Moon Dreams (18 page)

With these rationalizations, Rory stepped down into the
cabin to offer his passenger the garments he had bought for her months ago.

Alyson looked up with surprise at his entrance. Rinsing off
the last of the soap she had lathered herself with, she wore nothing but the
wet cloth in her hand. Beads of water rolled down her breasts and dropped to
the floor.

They stared at each other wordlessly. Rory could feel her
gaze drift from his face to his bared chest, while he barely managed to keep
his gaze on her face. Her eyes dilated with near shock. He knew he should
leave, but he couldn’t move a step until she ducked for the blanket on the
floor.

For a few brief seconds his vision filled with the glory of
satin-smooth curves tinted with pink and shadowed delicately in black curls.
Closing his eyes, he stumbled out the door and slammed it shut, collapsing in
one of the chairs at the table behind him.

He had to be out of his mind. Unbridled lust encompassed him,
but he had never succumbed to such temptation before. Why in hell had he opened
that door without knocking in the first place?

He knew the answer to that one, but he refused to
acknowledge it. She was an innocent child. He had no business playing adult
games with an unprotected child.

But Alyson’s full and glorious curves were emblazoned upon
his eyelids. Those were the ripe swells of a woman full grown and made for
love. She had not screamed or run from him in fear but boldly returned his stare.

Rory buried his face in his hands. Not boldly. Alyson never
did anything boldly. She just drifted in and out of situations as the notion
took her. And due to his own inept handling of this particular situation, she
now had notions that weren’t at all seemly for an unmarried lady.

Well, that suited him just fine. Slamming his hand against
the table, Rory rose and stalked out. He had been branded a traitor and an
outlaw at an early age. He owed the British aristocracy no favors. If they
couldn’t take care of their own, why should he?

Too confused to think after that embarrassing encounter,
Alyson donned her new gown. It fit as if it had been made for her, and the
shoes were more comfortable than her ruined ones. Unfortunately, her bodice lacked
a fichu to tuck in for decency. Although she knew the square neckline was very
much the fashion in London, she could not help thinking it a trifle daring
aboard a ship full of men.

There was no help for it, however. None of the packages or
Rory’s trunk revealed any fabric that could be used for scarf or shawl. Her own
ruined morning dress had a high neckline and no need of a fichu.

Under the circumstances, she had little to fret about. Rory
had already seen all of her that there was to see.

So when he pounded on the cabin door and asked, “Are you
decent?” she was left in some confusion.

“Decent?” She wasn’t certain the gown was decent, but she
didn’t think that was what he asked.

***

Rory blinked at Alyson’s response. Behind him his two
officers sat at the trestle table and listened with interest. Did she expect
him to ask if she were still naked?

The question dissolved into irrelevancy once Alyson opened
the door. She stood there with her lush ebony curls waving over her breasts to
her waist, nearly concealing the cleavage revealed by the gown. She blushed as
the two louts at the table tripped over their own feet trying to bow without
taking their eyes off her. Rory scowled at their antics.

“Isn’t one of you supposed to be up on deck?” His glare sent
them both from the cabin before he turned back to Alyson. “I see you found the
gown.”

Sweeping the long skirts back and forth with delight, she
stepped aside to allow him to enter. “It is lovely. I hope you don’t mind my
wearing it. I will pay you back just as soon as we reach London.”

Her cheerful innocence made him feel even more a cad, but
his mind was made up. He would be a howling idiot if he tried to take her all
the way to London living like brother and sister in this cramped cabin. That
left only two choices, and he suspected she would object to both of them.

“I meant the gown for ye, lass. Don’t fash yerself o’er it.
It suits ye well.” Rory lifted a strand of her hair and pushed it back over her
shoulder. His gaze traveled from her face to the décolletage of the gown, and
her blush deepened.

“I thank you, but I don’t believe it is proper for me to
accept such a generous gift,” she said with a soft reprimand in her voice. “Please,
do sit down. You are making me very nervous.”

William had brought in a chair from the other room and set
up their supper on a small table. At Rory’s command, two place settings had
been brought up, and Alyson had evidently waited for him before dining. Rory
held out his desk chair for her.

They had slept in the same bed. She had nursed his wounds
and berated him for his misdeeds. Why did he feel like a young lad about to court
his first lass?

Looking nervous, she arranged her gown and settled in the
chair he offered, but she was still pink as she spread her napkin across her
lap.

Realizing he had managed to fluster
her
for a change, Rory took his seat with some satisfaction.
Considering the situation, he preferred to be in control. He knew how easily
she could annihilate logic otherwise.

Alyson pushed his cook’s overcooked mush about on her tin
plate, and Rory sought some topic to ease the moment.

“Did you enjoy your stay in Charleston?” he asked, watching
her bent head with more interest than the unpalatable meal.

“Very well, thank you, but I am ready to go home. How long
will it take before we are in London?”

“Let’s enjoy our meal and discuss that later. It promises to
be a beautiful evening. Perhaps you would care to stroll about the deck after
dinner?”

Alyson tilted her head to gaze at him with that curious look
of hers. He met her look without evasion, and she nodded uncertainly. “I’d like
that, thank you. Will we talk about London then? Do you think my cousin will be
there before us?”

“We will talk about London then, and yes, Cranville will
undoubtedly be there before us. I apologize for your meal. There wasn’t time to
lay in supplies at Charleston.” He said it with an ironic drawl and Alyson finally
smiled. The rest of the meal was easier after that.

By the time William came to clear the table, Alyson was
laughingly reciting a tale of their mutual friends in Charleston. Rory watched her
throughout this recital, but she showed no regret at having left her many
suitors behind. He was uncertain of her feelings for her old Cornish suitor,
Alan Tremaine, however. She had refused him once in anger, but women were
notoriously fickle. Maybe part of her eagerness to return to London was to see
if Alan had waited for her.

Rory closed his mind to such thoughts. Alan Tremaine was a
spoiled, shallow lad, and he would not concern himself over such as that. He
had learned the hard way that the only one who would look out for him was
himself, and this he meant to do. Out of respect for Alyson, he would give her
a choice, and in all honesty he could not predict which path her bewildering
mind would take, but first and foremost he would look after himself.

Alyson took Rory’s arm and offered him a blinding smile,
nearly staggering him before he opened the cabin door. They stepped up to the
main deck into the warmth of a summer evening.

He had not bothered to don his coat or neckcloth for dinner.
She held his shirtsleeve and gazed out upon the open sea in the moonlight.

“’Tis truly beautiful, Rory. Now I can see why you might
spend so much of your life out here.”

Blocked by the bulwark, the wind lifted her hair in gentle
waves, blowing wisps across Rory’s shirt. In the moonlight her pale face was
like translucent porcelain, and the mysterious clouds of her eyes drifted
between sunshine and shadow. He had never seen a face quite like hers before,
so serene but disguising moods as fascinating as the sea.

The high-pitched squeal of a school of dolphins carried over
the slapping of the waves, and Alyson turned moonstruck eyes to him
expectantly, waiting for explanations. He pointed out the leaping, cavorting
dark shapes in the wide swath of moonlight.

“They’re marvelous! Almost as if they could be your pets.”
In the same breath, without diverting her attention in any way, she added, “I
miss Peabody.”

Rory struggled to follow the thought until he remembered her
earlier mention of the spaniel she’d had to leave behind. Since she still clung
to his arm, he could not hug her as he would like, but he intended to rectify
that situation.

Guiding her back into the lee of the bulwark, where her hair
did not swirl in wild gusts about them and where the man at the helm could not
see, Rory turned Alyson to face him. At his touch, her eyes became mirrored,
and he could see only his reflection. He caressed the smoothness of her cheek,
testing her reality, and a hauntingly sensual smile tilted on her lips.

“By all that’s holy, Alys, do you have any idea what a smile
like that does to a man?” The words emerged involuntarily, torn from his tongue
by some supernatural force. “Don’t answer that,” he added when the smile
widened. Whatever her answer might have been, he felt certain it would destroy
his logic, and he needed all the logic he could muster.

“You were to tell me of London,” she prompted.

In the moonlight, Rory’s teeth gleamed white against his
sun-darkened features. Alyson swayed closer to him with the roll of the ship.
Legs spread, he stood firm, leaning a hand against the bulwark to shelter her.
This was not the elegant gentleman who had escorted her into his aunt’s
ballroom, nor the hardworking seaman who had carried her to these strange
shores. The Maclean was a man of many facets, but she liked the way this one
was looking at her.

The lines that often wrinkled about
his eyes when he laughed were not noticeable tonight, but neither was the frown
that puckered the bridge of his nose when he was angry. The rich brandy of his
eyes seemed warm and inviting, and the hint of a smile added sensuality to his
lips. She did not need any second sight to know what he was thinking, and she
shivered. She had never experienced this kind of awareness with Alan.

“London, yes.” Rory grazed her cheek with the back of his
finger. “London is a long way off. That is my problem.”

Alyson shivered as he stroked her hair, then her throat. She
held her own hands clasped behind her as she leaned back against the cabin. She
wanted him to touch her more. She could feel the anticipation rising in her
breasts. They tightened beneath the satin binding of her bodice.

She was aware of the hard muscular
strength of his arm. She had even grown accustomed to the deep V of his
sun-bronzed chest revealed by the unfastened shirt. She tried not to dwell on
it too long, however, because the sight evoked her earlier vision much too
clearly.

She knew now her vision had not been a dream and that sooner
or later Rory would teach her what it was like to be a woman. The knowledge had
once been frightening, but she felt safer in Rory’s company than with anyone
else she knew. Rory wouldn’t willingly hurt her.

“There is some problem?” she asked. “You do intend to return
to London, don’t you? I would not mind sailing with you awhile longer, but I
miss England, and I’m worried Mr. Farnley will still think me dead. I’d like to
go home.”

“So would I, lass, so would I.” Rory said this with a
heartfelt fervor. Tenderly, he bent and applied his lips to hers.

Alyson’s surprised gasp left her vulnerable. Rory’s tongue
slid suggestively along hers, and her hands flew to his chest. His naked flesh
burned her palm as his kiss enticed her into wickedness. Her fingers curled in a
soft mat of hair. She shivered at the unexpected invasion of his tongue, but
she didn’t resist. Their breaths mingled, and Alyson surrendered to his gentle
attack, her defenses breeched, her willpower fled.

She slid her hands around Rory’s neck when he caught her
waist and drew her against him. She could feel the full length of his muscular torso
pressed into hers, and she strained to know more. The heat of his mouth held
her captive, and she drank eagerly of his passion, clinging to his need and
desire.

Rory was the first to break this forbidden paradise.
Reluctantly releasing her, he brushed a lingering kiss against her cheek and
set her back to meet her bewildered eyes. “That’s my problem, lass,” he
admitted with a trace of sadness. “A man can resist only so much, and then
temptation triumphs. Do ye ken, lass?”

Alyson stared at her taciturn
Scotsman. He seldom slipped into his lilting accent unless he was upset, but he
did not seem angry. She longed only to have his arms around her again,
but she realized he was asking her a question she did not fully understand. “We
should not kiss like that again?”

Rory offered up a wry smile. “That is one way of looking at
it, dear heart, but you would have to tie me to the mains’l before you could
keep me from doing it again. And again. What I’m telling you, lass, is that I
canna take you back to London unless you’re willing to share my bed. I canna
speak it any plainer. I’ve not survived this long without learning my
weaknesses, and you’re one of them, lass.”

Alyson scanned his face at this admission. She had thought
Rory strong, much stronger than herself, and perhaps he was. He, at least, was
trying to resist this mysterious attraction between them, while she would
gladly surrender to whatever he asked. She tried to listen to his next words,
but her heart was pounding so fiercely at the burning desire in his eyes that
she could scarcely hear him.

She
was his
weakness, he had said. Those words she had heard, and they were burned
indelibly in her heart. He wanted
her
,
despite all her flaws.