. “Mr. Fulton.”

He raised a brow. “Not Jack?”

“I… don’t know.”

He took a step toward her. She felt hot. Hot all over. Burning heat crept up her spine, across her cheeks, down her chest.

“Thank you for all the gifts,” she said in a near whisper.

His sudden smile reached his eyes, making them crinkle at their corners. “Did you like them?”

“Oh, very much. They’re wonderful.”

His smile melted her. She wanted to know everything about the gifts he’d sent her. She wanted to sit with him and listen all through the day and night as he told her about all the places he had gone.

“I brought you something.” He held out the book. “It isn’t much, but…”

She took it from him, weighing the heavy volume in both hands. It was a battered, dog-eared book entitled
A Dictionary of Practical Surgery
. Grease spots covered the tome and the salty, musty smell of the ocean drifted from its warped pages.

“It belonged to Smith, the ship’s surgeon on the
Gloriana
.”

She gripped the book tightly, staring down at the scratched, gilt-embossed title. She’d never received such a gift. She’d read many books about medicine and surgery, but she’d borrowed those volumes from the libraries at Calton House and the London house and used her own funds to purchase various journals. No one would ever dream of giving such a book to her. No one but Jack.

“Smith died about a year ago, and he left this book to me in his will.”

Before she could protest his giving her such a personally valuable gift, Jack’s lips twisted. “It was his last joke on me. The crew thought it very amusing. They all knew I possess no desire to read about hernias, concussions, and amputations. But…” He hesitated. “I thought you might.”

“Yes, I would,” she breathed. She clasped the book to her breast. “Thank you, Jack.”

His smile was devastating, carving those deep grooves in his cheeks and sending a bright glitter to his eyes. He motioned toward the chairs, gesturing for her to sit. She complied, lowering herself into the velvet settee across from the pair of matching wicker chairs. The cushions were hard, the seat not nearly as comfortable as her favorite chair in Garrett’s salon. She sat stiffly, her fingers curved around the upholstered armrest.

Instead of taking one of the chairs across from her, Jack sat on the narrow cushion beside her. These seats weren’t meant for two, Becky thought, unless the two were lovers.

Not so long ago, she’d thought of Jack as her lover.

She clenched the armrest harder. She was an intelligent woman. She was a thoughtful person, well educated and well read. Yet she wanted to be a strong, confident woman. Like Cecelia was. Like Sophie and Kate were.

“I should return all your gifts.” She fixed her gaze on his face, forcing her hip against the armrest so her thigh wouldn’t touch his. She pressed her free hand over the book in her lap.

His brows crept upward. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Her voice was somber, but one corner of her mouth quirked up into the beginnings of a smile. “But I cannot. They are special, one-of-a-kind, and I am too selfish.”

“Good. I want you to keep them.”

“Why are you here, Mr. Fulton?” She searched his face for a clue. She didn’t understand why he seemed so intent on giving her such special, unusual gifts, on seeing her… on continuing along this mad course.

“I wished to formally ask if I might court you.”

“Court me?” she repeated in confusion. Hadn’t they already gone far beyond courtship?

“I went about it wrong. I never thought…” He paused, took a breath, and continued. “I never thought you wanted anything more than…”

“I don’t,” she said quickly.

“And I didn’t either,” he continued, “but now there is more to it. More I’d like to explore.” He looked down at his lap, then up at her. “I know I’m far beneath you, socially and financially—”

She coughed out a horrified laugh. “Please tell me you don’t believe my refusal has anything to do with that!”

“No, I don’t. I learned quickly that your family isn’t characteristic of the aristocracy.” He paused. “Becky, the time we spent together… those were some of the finest moments of my life.”

Mine, too
, she wanted to say. And she wanted to be alone with him again in such a way. Talking, naked and in bed, after they’d made passionate love and were sated and comfortable. She wanted to wrap her arms around his bare chest and talk and talk about the world until they were too tired to say any more. She wanted to fall asleep beside him, then wake up, make love, and talk some more.

These thoughts were dangerous. “This has nothing to do with the scandal? With my family?”

“No. It has only to do with you and with me.”

Becky clasped her hands firmly over the book in her lap. “Mr. Fulton, I do believe it’s possible that it might work out between us in time, but my first priority is to alleviate the strain this scandal has caused to my family. I should very much like to see you again, but only when the gossip has been long forgotten. If you decide you don’t want to wait—” She broke off, swallowed hard, then continued. “I will understand. And please forgive me for being rude to your father. It was not well done of me, not at all. I regret any inconvenience it might have caused you.”

“It wasn’t an inconvenience.” He took her hand and cradled it in his own. “You made me proud.”

“What?”

“You were magnificent.” He raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it.

“I allowed my temper to get the better of me. I rarely do that.”

He lowered her hand and met her gaze head-on. “I am glad you did. My father deserved it.”

His eyes looked deep into her, as if they saw her, not her outside shell, not her twisted arm, but
her
. She shifted on the hard cushion, trying to regain her equilibrium.

“Becky… I want you.”

It took her a moment to recapture her breath before she spoke again. “You must understand that I cannot allow the outcome of my entire life to depend on an ephemeral ‘want.’ ”

“No. Not ephemeral.”

She ignored that statement. “I cannot base my future on a corporeal feeling. I cannot promise to spend the whole of my life with a man I don’t know.”

“I am a man. Who wants you.
You
, and no one else. What more is there to it than that?”

She clasped her hands in front of her. “There is far more to it, Jack.”