The Price of Indiscretion (10 page)

Alex had thought to go slow. He couldn’t. He had to have her.

Wrapping his hand in her hair, he shifted his weight to hold her steady and took her in one smooth thrust.

It wasn’t easy. She was so tight. He felt the tear, the rush of warmth, and then he buried himself inside her to the hilt and thought he would explode from the sheer, exquisite pleasure.

Miranda stiffened. He wondered if she felt pain. Some women did—but he could do nothing about it at this moment. His mind was not his own.

With an understanding as old as time, he began riding her. He tried to ease up on his thrusts. He couldn’t. She felt too good.

She was magic. Glorious, glorious magic. In her were the secrets of the universe. The very reason for being.

If Jeffords and the whole British navy had come charging into this room, he couldn’t have stopped, especially when Miranda started moving with him.

It was his undoing. Those untamed movements of her hips threw him over the chasm into something he’d never experienced before.

His seed shot out of him. The release came from his soul.

He held himself tight. Wave after rippling wave of completion rolled through him.
Dear God
, it had never been like that. Ever.

Slowly, the euphoria faded. He drifted to reality, his weight coming down on her body. Alex released his breath and looked into her face.

Tears shone in Miranda’s eyes. Her wet hair was tangled in his fingers, her face pale, and her lips pressed together tight. He became aware of the dampness of the quilt, the chill in the cabin, and the scent of the aftermath of sex in the air.

What the bloody hell had he done?

M
iranda lay rigid beneath him. She needed a moment to understand what had just happened. She knew the facts, but feared what they meant.

One thing was certain: She’d finally been “had.”

After all these years of people suspecting the worst, the deed was finally done—and she didn’t know how she felt…except for being disappointed.

Was this it? All there was?

The act of joining between a man and a woman struck her as little more than a carpentry job like dovetailing two joints together. The pain she had felt when he’d first forced himself inside her had receded, leaving her with a strange emptiness and strong dissatisfaction. The earlier yearnings, the driving need that had compromised her good sense, still lingered deep within. What good was coupling if it left you itchy and irritated?

The whole event was humiliating. For this she had betrayed Charlotte and Constance’s faith her, once again over Alex.

Like Eve confronted by God in the Garden of Eden, Miranda became aware of her nakedness, and she was ashamed. Her throat closed as hot tears threatened.

His body still on top of her, his weight starting to grow uncomfortable, he asked in a gruff voice, “Are you all right?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. She would break if she did.

Alex pushed his hair back from his face and swore under his breath. Miranda turned her head away, expecting him to leave her now. Indeed, she wanted to be alone. Then she could nurse her disappointment and failures privately. She didn’t know what she would tell Charlotte or how she would face Constance.

He rose, but instead of getting dressed and doing what was modest, he padded stark naked over to the table where a basin sat on the table. He started to pour water from a bucket off the floor and found it empty. He crossed to the door, opened it, and shouted a few cross words for water, and then shut it.

Miranda curled up in a ball, giving him her back. She wished he would go away. She wanted to be alone.

A knock on the door signaled the delivery of fresh water. The door shut. A beat later, there was the sound of splashing water. She was so aware of his presence in the room, she could practically see without looking at what he was doing.

The bed gave under his weight. “Roll over,” he commanded in a quiet voice.

Miranda wasn’t about to do as he ordered.

Alex released his breath in a sigh. There was the sound of water being wrung out. He began washing her with a soft, wet linen cloth, and wiped her forehead. She refused to look at him. Patiently he washed the cheek she had exposed and then her neck and her back.

The cool water felt good. It eased some of her tension.

His hand went over her hip. It dipped down between her legs, and she pressed them together. “No,” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss.

She didn’t want to respond. For a moment, she held herself tight…but he persisted, and she didn’t have the strength to fight.

He sensed her weakness and gathered her up in his arms, bringing her onto his lap. He cradled her there, holding her close, his head resting against her hair.

It was so easy to give herself over to his strength, to stay wrapped in his warmth.

One tear of those she’d struggled so hard to contain escaped. He saw it and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His eyes darkened with concern. “Don’t cry, Miranda. You did nothing wrong.”

“I failed them.” She fought to keep herself contained. To be strong. “Charlotte and Constance trusted me, and once again I failed them.”

“You didn’t fail anyone,” he said fiercely.

“The money is gone. It was on the
Venture
.”

“You don’t need money. I’ll take care of you. All three of you. You’ll never want for anything, Miranda, I promise.”

He meant those words, and she was certain he could—in his way.

“Except,” she said sadly, “they will never have what they really want and what they deserve. They’ll never receive the birthright Mother lost to us. And I will always be the half-breed’s woman.”

His muscles tensed. “In England that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” She dared to look at him. “Or do they just tolerate you?”

For a second, she thought he was going to dump her onto the floor. She wouldn’t call back her words. They were the truth, the one she’d lived with all these years.

“Damn you, Miranda,” he said evenly. “Damn you for being the only one who can make me feel inferior.”

Before she could comment, he kissed her. A demanding, full-lipped kiss.

Those edgy, dissatisfied feelings leaped to life.
This
was what she needed. This would appease them.

He shifted her back to the bed. Her legs opened to him with a will of their own. He settled himself between them. Without preamble or warning, his body thrust into hers.

This time, there was no pain. Not even a pinprick. He was deep within and it felt good.

Every muscle, every nerve, every fiber of her being whispered
yes.

Alex began moving, his lips never leaving hers. Instead of pushing away, she put her arms around his shoulders and hung on. Her hips began to move, meeting his thrusts. What had first been meaningless took on meaning.

Heat began building inside her. Her body drove her toward what she did not understand. If she had wanted to stop their mating, she would have been powerless to do so.

Their kiss broke.

He looked down at her. He’d won, she wanted to tell him, but her lips couldn’t form the words. His thrusts went deeper, and all she could do was sigh from the pleasure of being connected with him in this way. She felt as if she were climbing a glass mountain, gliding her way toward the pinnacle.

“I love you, Miranda. I’ll always love you.”

She opened her eyes at his whisper, afraid her ears betrayed her.

His eyes were shut, his expression one of concentration. His breathing was as rapid and heavy as hers. He gave no indication he had spoken at all—

And then it didn’t matter what had been said.

Her body reached the peak. Her muscles clenched. She cried his name. Wave after rippling wave of sensation carried higher and higher. She rode the crest, caught in surprise and, yes, wonder.

Alex felt it, too. He leaned into her, his body rigid and tight. The life force moved between them, and they were
one
.

At last, Miranda understood what it meant to become one. All her life she had heard the phrase, but had never understood until now.

Spent, he lowered himself and rolled off her body. Instinctively she curled up beside him, wanting his warmth, but also needing to touch him.

Now she understood so much more. The whole meaning of life made sense. This man was her rock.

Miranda placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. It beat as rapidly as her own. She could imagine the blood pumping through their veins in perfect timing…and she smiled.

Alex turned to her just then. He answered with a sleepy smile of his own. Reaching over his body, he brushed her hair back from her face.

“The first time was difficult,” she confessed.

He nodded.

“I liked the second time.”

He heard the understatement in her voice and gave a short laugh before kissing her forehead, her eyes, and her nose.

Perhaps the first time
should
be difficult, she thought. But it was well worth the price for those moments she’d just experienced.

Her body felt good. Complete. She yawned and snuggled in deeper against him. Later she’d worry…but for right now, she wanted to sleep.

Within seconds, she did exactly that.

He’d stolen her, and lying with her in his arms as content as a kitten, Alex vowed he’d never let her go. Not this time.

The sun had risen over the horizon. Rays of sharp morning light came through the window and cut across them. He pulled the quilt out from under their bodies. Miranda didn’t stir. She was exhausted. He knew how she felt.

The quilt bore the telltale proof of her virginity. She’d always been his. He knew that now. Miranda
had
waited for him.

Alex wrapped his arms around her. A part of him was awed by her loyalty…and yet he was unwilling to let himself fully believe. This was too new, too fragile. And he’d learned the dangers of trusting before.

He should go out and check on his ship. Oliver was capable of handling everything, but Alex usually kept a watchful eye. But he wasn’t ready to leave Miranda’s side. Not just yet. He wanted to savor this moment a bit longer. Spent, he fell asleep and didn’t wake until late in the day.

Miranda still slept as if exhausted. Alex was hard. He would have made love to her again, except she looked so tired. She’d been through quite a bit.

Carefully rising from the bed so as not to wake her, Alex pulled the sheet up over her shoulders and dressed in clean clothes and boots. He carried the bucket of water he’d used to wash her outside. Holding his head over the side of the ship, he poured the fresh water over his hair to get the salt water out of it.

Miranda might like a full bath later. He would let her use all the fresh water she needed. He’d even help her bathe.

The thought almost brought him to his knees.

He shook his hair out and straightened, thinking he just might have to go wake her up. But when he turned, he realized that thirty very curious pairs of eyes were watching his every movement.

A scowl sent them back to work. Everyone, that was, save Oliver. The Scot was at the helm.

Alex set the bucket down and walked over to him. “Do you want me to take the helm?”

“If you wish, Cap’n.”

“I do.” Oliver stepped back, and Alex put his hands on the wheel. There was a strong current, and the sails were full. Fair skies and fair wind. At this speed, they could be sailing down the Thames in five days.

“So,” Oliver said, lighting his pipe, “now that you have her, what are you going to do with her?”

“Keep her,” Alex answered, knowing this was the question the men in his crew wondered about.
Yes, he would keep her.

A new sense of purpose filled Alex. He had responsibilities. He meant what he’d said about taking care of her sisters. Her family would be
his
family.

Places in his soul that he had not known were empty suddenly overflowed with anticipation of the future.

She could even be carrying his son right now.

“Well,” Oliver said. “Well, well, well.”

Alex frowned at him. “Well what?”

“You’ve been caught.”

“I’ll not deny it,” Alex answered, a hint of challenge in his voice. “She’s my wife.” The words sounded good on his tongue.

“Your wife?” Oliver asked. He caught his pipe before it dropped out of his mouth. “I always thought you a bachelor, Cap’n. Just as rowdy as the other lads.”

“No, I’ve been married,” Alex answered. “It was a Shawnee ceremony. There was just a small disagreement between the two of us.”

“And now what?” Oliver dared to ask.

Alex loosened his hold on the wheel and then tightened it again, thinking. “Now we’ll go to London,” he answered, his words measured. “We’ll do it right this time. I’ll buy a special license and hire a priest.” Then no one could say they weren’t married.

There was a beat of silence. “She’s a lucky woman,” the older man said at last. “Does she know how wealthy you are?”

“No,” Alex answered.

Oliver raised one doubting bushy eyebrow.

“She doesn’t,” Alex insisted. “I’ve not told her. She accepts me for myself. I’d not have her any other way.”

“Oh, it’s not the acceptance part that worries me. Women are funny,” Oliver observed, sticking his pipe back in his mouth. “You never know which way they will jump with that logic of theirs.”

He was right. Alex had already learned that the hard way.

Oliver checked the wind in the sails before saying in a low voice that seemed to emphasize his brogue all the more, “You’re the finest man I’ve ever known, Cap’n. You deserve a woman who will be loyal.”

“She’s the only woman I’ve ever wanted,” Alex answered.

“I can see that…but you had to throw a bag over her head to get her to come with you.”

Alex dismissed his reservations with a shake of his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Aye.”

The dryness in the Scot’s answer annoyed Alex, but then he was very sensitive on the topic of Miranda. That’s what happened when a man explained himself; he got irritated. “Here, take the wheel,” Alex said. He went down the stairs to the main deck and his cabin.

He checked on Miranda. She still slept, her golden hair spread across his pillow. His sextant was still on the floor where it had fallen the night before. He retrieved it. He understood Oliver’s doubts, but they were unnecessary. This time, Miranda truly was his.

Shutting the door, he knew he had to keep himself busy or else he would be checking on her every ten minutes, and he didn’t want to appear that much of a puppy in front of his crew.

First he walked the perimeter of his ship and then walked it again. Oliver had gone down to his quarters for some sleep, but the other men watched him, their curiosity over their shipboard guest clear in their faces, but Alex had already said enough. He climbed the rigging and tested the knots. Twice. Everything was as it should be.

He checked on Miranda again. She slept on.

Evening was coming upon them.

Alex went to the galley and had Cook prepare a plate with only the freshest meat and vegetables. Here was a good reason not only to open the cabin door but to wake her.

Carrying the tray himself, he went up to his cabin. Miranda didn’t notice his entrance. He set the tray on the table and walked over to the bunk.

She’d tossed and turned in her sleep, and the sheet was down low enough to expose one breast. His palm itched to cover it. He sat on the edge of the bunk. He’d kiss her into wakefulness. Bending down, he pressed his lips against her cheek and stopped—

She was burning hot. The heat radiated from her body.

Alex placed his hand on her head. She frowned and tried to turn away from him. “Miranda,” he said sharply. “Wake up.”