An Honorable Thief (33 page)

She looked at him bewildered, distressed. "But I didn't
—"

"My heart," he said. "You have stolen my heart."

She stared at him for a long long moment. The silence stretched between them. Then her face suddenly crumpled.

"Do not make sport of me, I beg you, for I cannot bear it."

"Oh, my poor darling," he said, crossing the cabin in two great strides and taking her into his arms. "I am sorry. I did not mean to make sport of you. You have led me on such a dance, I could not resist teasing you a little. But now I've found you, minx, and I'm giving you fair warning, I will never let you go."

He cupped her firm little chin in his hand and raised her face to his. "You have stolen my heart, Kit Singleton, and I offer you the complete set: my heart, my body and my soul. Marry me." His voice cracked with emotion and he lowered his mouth to hers in a brief, tender kiss.

She half-heartedly pushed him away, her face crumpled. "Oh, no, you must not. I am all wrong for you. I am more like my father than you could possibly imagine. I have been a thief most of my life. I lie, I cheat, I steal, I deceive."

"Hush." He kissed her again. "You have a beautiful, loving heart and you are the bravest, most honourable person I have ever known."

"Oh, no," she wailed. Tears spilled down her cheeks. "You must not say such terrible lies."

He kissed her tears away. "They are not lies, I do not care what you were made to do as a child
—"

"Oh, but
—"

"
—nor what you were tricked into doing as an adult

The past is full of pain, most of which neither you nor I could help. We can dwell amongst the ashes of the past and be miserable, or we can rise up and build the future we choose, together. Which is it to be for us, Kit?"

She gazed up into his eyes, her face wet with tears, her eyes shining.

"You truly want to marry me?"

"I truly do, more than anything in the world." He accompanied his words with a rib-crushing embrace and a series of tender kisses beginning with the tears spilling from her eyes and ending in the searing possession of her mouth.

"Oh. Oh, dear, what a lovely thing to say to me," she sobbed, kissing him back. Then she pulled away, dolefully. "Of course, I cannot marry you. But, oh! I do thank you for asking me."

"What the devil do you mean, you cannot marry me? Of course you can marry me!" Hugo growled, pulling her back against his chest.

She pulled away, a determined set to her jaws. "No. No
—please, Hugo, do not make it any harder than it is for me. You know it as well as I do. All chance of marriage was ruined when I was caught with Sir William's chess set." She touched him on the cheek, softly. "The future Mrs Devenish must bring her husband and children honour, not a tarnished past, full of shameful secrets." She turned away from him and walked to the porthole.

"You will bring me hono
—"

"No!" She shook her head and stared out the tiny porthole, fighting for composure. The grey oily water slapped, listless and regular against the hull of the ship. Seabirds circled and called on the grimy air, their cries piercing and mournful, like souls risen from their bodies, stranded forever in limbo.

A long moment passed. Hugo watched her silhouetted in the circle of light. His one particular woman, fighting herself, fighting him. Finally he said, "You said in your letter that you left behind you the three people you loved most in all the world."

She stilled.

"Did you mean that I was one of the three?" he said, his voice low.

She said in a low, intense voice, "How can you even ask such a thing? Do you not know? You are the best of the three. I love you with all my heart, more than anyone or anything in the world. You are everything to me, and that is why I cannot
—"

"Turn around, minx."

Slowly she turned.

"Come here." He held out his arms to her.

She came, flying across the cabin like an arrow. His arms closed around her and the force of her flight sent them tumbling back on to the cabin bunk. They did not notice; their lips met in desperation and passion. She closed her eyes and simply gave herself up to the moment, the man.

His mouth moved over hers, pouring into her the words he could not say; his passion, his desire, his possession. They engulfed her like flames devouring tinder. The knowledge burned through her, leaving her changed forever in her understanding of what is a man, what is love.

His arms embraced her, holding, enfolding, staking his claim.

She relished the power of the body that cradled her against him, the long hard limbs lying hot and heavy across hers, holding her with a leashed strength. In his arms she felt cherished, wanted, protected, loved. There was pleasure even in the slightly scratchy fabric of his coat against her skin, the damp woolly smell of it. She learned the scent of his skin, the texture of his hair. And the feel of his mouth fitted to hers in a way she had never believed possible.

His strength, his tenderness, his open satisfaction and delight at every small tender gesture she made; all these were a balm to her lacerated sense of self, her crushed feeling of worth. His every touch soothed away the shame and the fear and the endless prospect of loneliness she had faced. And she poured out all the love she felt, in every way she could, returning embrace for embrace, kiss for kiss, caress for caress. Hoping it would be enough. And knowing it could never be.

After a time, he slowed, pulled back slightly. She opened her eyes and found him staring at her. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but his hands cupped her face as if they held something infinitely precious cradled between them. He simply held her, his thumbs smoothing back and forth along her jawline, tenderly, staring into her eyes.

"I need to make you mine," he said quietly. "If you do not wish it to happen now, Kit, say so and I shall stop.''

Kit saw the need, the pride, the quiet, desperate hunger and felt her heart shatter with love anew. How could anyone not love this big, gentle, passionate man? She certainly could not help herself. She was his forever, even if they were together only this one last time.

It must happen. She was an innocent in these matters, but when a man and a woman lay down on a bed, and with such feelings within them that they must explode to be let out somehow...

She wanted it to happen. So very, very much.

Like a squirrel, she had hoarded up moments of joy throughout her life. They didn't come often; she treasured them when they did. And this, to lie down with the man she loved more than life itself, to become one with him... This would be the greatest moment of joy in her life. She wanted it
—every moment, every gesture, every touch.

While they were here, together in the tiny cabin, it was as if the world did not exist. It was only they two: one man, one woman, one love. One great, splendid, conflagration of joy to last her the rest of her life.

Oh, yes, she wanted it.

For outside, winter was coming. And she knew it would be the coldest, bitterest one yet. Even worse than when Mama and little Jamie had died.

She reached up and traced his mouth lightly. "I need you too, my dearest love."

His eyes flamed with
—what? Relief, triumph, exultation? And then his mouth lowered to hers and she felt as though her heart must burst, to feel so much, all at once.

He carefully peeled away the many layers of her clothing. And if there was shyness in her response, if there was hesitance in this, her first experience of nakedness with a man, there was also a tentative, joyous blossoming of pride in his response to her.

It was probably sinful to feel so...so worshipped, but, oh, she gloried in it. Every look, every touch. Tender. Needy. Loving.

She watched, wide-eyed and enthralled as he shrugged himself out of his coat and shirt. His shoulders were magnificent.

"I fell in love with your shoulders the first time we met."

"My shoulders?" He looked down at them doubtfully. "You don't mind them being so...big, then?"

She smiled and it was the smile of Eve. Pure feminine appreciation. She reached out and stroked her hands over the broad muscled strength of him and a tremulous shiver passed though her whole body. He felt his own response surge, deep in his loins. Desire. Passion. He gazed into her eyes as she pulled his mouth down to hers. Love.

And then she learned him anew, learned the difference between lying with a man fully clothed and lying with him naked, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, heat to heat.

She gloried in the sensation, of the feeling of him tasting her as she tasted him, learning each other in ways she had never known before. His warm, calloused hands moved across her skin: over, around, beneath, between, leaving trails of shivering sensation...

She stored up every tiny sensation, each splendid golden acorn, against the long winter, a bittersweet memory for the future.

His possession of her. Heat and pleasure and passion spiralling, speared with a single sharp instant of pain. It was the pain which told her it was real, it was true; the very heart of exultation.

Her possession of him. He was at the core of her now, deep within her heat, lost on a pounding tide of sensation ... unto oblivion.

Afterwards they lay on the small, narrow bunk, their breathing slowing, their hearts full, gazing into each others eyes. Skin to skin, limbs entangled, unable still to stop touching. Wonderment. Joy. Passion only slightly slaked. A new world of sensation and intimacy.

"Are you all right, love?" His deep voice cracked as he spoke. His big square hands caressed her.

She nodded, tremulously. "Never better." It was the truth, and yet the concern and love she could see in his eyes undid her, and her tears spilled over. "Never better," she sobbed and he gathered her to his warm broad chest and let her weep. And when the storm was over, she lay against his long hard body and explored him dreamily, finding him endlessly fascinating. The hard, the soft, the smooth, the hairy, the strong, the tender...

And he explored in return. "Your skin is like silk," he murmured in wonderment.

She ran a finger along his beautifully sculpted jawline. "Yours is like sandpaper."

He drew back. "I'm sorry. I did not think
—"

She smiled and pulled his head back. "Oh, but I like it," she whispered softly and butted her face gently along his jaw, like a cat.

And so, they loved again.

"You will have to marry me now," he said much later, sitting up on the bunk and reaching for his breeches.

"You know I cannot."

He turned back and kissed her possessively. "My dearest girl, I know nothing of the sort. We shall be married as soon as possible."

She twisted away from his embrace and with clumsy hands jerked her chemise on over her head. She felt at a disadvantage without her clothes on. He had only to look at her and she melted. It had been difficult enough to stand against him before. Now, after what they had shared, opposing him was infinitely harder. But she had to oppose him.

She could not marry him. She would not shame him so.

"Do you care to be married in London, or would you prefer to be married from Gelliford House?"

"I do not care to be married at all!" Kit said. "If you are feeling guilty because of...of what just happened, then there is no need to be. I wanted it as much as you did."

At this last sentence, the anger on his face softened a little.

Kit did not think she could bear to see that tender, possessive expression in his eyes. She hurried on, "Men tumble women all the time. It does not have to lead to mar-ria
—"

Hugo smashed a fist against the cabin wall. "I did not
tumble
you! We made love! And we shall do so again and again, as often as we want for the rest of our lives! In our marriage bed and wherever else we
—" He broke off. He
must have seen something in her face of the distress she was feeling, for his tone moderated. "I am forgetting your inexperience, my love. This was no mere coupling of a man and woman. It was a...a
—"

She wrapped her arms around herself, defensively. She had to keep herself separate from him. It was almost impossible to refuse him while her body hearkened unto him.

His voice was deep, vibrating with emotion. "It was a plighting of troth. Yes, that's what it was. We plighted out troth, my love. With my body, I thee worshipped. And..." he fished in the pocket of his coat, hanging on a peg, and took something out "...with all my worldly goods I thee endow." And he crossed the tiny cabin in two steps and

carefully pinned the small gold phoenix tie-pin to the bodice of her gown. "The ashes of the past, love, or a golden future?" Two tears spilled down her cheeks. She dashed them away. His words, his actions, had torn her in two. She wanted, so badly to say yes to him, to let him marry her and take her away to his home and dwell with him forever, but the knowledge of her shame, her disgrace, held her silent. He was such a good man, a generous, decent, beau-tiul man.