What the Duke Doesn't Know (9 page)

James stared at the fire, forced his thoughts away from where they wanted to go and onto the dry question of houses. Alan's place was all very well for a man who was interested in little beyond working in his laboratory. “I always think of a home as having a good stretch of land,” he said, somewhat at random.

“For farming?”

James nodded. Of course, that required tenants. And a manor needed a staff of servants. His father was always talking about his dependents. It occurred to James that he didn't much want a whole herd of dependents looking to him for their livelihood. What did one do, stuck on shore with a bunch of servants waiting for orders? It was like a ship's crew, he supposed. But it wasn't really. His crews looked to the navy for their pay and their future, not to him.

“Sometimes I wonder how I will live now in a little house on my little island,” Kawena said. “And what I will do with my time. After I have seen so many other places…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh,” she said, and pointed out the window on her side of the hearth.

James looked, and saw the sand spit they'd crossed to reach this place being engulfed by the rising tide. He sprang up and went to the glass. The water was running fast and already looked too deep to cross safely. A curse escaped him; he should have thought of this. What sort of seaman was he? Kawena's seductive nearness had addled his wits. “There's another reason why the place was abandoned,” he said. “Storms probably ate away at the beach. We won't get off this rock until the tide turns.”

Kawena came to stand next to him and watch the racing water. Their shoulders touched, warm under the cold of wet clothes. She didn't move away, though. Instead, she leaned closer. “That will be hours.”

Six or more hours. And then it would be night. Was there a decent moon? Intoxicated by the feel of her arm against his, James couldn't remember.

Kawena turned toward him. Her lips were inches away, which didn't seem to embarrass her at all. James couldn't stop himself. He kissed her.

It was fully as exciting as he'd imagined. After an instant's surprise, her mouth answered his, softening under his urging. James forgot every scruple as she relaxed against him, slipping her arms around his waist, pressing closer. His hands slid down the curve of her back and cupped the bottom so lusciously outlined in her boy's breeches. He felt as if they struck flame where they touched, as if steam ought to be rising from their damp garments. His body responded with alacrity, straining to get closer still. Why were they clothed? He wanted to rip off his shirt, hers. He wanted to sweep her feet from under her, ease her to the floor and take possession of her beautiful body.

She was under his protection, declared a vastly annoying inner voice. He had undertaken to escort her on this journey, to keep her safe. This blaze of passion was anything but that.

James started to draw back. Kawena leaned in and renewed the kiss, tightening her grip. She wasn't finished kissing him. His touch had set her alight. It was hard to catch her breath. The feel of him against her was thrilling, rousing a demanding ache, more intense than anything she'd ever felt. She wanted more. Now.

She moved her lips as he had, and the kiss deepened. Kawena grasped fists full of linen shirt and pulled him nearer as she arched up. Her knees wanted to give way. She curled one leg around his.

“We shouldn't…” Lord James panted when the searing kiss ended, even as his hands tightened, molding her to him.

“Why shouldn't I kiss you if I want to?” Kawena murmured.

“
You
kiss
me
?”

Her father was gone, taking his lectures with him. She was far from home. She might never make it back there. Her mother had always said that a woman should discover what she wanted, and then set out to get it. Kawena slid one arm around Lord James's neck and pulled his head down for another kiss. She wanted this. She hooked her leg more firmly and strained against him.

When he pulled up the back of her shirt, she did the same to his. When he stepped back to yank off his boots, she followed suit. She protested when he strode from the room, but he was back in a moment with the remaining curtain from the back parlor. He tossed it down before the hearth, and then hesitated. Kawena responded by skimming out of the rest of her clothes. She faced him, smiling, the fire warm on her back, and reached out to run her hands over his bare chest.

Lord James groaned. In one swooping motion he discarded his own breeches and bore her down to the floor, placing her gently on the drapery. Then he knelt over her, gazing down as if stunned.
A beautiful man
, Kawena thought. The auburn hair on his body glinted in the firelight. His form was finely muscled, his face a chiseled oval.

“Are you sure?” he said.

She didn't bother to speak. She simply reached out and ran her fingers lightly up and down the obvious evidence of his arousal. He gasped and trembled. Kawena enjoyed that reaction so much that she continued her attentions until he caught her wrist and stopped her.

She met his gaze. His eyes burned as blue as driftwood fires.

He lay down beside her and used his hands and lips to coax and tease and titillate. Kawena had thought she was aroused, but she discovered that she'd had no notion of the possible heights of desire. He kissed her and caressed her until she thought she would expire from sheer need. And when the ache exploded into fulfillment, she almost thought she had. He held her as she rode the waves of sensation. Only then did he enter her, and she had the thrill of his climb to the same peak and shudder of release. She held him as he had her, their hearts pounding in tandem, their breath loud in the deserted dwelling, her spirit soaring with delight.

Afterward, they lay before the fire, sated. His body shielded her from the cold air of the room, and his hand ran through her long hair. Kawena let out a luxuriant sigh. “That was splendid,” she said.

Lord James laughed a little. “You aren't sorry?”

“No. Why should I be? At home, all the women my age have done this. Most have families by now.”

His hand in her hair went still. He coughed, then cleared his throat. “I…of course I will offer…that is…I hope you will do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“What?”

“In these circumstances, there is no other…” He cleared his throat again, as if something was caught in it. “I want to assure you… Naturally, I will not hang back or fail in my duty to…to make things right.”

Kawena grimaced. It was as his brother had said. She could almost hear Lord Alan listing all his reservations about their journey. What they all seemed to fear so much had occurred, and now Lord James believed he had to pay for indulging his desires. She heard it in the tone of his voice, felt it in the tension of his body. He thought he was trapped. It was stupid, and insulting, and somehow quite melancholy, too. Ignoring the latter emotion, Kawena turned and rose on one elbow to stare down at him. “No,” she said. “Why would you think I wanted to do that?”

He looked confused. “Well, it's…we… You said that other women from your home had families by this—”

“I only meant that I am of an age to decide for myself what I want. Which I did. And that is that.”

He didn't seem to believe her. “I don't think you understand the consequences of…of what we have done.”

Kawena noticed that they were both streaked with dust from the ancient drapery beneath them. It would have been funny, had she been in the mood to laugh.

“People will talk,” Lord James added.

“English people seem to be much too fond of talking. About things that are none of their affair. Let them talk all they want. I won't be here to hear them.”

She saw relief in his face and looked away before his expression revealed any more. She turned and lay back down, now feeling the hard floor below the cloth. She watched the flames leap. She'd taken what she'd wanted. There was nothing to regret. She didn't regret it! She groped for the feeling of sated delight that she'd basked in only moments ago. But she couldn't quite get it back.

James woke to darkness, wondering why was he was warm on one side and freezing on the other. The coals of a fire gleamed before him. Moonlight shone through bare windows, enough to show him the empty room and the naked woman curled against his chest. It all came back to him then, in a jumble of emotion—the ride, the crag, the bout of passion with the visitor he was supposed to be shepherding around the countryside. He'd let himself be swept away by circumstance, and desire.

He looked down at Kawena, her breath soft in sleep. Her skin gleamed faintly in the firelight, and a tumble of dark hair hid her face. It would take a stronger man than he was to have resisted such beauty and spirit when she'd been so willing, so…insistent.

He hadn't taken advantage of her. He knew people would say so, and part of him wanted to argue that, of course, he had. That was said to be the way of the world. Men seduced when they could; women fell into their traps. But Kawena had been too involved in the dance, too enthusiastic, to credit it. She'd wanted him, as he had assuredly wanted her. Still wanted her with an intensity that shook him. She'd pursued when he would have drawn back. Remembering the way she'd touched him, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her now.

Yet there was nothing of the loose woman about her. What a stupid phrase that was, to be sure! She was an intoxicating mixture—forthright, passionate, and surprising. She hadn't been embarrassed, and then she hadn't been ashamed. Not in the least. She was like no woman he'd ever met or imagined.

She stirred, and a fall of raven hair slid off her shoulder. Desire shot through James, sharp and hot. Would she come to regret what she'd done when she woke? Would she turn shy and distant? Even accusing? No, she would be…just herself. She wasn't a person much plagued by regrets, as far as he could judge. He resisted his urge to brush back those dark tresses so he could see her face.

As for his offer to make amends by marrying her—the idea had seemed to make her angry. James realized that, beneath his relief at her refusal, he was a bit piqued by this reaction. He had birth, decent manners, money. He'd been told often enough that he was pleasant to look at. Did all this merit instant rejection? Not that he planned so…precipitous a match. It would never work out between them. But to be so summarily rejected stung a little. And Kawena didn't understand the consequences of her actions. Society would ostracize her for giving in…

Then he remembered. She could snap her fingers at society, because she wouldn't be living in it. She'd be thousands of miles away from the gossips, immune to their power. She wasn't a creature of the world where he'd grown up. Any more than he was of hers. So…all was well then. Things had worked out for the best. Why didn't he feel better about that?

He was shivering from the icy air at his back. James eased away from Kawena and rose. He folded the drapery over her, then put on his riding breeches, still damp and clammy. On his way to find more wood to build up the fire, he checked the tide. It had turned. With the light of the half moon, they could probably make it back to town now. But wasn't it best to wait for dawn? He didn't know the road well, and they might attract slightly less attention if they returned when the inn was awake and busy. Perhaps they could even slip up to their rooms undetected? He could hope.

When he returned with more scraps of furniture, Kawena was awake. She gazed up at him from her drapery cocoon, dark eyes unreadable. James took his time placing the wood on the coals, blowing on them to help the wood catch. He wished she would speak so he needn't be the one to set the tone for this awkward conversation. At last, she did.

“I'm very thirsty,” she said.

Beset by equal parts of relief and disappointment, James said, “So am I. And the horses, I'm sure. I'll search, but I don't think there's any fresh water here.”

“If only we were like those turtles.”

“Those…?” Had he heard her correctly? It didn't seem possible that, lying there sleepy-eyed and gloriously disheveled in the firelight, she'd mentioned turtles.

“The sea turtles,” she added. “That annoying old man said they can drink seawater and get rid of the salt.”

She surprised a laugh out of James. “He did, didn't he?”

“It would be a very helpful skill to have. For the horses, too.”

“Yes.”

“Are you laughing at me? Why?” She rose up on one elbow and eyed him.

“I was just admiring the sharpness of your memory. I'd forgotten about the turtles.”

“But it was a very interesting thing to know.”

“I can't argue with that.”

“You could if you wished to.”

She moved, and the drapery slid half off her breasts. At that moment, James could not have argued that his name was Gresham. He might not even have remembered it.

Kawena waited. When he said nothing, she went on. “Well, if there is no water, we should go back to the inn. The tide must have turned by now?”

Maddeningly, the drapery lingered just at the point…

“Hasn't it?”

“What?” James felt the flush that warmed his cheek. He had no idea what she'd asked.

“The tide? Is the path clear?”

“Oh. Yes, nearly. It's still going out.”

She sighed. The drapery rose and fell, but did not slip any farther. “So we should go, I suppose.”

It didn't sound like a question. Or a conclusion. James had never strained so hard to catch the nuance buried in a few words. “We must. But it might be best to wait for first light.” He didn't go into his reasoning on this point, as he had forgotten it.

Kawena sat up and stretched. The drapery fell away. She lifted her heavy hair and pushed it back over her shoulders. The movement arched her breasts so invitingly that James's breath caught. His body's instant response was almost painful. Then she smiled at him, eyes sultry, and said, “We have time then.”

After that, he was incapable of a single thought. He shed his breeches as fast as humanly possible. And then he held her in his arms again and reveled in her eager welcome. Together, they dove headlong into the realm of trailing fingertips and parted lips and tangled limbs, where nothing was more complicated than how long they could prolong their mutual pleasure and how deeply they could savor its exquisite conclusion.

* * *

Much later, Kawena stirred in James's embrace. Sitting up, she stretched again, looked around the room, then rose and walked over to a patch of white on the floor. She picked it up and started wiping the streaks of dust from her body. James so enjoyed the sight that he didn't notice at first what she held. Then it hit him, and he jerked upright. “Hold on, that's my neckcloth!”

“Yes,” Kawena agreed. “I thought we would want to keep our shirts clean.” She looked at the dusty floor. “Well, as clean as we can.” Continuing her rough ablutions, seemingly unabashed by his appreciative gaze, she looked out the window. “The sun is coming up.” Finished with the swatch of linen, she offered it to him and began to collect her scattered clothes.

His once-crisp neckcloth, limp and dirty in his hand, James was conscious of a sharp pang of regret. Their idyll was over. It was time to come back down to Earth. To make certain she understood the harsh English realities, he said, “You know that we can't tell anyone what…happened here?”

“Happened?” Kawena repeated.

What would Alan and Ariel say to him if they learned of it? He knew his brother loved and respected him, and there was growing affection between him and Ariel. He couldn't bear the thought of disappointing them. “We'll need a story for the innkeeper.”

“A story. Like a fairy tale?”

She sounded curious, and perhaps…amused? That couldn't be right. “I've told you that people will talk, disapprove. They would treat you badly.” She needed to understand. He couldn't bear the thought of her being hurt, insulted.

“Yes, I remember. We will tell whatever story you wish.”

It seemed almost as if she was humoring him. She must acknowledge that he knew more about his own country than she did.

“We could simply tell them the truth,” Kawena continued. “Part of the truth,” she amended at his change of expression. “That Rex ran away with me, and we were trapped by the tide before we noticed.”

It seemed easy when she put it that way. “I suppose.”

“We can tell how we burned old furniture to keep warm,” she said, growing more enthusiastic. “And how very thirsty we became. The poor horses, too. My father always said a good story should be specific.”

She spoke as if he was foolish, a man with foibles to be indulged. She had no idea what she was dealing with. She'd never seen the old biddies look down their aristocratic noses at girls whose transgressions were far more trivial than their…exquisite indulgence. She didn't know what it meant to receive the cut direct or be pursued by leering men who took one slip as an excuse to take intolerable liberties.

James's fists clenched. He started to explain it to her, then realized that she wouldn't listen. She'd only find him funnier than ever. And so why should he care? He wouldn't be subject to the same strictures. Fellows weren't. He could spread the story far and wide, if he liked, and get off scot-free. Indeed, he'd be envied, congratulated by sniggering acquaintances, encouraged to share titillating details.

On a wave of revulsion, James felt, for the first time in his life, how truly unfair that was. He'd noted it vaguely before. It was a staple of his upbringing. Girls were held to a different standard. Reputation was their job, their doom to tend and polish like some fragile heirloom. Now, faced with the threat to Kawena, he silently rebelled. They had both indulged. Why should they be regarded differently for the same actions? More, he was an Englishman; he knew the rules and had broken them. If anyone should pay, it should be him. She came from quite a different society. She should not be blamed.

James realized that Kawena was looking at him quizzically. She hadn't the slightest notion what he was thinking.

He would simply have to be mindful for her, he concluded. Yes, she would soon be off to realms where the old biddies were a distant irrelevance. But she could be treated badly in the meantime, an intolerable thought. James met her twinkling eyes and vowed that would never happen.

* * *

They started off early the next morning for London, to find the remaining members of the
Charis
crew and complete their mission. The road to the capital was better than the one from Oxford, so they barreled along at a rapid pace. Conversation was more stilted, however, and Kawena found this both irritating and unsettling. The night at the abandoned house seemed to sit between them on the seat, inserting itself into the most innocuous sentences. It complicated every accidental bump of shoulder or brush of hands, so as the miles passed, the atmosphere in the carriage grew fraught.

With each passing hour, she understood more of how her mother had felt dealing with her father, reaching toward him across a gulf of preconceptions and habits. The idle hours of the journey gave their voices in her head free rein—Papa's carping, Mama's impatience. In all their years together, the disputes had never ended. The smallest things had reignited them in one or the other, and then they would be off, tossing words back and forth. Perhaps they even enjoyed the verbal jostling, because she knew they loved each other dearly. In her memory, though, it seemed they said the same things over and over. The thought left Kawena uncertain, a little sad, and not nearly as assured as she chose to appear.

The encounter in that dusty room had been so glorious. Her few fumbling tries at home had been nothing like it. Indeed, she hadn't entirely understood what all the fuss was about before. This seemed a matter to celebrate, but Lord James clearly did not. Their attitudes about the relations between men and women were so different. He fidgeted beside her as if he couldn't wait for the journey to end. Was this really all about what other people would say?

She
did
understand that. At home on the island, people gossiped, argued, even indulged in long-running, spiteful feuds. But they arose from sensible things, like stealing a fishing net or acting disrespectfully or cheating in a trade. She couldn't imagine the whole of her small society banding together to condemn a couple who indulged, secretly, in a night's pleasure.

So was it only other people? Or did Lord James regret what they had done? Perhaps he still thought she meant to make some claim on him, despite her assurances. Did he dare to doubt her word? What else could she say? She would never force him into an unwanted marriage. Even if she wasn't leaving England. Even if she was a timid English woman frightened by the opinions of this hidebound society.

Only one thing was certain: their easy camaraderie was gone. The trip had become much less enjoyable. Her sadness about that grew with the miles. She'd so enjoyed his company before.

And it grew even worse as they neared London. Kawena began to feel hemmed in by the outer landscape as well as the mood in the chaise. The web of streets and buildings thickening around them was like a maze. If she was dropped into this tangle of filthy streets, how would she ever find her way out? The air was heavy with smoke and rank odors and raucous with noise. “How can anyone live here?” she wondered.

Lord James nodded. “This is a poor neighborhood, but I always feel like a caged animal in a city.”

A wagon emerged from an alleyway ahead, and they had to slow to a crawl behind it. Another came up in the rear, trapping them. The street was crowded with people and carts and riders. The noise of hooves and babble of voices rose higher. “You can't get out,” Kawena murmured.

“Precisely.” He looked at her, and for the first time in days, they shared a companionable glance. Encouraged, she smiled. But it was as if she'd bared her teeth at him instead. He sat back and looked away.