Marrying Christopher (35 page)

Her eyes closed. “Yes.” He touched the side of her face, then moved to her hair. He found a pin and pulled it out, then another and another until her curls were freed and tumbled to her shoulders. Gently he ran his hand down the length of her hair, careful not to pull it. “You should wear it down more often.”

“Perhaps someday,” she murmured, lost in his touch— truly taken to another place, as he had teased her about previously. How was it that something so simple could seem so profound? She felt as she had that day at the washtub— as if she might simply melt into a puddle.

“In the book, Cora wore her hair down,” he teased gently.

“I did not say I was like Cora,” Marsali said. “And you are not like Hawkeye. Though your hair has grown enough on this voyage that it does brush your collar now.” She had noticed that earlier when they were standing close and speaking their vows. She longed to touch it as he had touched hers a moment ago but still felt too shy to make such a request. “Anyway, do not compare us. Theirs was not a happy ending. Ours will be better.”

“Ours will be
much
better,” he agreed. “But who knows, perhaps after a year in America I will look like Hawkeye— wearing buckskin breeches and with my hair so long I must tie it back.”

Marsali laughed. “What would your sisters think had become of you?”

Christopher’s mischievous grin appeared. “Wouldn’t it be grand if they could see me thus? I shall have to stay in touch with Captain Gower and see what becomes of the camera obscura. It may be that someday I can send them a likeness— of both of us. I suppose I will simply have to allow my hair to grow until then.”

“I may hold you to that,” she said, enjoying the way it curled on his neck now.

They did not speak for a while after that, but sat, content to be close, to be touching one another.

Marsali might have fallen asleep, she wasn’t certain, but his arm around her was so comforting. She could have stayed here forever.

“I do not see why Captain Gower
suggested
that we not share a cabin tonight,” she said sometime later, groggy with both sleepiness and from Christopher’s gentle touch. “We are perfectly capable of controlling our emotions within the limits that we must.”

“Speak for yourself.” A low growl rumbled in Christopher’s throat. “One of us is in agony.”

She sat up quickly. “That is a terrible thing to say to your wife, Mr. Thatcher.”

“Not when it’s true. I thought you were causing me to go mad before we married, but this is far worse. To know you’re mine and to not be able to—”

“Do not even say it.” Marsali pressed a finger to his lips once more. She rose up on her knees before him and shook her head as she gave him her most solemn look. “I do hope this isn’t a mistake.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a quick, efficient kiss.

His eyes widened before she glimpsed a corner of his mouth lift. “That is what I have been waiting for.”

“Good.” Marsali leaned back, prepared to return to their previous position, sitting side by side.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Christopher caught her arms and held her in place in front of him. “I could not determine why the timing to kiss you never seemed right. Now I understand. I was waiting for
you
to kiss me first.”

“And so I have.” Marsali attempted to squirm from his grasp, but he would not let her go. “Please do not make any more of it,” she begged. “I know a proper lady would never do such a thing, but I wanted to kiss you tonight, and we both know that I—”

His lips silenced her. Their contact was not fleeting as hers had been when she had kissed him a moment ago; his mouth lingered over hers, warm and soft. He pulled away slightly. “Do you feel it yet?”

“What?”

He kissed her again, a deeper kiss this time, as if he was searching for something within her— the fire that had flared to life at their first contact.

Marsali’s heartbeat quickened, and she grasped his shoulders, fearful she would lose her balance, he was making her head spin so.

“Now?” his lips whispered over hers. He did not wait for her answer but kissed her a third time. She clung to him, and his arms came around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. He touched her face, cradling it in the palms of his hands. And still he kissed her. She was long out of breath and certain her heart would explode any minute. Their kiss was glorious. She was soaring, but there was something else… just beyond her reach.

“Now—” she gasped, pulling away, scrambling off his lap and practically climbing out of the boat, “I understand.”

He chuckled. “Not so easy, is it?”

“No.” She ran her hands through her tousled hair, then realized her nightgown and wrapper were no longer covering her ankles and tugged them down again. All the while her husband watched her, a knowing smile on his face.

“Do not be afraid of me, Marsali. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“I know.” She drew in a deep breath, willing her heart to slow to normal— or as near normal as possible. She doubted it would ever be quite the same again. “It’s not you I’m afraid of, but me. You make me feel—”

“Desperate and reckless?” He pulled her closer and faced her away from him, putting his arms around her once more.

“I was thinking more of exhilarated and passionate.”

“Mmm. Those are good too. I’ll take them.”

“Not tonight you won’t.”
This is going to be impossible.

“Not tonight,” Christopher agreed. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “Lean against me and go to sleep, Marsali. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”

“Marsali, wake up. It’s raining. We’re getting wet.” Christopher shook her gently, but she only snuggled closer into the crook of his arm. “Or one of us is getting wet,” he said, noting that the sleeve of the arm that had been around her was soaked.

He held her away and leaned her head against a piece of cork, and still she did not awaken.
My wife can sleep through anything.
He wasn’t certain whether that was a good thing or not, but it amused him. He stood carefully, pulling the heavy canvas cover from the side of the boat where it was bunched, over to them, using it to cover them the best he could. He guessed Marsali had removed it the other day and forgotten to replace it. They were lucky the morning storm had passed quickly and the boat had time to dry out before they’d climbed in.

He crawled beneath the canvas and lay beside her, listening to the even rhythm of her breathing and the steady patter of rain. The wind was picking up as well. They wouldn’t be able to stay here much longer. Without the canvas properly attached at the sides, the boat would soon begin taking on water. Still, he was loath to leave. This might be the only night he had to spend with Marsali, and he wanted to cherish every moment. Even watching her sleep was a luxury.

The sky lit briefly, outlining her face and the delicate features he’d admired the first time he’d seen her. A thunderclap followed all too quickly, loud enough that the boat seemed to tremble, and Marsali woke with a start.

“Not to worry,” he soothed.

“Christopher.” Her hand reached for him in the dark. He took it and pressed it to his heart. He loved hearing her say his name.

“There’s another storm. We need to go inside.” He felt reluctant to go, though he knew it foolish to remain. “Come.” He pulled her up, and they crawled toward the end of the boat nearest the rigging. “Do you wish to go first?”

“No.” She shivered. “You go and then help me down, please. It was tricky last time when I wasn’t in the dark.”

Christopher swung his leg over the side of the boat as another bolt of lightning flashed in the sky. Marsali screeched and clambered after him. He jumped to the barrel and reached for her, catching her around the waist and holding her close as the answering thunderclap boomed overhead.

“What are you doing up there?” Captain Gower shouted, stomping toward them across the deck, his oil coat flapping behind him.

“Oh, dear,” Marsali said.

Christopher kept hold of her hand and guided her from the barrel to the crate. He jumped down and had just lowered her to the deck when the captain arrived.

“What were you doing up there? And in a storm! Look at this lightning! Do you want to get her killed? I married the two of you so you’d keep her safe.”

“It wasn’t storming when we went up there,” Marsali said meekly. “And it was my idea. We were only sleeping.”

Christopher didn’t see the need to make excuses. The captain had given his suggestions, but they were married now, and what they did was their own concern. “This is the only night we are to have together. What would you have done, Captain?”

Captain Gower grumbled something unintelligible. “Get inside and get out of those wet clothes— in your own cabins!” He stomped past them, shouting orders to the crew on deck to tie down the sails and make sure everything was secure.

Mr. Jones passed them as they attempted to move over the rolling deck toward the saloon.

“Captain,” he called. “Mr. Luke said you want the boilers at full capacity.”

“Aye,” Captain Gower shouted back through the rain pelting the deck. “We’re not going to ride out this storm, but maybe we’ll outrun it. We’re not waiting until tomorrow. Take us home, Mr. Jones. Full steam ahead to New York Harbor.”

Christopher reached the door of saloon and pulled it open for Marsali to enter ahead of him just as lightning struck a third time, hitting the center mast of the ship. The air sizzled around them, and he felt his hairs stand on end. Time seemed horrifyingly suspended as the entire deck lit up as brightly as if it was midday. Everyone stood as if frozen in place, looks of terror on their faces, their heads all tilted upward, drawn toward the sky and the powerful force of nature suspended from it.

A sudden recollection came to him, of the conversation from the start of their voyage, wherein he had mentioned that a steamship was seen by some as a challenge to Mother Nature— to God. Christopher didn’t think he believed that, but the power flowing through him— through his hand linked with Marsali’s and to his other still on the metal doorknob— felt frighteningly real.

Marsali screamed, and time moved again. He jerked his hand from the knob and found his palm burned.

“Fire!”

“It’s the mast. Get it before it reaches the wheel or the deck.” Feet pounded toward the blaze already engulfing nearly the entire length of the mast. The barrel he and Marsali had just stood on was wrenched open and a bucket brigade formed.

Christopher started forward, knowing he must help, but Marsali held him back. “Don’t leave me.” She was crying, frightened as he had never seen her.

“I won’t.” His decision was made in a split second. He was a husband now. He would stay with her and leave the crew to its duties. They entered the saloon and found Lady Cosgrove near hysterics.

“Lydia is gone. She’s missing. She isn’t in her bed.”

“What?” Marsali let go of Christopher and ran into the Cosgroves’ shared cabin. Christopher followed, verifying with her that the room was indeed empty.

“She never even put her nightgown on. I can’t think where she would be. Find her,” Lady Cosgrove implored, grasping Marsali’s hands.

“We will,” Christopher promised. “Wait inside,” he said to Marsali. “Check all the other cabins. I’ll learn if anyone has seen her on deck.”

“Be careful.” She grasped his hand and brought it to her lips.

He pulled her close and kissed her swiftly. “You as well.” He pulled away and ran outside to find that the fire had reached the deck.

Marsali braced both palms on the table as the ship rose sharply and pitched forward.

Beside her, Lady Cosgrove lost her grip and was flung back into the door of one of the vacant cabins.

“Are you all right?” Marsali fell to her knees and held her hand out toward Lady Cosgrove.

The saloon door banged open, and she turned toward it, hoping to see Christopher with Lydia in tow. Instead Mr. Luke stood in the open doorway, his stark figure momentarily silhouetted in the flash of lightning behind him.

“To the lifeboats, ladies.” He strode toward them as Marsali stood, then helped Lady Cosgrove rise.