A Silent Ocean Away (31 page)

The rumbling storm lost its ferocity, and Charmaine relished a sense of security that made it easy to ignore her rational mind and enter the room. She obeyed him when he spoke over his shoulder and casually told her to set the tray of food down. But her momentary calm was shattered when he faced her and she read the raw passion in his eyes. Cauterized, a sudden spasm shook her.

“Are you cold?” he inquired softly.

“No,” she whispered, his magnetism pulling at the core of her being.

“Are you afraid of me?” he queried.

Yes
, her mind screamed,
and of myself! Dear Lord, we’re alone, and I am bewitched.
But she said none of this. Heaven forbid! “Should I be afraid of you?” she asked instead, cleverly setting aside his question.

“That depends on what you’re afraid of,” he answered just as cleverly, cocking his head to one side.

Dear Lord, he’s handsome,
Charmaine thought, one stray lock of hair curling on his brow, bidding her to stroke it back into place. She dismissed the temptation, certain that such familiarity would send her straight into his arms.

Lightning flashed again, and the thunder answered. A fierce draft skirted across the floor, grabbing at her robe and wrapping it
around her legs; then it was gone. In that eternity of passionate thoughts, neither of them spoke.

Paul’s eyes blazed brighter as he admired her lithe form, her innocent beauty highlighted by the copious tresses that fell over her shoulders to her waist. His smoldering gaze returned to her lovely face and the dark eyes that lacked the carefree abandon the moment demanded. There, he noted the last shred of wariness. He moved toward her, much like a panther stalking its prey.

Though unknowingly she flinched, Charmaine did not flee. Rather, she stood her ground until they were but a breath apart. She tilted her head back to look up into his face, her heart leaping when his callused hand caressed her cheek.

“You are most desirable, my sweet,” he murmured huskily, confident of the romantic web he was spinning, savoring the spell she had cast on him as well, his own pulse thundering in his ears. “That is why I sought you out, and now, I would ask for a kiss.”

His eyes lingered on her lips, and her eyelids fluttered closed. There was no turning back—she didn’t want to turn back—and she leaned forward, relishing the quintessential moment. He grasped her shoulders and slowly drew her into his embrace. His head descended, and he delivered a tender kiss meant to put her at ease. Then his mouth turned persuasive, testing and tasting, his moustache coarse and prickly, masculine. Abruptly, he pulled her hard against him, his mouth cutting across her lips and devouring them. One hand traveled to her nape, the other caressed her back.

Charmaine’s head was spinning with the onslaught, and she kissed him in return, rising on the tips of her toes, her hands creeping up his sinewy arms and grasping his shoulders, molding her body to his. Her brazen response belied her innocence, and her unleashed ardor sent his desires soaring.

Sharp laughter rang from the doorway.

Paul quickly disengaged himself, an oath dying on his lips.

“That’s the ticket, Paul. Bring her home, put a roof over her head, strip the bit of clothing off her back, bed her, and then, when you’ve tired of her, out she goes on her fondled ass with little money spent!”

Mortified, Charmaine turned toward the doorway and the resonant voice that dared utter such vulgarity. A bedraggled stranger stood there, badly beaten by the storm, drenched from face to foot, with the stubble of a beard on his cheeks, and a leather cap cocked to the back of his head. With the slightest movement, she espied Paul out of the corner of her eye. He was straightening his robe, a mock display at dignity, yet he held silent, making not the slightest inquiry as to why the man was in the house.

The intruder strode unceremoniously into the room, and though his wet attire should have placed him at a disadvantage, he did not seem ill at ease. He proceeded to audaciously circle them, and Charmaine was unable to move out of sheer embarrassment, appalled when his assessing regard raked her from head to toe, measuring her worth as if she were on display at an auction. His eyes met hers, and she dropped her gaze to his boots. He’d tracked a considerable amount of mud on the carpet, as if he had come from the stables. And then she knew: He was the livery hand who’d been called to help with the foal. Still, she couldn’t understand why Paul would suffer such insolence.

But there was no time to think, for the derelict held them captive. His wandering gaze fell on the tray of cookies and milk, and a smile broke across his face, revealing gleaming white teeth that were not perfectly straight, but perfectly aligned with his sardonic demeanor.

“How cozy,” he mused wickedly, “a passionate kiss followed by refreshments.” He settled into one of the chairs, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, “Do carry on! I was
moved
by this romantic performance. Your lines were fabulous! Could you repeat that
one again, Paul, about wanting a kiss? I never thought to ask before.” He chuckled deeply.

Charmaine’s ire boiled over. “You rude, despicable cur!” she spat out, emboldened by her temper. “From which filthy hole have you crawled? No!” she quickly added, holding up a hand and wrinkling her nose in overemphasized revulsion. “I don’t want to know!”

His smile broadened, the whole of his face one enormous jeer now. It could not be borne, and she lashed out again. “Thank God I live here and need never place name to your arrogant face!”

The grin ruptured into rich laughter, trampling her bravado. She lifted her chin and grabbed hold of the snack tray. But as she marched from the room, his voice followed her. “Give us a kiss, you saucy, brazen wench!”

Once outside the study, Charmaine gave in to her trembling, unable to steady her frayed nerves, let alone soothe her wounded pride.
A wench. A brazen wench. A saucy, brazen wench!
She had never been called a wench in her life! She looked down at the tray and saw the candle was snuffed out. If she didn’t know better, she’d place the blame on the reprobate who was still closeted in the study with Paul. At least he lived in town, and she wouldn’t have to see him again. Pacified, she pushed the debasing episode out of her mind and groped her way up the stairs, no longer afraid of the dark.

“What are you doing here, John?” Paul asked pointedly, moving to the brandy decanter and pouring himself a stiff drink.

“It was high time I checked on business.”

“Really?” Paul snorted.

“Really. Lucky for me the ship was delayed by the storm—” With Paul’s raised brow, he added “—or I would have missed you pressing the house help into working the night watch with you.
You horny bastard!” He smiled. “She really
loves
her job, doesn’t she?”

“Drop it, John.”

The room fell silent as Paul took a draught of brandy.

“She cares not who I am,” John mused. “Perhaps she’ll change her mind in the morning.”

“I doubt it,” Paul answered listlessly, his plans for the evening neatly laid to waste. Leave it to John to screw things up for him. “She’s different.”

“Really? Not from what I just saw.”

“Just leave her be!” Paul growled, unable to check his anger any longer.

“Leave her for you, you mean. Isn’t that right, Paulie? So…you haven’t had your way with her yet.”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you.”

“No?” John clicked his tongue and canted his head, giving the matter some thought. “My assumption must be correct. Tonight was your first tryst with the vixen.”

“It wasn’t a tryst!” Paul sneered.

“Then you’re in love with her?” John pressed, receiving only a scowl. “I didn’t think so. In that case, she is fair game. We shall see who is the better player.” Chuckling again, he stood and strode from the room, leaving a puddle of murky water at the foot of the chair he had vacated.

When she needed the lightning to illuminate the way, it refused to burst forth, and Charmaine realized the storm was over. The staircase was dark, and she clutched the balustrade tightly. When she reached the top, she fumbled down the wide hallway, straining to see. Her hand found the doorknob to the children’s room. She was never more relieved as when she pushed the door inward and was bathed in lamplight.

The girls were asleep as Paul had predicted. What a fool to have wandered the house at midnight! Not even the memory of Paul’s kiss annulled the humiliation she had suffered.
No! I won’t think about that!

She turned her mind to the twins, coaxing a sleep-drugged Jeannette back into her own bed, frowning when she glanced at the French doors and found them slightly ajar. A shiver chased up her spine, and she walked cautiously toward the glass panels, securing them again. She could not shake the uneasiness that engulfed her, for it was ludicrous to think either the girls or Pierre had opened them. It must be a faulty latch. Yes, that seemed plausible. She would mention it to Travis Thornfield in the morning.

She lit another candle and turned the lamp down low. Taking the tray of treats, lest the children eat them before breakfast, she stepped into her own bedchamber and closed the door, safe at last.

In his aggravation over the unpleasant turn the evening had taken, Paul hadn’t considered John’s destination after leaving the study. Even now, he did not remember that the governess occupied his brother’s former bedchamber, for his mind was still relishing the taste of her sweet lips, the feel of her soft body in his arms, her impassioned response to his advance. Had he set aside his glass of brandy and allowed his mind to clear, the implications of the bedroom arrangements would have been manifest, and he’d have been none too pleased.

John fumbled in the darkness as he entered his dressing room. “Blast it all!” he snarled. “Where’s the confounded tinderbox?” Despite his rummaging, his efforts came up futile. Frustrated, he groped his way to the bedroom door, hoping to have more success there. He was wet and miserable, and in desperate need of a hot
bath. He knew the bath would have to wait until morning, but a good night’s sleep in a dry bed after a week aboard the
Destiny,
which had traveled from New York, would be a pleasant accommodation.

He was stunned when he flung the door open and found his brother’s concubine climbing into his bed. In fact, he was so surprised, he gave no thought to her reaction: the speed with which she jumped up. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his shock giving way to a crooked grin. She was bewitching. Perhaps he didn’t need that full night’s sleep after all.

“Well, well, well, and well again. Aren’t you the little minx?” he chuckled significantly. “Do you always entertain total strangers?”

Charmaine was too petrified to speak. She only knew she had been set upon by a beast, one that was tracking her now, and in her mounting fear, all she could do was plaster herself against the wall.

“Now how did you know where I’d be bedding down for the night?” he pondered amusedly, closing the distance between them.

Charmaine realized she must act, or all would be lost. Pushing off from the wall, she flew like a wild thing, reaching the children’s door in a heartbeat. But in the instant it took to grab the doorknob, her arm was caught from behind, and she was pulled back with one forceful tug. Her scream was stifled as the man’s other hand clamped down on her mouth and she was propelled around, coming face to face with the tormenting demon. Her eyes grew wide at his leering grin, her face turning crimson as she fought to hold her breath against the foul odor she was sure he radiated.

Reading the repugnance and terror in her eyes, John relaxed his grip. She didn’t seem to know who he was, but that didn’t coincide with the fact she knew where his chambers were located.

Perceiving his moment of weakness, she began to struggle again. Given an inch, she had taken a yard, and John released her mouth to subdue her thrashing feet that were doing little in the
way of assaulting his shins, but much in the way of inflaming his ardor.

“Calm yourself, Madame,” he hissed, pinning her against the door when she didn’t comply. “I just want some answers to my questions. However, if you’d like me to continue where Paul left off, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

She submitted, quaking now. His words buffeted her cheek, and she cringed, anticipating acrid, whisky breath. She smelled wet clothing, little more.

“Why are you in here?” he demanded.

“This is my bedroom!” she pleaded. “I work here! This is where I sleep!”

The conviction in her voice held the ring of truth. “So you
don’t
know who I am?”

She grew courageous when his hands dropped away. “You’re probably a convict escaped from some filthy prison!” she rallied, bent upon insulting him as he had her. “You should have rotted there!” But even as she blurted out the retort, the light began to dawn:
He isn’t Martin, the livery hand
.

She gasped when he pulled her to his chest and buried his face in her hair, his lips close to her ear. “Ah, a prison indeed,” he whispered passionately, “but can you guess what I was convicted of?”

“I’ll scream if you don’t release me!” she cried, the tremor in her voice nullifying her threat. In truth, she was far too frightened to scream, certain that any outburst would prompt him to ravish her.

His head lifted from the sweet fragrance of her wild hair. When he chuckled softly, Charmaine knew he was only toying with her. Then his laughing eyes became serious, and quite abruptly, he released her, stepping back apace.

She was an all-too-feminine distraction, and he was finding it exceedingly difficult to leave her company. But, he would not cajole her to his bed like his brother, and he certainly wouldn’t force her.
She’d come of her own accord, or not at all, and he knew she wasn’t going to do that. He backed away, grateful he was as tired as he was.

Still, he was having fun with this little encounter, so he wasn’t of a mind to leave just yet.
She must be the governess
, he surmised.
Colette must have given her this room to be close to the children
.