The Marriage Bargain (14 page)

Every night Isobel found herself hoping that Beckett would reach out and pull her close, kiss her as he had on the deck, and touch her in a way she could only imagine.

But he didn’t.

He only snored loudly enough to wake the whole ship, and probably most of London, though they were halfway to Barbados. Beckett’s snoring only served to keep Isobel awake and thinking. And her thoughts were always of him.

To keep her mind off her husband during the day, Isobel observed ship-board life on deck, recording all she saw in her sketch-book.

She drew everyone—including Captain Mayfield and the large sailor with the black-and-white cat she’d seen curled on top of his shoulders. She’d had to make her observations from afar, as the beast seemed always to disappear when she approached.

On a particularly breezy afternoon, while she was drawing a sailor who worked up in the rigging, the cat appeared beside her and sat still. It seemed to study what she was doing as it sat there, silent yet imposing.

Isobel reached out to stroke his soft, furry head in greeting. The cat’s green eyes narrowed to slits, and he purred in pleasure. Reluctantly taking her hand away, Isobel flipped to the next blank sheet of paper and began to render the feline’s image.

The cat was huge—not fat by any means, but with muscular shoulders and haunches. No doubt, he was well fed by keeping rats and mice out of the galley.

Isobel noticed that one of his black patches covered the side of his head and his left eye, looking remarkably like a pirate’s lopsided kerchief and eye patch.

As she drew, Captain Mayfield came to stand in front of her, but at his approach, the cat rose, stretched, and walked away.

“Oh, but I wasn’t finished,” Isobel called out, but the cat simply walked haughtily across the deck and disappeared from sight.

Mayfield chuckled. “I suppose I didn’t mention that this ship has two captains, did I?”

Isobel shook her head. “Two captains? I’ve never heard of that. Who is the other?”

“You just met him.”

Isobel put her pencil down and paused. “Just met…?”

“That cat is more than he seems, my lady. He’s Captain Black.” Mayfield sat down beside her, resting his elbows on his knees, and gazing at her slyly. “I first met him on one of my journeys in the Caribbean, which is swamped with pirates, as you must well know.”

Isobel smiled at the gray-haired man beside her. He was going to tell her a sea-faring yarn, she supposed. He was just having fun with a land-lubber. She would play along with the old soul.

“We were off the coast of Jamaica,” the captain began, “carrying a heavy cargo of coffee beans, when we were attacked by a rather notorious pirate ship, the ‘Midnight Star.’ Its captain was named Worthington, a shrewd but fair man who was more famous for his cat companion. Legend has it that the beast was the ship’s previous master, a man named Black, who had been transformed into the guise of a cat during an obeah ceremony in Jamaica.”

Isobel was delighted. This was just the thing to get her mind off her woes. “Obeah? What on earth is that?”

“The religion of the Haitians. It’s also known as voodoo,” Captain Mayfield explained. “Their ceremonies are filled with chanting, wild dancing, and other practices that are too indelicate to mention.”

“And they used it to put a spell on Captain Black? But how?”

“Apparently this man Worthington had planned to mutiny against his captain and take over the ship himself. While in Jamaica, he discovered the powers of obeah and arranged to do away with his rival.”

Silly or not, the tale was suitably unnerving. Isobel admired the old captain’s story-telling ability.

“And there were witnesses, members of the pirate crew that saw their captain changed into a cat during one of those frightening ceremonies.”

“But how did Captain Black arrive on board your ship?”

“It was during the battle with the ‘Midnight Star,’ when the pirate ship caught fire. We searched for survivors after she sank, but found no one. Except for a mysterious cat who appeared on our ship, as if out of thin air. The crew was naturally suspicious, but unwilling to dispose of the creature—they believe that he possesses mystical powers.”

The cat suddenly appeared again, as if he’d heard them talking. He leaped up onto the railing and landed solidly, turning to arrange himself into a comfortable position.

Captain Mayfield smiled and regarded the cat, who looked back at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Though we found no other survivors, there are rumors that Worthington is still alive, and even now searches the seas for his cat companion. As you can see, we gave Captain Black a position on our ship as chief mouse-catcher, one that he performs exceedingly well.”

Isobel giggled and regarded him with a wary smile. He’d almost had her believing the incredible tale.

“Hmm… you wouldn’t be teasing me now, would you, Captain Mayfield?”

“That is Captain Black before you, Madam! In flesh and blood. He tries to steer the ship, you know—among other things.”

Isobel laughed, and Captain Mayfield leaned toward her in a conspiratorial way.

“And sometimes, I let him,” he whispered, then turned and walked back to his post.

Isobel smiled and looked at the cat, still sitting on the narrow railing in front of her. “So, are you really a pirate, then?”

The cat returned her gaze, then answered with a long “meow.”

“Perhaps you are,” Isobel mused. She watched Captain Black walk down the long railing and leap to the deck. He strolled away from her, doubtless to resume his mouse-catching duties below.

An eerie moan broke the dark silence of the cabin. Beckett jumped up and hit his head on the low ceiling above him. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly became alert as another hair-raising wail cut through the darkness from beside him.

Isobel.

He could hear and feel her thrashing around on the bed next to him, her breathing shallow and strained.

He reached out to touch her and heard her whimpering.

“Isobel, you’re dreaming.” He managed to grab hold of her and pull her into his arms, stroking her damp forehead as she struggled in her sleep. He touched her face and felt her cheek hot and damp with tears.

Her whole body was covered in perspiration, soaking her linen nightdress.

She stiffened and seemed to awaken. Beckett loosened his hold on her, suddenly aware of how intimately he held her.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think so,” Isobel whispered, her voice slightly shaky.

“You were having a bad dream. Lie down and try to go back to sleep.” He tried to settle her back under the covers.

“No—” She sprang up and clutched at his hand. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to have that dream again.”

Beckett propped himself up on one elbow and turned the covers back gently. “Come, now. Lie down here with me. There’s no one to trouble you here.”

She remained where she was. While he waited for her to make up her mind, Beckett lay back down, and soon began drifting toward sleep.

It was with a bit of shock that he felt her snuggling up against him. For a moment, half-asleep, he forgot entirely where he was, why he was there, and who the lovely creature beside him could be. He simply enjoyed it.

She exhaled slowly, then moved closer to him. Her rose-water scent reached out to him, teasing his senses.

“Thank you, Beckett,” she whispered.

Then it came back to him. He was Beckett. The earl of Ravenwood. And the woman beside him in bed was his wife.

Beckett watched the moonlight that spilled through the window play on Isobel’s hair, like silvery fingers dancing across a river of gold. Before he knew what he was about, he stroked it. He felt Isobel go still in his arms at his touch, but he continued caressing her soft curls. The texture of the silken strands running through his fingers sent a shock of heat through him.

He thought of Cordelia then. Of how he’d never done anything like this to her, and even if they had married, probably never would have. This was too affectionate, too warm. He saw now that she’d borne his touch as a means to an ends—to acquiring his title and fortune. She would surely have done the same with any prospective husband.

But he had fancied himself in love with Cordelia. And it had all been an illusion. Hadn’t it?

The Whitcomb ball had seen his new wife in a battle royale with his former intended. Why would Cordelia have bothered to challenge Isobel if she’d indeed felt nothing for him? He’d always found it difficult to understand her. Now that he had some distance, Cordelia was no easier to comprehend.

But still, he couldn’t imagine his previous fiancée curled up in his arms as Isobel was now. Seeking solace from her nightmares in the safety of his arms. Letting him stroke her hair. Again, he basked in the warmth of his desire for the woman whose body curled next to his.

A surge of gratitude and something else unfamiliar welled up inside his chest, and he hugged Isobel closer.

Isobel opened her eyes slowly, peering at the dim morning light through squinting eyes. She had done it.

She had fallen asleep and not dreamt the awful nightmare again. As she became more fully awake, she remembered what had made her tranquil sleep possible.

Beckett’s arm lay curled around her waist, a bit of her nightdress bunched loosely in his fist. A breath caught in her throat at the sweet heaviness of the embrace that surrounded her so possessively.

It was unusual for married couples to sleep together in the same bed, she knew. Civilized society insisted on separate chambers for husband and wife. But, oh, how wonderful it would be to wake like this every morning.

Her eyes opened wide and her breathing quickened as the arm around her waist tightened and drew her closer.

Beckett’s deep, steady breathing told her that he was still asleep. Her back was pressed against the hard wall of his chest as he held her firmly to him.

Then Isobel felt something else hard, pressing gently against her buttocks. It couldn’t be his knee….

It was… it was… Good Lord, it was his—

She knew she should try to get up, but it clearly seemed impossible without waking him. And surely this situation would embarrass him as much as her. No, she would have to endure this wicked intimacy until she could unlock his arm from her waist and move safely across the bed.

Gingerly, Isobel closed her hand around Beckett’s wrist and tried to lift his arm. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. Although he was asleep, Beckett’s muscles were anything but relaxed.

The arm around her waist hugged her to him as if she were a doll.

Isobel closed her eyes as his hips pressed against her bottom. She clamped her lips together to keep from making a sound as he ground himself against her.

Exquisite sensations swept through her body, making the tips of her breasts hard and sensitive. Heat seared between her legs, unnerving her with its intensity.

This was dreadful. Wasn’t it?

Abruptly, Beckett released his hold on her waist and turned over. The continuous sound of his rhythmic breathing, deep and even, travelled through the cabin.

Isobel lay in stunned silence, feeling an absurd sense of disappointment. He was still asleep. Thank the Lord.

She pulled back the covers and tiptoed across the room to the screen in the corner. Isobel pulled off her night dress, wet a cloth, and rubbed it over her hot skin, trying desperately to slow her racing pulse.

Isobel donned her underclothes and stockings, followed by a somber fawn-brown day dress. She hoped it would set the mood for the rest of the day. She picked up her paper and leads, but paused a moment before leaving.

Beckett was still asleep. Taking advantage of the moment, she watched him in the pale morning light.

An uneasiness crept into Isobel’s heart, like a soft-footed cat bent on mischief. She had been fooling herself to think she could make this marriage purely one of convenience. Their arrangement was doomed to be a dismal failure. Like it or not, Beckett stirred feelings in her. And like unruly children, each day she found them harder to control.

Isobel watched as a dark shape grew along the horizon. She had dreamed with such longing of land beneath her feet again.

As they neared the island, she was entranced by the clear, turquoise waters. The sun shone high in the sky, and made the water sparkle as though covered in twinkling jewels.

The heat grew a little more intense as the ship neared the island. The wind had been constant out on the open water, and the temperature on deck had been warm but bearable. Now, she felt the sun beating down on her and she shaded herself with a parasol.

Isobel looked over the side of the boat into the depths of the blue-green ocean, and was startled as she saw a large, dark shape swimming through the water far below.

“Captain Mayfield, what is that down there?” Isobel said, with some fear.

The captain looked over, but the shadow was no longer in sight.

“Most likely a dolphin, Mrs. Cox. Though to an untrained eye, a shark can easily appear to be a dolphin.”

Isobel nodded, remembering the stories he’d told her during their voyage about life in the tropics. Aside from the assortment of poisonous plants and insects, and the wild animals, there was also the native religion of obeah to send shivers down her spine.

“I needn’t remind you that this isn’t England,” Captain Mayfield teased. “But many Europeans enjoy living on these islands and have done so for years with no harm coming to them.”

Isobel smiled and tried to reassure herself. After all, they had come here out of necessity—not to establish a home in a strange land.

“Still, be sure your husband teaches you how to shoot a pistol.” Captain Mayfield turned and walked along the deck to join his first mate.

Isobel looked across the water to the island. The captain was poking fun at her, she reminded herself.

However, learning to shoot might be a good idea.

Beckett appeared beside her, a look of quiet anticipation on his face as he surveyed the approaching shoreline. “I hope you won’t find life here on the island too uncomfortable, my dear. My experience in Wellington’s army has prepared me for almost any kind of accommodation, no matter how rough. But a lady might find such a wild land to be quite an adjustment. He held his hand out to her. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in the warm, solid strength of his.