Lord Of The Sea (11 page)

“What does your father say about them?”

“Oh, he’s a humble, self-effacing man. He doesn’t talk much about the old war, and is content these days to run his shipyard with my Uncle Matt, designing and building ships, investing in trade, timber, that sort of thing. He became quite wealthy during the last war and invested wisely; it is my intention to follow in his footsteps, and—” here, he grinned—“surpass his exploits, to the extent that I can.”

“Like father, like son?”

“Indeed.”

“And now you are here.”

“And now I am here. With you. Which, until I weigh anchor and go seek my own fortunes, is exactly where I want to be.”

“Are you serious, or just an accomplished flatterer?”

“Both.”

She couldn’t help it; she laughed, and so did he, and something connected between them.

“What about you, Miss Evans? Tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, I’m not all that fascinating. I’m just a simple country girl from Wales who likes to read, and who wishes her own life had a little more excitement.”

“I could give you that, you know.”

“Give me what?”

He grinned, the charming rogue once more. “That excitement.”

“You’ve rescued me from bloodthirsty pirates, shown me flying fish and rainbows, and you’re about to teach me how to swim. I don’t know how you could make things any
more
exciting, Captain!”

“Have you ever been courted before?”

“Not by anyone whose attentions I particularly sought.”

“Did you leave behind any broken hearts in England?”

“Only my dog Mattie’s. I’m sure he’s missing me.”

 “Have you ever been kissed?”

“Captain Merrick!”

“Well, have you?”

“That’s rather a personal question, don’t you think?”

“Indeed it is.” His eyes were laughing, and she was glad it was dark out so she couldn’t see how unsettled—and excited—such a probing question was making her. “Are you going to answer it?”

“All right, Captain Merrick. No, I have never been kissed.”

“I could give you that, too, you know.” He leaned down, close to her ear. “That first kiss.”

She couldn’t help a little gasp. How on earth was she supposed to respond to
that
?

He mistook her confusion for shock.

“I’m sorry. I have many flaws, Miss Evans, and one of them is a certain impulsiveness of thought that, all too often I fear, finds its way onto my tongue. You’re a pretty girl. It’s been a long time since someone’s turned my head and commandeered my thoughts the way that you have, and I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” she squeaked.

“Aye, honest. I’ve been wanting to kiss you from the moment we stood together in
Kestrel
’s bows, and you took your bonnet off and let your hair free to fly in the wind.”

She just looked at him, not knowing what to say.

He paused and turned her to face him. “Live a little, Miss Evans,” he said, and then, before she could know what he was about, he put a finger beneath her chin, tilted her face up to his, and lowered his lips to hers.

She was unprepared. For the feel of rough male jaw-bristle against her tender skin. For the forcefulness of his mouth, the drive of his lips against her own, and then, the insistent pressing of his tongue against the seam of her lips until she opened to him. She tasted rum and felt his heat and hunger, the whisper of his breath against her cheek, the press of his fingers against her jawbone. She sighed and shut her eyes, her own hand coming up to hesitantly touch his shoulder, the base of his neck, and to push upward into his thick, loosely curling hair.

And then, suddenly, she realized what she was doing and pulled away. Wide-eyed, her hand went up to cover her mouth, and she licked her lips, tasting him.

“Oh,” she said, simply.

“Oh?”

She touched her fingers to her lips. They were tingling, and she felt a strange yearning deep in the pit of her belly, centering between her legs. This could get out of control if she wasn’t careful. She was playing with fire, and people who played with fire inevitably got burned.

“Perhaps I should take you back to the house,” he said, reaching out to touch her hair.

No!

“It would . . . it would probably be smart.”

“Nobody has ever accused me of being smart, Miss Evans.”

“And nobody has ever accused
me
of being reckless.”

They continued walking, slower this time, both thinking about the kiss, neither of them willing to actually end their time together but both knowing that a decision lay before them and once made, there was no turning back.

“So what is it to be, Miss Evans? Are you feeling reckless? Or should I take you back to the house?”

If I let you take me back to the house, my adventure will end here and now. And I’ll forever wonder what might have been, if only I’d followed it through.

She boldly met his gaze. “You did promise me a swimming lesson, Captain.”

“Aye, that I did.”

“So, let us be about it, then.”

They had reached a clearing and there, ahead, was a small cove, with surf that lapped gently at the beach. Each tiny, curling wave sparkled like diamonds in the moonlight as it broke against the pale coral sand, then hissed and foamed as it retreated into the sea. Rhiannon trembled inside. She had just had her first kiss, given to her by none other than Captain Connor Merrick himself, and he was now about to teach her to swim beneath the stars of a Caribbean night . . . did life get any more magical than this?

Her heart gave a little flutter.

There would be no lamenting lost chances, no wondering what might have been when this night was over.

None.

She was going to do this. No matter how dark that water out there looked, no matter how many sharks might be lurking beneath the surface, no matter how conflicted she suddenly felt when she realized just what she was doing, and with whom.

He led her down to the little beach and there, reached down and took off his sandals.

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?” he asked, looking over at her.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”

“Admitting a fear is the first step to conquering it.”

“Maybe some fears should be respected, not conquered. Maybe . . . maybe we could just sit here on the sand and talk. I am not sure there’s any real need for me to learn how to swim.”

He yanked his shirt free of his waistband, and pulled it over his head. “No, there is not.”

“It’s an utterly useless skill, really . . . not something that a person in my position has much need of.”

“Yes, utterly useless.”

“
Are
you courting me, Captain Merrick?”

His gaze warmed. “Aye, Miss Evans. I am.”

She fought to find her breath. “Then in that case, perhaps we should be proper about this. . . .”

“Proper?”

“That is, I, uh . . . think you should take me back.”

He tossed the shirt to the sand, crossed his strong, hard arms over his chest and regarded her with a little smile, the moonlight glinting off his teeth, his tousled hair, the tops of his wide and powerful shoulders.

“I can if you wish,” he said, regarding her with that long, warm gaze that she had come to think of as
the look
. The one that made her heart bounce around in her chest and her breathing to become unsteady and her palms to go damp. “But is that what you really want?”

“What I really want, and what I really ought to do, are two different things.”

He leaned close, humor and challenge lighting his eyes. “Live a little, Miss Evans.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Words to live by. Besides, I promise to keep you safe.”

Of course he would. Her resolve restored, Rhiannon gathered the hem of her skirts in one hand and, placing the other in the crook of his elbow once more, allowed him to lead her toward the water. The waves swirled around her ankles, as warm and delicious as a bath.

From far away in the night, she heard revelry coming from somewhere in Bridgetown, and from several ships anchored out in the harbor, the clang of bells as the watch ended.

And suddenly Rhiannon realized that to learn how to swim she would have to get wet, and if she got wet, her thin muslin gown and shift beneath would be plastered to her body and Captain Merrick would see everything she owned.

The idea was strangely titillating.

Wicked.

But it is dark outside,
a little voice inside her head countered.
What, really, can he see?

What, indeed.

She took a step further into the surf until she was up to her knees. If they went any deeper, her modesty would be compromised.

She hesitated.

This is my adventure. One that I could only have dreamed about. It is happening to me right here, right now. And I’m going to enjoy it.

Boldly, she let go of her skirts as he led her in even deeper, until the surf moved with gentle stealth around her knees. Her thighs.

There, Captain Merrick stopped, turned her gently around to face him, and took both her hands in his own.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice deep and gentle, the stars so far above his head suddenly very, very bright in their vast expanse of night.

“I trust you.”

He let a moment go by, and then, still holding her hands, he lowered them until both his hands and hers were under the water. There they both stood, face to face, her face tilted up to regard his, he looking down at her with an expression in his eyes that was deeper than the vastness of the night beyond his head. And then he raised a hand from the water and placed it, dripping and wet, alongside the line of her jaw, his thumb gently stroking the hollow beneath her cheek.

“I don’t make it a habit of ravishing beautiful young ladies,” he said softly.

“Of course you don’t. . . .”

“So if you change your mind, I would advise that you give me a hard and decisive slap across the cheek, and perhaps it will knock some sense into my poor befuddled head.”

“I don’t want to . . . to discourage you, Captain. Let alone harm you.”

He lifted his other hand from the water and laid it alongside her other cheek, raising her head so that her eyes looked steadily into his own. “Then never let it be said, Miss Evans, that a Yankee privateer is anything but a gentleman,” he murmured, and bending his head, claimed her lips with a gentle firmness that rocked her to her core.

Rhiannon melted. Every single cell in her body, every bit of bone and blood and muscle and nerve, suddenly felt as though the strength had been stripped from them as she tilted her head back and allowed him to deepen the kiss, to increase the pressure, to claim her willing, eager lips with his own. Of their own accord her hands came out of the water, roved up his strong, hard arms, and up through the tousled curls that just touched his nape. She stood on tiptoe, inhaling the scent of him—bay rum, sea salt, and trade winds—obediently opening her mouth when she felt his tongue pressing against her lips. Her nipples fired, and the strange ache between her legs became pressing, persistent, and stronger by the second. Her knees began to buckle, and as though sensing it, he slowly drew back, gazing down at her with a look of hunger, admiration, and longing.

“Well,” he said, as she reluctantly let her own hand slip from the back of his head. “I suppose . . . we should get started.”

Her heart was pounding. “Yes, you did promise to t-teach me to swim.”

“Though if I were smart, I would take you back to the house.”

“But you know that you will not.”

“I desire you, Miss Evans. That should be obvious. But that doesn’t mean I can’t behave myself.”

She couldn’t prevent a little grin. “Poor you,” she said. “There’s that phrase again. First you must ‘behave yourself’ for Sir Graham, now you must behave yourself for me. No wonder you’re eager to put Barbados far behind you.”

“Perhaps,” he countered, “I’m not so eager, after all.”

He gazed down at her, his eyes very dark and intense in the faint light. Rhiannon shivered with desire. How she wanted this man, wanted the feel of his hands against her skin, his strong arms lifting her, his handsome, wry, mouth against her own once more. But she sensed that he was indeed a gentleman no matter how roguish his words, no matter how passionate his kiss, and that he was indeed going to take her back to the house, make his way back to
Kestrel
—

And sail out of her life forever.

He was already turning, heading back toward the shore.

“Teach me to swim,” she said, impetuously.

He paused, the water lapping against his hips and sparkling in the moonlight. For several moments he just stood there, a tall, dark presence against the starlit sky that spread out into forever over his head.

And then he turned and looked at her.

Just looked at her.

Rhiannon’s throat went dry. She lifted her hand and held it wordlessly out to him, desperate to keep him here, desperate to make this magical night last, to keep this compelling, reckless, fascinating man with her just a little longer even if it did mean doing something terribly scandalous, and altogether forbidden.

He came back to her, fitted his strong hands around her waist and lifted her straight off the sea floor, holding her there and letting her get the feel of what it was like to not have her feet on the bottom.

Rhiannon flung her arms out to the sides to keep her balance.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

Relax? When his hands were spanning her waist, holding her suspended in the sea while his mouth, that beautiful, sinful, sensuous mouth, was only a few inches from her own?

“I am going to put my hand on your belly,” he said. “I want you to tip forward, and lie against my hand. I’ll hold you up.”

He set her back down, letting her feet anchor themselves once more in the sand and yes, his hand was against her once more, intimate, broad and flat and warm against her abdomen through the layers of wet muslin, the tips of his fingers perilously close to her most private regions.

The feeling was wickedly sensual, and the ache between Rhiannon’s legs became a slow burn.

“Lean forward,” he instructed, his voice sounding a little hoarse.