Not Quite Married (22 page)

“Three bells, sir.” Hicks pondered the possible reasons for his captain’s foul humor. He could readily think of one, but there was no sign of her here. “I was on deck myself when we ran afoul of it. Struck sail and posted watches straightaway.”

“Good enough.” Aaron finished tucking his shirt into the band at his waist. “Tell the cook to send up some coffee.” He caught a glimpse of Hicks’s tired face. “Then get some rest; you look like you need it.”

With a few long strides, he was up the steps and on deck. The cool, damp mist in the air clung to his face and clothes. The sun was up by now, but the air seemed dark and impenetrable. Hicks had posted experienced hands at the bow and they strained eyes and ears, searching the oppressive cloud that surrounded them.

From where he stood on the bridge at the wheel, the bow of the ship was lost in mist.

A fog this dense in midocean meant the strong mix of warm and cold currents, and a danger of icebergs drifting south with the cold, Arctic flow. There was no wind and no way to predict how long the fog would last or how dangerous it might be.

Now in command of his ship and of himself, he allowed his thoughts to flow back to Brien. She had left him in the night. He frowned, not sure why that should trouble him. Then he recalled the pleasure she had brought him . . . by turns coy and playful, then sweet and yielding . . . and he smiled. It was better than his many dreams of her; she brought to his bed the ripened sweetness of her own experience, exciting in ways he couldn’t have imagined. With an intense pang of envy, he thought about her marriage and the handsome Frenchman who had called her his wife. How could the bastard have been so stupid as to not recognize the value of such a woman and do everything in his power to make her his own?
He
sure as hell wouldn’t make that mistake.

A call rang out from one of the forward lookouts. As his ears strained toward the muffled lapping of the water at the sides of the ship, he scowled. The sea demanded his attention like a jealous mistress.

BRIEN AWAKENED LATE that same morning and sent Jeannie off in search of breakfast while she luxuriated in bed. She thought of the cause of the pleasant languor that possessed her and stretched lazily.

Aaron. She had loved being with him. Every movement was etched into her aching muscles and every emotion of the night just past was stuffed into her full heart. It was everything she had hoped for and everything she had feared. In his kiss and touch she found unexpected strength, skill, tenderness, passion. He was a remarkable man. One who listened when she spoke and didn’t instantly dismiss her ideas and ambitions because she was a woman. One who had approached her as an equal in passion, respected her right to choose, and sought her pleasure even as he took his own.

She hadn’t expected to feel this way. She had succeeded in convincing herself that she was simply curious, that one night with him would dispel her romanticized memories and free her.

But one night in his arms had only validated the dream she had lived with since their first loving. Now this bone-deep feeling of satisfaction refused to let her go, even when she shook her head sharply to clear it and then bounded out of her bunk.

As she drew her nightdress over her head, she recalled removing it in his bed . . . and was brushed by a fleeting chill that whispered there might be consequences from that memorable bout of pleasure. She stilled, feeling that insulating cloak of satisfaction thinning. What kind of consequences?

Pregnancy. She might bear a child even now.

But there had been no babe from their first coupling, she thought frantically. Perhaps she couldn’t conceive. Perhaps she couldn’t have children at all.

The thought impaled her, bringing her abruptly to her senses.

Every last wisp of romantic self-indulgence was blown from her senses. Barren? Her? Her hand went to her belly and she looked down and recognized that protective gesture for what it was.

But wasn’t that just what she had said she wanted? A sardonic conscience, hard-pressed and long denied, rose up to taunt her.

Husbandless, childless freedom.

Frantically seizing clothes from her trunk, she pulled a chemise on over her head and stepped into a full corset, dragging it up over her hips and then yanking the chemise down beneath it. She held her breath, gritted her teeth, and pulled hard on the corset strings. Then harder.

It would serve her right if she were pregnant. Playing with fire.

Letting her passions and impulses get the better of her. What was she thinking, going to his bed . . . offering herself up to him like a pure wanton . . . without the slightest thought for what might happen afterward?

THE FOG REMAINED until the next afternoon when the sun burned some of it off and rising winds carried the rest away. The cool white sun seemed distant through the high clouds, but was a welcome sight all the same when Brien emerged onto the main deck for some exercise. A furtive glance told her Aaron wasn’t on deck and Mr. Hicks soon confirmed that he was in his cabin getting some much needed rest. Relief and disappointment wrangled for control . . . until she caught herself and muttered what had become a magical charm that never failed to rally her defenses.

“Consequences.”

That evening, there was a knot in her stomach as she entered the common room for dinner. Aaron was there, freshly shaved and wearing a dark blue uniform trimmed with gold braid at the shoulders and collar. His eyes glowed as he swept her simple gown with an appreciative gaze and offered his hand to escort her to her seat at the table. She placed her hand in his, briefly, ignoring the extra pressure of it. Hicks seated Jeannie beside her and Dyso took up his usual place at the end of the table.

“How lovely you are this evening,” Aaron said, taking his place at the head of the table. She mumbled a suitable response. “Mr.

Hicks no doubt told you why I did not join you for meals yesterday.” He was charm itself. She tried not to look. “Fog in this part of the ocean can hold hidden dangers. I was obliged to be on deck.”

“So Mr. Hicks explained,” she said, nodding to the first mate.

“Your devotion to your ship and our safety is commendable, Captain.”

“I am devoted to much more than your safety, my lady.” When she looked up in surprise, there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I am devoted to your comfort and pleasure . . . as you well know.” His brazen reference to what had happened between them astonished her, as did Jeannie’s muffled giggle.

“Really, Captain. I am sure you have more pressing concerns.”

“None that I can think of, my lady.” His smile broadened.

As the steward began to serve, Aaron cleared his throat and asked her where she would be staying in Boston.

“With my father’s agent in the colonies.”

“And his name is?” he prompted.

“Silas Hastings,” she said, only after a significant pause.

“And just where does Mr. Hastings live?”

“I have no idea. I’m to send word to the warehouse when we arrive in port. He will send someone to collect me.”

“Oh, but it’s Cambridge Road, my lady. Don’t you remember . . .

that letter . . .”

“Oh, yes.” She sent Jeannie a silencing glare and the maid looked chastened.

“Cambridge Road? That’s not far from the inn where I sometimes stay. That will be convenient.”

No other word in the English language could have struck such terror in her heart just then.
Convenient?

“I am eager to show you the view of the bay from near there.

Oh, and the music society will have its summer musicale shortly after we arrive. And there is a waterfall on the river that is perfect for picnics. . . .”

Each word added to a choking feeling creeping up her neck. He was insinuating himself into her life . . . staking a claim on her time and attention . . . serving notice that she now had to make herself available to him!

“Really, Captain. I doubt I’ll have time for such entertainments.”

“Nonsense.” He swept away her objection with a masterful hand.

“It will do you good to get out and see the place and meet the people. It will help you find a buyer for your company that much sooner.” He gave her a pointed little smile. “Besides, you can only talk so much commerce in a day. You will have plenty of time for me to show you Boston’s charms.”

His claims clanked around her like shackles being closed and padlocked. He thought that their loving had somehow given him owner’s rights to her!

“How do you know, Captain, how much commerce I can endure in a day?” she demanded, her eyes now crackling with a warning he was bound to ignore.

He put down his knife and fork to look at her with an insultingly personal air.

“I have a fair idea, my lady, what your endurance is like. I’ll be certain to see that you get the rest you need.”

She gripped the edge of the table, her face now aflame. “My

‘endurance’?” She stood abruptly, drawing Aaron and Mr. Hicks up with her. “I can see to that myself, sir! Starting right now!”

She stalked out of the commons, down the passage, and into her cabin, where she slammed the door with such force that every timber in the ship’s frame vibrated.

She paced furiously in the dull glow of the lantern, unaware that on deck Aaron paced with equal ferocity. Neither slept well and both awakened in foul humor. When they met briefly in the commons, Brien was seething quietly and Aaron was seething noisily . . . at the cook, the steward, and even poor Hicks. Jeannie and Hicks exchanged bewildered looks as the animosity between the captain and the lady grew. Aaron took his dinner on deck that evening.

In her cabin, dressed for bed but unable to sleep, Brien paced again, trying unsuccessfully to turn her thoughts from Aaron to something—anything—else.

The door handle turned and she looked up to find Aaron filling the doorway, his face set with determination. The soft click of the latch was the only indication of the passage of time for her. Her heart had stopped at the sight of him.

Stop that, she ordered herself.

“Your cabin is next door, Captain,” she said irritably when her heart thumped back into rhythm.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m really quite tired,” she declared emphatically. “It can surely wait until—”

“Why did you come to me two nights ago?” he demanded, folding his arms and widening his stance. He was a colossus. And he’d come for an accounting.

“Is your memory so faulty, Captain? Only three nights ago you visited my cabin to issue an invitation to just such an encounter.”

She folded her arms, parodying his stance and his determination.

“Why should you be concerned with my motives? You got what you wanted.”

“I want to know why you came to my cabin.”

“Probably out of . . . curiosity.”

“You came because you were
curious
?” His face bronzed with heat.

“The truth isn’t sufficient, I see. Then tell me what answer you want, Captain, and I will gladly supply it.”

“I want the truth, dammit! I wanted you—I’ll not deny it. And I enjoyed it. I thought you woman enough to admit that as well.”

“Did you come for a testimonial to your skill, Captain? Surely there are others, of more experience, better qualified to flatter you.” The cords in his neck stood out briefly and she edged back a step, wondering if she had pushed him too far.

“What in bloody hell’s the matter with you?” he roared.

“
You
are!” she blazed back. “How dare you make such assumptions about me? How dare you begin to plan my time and activities as if they now belonged to you? Dear God, you have an opinion of yourself!” She paced to the side of the cabin and then back. “You believe your loving to be so potent that it rendered me witless and quivering . . . in need of a keeper or a lord and master. And of course, being a man, you assumed that the job would naturally be yours. Well, it bloody well isn’t. I’m perfectly capable of directing my own life and conducting my own affairs!”

Her blast left him stunned.

“I never— I don’t want to be in charge of— I
never
intended to—” He halted and sank his gaze into hers, searching her. The fury that turned his eyes to molten gold began to drain, and cooler thoughts and emotions prevailed.

“I am not your husband, Brien,” he declared, thinking of the Frenchman who had wedded her against her will and ruined forever her trust in men.

“No,” she responded, settling into a calmer resolve, “you are not.”

It took a moment for him to realize she wasn’t speaking of the Frenchman . . . but was instead disputing his previous claims that their marriage was a valid one.

“Having only just regained my freedom and control of my future, I will not surrender them to anyone, no matter how helpful or sincere he might appear to be. However enjoyable or beguiling my time with you was”—she swallowed against the lump forming in her throat—“I will not take such a risk again. When I leave the ship in Boston, I will not expect to see you again.” She turned her face away.

He didn’t move for what seemed an eternity. Then she heard a jingle as he produced a leather pouch from his belt and held it out to her.

“Then this might be my last opportunity to give you this.” When she made no move to take it, he came to put it directly into her hands.

She turned it over and over, feeling the weight of gold coins and a number of bank notes. . . .

“This is the first third. For all of these months, I have considered it a loan and intended to see it returned to you. I’ll take no pay for what I did that night.”

Her eyes stung with a warning of tears and she turned briskly away.

“Good night, Captain.”

Aaron’s arms dropped to his sides. Her hair veiled her face from him as he moved to one side. Sensing his movement, she turned her face farther from view. He wanted to seize her by the shoulders and shake her until she came to her senses. Or to take her into his arms and kiss her until she admitted that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Not trusting himself to refrain from both, he ducked quickly back out into the passage and slammed the door shut behind him.