Rexanne Becnel (16 page)

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Authors: Heart of the Storm

BOOK: Rexanne Becnel
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“Tell me, Eliza. What illness do you heal from? For I confess, you do look every inch the picture of good health. From the roses in your cheeks, to the lovely sheen of your glorious hair, to the sweet vibrancy of your body against mine, you appear filled to overbrimming with vigorous good health.”
With every word he uttered, every compliment that played up the intimate way he’d come to notice those aspects of her appearance, Eliza’s cheeks burned hotter. She wanted to deny everything he said, yet his flattery was something she hungered for. She, the meek and bookish Eliza Thoroughgood, the sickly young woman who shrank from social interaction, gloried in the attentions of a rakish sea captain. It was madness to believe him and yet … and yet he made her believe his every word.
In truth she’d never in her life felt better or stronger than since they’d left England. Perhaps she was well now.
“Eliza?” Cyprian prompted. She took a shaky breath.
“I … I have suffered all my life with a malady of the lungs called asthma. Sometimes when I’m nervous or alarmed—or for no reason whatsoever—I have these attacks. I can’t breathe at all then. But I’ve been better in recent years. Much better,” she added, as breathless as if she were right now in the midst of one of those attacks. But it was not illness that caused it now. No, not illness but something far worse. Lust for Cyprian Dare caused her to feel this way. Though she should be ashamed, the plain truth was, she wanted more of these breathtaking feelings. Much more.
A wry smile curved his lips. “It would seem that you’ve had several opportunities to feel alarmed since you’ve come on board the
Chameleon
, yet you’ve not had one of those attacks. Perhaps being on my ship has been as good for you as it has been for Aubrey.” He paused and she watched in fascination as one of his
hands moved to cover hers. “You’ve shown me your gratitude for Aubrey’s improving condition. Will you give me as much credit—and gratitude—for your own blossoming good health? Say, at dinner tonight?”
Then he raised her trembling palm to his mouth and kissed it.
Eliza had read on many topics, including scientific articles about human physiology. So far as she knew, there was no direct connection between a person’s hand and the secret depths of her nether regions. There was no scientific explanation at all for why his lips pressed so warmly to her tender palm should feel so intimate or arouse her to such wicked, heated feelings.
But it did arouse those feelings down low in her belly until she felt hot and melted inside. Then Cyprian released her hand and gave her a devastating smile.
“Till tonight, Eliza. Till tonight.”
E
liza peered out the small round window, the only one in her cabin. The sun would soon touch the horizon. Already long irregular fingers of salmon and gold glinted off the restless swells of endless ocean.
It was cooler. But then it was late November and they were heading north. Where would Cyprian finally put ashore, she wondered.
Of more immediate concern, however, was what were his intentions tonight?
Eliza took a finely knitted shawl, one of the garments Cyprian had given her, and wrapped it around her shoulders and arms. Though it warmed her, however, she suspected it would prove a less than adequate barrier to any seductive attempts Cyprian might make. Like her flimsy willpower, the shawl would fall away at his least provocation. The very thought of how easily he could draw her in sent both alarm and an unforgivable spark of anticipation skittering down her spine.
Nervously she smoothed a crease in her skirt and checked for loose tendrils in the single plait she’d worked her hair into. She had to be prepared for anything tonight, and she had to have her own plan to counteract whatever he might try.
First of all, she’d already decided to decline anything
more than one glass of wine. Then, if he should touch her in too familiar a fashion, she would bring up the subject of her betrothal and her fiancé. And if he tried to kiss her, she would mention her uncle’s name. That always irritated him.
But what if he did none of those things? What if he was simply polite and charming, smiling at her with his lips curved so enticingly and his dark eyes so … so seductive?
Eliza swallowed hard and drew her shawl tight around herself. More than anything else she must fear his good humor. When he behaved like a gentleman, with the full force of his attention focused solely on her, that was when she must most beware succumbing. Like today on deck.
“Oh, dear,” she murmured out loud. It occurred to her that she was in a far greater dilemma than she’d been in before. The angry and threatening Cyprian was of far less danger to her than the handsome and beguiling one. What was to be her defense against that sort of seduction?
She paced the short length of her cabin. Maybe if she demanded an accounting of his plans for Aubrey, the ensuing discussion could take up a goodly amount of the mealtime. But even as Eliza forced herself to march to the narrow doorway, open it, and step into the hall, she was not as confident as she would have liked. All she could do was try to take the initiative tonight and never let Cyprian Dare get her at a disadvantage. And she would begin by not waiting for him to summon her.
Her knock at his door was forceful enough to be painful to her knuckles. When Cyprian called entrance, however, a sharp wave of panic nearly sent her fleeing back down the hall. Only the thought that he would then come for her prevented her flight. With her hand trembling, but her chin held high, she gripped the brass door handle, gave it a twist, and entered the lion’s den.
Cyprian had expected one of his crew. When he spied Eliza standing in the entrance to his cabin he whipped the piece of toweling from his shoulder, wiped the last vestiges of soap from his jaw, and thrust both the towel and the razor onto the built-in chest behind him.
“You’re early.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, starting to back away.
“No, no. It doesn’t matter.” He stuffed the tail of his shirt into his breeches with one hand while he gestured for her to come in. “I’ve been looking forward to your company all afternoon, Eliza. I’m not about to send you away now that you’re here.”
When she bit her lower lip but did not move, he knew he was pushing too hard. Too fast. But for the life of him, Cyprian didn’t know how else to act. Flatter her. Smile at her. Try his damnedest not to sweep her into his arms—and into his bed—when that was what he ultimately wanted. When had he grown so impatient? But she looked so skittish standing there with the darkness of the companionway framing her fragile beauty. She looked like a wild young fawn, prepared to leap away in panic, yet curious too. He just had to play to that curiosity. To draw her in and put her at her ease.
“Is Aubrey still on his feet?” he asked, knowing that discussion of the child was his best chance of settling her down. He walked slowly toward her, keeping his expression carefully pleasant. Not too eager. Not too possessive.
But she would be his, he swore. She might not recognize that fact yet, but he damned well did.
There was no logic in it, he knew. By rights she was not his sort of woman at all. Yet from the very first touch he’d been drawn to her. Though he’d tried to pass it off to pure lust, he was no longer so sure. She was shy and yet she could be brave. She was prim, yet fire flowed in her veins as well. She was the sort of woman who, once committed, would never veer in her affections.
And though she was a lady, right now she looked more a gypsy dancer. Ah, but she was one of a kind and he would make her his, come hell or high water.
When she still did not answer him, he gave her a wry look. “Come in, Eliza. I’m not going to bite you.”
At least not yet.
He felt it a victory of sorts when she finally stepped in and pulled the door closed behind her.
“Sit down. Here.” He pulled out a chair. “Please. Can I offer you a drink?”
She sat, her spine straight and her posture prim, with her ankles neatly crossed. His mother had sat like that. Even when everything else in her life had been horrible, she’d retained the good manners she’d been brought up with. But Cyprian threw off thoughts of his mother. The last thing he wanted to think about at this moment was how easily a man could destroy a woman’s reputation, and thereby her entire life.
“I’ll have a glass of wine, but not until the meal is served,” Eliza responded.
He smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Are you worried I’ll get you too drunk to remember to say no, when what you really want to do is say yes?”
“No!” She gripped the arms of her chair in hot denial, but her cheeks flooded with appealing color. “I did not come here to discuss … to discuss things we should not discuss at all. If that is your intention, then I’m afraid I must leave—”
“Wait, Eliza. Don’t leave. I was only teasing. Tell me, are you also going to hold it against me if I tell you how lovely you look? Even the most proper gentleman is allowed to compliment his dinner companion, isn’t he?” he asked as he picked up his best frock coat from the back of his chair and slipped it on. He kept his eyes on her when he spoke and when her gaze slipped momentarily to his chest, then lingered to watch him slide each
arm in, he felt a surge of pure lust for her. She was curious all right, and she was ready.
And she would soon be his.
But with her very first words she brought his soaring hopes back to earth. “Since you’ve already brought him up, I’d like to discuss Aubrey with you. Specifically, where this ship is going and when you intend to return him to his family.”
Cyprian hid his frown by turning away to pour himself a glass of wine. A full glass. When he sat across from her, his expression was carefully blank, and carefully pleasant.
“I intend to take very good care of the boy. Of Aubrey,” he amended.
Of my half brother
. “By the time he is reunited with his family he’ll be walking on his own, healed and whole again.”
And a man fully grown.
At his confident statement about Aubrey’s good health her suspicious expression softened and she shifted in her chair. “Did you ever send word to my uncle that you had Aubrey?”
He nodded once. “I did.”
A faint frown creased her brow. “He must be so worried. Aunt Judith too, and Aubrey’s sisters. But you know, Cyprian, when he finds Aubrey walking again, Uncle Lloyd might be grateful enough to drop any charges against you and to convince the authorities to do so as well.”
As if he gave a damn about the authorities. But Cyprian smiled at her, determined that nothing should ruin this evening. “In the end, Eliza, I’m sure everything shall turn out for the best.”
She nodded, quite earnest. “I hope that’s so. But really, Cyprian, you’ll have to let him go soon. Once we land somewhere, perhaps you can send word to Uncle Lloyd that you intend to return his son.” She leaned forward, resting her laced hands on the table between them. “Where shall we put into port first?”
He leaned forward too. “We sail for the Channel Island, Alderney.”
“But we’ll head on to London after that, won’t we?”
“Yes.”
But not for a long time. Quite a long time.
When she smiled, a sweet happy expression that lit her serious gray eyes with sparkling light and seemed to energize her entire body, Cyprian felt the first twinge of conscience. He’d not lied to her. Not a word, he rationalized. If she read more into what he said than she should, well, that was her misfortune.
But he could not entirely shake off the guilt feelings that had crept up on him. He lifted his glass and drank deeply. Then taking a chance, he covered her hands with his.
“You speak of Aubrey and of seeing him returned to his family. But what of you, Eliza? Are you anxious to return to your family—and to this Michael of yours?”
At the mention of her fiancé’s name she tried to pull her hands from his. But he tightened his grip and held onto her. “Why did you flee from him all the way to Madeira, anyway?”
He knew he’d hit upon the truth when her hands went absolutely still. “Tell me the truth, sweetheart,” he urged, separating her hands so that he could twine his fingers with hers. “Are you really so eager to return to England and everything you ran away from?”
“Yes,” she answered, on a shaky breath. But everything else about her—her eyes, her tense posture—said no.
Cyprian drew her hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles of first one and then the other. “I’m willing to give up the boy. But you …”
It was a calculated seduction. An experienced man sweeping an innocent young woman into a world of sensuous delight. Cyprian was aware of everything he was doing and how it affected her, for her eyes were wide and dark, and color stained her cheeks to rosy heat.
Even her breathing, shallow and ragged, revealed her state of mind to him.
But he had not expected to be so aroused himself. Nor so close to losing control. By the blood of Jonas!
“I … I don’t think you should say such … such things to me,” she finished in a whisper.
“Are you so afraid of the truth?”
“Not the truth, no. But—”
“But what?” He kissed the backs of her hands again.
“Don’t! Don’t do that, Cyprian.”
He smiled but he did not release her hands. “I love to hear you say my name. Say it again for me.”
“No.” She shook her head and tugged her hands free of his. “This is all wrong. It’s … it’s not at all proper.”
“Then how can we make it proper?”
“We can’t. I mean, I don’t know you—or your family.”
“I have no family left.”
“Oh. Well …”
He watched as she thought, her brow puckered as she cast about for more reasons why his courtship of her was unacceptable. But he had no intentions of giving her time to argue.
“I’m all alone in the world, Eliza. Perhaps that’s why I’m so drawn to you.”
“Oh.” She swallowed again and her mouth formed a little O which he dearly wanted to kiss into submission. He reached over and touched her lower lip with the tip of his finger and rubbed it lightly.
“I … you …” She sat back in her chair abruptly. “Maybe … at least you could
tell
me about your family.”
Ah, yes. He was getting closer.
“What do you wish to know?”
“Well.” She traced the edge of the table with the tip of her forefinger. Without asking this time, he poured
her a goblet of wine and slid it toward her. She took it as if she needed something to hold onto. But she didn’t drink right away. “Tell me about your parents.”
Cyprian flexed his jaw as he calculated just how much of the truth to reveal. “My mother, God rest her, died when I was a boy. She was a remarkable woman who lived a hard life, yet she managed to do the best she could. Despite her complete devotion to him, my father left her early on,” he added, wanting to forestall any questions about him. “He was a successful man of business who nevertheless did not value her love. He was unwilling to accept his responsibilities toward her. And me.”
“He abandoned you and your mother?” Eliza’s face reflected her shock. How protected a life she’d lived. “Were there other children too?”
“No. Just me. You know, I think you would have liked my mother, Eliza.” He leaned forward, surprised at the sincerity of his own words. “You would have liked her and she would have liked you. You both have the same refined manner, the same serene carriage. And yet, like her, you also possess an irrepressible spirit.”
“Irrepressible spirit?” She laughed at that. “At home no one would ever say that of me. I’ve always been the quiet, retiring one.”

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