Starlight & Promises (31 page)

She raised herself on her elbows. “Whatever is in your head?” she asked with a saucy grin.

“Finishing breakfast.” He shoved up her skirts, pushed apart her legs, which dangled off the table edge, and moved between them. While she watched him through lowered lashes, he dipped his head to lick the folds of her inner flesh. “Delicious,” he murmured when she moaned and threw back her head. He unbuttoned his breeches, releasing his swollen shaft. Holding it in his fist, he slid his hand up and down its length. Beneath her gaze and his ministrations, it grew longer and thicker. Positioning the tip at the entrance to her sex, he teased her with the blunt head. She inhaled sharply, falling back against the table. Clasping her buttocks, he slid into her, inch by slow inch. She was already slippery and wet. The storm overtook her, and she dropped all mention of what they were discussing.

When Sarah knocked on the door, Samantha found herself still sprawled spread-legged on the table, too enervated to move, and Christian had departed. She struggled up, collected the plates and spilled food from the floor, and piled them back on the table. After bathing, she curled upon the bed to catch up on some much-deserved sleep. She’d not dreamt marriage could be so exhausting.

When Christian entered the private parlor, Garrett eyed him. “Are you ready to come up for air?” Garrett asked, his words blatantly teasing with a tinge of envy.

“Not hardly,” Christian replied. “Not for at least another month.”

“I fear I cannot grant you a month, old man. Though no doubt you need more than a month’s rest at your age, merely for recovery. I would imagine Sam has given you a run for your money.”

Christian grinned and headed for the coffeepot, pouring a mug of the brew. “What was important enough for you to pull me from my nuptial bed?”

Garrett settled with his own coffee into an armchair in front of the fire. Christian dropped into a chair across from him.

“I ran into an interesting character a few nights ago at the Cock and Crow,” Garrett said. “He told me he once sailed on the
Manta Ray
, a pirate ship masquerading as a merchant vessel and captained by a piece of filth named Miggs. The particular fellow whom I met has a problem holding his grog, a disability you know I’ve never suffered from. He talks, a great deal, when he’s in his cups. Last year, the
Manta Ray
engaged in a sea battle with another pirate ship, Jack Fallon’s
Rapier
. According to my informant, the
Manta Ray
emerged the victor and sank the
Rapier
but not before sustaining considerable damage to the hull. During the fight, they lost valuable cargo. Miggs was fit to commit murder. Insisted the cargo was worth a king’s ransom.”

“Richard Colchester and James Truett?”

Garrett inclined his head. “The same.”

“Are they dead, then?”

Garrett shrugged. “No one seems to know. They vanished during the fight. Miggs believes they washed out through a hole in the hull. According to my drinking companion, who gets his jollies applying the cat, they were in less than sterling condition. In fact, he swears Truett had already succumbed to the cat’s persuasion. It’s assumed that if either were alive at the time, they soon drowned, but no bodies were recovered.”

Christian came up from the chair and paced in front of the fireplace. “If Miggs was expecting payment, it would not have been ransom. Neither man was particularly wealthy or well-known, except in the scientific community. The two scientists possessed only one treasure worth their lives, the Smilodon, which would be of no interest to an unlearned man such as Miggs. So, the question then becomes: who hired Miggs?”

Garrett’s gaze tracked Christian’s movements. “My companion didn’t know. He knew only that the employer was a local gentleman. However, I would suspect, in his estimation, anyone with a clean cravat is a gentleman. Apparently only Miggs knows the man’s name.”

Christian halted and stretched an arm across the mantel. “What else did he tell you?”

“The
Manta Ray
is currently docked in Macquarie Harbor up the western coast. The spot is a known enclave for pirates. Word in town is that the military garrison pays them no heed. It’s a sure bet the swinish Sergeant Dobbins holds some responsibility for turning a blind eye and has lined his pockets for extending that favor to the pirates. Escaped prisoners established the village years ago. It quickly became a center for their activity. It’s easily defensible and has a protected, deepwater harbor. To all accounts, Miggs visited Hobart lately, though I’ve had no success in locating him.”

Garrett returned to the coffeepot and came back around to Christian, who was staring into the flames in the fireplace. “I did manage to pry from him the coordinates of the
Manta Ray
‘s battle with the
Rapier
, the spot where Colchester and Truett disappeared,” Garrett said. “I fear it’s far from any landfall. The chance they survived is less than slim, assuming they escaped at all and were alive at the time.”

Christian turned around, his mouth set in a firm line. “Don’t mention this to Sam if you should happen to see her, and ready the
Maiden Anne
. We leave tomorrow morning.”

Garrett lifted a brow. “What do you plan to tell her?”

“I have no idea.” Christian scowled. “But she’ll not go with us. I’m leaving her here with her family.”

Garrett released an audible sigh. “You’re not telling her at all, are you?”

Christian gave Garrett a look that answered the question without words. He would tell her naught until it was too late for her to follow him. He refused to allow their connubial bliss to disintegrate into a battle of wills, was unwilling to spoil what might be their last night together for a long time.

That night Christian made long, tender love to Samantha, clasping her to him as she shook with orgasms, crying out his name repeatedly. He couldn’t bear to let her go and finally drained her with his attentions. As dawn seeped through the window, she fell into an exhausted sleep. He edged away and dressed in silence. Before departing, he bent over and touched his lips one more time to her velvety mouth, still swollen from his kisses. She smelled of lavender soap and sex. A heady combination.

“I love you, Sam,” he whispered into her butterscotch curls, then departed, locking the door behind him. On his way out of the inn, he left instructions with the innkeeper along with two missives, one for Lady Delia and one for Samantha. Delia’s letter also contained his will, witnessed by Garrett and the innkeeper.

When Christian boarded the
Maiden Anne
, he first inspected the supplies and munitions. He was hunting pirates this time, not cats, and had every intention of returning to his wife in one piece.

The ship hoisted anchor and sailed out of the harbor on the dawn tide, headed for the coordinates supplied by Garrett. The sails filled with a fresh wind, and Christian stood at the stern, watching Hobart recede in the distance. He lost sight of the inn, but he visualized Samantha, warm and soft, curled up on her side like a sleeping nymph in the large bed. She would think badly of him for leaving her behind. Regardless, he could not expose her to the dangers he was apt to face. The Smilodon hunt was a jaunt along Brighton Beach compared to an almost certain confrontation with pirates. At best, he would return in a few weeks, or months, with or without her uncle. At worst, she would never see him again. Would she be too irate to mourn him? He knew now that he loved her beyond reason. She had spoken words of love in the night when he held her close. Did she truly love him, or was she merely infatuated and overwhelmed by her first experience with carnal bliss?

God, he wished he could be certain of her feelings. He could have used the knowledge to carry him through this journey. After exhaling on a sigh, he drew in a lungful of sea air. The ocean rolled out before him, calm, deep, and clear. Turquoise water merged with azure sky until the horizon disappeared. Blue spread out in every direction, as though the
Maiden Anne
sailed inside a sapphire crystal bowl.

As the ship’s sails strained against the wind, he tied back the hair blowing across his face, turned away from Tasmania, and made his way to the helm.

S
amantha dozed, halfway between sleep and wakefulness. In spite of her fatigue, a sense of comfort and serenity covered her with a blanket of happiness and love. Thus far, marriage was not the prison she had imagined, unless she wished to consider their suite a prison. Christian had yet to chain her to the bed, and the dominance he displayed at other times was in no danger of smothering her identity. However, time would tell. True, he proposed in an unorthodox manner and uttered no words of love. Nonetheless, he showed her every day and night in his lovemaking how much he cherished her.

She stretched with a wiggle and scooted backward toward the bed’s center, expecting to encounter the warmth of Christian’s back, or better yet, his front, seeking his morning erection. Her breasts tingled, and she contemplated waking him in a way he especially enjoyed. Her body was already damp and eager.

She reached across the space. At the touch of cool sheets, a frown slid over her mouth. If he had arisen, why did he not rouse her? Sitting up, she looked at the mantel clock above the fireplace. Good Lord, nearly eleven! He must have gone downstairs to the common room for breakfast, allowing her to laze about in light of their strenuous night. ‘Twas a considerate gesture, worthy of a loving husband.

She smiled slowly. His lovemaking had contained a fierce, almost desperate quality. Perhaps he had left to plan an outing. After cloistering themselves in the suite for four days—not that she desired to complain—an outing would be a welcome change. What she had seen of Hobart to date could fit into a thimble. Filled with energy over the prospect of some wonderful surprise, she jumped out of bed to wash at the basin.

She searched the chests, looking for items discarded for days. Christian kept her unclothed and in bed most of the time. She blushed simply thinking about it. After drawing out a butter yellow cambric dress with a matching jacket trimmed in white velvet, she slipped into it and brushed out her hair, plaiting it and coiling it at her nape. She pulled out wisps of curls and allowed them to fall about her face.

While she was at her toilette, a knock came at the door. She grinned. ‘Twas Christian, impatient for her presence downstairs. When the knock came again, her grin slipped. Why would he knock? Did he forget the key? She hurried to the door and turned the handle. ‘Twas locked. “A moment,” she called out and hunted for the key, first checking the mantel where Christian always left it. The key was not there. She pursed her lips. What was happening? Who would take the key? Who would lock her in the room?

Christian?

A key scraped in the lock. When the door opened, Aunt Delia and Chloe stood on the threshold. Both displayed nervous expressions.

“Aunt Delia … Chloe,” Samantha said carefully. “How pleasant of you to visit. I’m not certain where Chris has gone, but surely he will return soon.” She motioned for them to enter, waved them to chairs before the fire, and rang for tea and scones.

Worry lined Aunt Delia’s forehead; her smile seemed forced. “Samantha, darling. You look wonderful. Marriage must agree with you.” She twisted a handkerchief as though she would tear it into pieces.

Samantha declined to answer. Instead, she gave Chloe a sharp look.

With a stricken expression, Chloe lowered her eyes.

Sickly cold seeped into Samantha’s stomach. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Something has happened to Chris.” She turned back to Delia. “Tell me. Where is he? Is he hurt? I must go to him.”

Delia patted Samantha’s arm with a gloved hand. “No, my dear. Christian is quite well.”

Samantha panted, not quite able to catch her breath. “Then why are you here? And where is he?”

Delia drew back her shoulders, pushing out her bosom. At the familiar gesture, Samantha’s heart dropped to her knees. “Now, Samantha, brace yourself. I have no wish for you to become hysterical. You are a married woman. I expect you to accept what I have to say in a mature manner. You will be moving in with us while Christian tends to important business.”

He left? Without her?
No wonder he lulled her so sweetly the previous night. He planned all along to leave her behind. “The hell I will!” Samantha sprang from her chair and clenched her hands until the remnants of ragged nails dug into her palms. “Where is the bastard? I shall kill him!”

“You have no need to use profanity.” Deep grooves appeared beside Delia’s mouth. “This is a serious matter. Christian received information regarding Richard and departed to investigate its accuracy. He felt it best you remain behind with us, because the situation is not without danger.”

“Bollocks!” Samantha sputtered. “He crept out like a thief in the night, not even bidding me good-bye or giving me the opportunity to decide my own course of action. I shall never forgive him for this! I shall divorce him! I’ll not have a lying sneak for a husband!” The bolt of pain that shot through her heart weakened her knees and brought tears to her eyes.