Rexanne Becnel (19 page)
Authors: Heart of the Storm
“I’m desperate for you, Eliza. Desperate to keep you. Desperate to make love to you.”
He heard the breath catch in her throat, and her eyes grew dark. “I …” She took another breath. “I don’t know,” she answered. He could see the indecision on
her face, and the yearning as well. She wanted him, all right. But she was afraid.
her face, and the yearning as well. She wanted him, all right. But she was afraid.
“Come on,” He pulled her to her feet, then with one hand at the curve of her back, steered her toward the hatch that led toward his cabin. But though she tensed, she did not really resist him.
The wind blew harder than ever out of the north, bringing winter’s icy blast fully on them. Clouds hid the sun and the world was a dull gray-blue of sea and sky. But inside Cyprian the sun burned with unbearable heat. This proper young lady, this well-to-do daughter of one of the best families in England wanted him, Cyprian Dare. Ne’er-do-well bastard. She was going to gift him with her virginity. And he was going to make sure she was not sorry.
That last time had only been a hint of what could pass between them. But as he’d hoped, it had been enough to whet her appetite for more.
Before they even reached his cabin, when they had barely descended the short flight of steps from the deck, he couldn’t help himself. He turned her roughly and pressed her back against the plank wall.
“I burn for you,” he murmured, seeking her lips with an urgency that would not be denied. “Damn, but I burn—”
And if the way Eliza responded to him was any indication, she burned too. For after only a moment of frozen shock, she responded with all the innocent passion she felt. Her lips opened to his, allowing his tongue to take ravening possession of her mouth. Her sweet young body pressed up, eager and trembling, so that her breasts flattened against his chest. It was enough to drive him mad.
“I’ll have you now, my Eliza. Here and now, for I cannot wait—”
So saying, he pressed her fully against the wall and insinuating his knee between her legs, he thrust his demanding
arousal against the yielding softness of her belly. She gasped and he swiftly deepened their kiss, slanting his head, fitting them closer and closer together. He wanted to devour her, to suck her right into himself, to possess her in every way it was possible for a man to possess a woman.
arousal against the yielding softness of her belly. She gasped and he swiftly deepened their kiss, slanting his head, fitting them closer and closer together. He wanted to devour her, to suck her right into himself, to possess her in every way it was possible for a man to possess a woman.
It passed briefly through his mind that perhaps a man should marry a woman he felt that intensely toward, if only to make sure she could never slip away from him. Was that what he wanted of her, to make her his wife? He raised his head as a spray of icy water gusted in through the open hatch. “Eliza—”
But she raised up on her toes and pulled him down for another kiss. Rain and the salt spray of a temperamental sea misted them again, but it did nothing to douse the inferno building in that dark and narrow passageway. The turbulent ocean was nothing compared to the tempestuous emotions buffeting Cyprian. The storm building outside seemed only a meek version of the violent passion gripping him.
She would be his. This very night and every night thereafter.
More water doused them, a minor deluge. But it had no effect on his burning desire for her, or on her sweetly eager response—until Xavier’s booming voice intruded. “We’ve sighted land, Captain. But this gale—”
“Deal with it,” Cyprian growled, using his body to shelter Eliza from his first mate’s view, though he knew it illogical to do so. Who else would he be embracing?
But Xavier stood firm, his face wet with rain but revealing nothing of his thoughts. “The boy is coming below. Now,” he added with emphasis.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” Cyprian had been angry at other times in his life. He’d been frustrated and he’d been horny, and he’d been in brutal fights as he’d struggled to survive. But never had he felt the intensity of emotions he felt at this moment. So when Eliza let out a strangled
cry of alarm, then pushed frantically at his chest, he knew a disappointment and a rage so pure he thought he’d explode from it.
cry of alarm, then pushed frantically at his chest, he knew a disappointment and a rage so pure he thought he’d explode from it.
“Cyprian, please. We can’t—”
“We can,” he cut her off emphatically.
“But Captain,” Xavier protested. “The boy—”
“See to him. We’ll be occupied elsewhere,” he retorted as he steered Eliza toward his cabin. The increased pitching of the ship would have tossed her from side to side except that he held her steady. But at his door she balked.
“No.” She stopped short, bracing both of her hands on the door frame. “I must be with Aubrey. You don’t understand. He’ll be afraid because of the storm and—”
“He’ll survive, Eliza. But I won’t,” he added in a hoarse voice. His hands slipped around her waist and he pulled her against his erection. “You’re killing me, woman. I need you.”
She wavered. He could tell by the soft way she curved into his embrace. But she turned away from his seeking lips.
“This is wrong.”
“It’s right. Nothing I’ve ever done has been as right as this.”
“But Aubrey, and the storm—”
“Xavier will see to things.”
“No, Cyprian.”
“Yes.” He caught her damp hair in his hand and forced her face up to his. “Yes, Eliza.”
“Eliza! Oh …” Aubrey’s surprised voice stole her back just as Cyprian was certain she was giving in. The dark passion in her eyes cleared to a dismayed recognition of reality.
“Aubrey!” she squeaked, pushing Cyprian away once more. Barely suppressing a vicious oath, Cyprian reluctantly complied.
“Are … are you all right, Aubrey?” she stammered. “Are you … are you very wet?”
“A little,” the boy responded, approaching them with his uneven gait and a speculative look in his eyes. “What are you doing down here?”
Eliza broke away from Cyprian completely at that, slipping from between him and the door to his cabin, and leaving him to lean heavily on his hands and fight down the painful pressure in his loins. So close. He’d been so close. If ever he’d wanted to drown a body he wanted to drown Aubrey. And Xavier, he added, glaring at his first mate and the barely repressed grin that lurked on the man’s dark face.
Cyprian didn’t hear Eliza’s fumbling retort to her young cousin. He didn’t watch as the two of them made their way to their own cabins. He only concentrated on his breathing, counting slowly and evenly as he fought down both passion and rage.
They’d sighted land. If he could not have Eliza tonight, then he’d have her tomorrow night—and every night thereafter. He’d ban the rest of them from his villa, if necessary, even the boy. And he’d have Eliza in his house and in his bed—and all to himself at last.
“
S
omeone’s kidnapped Eliza?”
S
omeone’s kidnapped Eliza?”
Michael Geoffrey Johnstone stared disbelievingly at the man who was to be his father-in-law. But Gerald Thoroughgood’s haggard features confirmed the unimaginable truth.
“What the bastard’s done is kidnap my son. My Aubrey!” Lloyd Haberton swore, his face almost purple with his fury.
“But he’s taken my daughter as well,” Gerald said. “The devil take him, he’s stolen my Eliza—and done God knows what to her,” he trailed off, going even greyer, if that were possible.
His eyes met Michael’s and the two of them shared the same sickening stab of fear.
God
knew what the depraved beast would do to her—and they feared
they
knew too.
God
knew what the depraved beast would do to her—and they feared
they
knew too.
Michael reached for a decanter and poured a full glass of something—anything. His hand shook as he lifted the glass and tossed the contents back in one burning gulp. It shook as it tightened on the tumbler in a painful grip, and it shook as he threw the vessel blindly and the glass shattered on the marble hearth.
“Eliza!” he cried in a misery of desperation. He should never have let her go. He should have tried
harder to put her at her ease. But she’d been so remote around him, like some porcelain doll, meant only to be admired from afar, never to be touched or played with. Only as she was departing had he sensed her beginning to warm ever so slightly toward him.
harder to put her at her ease. But she’d been so remote around him, like some porcelain doll, meant only to be admired from afar, never to be touched or played with. Only as she was departing had he sensed her beginning to warm ever so slightly toward him.
Though he’d wanted her to stay, he’d let her go, hoping that time and separation would bring her around even more. Twice a week he’d written her since she’d left, though he’d known she’d probably receive the letters in batches. But now it seemed she’d never receive any of them at all. Oh God!
“Is there a note?” he demanded of Sir Lloyd. “How did you learn of this? How can you be sure it’s even true?”
Lloyd passed him two sheets of parchment, creased and folded in the manner of messages come a long way. “They came together. One from my cousin, Agnes, with a short note attached from the ranking English citizen in Funchal. But this one.” He threw a third page on the tabletop as if it were contaminated. “This one is from the bastard who did this foul deed—” He broke off with a sob and turned away, one hand covering his eyes.
While Lloyd Haberton composed himself, Michael scanned the sheets. Cousin Agnes had cried over her note, a rambling, incoherent message that revealed only that some young man named Oliver Spencer was involved. The letter from a Lord Roland Bennington told little more, save that the island was being searched high and low for the villains—and their victims.
But it was the other note that revealed much more. It was addressed to Lloyd Haberton, no title, no formal address. “We have unfinished business, you and I, and through your son I will finally see it done.”
It was signed, Cyprian Dare, and by its very brevity the seriousness of the situation was magnified. No threat. No ransom demand. What was the man’s purpose, then?
Michael looked over at Lloyd Haberton. “Who is this Cyprian Dare? Why does he take this sort of revenge against you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Haberton ran his hands through his wild gray hair. “I don’t know,” he muttered brokenly.
“But think,” Gerald Thoroughgood insisted. “You
must
know him. No one plans such a hideous deed for no reason.”
must
know him. No one plans such a hideous deed for no reason.”
“It must be for money. What else could there be? He’s taking his time about a ransom note in order to increase my desperation. So I’ll pay more for my son’s return.”
“But why would he take Eliza?” Michael demanded angrily. He threw the note down. “Why in the name of blazes would he take
her?”
her?”
But they all knew why, or they feared they did. She was young; she was pretty. She was a fresh and innocent flower ripe for the plucking. And some unholy wretch had undoubtedly already done just that.
Michael thrust his fingers through his hair and tightened his hands into fists as he paced the length of Thoroughgood’s well-appointed study. This could not be happening, not to his fiancée. It was simply inconceivable.
“We’ve got to find them.” He glared at the other two men. “We’ve got to get them back!”
Gerald Thoroughgood’s red-rimmed gaze held with Michael’s for a long moment. “You’ll help us then.”
“Of course I will. Every contact and resource at my disposal is yours,” he vowed in answer.
“But … but what about afterwards?” Eliza’s father pressed. “Once she’s back, what then?”
The older men both stared at him. There was no need to elaborate further; Michael heard the unspoken question. No doubt she’d been raped by now. All of society would consider her ruined. But Michael was too frightened
for her safety to worry about that right now. “I will do everything in my power to see her returned to us. I have no intentions of reneging on my vow,” he added earnestly.
for her safety to worry about that right now. “I will do everything in my power to see her returned to us. I have no intentions of reneging on my vow,” he added earnestly.
Gerald nodded and gratitude shone through the grief on his face. “We cannot wait on further correspondence from this madman. We intend to pursue him and we welcome your participation.”
“But where will we begin? Have you contacted the authorities?”
“We can’t involve the authorities,” Sir Lloyd said. He cleared his throat. “Not if we’ve any hope of preserving Eliza’s reputation. I’ve hired private investigators. We already know the man is a ship’s captain.”
The men pulled chairs up to a table. All of them felt much better pursuing a course of action than just raging at the injustice of it all.
“What ship?” Michael asked. “Flying what nation’s flag?”
“An English brig. The rogue ship,
Chameleon.”
Chameleon.”
The
Chameleon
rode out the storm on the lee side of the Isle of Alderney, well away from her dangerous rocky shore. Though the sails were taken in and the hatches all closed down against the violent weather so that the sleek vessel had but to bob on the ocean’s heaving surface like a well-stoppered bottle, the crew nevertheless remained on full alert. They were too near the French coast and the irregular Channel Islands for complete comfort.
Chameleon
rode out the storm on the lee side of the Isle of Alderney, well away from her dangerous rocky shore. Though the sails were taken in and the hatches all closed down against the violent weather so that the sleek vessel had but to bob on the ocean’s heaving surface like a well-stoppered bottle, the crew nevertheless remained on full alert. They were too near the French coast and the irregular Channel Islands for complete comfort.
Aubrey slept through most of it. Xavier had advised Eliza to give the boy a mild dose of the same sleeping potion that had worked so well before. But though Eliza was relieved that Aubrey would neither succumb to sea sickness nor be frightened by the storm, sitting alone in the close confines of the dark cabin with the entire world pitching and churning around her was awful. She
was terrified that they would sink, bruised by the rough and relentless heaving of the ship back and forth, and beset by shame in enormous proportions.
was terrified that they would sink, bruised by the rough and relentless heaving of the ship back and forth, and beset by shame in enormous proportions.
This storm was God’s way of punishing her for what she’d been about to do. Where had her good sense fled? And her pride? What on earth had she been thinking?
And then what about Michael? What about his pride and his honor? He did not deserve this from her.
She clung to the edge of her sturdy canvas hammock as it listed and her cabin careened wildly around her. She’d learned to keep her eyes fixed upon the rope tie at the foot of the hammock. To close her eyes brought on waves of nausea, and looking about was almost as bad. Only by fixing on a solitary, rather stationary point was she able to keep the queasy feelings at bay.
So she stared at the double half hitch of straw-colored rope and wondered if Cyprian’s hands had tied the knot. They certainly had tied enough knots in her heart, she thought with aching honesty.
Beyond the ship’s sturdy wooden walls, the wind moaned and tore. The ship rose up on the storm-driven waves, then fell away into yawning voids, creaking as if it would split apart at any moment. Every now and again a shouted order could be heard. Cyprian’s voice?
Hours passed. Perhaps she slept. She wasn’t sure at all, but whatever the time, Eliza realized with a start that the worst of the storm must be over. Rain still fell. But the waves were more regular now—deep, slow swells. With care she extricated herself from the hammock, bracing herself on the low ceilings and built-in furnishings as she made her way to the tiny porthole window.
She could see no land, only the vast stretch of a turbulent sky and sea, both gray and purple. But the clouds were high now and the deep lavender came as much from the approaching night as from the aftereffects of
the storm. Had the storm buffeted them a full night and day?
the storm. Had the storm buffeted them a full night and day?
When the door opened without benefit of a knock, she knew at once that it was Cyprian. The remains of their own private storm still lingered, she thought, without turning around. But now it must be dealt with.
“How have you fared, Eliza?”
She sighed and squinted at a sea bird of some sort in the distance. Where did the birds go when neither sea nor sky offered them refuge? “I’m fine.”
She heard him move nearer. She felt it too, like some homing instinct that always knew where he was in relationship to herself—at least physically. Why couldn’t her emotional landscape be as easy to chart?
“The night will be easier. We’ll wait to dock in the morning.”
She nodded and pressed her lips together.
“Eliza.” She heard his weary sigh when she did not respond. “Eliza, turn around. Look at me.”
If she did that, everything would start again. She knew it. But still she could not help herself. Slowly she turned, though she leaned back against the wall as if to find some sort of support there.
The boat heaved—the whole world was tilting around her, she thought as she finally looked up at him. Though she struggled to hold onto her old life and the old secure values that gave it structure, every time she looked at Cyprian—or touched him, or kissed him—his hold on her grew stronger until she feared she would abandon all propriety, just to get closer and closer to him. She knew it was wrong, yet she simply did not have the will to fight it.
“I’m fine,” she stated, for wont of anything else to say. Then her brow creased as she stared harder at him. He looked weary beyond words. “Cyprian?” She pushed away from the wall and approached him. “Dear God, but you look terrible.”
That drew a small smile to his lips. “Why thank you, my dear.”
“No, seriously. You’re soaked. And when did you last sleep?”
He shook his head as if he wasn’t sure, but the smile stayed in place. The ship rocked a little deeper and he reacted unconsciously by grasping one of the ceiling beams for balance. Despite the fact that his sea legs functioned automatically, he nonetheless looked ready to drop.
Eliza reacted without hesitation. “Here. Sit down,” she ordered, drawing his oilcloth slicker from his shoulders as she pushed him toward the cabin’s only chair. “Have you eaten anything?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. I thought you might join me.” He took her hands into his, untangling her fingers from the nervous knot she’d made of them.
But other knots tightened in their stead—in her stomach and somewhere else, down lower. Warmer too. “Listen, Cyprian. I—”
“I love the way you say my name.” His eyes swept over her face. “Say it again.”
“I don’t think—”
“Please, Eliza.”
Her heart hurt, it beat so violently. “Cyprian,” she finally whispered.
He let out a long sigh and his thumbs caressed the back of her hands. At the same time, her eyes caressed his features. His ebony hair was wet and plastered to his head. Beneath the slicker his shirt and vest were damp and clung to his wide shoulders. His face bore the marks of a long night and day spent battling the sea for possession of his ship. But he’d won and now, though weary, he nonetheless appeared triumphant.
Unaware of it, her pull against his grip lessened and when he drew her nearer, she came.
“You need to sleep,” she protested in little more than
a murmur. But sleep made her think of beds, and beds made her think of something else entirely. She swallowed hard and self-conscious heat stained her cheeks.
a murmur. But sleep made her think of beds, and beds made her think of something else entirely. She swallowed hard and self-conscious heat stained her cheeks.
He seemed to read her mind. “I need a bed,” he conceded with a lopsided grin. Then he tugged at her wrists just as the ship lurched, and Eliza landed sitting down in his lap. His arms swiftly came around her waist, and before she knew it, he had her fast in a wet, yet undeniably comfortable embrace. The side of his face rested against her hair and he inhaled deeply, as if the very scent of her calmed him.
That simple sound eased her need to protest their intimate position like nothing else could have.
“You need to sleep,” she repeated, overcome with the most inappropriate compulsion to care for him.
“I need to sit here just a few more minutes, Eliza. Just a few more.” He shifted her to a more comfortable position, sitting sideways across his lap. His breath came slow and steady, a hot shivery sensation against her neck. Yet for all the violent emotion that shredded her nerves and reduced her body to quivering jelly, Eliza found the oddest sense of peace in the shadowed cabin. Even when one of his hands settled on her hip and the other drew small, irregular circles on her folded hands, she felt an undeniable rightness.
She’d never before been so at peace in a man’s presence. Though everything that was rational warned her away from him and the seductive web he always created around them both, just by his honest weariness—the salty smell of his long day’s labor and the warm strength in his work-hardened body—he deafened her to a lifetime of warnings about unsuitable men. Men like him.
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