JoAnn Wendt (2 page)

That did it. He’d not wait.

He was at the door in two impatient strides. He wrenched it open. Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw furtive movement in the hall shadows. Instinct served him well. His hand shot to the knife sheathed at his waist. A hundred ports from London to the Indies had taught him what to do. He froze. He’d not move a muscle until his eyes began to focus in the dimness. Gradually, the shadowy apparition became a live figure. He caught his breath.

It was she.

He would know her anywhere, even though the eyes were not turquoise as in the miniature, but green. Green as a rare brocade from the silk islands. She was swathed in a dark hooded cloak. Soft tendrils of coppery, fog-dampened hair escaped from her hood and framed a startled, heart-shaped face.

He could do nothing but stare. She was exquisite. Under the glare of his fierce concentration, the girl’s chin began to tremble. Small and perfect white teeth tugged at a full lower lip.

Stupidly, he continued to stare, his throat tightening in an emotion he could not put a name to. He caught the faint scent of heather, the fresh young smell of her mist-damp skin. The scent of her made him tremble.

I want her, he thought foolishly. I
want
her.

He floundered to find the voice that seemed lost. When he found it, it was not the confident voice that commanded the
Caroline.
It was husky. Boyishly vulnerable.

“Come in.”

She wavered in indecision, and again he caught his breath. Would she bolt? Flee and be lost to him forever? His heart thudded at the thought.

“Don’t go. You’ve the right room.”

Flavia felt faint. Had she ever been so terrified? Not since she was fifteen and found herself standing in a cheerless but magnificent bedchamber. She’d clutched her wedding bouquet as she now clutched the edges of her cloak. She’d stood frozen, as now. The door had opened... the duke had strode in, cold-eyed and haughty... and then...

She shuddered away the memory. Her stunned gaze flew to the tall stranger’s face. How would he treat her? Like the duke? She shivered again.

“The hall is cold, miss. The room is warmer.”

Flavia swallowed as he came toward her with the loose, casual stride she’d noticed in colonials who called upon the duke. She flinched as he reached for the cold hand that clutched the cloak.

“Damnation, you’re freezing.”

She was swept into the room before she could thaw and run. Her heart jumped like a rabbit as he dropped the crossbar on the door with a loud clunk. He went to the fireplace and fed a tired fire. Afraid to look at him, afraid to think beyond the moment, Flavia turned and desperately surveyed her surroundings. She’d never been in such a hovel. Rough planks served as floor and wall. Both were pock-marked with knife gouges as though tenants used them as targets. Dust balls as large as kittens skittered with every stirring of her skirts. A table, two chairs and a bed furnished the room. Hastily her eyes fled from the bed. Each nervous breath she drew smelled of hard spirits, and fish that were frying in grease somewhere in the noisy bowels of the tavern. She could hear a fight breaking out. Furniture crashed belowstairs. Voices shouted.

“Come to the fire.”

His calm voice made her jump. Swallowing hard, she gingerly obeyed. But when she did not come close enough, he took her firmly by the shoulders, stood her in front of the crackling fire and slowly rotated her as though she were a piece of cheese being toasted on a stick. She was shaking so badly that several minutes passed before she realized his hands were surprisingly light and gentle. His gentleness gave her courage to steal a quick look at his face.

Dark hair was brushed casually back from a lean weathered brow. His skin was the rough tanned skin of men who are at home on the sea. Command shouted in the line of nose and jaw, but a loose easy mouth hinted at an even temperament.

Almost, her galloping heart slowed a bit. But then, suddenly and without warning, he stopped toasting her and pulled her hard against him, crushing her to his chest. She cried out in panic, feeling his heartbeat invade her.

“Don’t, sir! Please! What—what do you want!”

He stared down at her, a startled look crossing his face. Then amusement began to crinkle at the comers of his eyes.

“What may I have? What are my choices? Perhaps you’ve brought a bill of fare for me to select from.”

Flavia blinked in fear. If he was making a joke, then she didn’t understand. She tried to twist free.

“Please, sir!”

“Yes, quite right. Let’s not waste time. Begin.”

His hands fell away and he seemed to expect her to do something. She backed away, her eyes flying to the door.

“Well?” he said, chuckling. “Do you expect me to take my pleasure through cloak and gown?”

McNeil was confused at the blank, nervous look she gave him. Why was the whore nervous? Surely she could see he wasn’t a perverted customer. He smiled, amused at the thought. Then the smile died as amusement flickered into suspicion. A normal whore would be stripped to her chemise by now, eager to complete the transaction and move on to other customers. A normal whore would already be kissing him in feigned passion as her mind totaled the number of coins she might earn before light once more crept over the Thames River.

He studied her with narrowing eyes.

“What is your game? You and the old man?”

She jumped.

“Sir?”

“Your
game.
You’re a shill, aren’t you. Your master has learned that I carry the profits from the
Caroline’s
cargo.”

She shook her head with such fear that she confirmed his suspicion. He drew a harsh, painful breath. Of course the old fox would employ an innocent-appearing creature such as she. She was the perfect shill. Her sweetness could set any man off  guard.

His mouth tasted suddenly sour. He hardened himself against the rush of sentimental disappointment that came like a flood. He was thirty years old and by now life should have made him a cynic, he thought. Hadn’t experience taught him that the prettiest apple was the one most likely to be rotten to the core?

“Order the brandy from the innkeeper,” he commanded, taking a step toward the trembling girl. “You’ve been instructed to get me drunk and steal my purse, have you not?”

“Sir—please—I don’t understand—”

Her playacting infuriated him.

“Then understand
this.
My crew waits below. They are armed. One word from me and they’ll scour the waterfront for that thieving old fox. I’ll drag the both of you to the nearest magistrate.”

Flavia choked on terror. She backed away from the furious eyes, the warily hunched shoulders. Backed away until a wall came up against her. Uncle Simon! A magistrate? The duke finding out? Terror chilled her to the bone, swallowing up the earlier fear of going to bed with this stranger—swallowed it up as a large fish swallows a smaller one.

“Please, sir? -Not the magistrate—I’ll do anything.”

He laughed unkindly.

“I wager you
will.”

Furious at being deceived by such sweetness, McNeil strode to the quaking girl. Three jet black buttons clasped her cloak at the throat. With an angry wrench, he yanked them open. The cloak slid down the silk of her modest gown, falling to the floor with a swish. Roughly, he grabbed her. Sour disappointment roused him to cat-and-mouse cruelty.

“Shall I let you leave?” he said, with no intention of doing so. She quaked in violent hope. Bright blue color swirled into the green of her eyes.

“Oh, yes, sir. Please, sir.”

Then, as suddenly as the hope had risen in her eyes, it receded, dying. She dropped her head.

“No, sir. I—I—cannot leave, sir.”

Dumbfounded, he forgot he was toying with her. He stared down at her, unable to comprehend. She wanted to go. But she couldn’t. Why? Slowly, comprehension dawned.

Of course she couldn’t leave. Not without earning some coins. Her master would flog her. He swallowed, trying to fight the pity that rose. This delicate creature coming under the whip? It sickened him.

He stomped on the tender feelings with steel boots, growling, “If you’re staying, do not waste my time. Begin! Kiss me.”

To his irritation, her dark velvety eyelashes began to shine with wetness. She squeezed her eyes shut. She drew an agonized breath. He could feel her heart quake. Obedient to his surly command, she worked shaking hands up his chest. She curled ice cold fingers around his hot neck. Eyes still squeezed shut, she tilted her face up to his. She pursed her lips like a child.

McNeil was stunned. My God, had the little whore never been kissed before? He wanted to laugh. But somehow he could not. The sweet earnestness of the gesture disarmed him. Vengeful lust wavered and began to fade. A quieter feeling came.

Softly he kissed the pursed, trembling lips.

 “You kiss like a child,” he whispered. Her  eyes flew open, flying into his. For a jolting moment something like lightning passed between them. Call it discovery. Call it the sweet stab of something neither of them had felt before. Her trembling lips ventured a shy half-smile.

   “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. It shall be my pleasure to teach

?»

you.

His mouth came down and Flavia’s heart fluttered in stirring excitement. She was afraid of this man and yet at the same time she felt an odd, insane trust. He kissed her and then she understood his gentle criticism. No one had ever kissed her like this! Certainly not the duke, who called kissing a filthy habit. Certainly not her parents or Uncle Simon.

Her pulse raced in fear and anticipation for what must follow as he drew his head back and whispered, “Your mouth is as sweet as honey. I’ve never tasted sweeter...”

A gentle desire pounded through McNeil. He felt a fierce surge of protectiveness for the trembling girl. God, she was a delicate thing. So slender she could be lost in a man’s arms.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. She stiffened in seeming fear until he kissed away her resistance. When she wilted against his hot body like a flower wilting in the sun, he slowly peeled away her clothing. It was like peeling away the petals of a rose.

He took her. It was a slow, joyous taking and he was gratified when her small body flushed suddenly with heat and she gasped under him.

“Oh!” she gasped timidly, her eyes widening in surprise.

McNeil was amazed. Amazed and exhilarated. Had the little whore never? Incredible.

It was a wildly happy moment for him. It was like the first time he’d taken the wheel of the
Caroline
and felt her respond to his slightest touch. He smiled down at the blushing girl in his arms.

“Oh,” he teased softly.

He gazed upon her flushed loveliness. Shyly, she met his eyes and smiled. For an endless moment they gazed at each other. Not as whore and hirer, but as man and woman.

Then her dark lashes fluttered. She looked away in some nameless emotion. But when he bent to kiss her again, he did not have to tease her mouth open as he’d done at first. With a shy generosity that both charmed and puzzled him, she lifted her velvet mouth to his.

* * * *

“Two o’clock and a thick fog . . . . two o’clock and all’s well...”

Deep in the shadows of the bed, Flavia Rochambeau, duchess of Tewksbury, fearfully held her breath as she listened to the fading, fog-muffled cry of the watchman. Belowstairs, the brawling revelry had faded too. A man still sang drunkenly. A whining woman—the tavern-keeper’s wife?—loudly complained of the night’s damages.

The hour was late. The deed, done.

More than done, she reflected, flushing in sudden shame as her mind raced over the past hours. She drew a quick, dizzying breath, then fought to expel it slowly, silently.

She mustn’t wake him!

Gentle as he’d been, she still feared him. His overwhelming maleness, tempered with a playful air, had shaken her to the core. He’d set her brain spinning.

No, she mustn’t wake him. After the second time he’d taken her, he’d drowsily amused himself by teasing her:

Did she like ships? Good, for she’d soon be on one. He was taking her to Virginia to become his mistress.

Did she have skills to fend off lunatics? Yes? Good, for she’d soon meet his younger brother, who behaved like a lunatic over pretty women.

Did she like the color red? Good, he would buy her a dozen red dresses on the morrow.

Sleepily kissing her bare shoulder, he demanded to know her name. Fortunately, Flavia was spared replying. Sleep carried him off in a sigh of satisfaction.

Now he lay heavy beside her, his brown lean arm flung over her. She breathed quietly. But the warm scent of him set her heart fluttering.

So this was what
it
was meant to be.

So this was the man-woman thing.

How could she have known? The passionate lovemaking of this handsome, playful stranger in no way resembled what passed for the duke’s marital act. True, the duke was old and his stern German heritage outweighed the Englishman in him. But, more, he was devoid of passion. Even at fifteen, she’d sensed that.

His twice-weekly visits to her bedchamber were prompted by desire for an heir, not desire of a woman. He dispatched his duty with hurried distaste. He never fondled her, never kissed. If any passion throbbed within the duke, that passion was directed to his magnificent collection of jade carvings. Already, hundreds of priceless Oriental pieces filled Tewksbury Hall’s receiving rooms.

Tewksbury Hall... Flavia breathed softly,musing. God willing, nine months from tonight the corridors of Tewksbury would echo with the birth cry of a future duke or duchess. If a son, the baby immediately would take the duke’s lesser title, his German title, Marquis of Bladensburg. And she would be safe! Safety for everyone—herself, Papa and Mother, her sisters. Perhaps the duke would honor her longstanding request. Elated over his heir, perhaps he would grant Uncle Simon a stipend and allow Uncle Simon to retire from his clerical post at the Board of Trade. Her breath caught with hope, but then she sighed. No. The duke would not do so. The duke sat on the Board of Trade. He was adamant about keeping Uncle Simon in his post. Flavia found the duke’s attitude a grievous mystery. The duke was rich; Uncle Simon, old and ill.