Julia London 4 Book Bundle (122 page)

The ship he had found was carrying a hull full of jute and tobacco. Arthur had explained to her that they would first cross to Hoek-van-Holland to unload then take on new cargo before sailing to England, where they would dock at Kingston-upon-Hull. From there, they would travel to a place called Longbridge. It was the home of a friend, he said, and a place they might stay for a time until he determined what they should do.

What he should do with her, he surely meant, but
was far too kind to say so. Nonetheless, Kerry knew exactly what sort of burden she presented—she had little more than the gray gown on her back that signified her status as widow. The contents of her satchel amounted to two pairs of drawers, a chemise, and the blouse and black bombazine skirt she wore to work in the garden. She had no real skills to speak of—she supposed she could hire on as a governess somewhere, but without credentials, the likelihood of securing a suitable situation were slim. It was more likely that she should end up in the kitchen service of some English household—assuming, of course, Arthur could help her find such employment.

As the ship sailed farther into calm seas, Kerry remained in the cabin, heartsick and confused. She thought often of Thomas—what must he be thinking now? It broke her heart to imagine his confusion, but it made her positively ill to think that he must have gone back to Glenbaden to find her, only to find what she had done. And the others, Big Angus and May. What had become of them?

And of course there was the guilt. All-consuming guilt, a persistently nagging thought that she should turn back, throw herself on Moncrieffe’s mercy, and face what she had done.

Had it not been for Arthur, she might very well have thrown herself over the rail of the ship and let her misery sink her. As the first day turned into the second, he became her lifeline, keeping her carefully tethered to him and reality.

But he was obviously restless, too; he bustled in and out of the little cabin, putting things here and there then rearranging them again, and talking to fill the silence that seemed to engulf them. He told her about his closest friends, starting with the earl of Albright, whose home they would visit first, and how he had turned a small estate in severe disrepair into one of the most powerful agricultural centers in all of England. He laughed about
the earl of Kettering, who had raised four younger sisters from the time he was a lad of sixteen. He was proud of his own family, clearly admired and loved his brother Alex. And he smiled fondly when he told her about his mother and even his Aunt Paddy and her friend, Mrs. Clark, who, Arthur said with a roll of his eyes, spent the better part of their lives looking for marriageable young women for him. He was obviously a man who held his family dear, and it was just one more of the many qualities that endeared him eternally to Kerry.

When night fell on the second day, the seas turned rough. Arthur returned from the deck to tell her that they were sailing into a late summer storm and that he would lend a hand to the crew. Kerry assured him she was quite all right, and he left her lying on the narrow little bed, unaware that she swallowed down nausea that rose with each swell of the sea.

As the ship rocked into the night, Kerry kept the nausea at bay by concentrating on Arthur, forcing herself to recount in detail everything about him from the moment she had shot him on the road to Perth.

It was an easy task. Everything Arthur had ever done in her presence lived on in her heart. She recalled waking next to him the morning they had set off for Glenbaden, inadvertently sprawled across his body, and the dangerous look on his face that made her heart flutter like a bird. And the moment he had removed the boots from her feet and had wrapped his neckcloth around her battered heels. And, oh God, she recalled the searing kiss he had given her when he had pulled her from the waters of the river.

Kerry pressed a palm to her damp forehead as she recalled his last night at Glenbaden and the hours she had spent in his arms and beneath him. The memory turned molten; her face flushed hot with the memory. It was that night she had understood how she truly loved him, completely and irrevocably, for the rest of her life. She had never felt for her husband what she felt for her
beautiful stranger, and the intense longing filled her again, swelling inside her heart until it felt as if it would burst from her chest. She suddenly rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.

She should not long for him. She should not wish that he would kiss her like that again. She should not look at his hand and remember how tenderly he had caressed her naked breast. God help her, but she should not notice how magnificent he was, or let his smile melt her, or let his cheery laughter wash over her like rain. But every time Arthur touched her—a hand to her shoulder, a finger to her temple—she wished he would take her into his arms, kiss her, make love to her again like he had that night, and banish every ugly thing from her life.
She loved him.

Oh God, what sort of cruel life was this that she should know such love and tenderness but never truly possess it?

In the blackness of the cabin, she lay there listening to the wind batter the ship like her sorrow battered her soul. She mourned her losses, but above all, she mourned the inevitable loss of Arthur. Nothing had changed. They came from two different worlds and in spite of his heroic act of rescuing her—not once, but twice now—he would, eventually, continue on with his life, as would she.

The dreaded vision of her life was the last thing she knew before she drifted off to sleep.

Sometime later, a noise awoke her, and as she opened her eyes, she noticed that the ship was no longer listing. A single lamp burned low. She blinked against the dim light, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sight of Arthur trying to fit his long body across two chairs.

With his legs stretched onto a chair, he held his arms folded across his stomach, and rested his chin on his chest with his eyes closed. After a moment, his head jerked up; he groaned softly before stabbing his elbow onto the table and his chin atop his fist.

A surge of tenderness swept through her; Kerry pushed herself up onto her elbows.
“Arthur.”

His head instantly jerked up and around to the sound of her voice, his feet landing hard on the floor.

Kerry held out her hand to him.

It seemed to take him aback. He pivoted in his chair, facing her, his hands braced on his knees as he stared at her outstretched hand. He swallowed. “Don’t,” he said roughly. “Don’t offer me your hand because I can’t be satisfied with only that. If I have any part of you, I must have all of you. And if you take me, Kerry, you must take all of me.”

“Then come to me,” she murmured.

He lifted a gaze from her hand that was both smoldering and bewildered. A scorching heat instantly filled her; she spread her hand over the coarse linen cover.
“Come.”

Arthur stood, quickly removed his waistcoat as he crossed the cabin to her, pulling his lawn shirt from the waist of his trousers as he reached the edge of the bed. “Kerry,” he said, falling onto one knee on the bed beside her, lifting his hands to cup her face.
“Kerry,”
he whispered earnestly, “have you any idea what you’ve done to me? Have you any idea how I have longed for you, how I have dreamed of you? Do you know that you entered my daydreams, rode alongside me, slept in my arms at night? My regard for you has not changed nor abated with time, it has only grown stronger.”

His earnest admission shocked her—she had heard his declarations of adoration the night they had made love, but she had believed they were voiced for the moment. How many times had she replayed the words in her head, wishing—no,
praying
—that they were true? And how many more times had she berated herself for her foolish dreaming, her childish hopes? Yet here he knelt before her, uttering words she had ached to hear.

“Arthur,” she said, pressing her palm to his rough cheek, “how I love you …”

A warmth filled his eyes, and he pulled her face to his, drinking the words from her lips as he gently pushed her onto her back and came over her. He kissed her tenderly, straying from her mouth to her eyes and her cheeks. His moist lips slowly touched every part of her face and neck, deliberately teasing her while his hands caressed her, his palms skimming lightly over her arms and bosom, his fingers flittering across her neck.

His gentle, near reverent exploration of her was stoking a blaze that begged to be doused. Her hands swept the hard lines of his body. She slipped her hands inside his shirt, fingered his hardened nipples. Arthur’s low moan reverberated against the skin of her neck, and he reached for the buttons of her gown, deftly freeing each one as his hands moved quickly down her spine.

“I have often thought of our night together,” he murmured as he slipped the gray wool from her shoulders to her waist and gazed down to where her breasts spilled from the top of her corset. “More times than I might count,” he added softly, and sat back on his feet, pulling her to a sitting position. He kissed her forehead and the tip of her nose as he unfastened her corset. With a smile, he threw it aside. But the smile slowly faded as he carefully cupped her breasts, rubbing the peaks with the pad of his thumb through the thin cotton chemise she wore. “I thought of you constantly.”

“And I of you,” she said, carefully brushing a thick curl of hair from his forehead. “I dared not dream that you would come back.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “Many was the time I would look at you in Glenbaden and wonder at such natural beauty, wish that such beauty could be mine, that I could hold it in my arms.” He nipped her bottom lip before drawing it fully between his. He pushed her back onto the narrow bed, breaking the kiss only to remove her skirt and his shirt. But then he came over her again with an urgency and heat that Kerry felt burning inside her.

With his hands, he began a more anxious exploration of her body, pushing the chemise aside so that he could feel her skin. Kerry’s body was jolted alive by his touch; his fingers seemed to scorch every place he touched her, detonating something inside her—she was suddenly raking her hands through his hair, kissing him fiercely, her body straining to meet his.

Arthur seemed to share her desperate abandon; his hands worked with a fever of their own, stroking her everywhere, inflaming her flesh, striving to caress every inch of her and know every contour, every flaw. Her hands trailed down his chest, to the soft down that disappeared into his trousers.

He caught a drag of air in his throat when she flicked her tongue across his nipple. The sound of his ardor turned her into a churning, molten mass, and she realized it was her hands that fumbled with his trousers, her hands that sought to free his rigid arousal straining against the fabric. When the last button sprang free, she reached for him, felt him swell hot in the palm of her hand.

Arthur anxiously freed her breast from the confines of her chemise, smothered it with warm kisses. When he took it in his mouth, Kerry felt the draw of desire from the bottom of her belly, the ethereal weight of it rising rapidly to the surface, boiling there as he laved her with deliberate laziness, sucking her into his mouth and tongue.

The ache for him was more than she could bear; her hand surrounded his rigid erection, squeezing gently, stroking him with the same deliberate laziness that he showed her, until Arthur could endure no more. His head suddenly came up; planting his hands on either side of her head, he moved over her.

“You seduce me as no other woman has,” he said brusquely. “You compel me to an insane desire, Kerry McKinnon.” With that, he lowered himself to her, kissing her passionately as one hand moved lithely between
her thighs. Kerry gasped against his mouth; the molten heat she had been feeling was spilling from her, she could feel it. Arthur’s fingers moved expertly against her, swirling over and around, in and out, driving her to the brink of a well of desire, battering her senses for release. And just when she thought she would surely drown in it, he moved his hand, positioned himself between her legs, and slid inside her as smoothly as the tide washes ashore. She felt her body as she had never felt it before—every sense was inflamed, every fiber ablaze, the air around her filled with the scent and flesh of Arthur.

With every stroke of his staff, every kiss of his lips, he was pushing her closer and closer to him. It was so fluid, so without beginning or end that she could scarcely tell where his body ended and hers began. He flowed into her like water, then rushed out again like the tide, only to come again, deeper still. Kerry’s body rose to meet every stroke, but she felt herself fast losing control, spiraling headlong into a physical release so pure that the anticipation of it had already taken her breath away.

Above her, Arthur pressed his cheek against hers and buried his hand in the wild tangle of her hair. With his other hand, he continued to stroke her in rhythm with his body’s thrusting until Kerry could endure the immaculate torture no more. It happened suddenly—a sensation of sinking fast then floating on the swell as the tide rushed out again. The wondrous sensation caused her to cry out with the joy of it; her arms fell away, landing limply to either side of her.

Arthur’s strokes suddenly intensified; he shoved his hands beneath her hips, lifting her to him, thrusting fiercely and quickly until he shuddered against her with a strangled sob of his own. Kerry felt the powerful surge of his seed deep inside her and was immediately overcome with a sense of completion.

They lay with their arms around one another, both of them panting lightly. After a few moments, Arthur somberly gathered Kerry to him and rolled to his side so
that they lay facing each other. She felt him slip out of her and the warmth of his lifeblood spilling onto her thighs. Sighing, he brushed a damp strand of hair from her face. “You have captured my poor heart, madam.”

Oh, but he had captured her heart weeks ago, plucked it like a ripe fruit. Suddenly overwhelmed, she buried her face in his neck—it seemed to her that in this moment, out here on the open sea as they were, they were just man and woman, sharing the most extraordinary intimacy two people could share, and she loved him for sharing it so completely.