Authors: Cathy Maxwell
“Did you receive this while fighting with pirates?”
He went suddenly still. “Fighting pirates?” he asked cautiously.
She gave him a reassuring smile, surprised he would be so upset she knew. “When the fever was at its worst, you imagined you and your friend Billy fighting pirates. Was that true? Did you do that?”
He looked off a moment. “Did I say anything else during the fever?”
She shook her head. “You talked in several languages, but I didn’t understand them.” She waited, hoping he would elaborate on the pirates.
When he didn’t, she prompted, “Who was Billy?”
“Just a lad I knew.”
“Where does he live?”
“He doesn’t. He was killed off the coast of Africa. He was young and he was stupid.” His lips twisted in a rueful smile. “He thought he was a swordsman. He found out differently.” He added after a long, thoughtful moment, “He was my one
true
friend.”
His admission touched her deeply. She wondered if she had ever had a true friend.
But now she had Marvin.
He started to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grasp. Raising her eyes to his, she said, “I just want you to know that I…I am growing very fond of you.”
He smiled. “And I’m fond of you.”
Samantha swallowed, almost frightened of what she was about to say. She noticed his eyes weren’t completely black. This close she could see the pigments of brown, a complex pattern of color. As complex as the man beside her.
“It may be more than that, Marvin. I think I may be falling in—” She paused. “I’m falling in love with you.”
She immediately wished she could call the words back. But she couldn’t…because she had spoken the truth. The bright, shining truth.
He stared at her as if he had not heard her correctly and she sat paralyzed, waiting, holding his hand as if she’d never let it go.
With his other hand, he ran his fingers through his thick hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
“You need a haircut,” Samantha said self-
consciously, needing to say something to fill the sudden silence.
“You can’t love me, Sam.” His voice was sad, quiet.
She felt like laughing; she felt like crying. “I already do.”
He gave a half-laugh of disbelief. “You don’t know me. If you did, you wouldn’t say such a thing.”
“I don’t have to know you. I only have to know what I feel. Here.” She touched her breast over her heart.
He shook his head to deny her words. “I’m a selfish, worthless fellow. I’m not worthy of your love. Or anyone’s.”
He meant those words. She could hear his conviction and a fierce protectiveness rose up inside her. “No, that isn’t true. You’re a kind man. You didn’t have to marry me. You could have left me and not given a care about what happened to me here in Sproule, but you didn’t.”
“Sam, you had saved my life! What would you have me do?”
She came up on her knees, heedless of her nakedness. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. “No! It’s more than that. I don’t know if I believe in fate, but I do know that my life started to change from the first moment we met in the graveyard.”
He rose, pulling his hand from hers. “Sam, I’m not what you think I am. You can’t have feelings for me.”
“I already have them,” she said simply. When he didn’t speak, she went on, “I know you may have done some terrible things, but that is in the past. We have a future together. Trust me. Trust me as I have trusted you.”
He stared at her as if he had turned to stone. Silently she willed him to do her bidding.
But she was impatient. “What were you doing in the graveyard that night?” she prodded. “Why did you want in the vault? Answer those questions.”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “Can’t you leave well enough alone? Isn’t it enough we enjoy each other?”
“No. Not anymore.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Sam.”
A knot seemed to form in her stomach. She shrugged apologetically, almost wishing she had never approached the subject. “But I’ve already started it.”
“Then leave it be. Now.”
She placed her hand on the warm skin of his bare chest and felt his heart racing beneath her flat palm. “You aren’t wanted by the authorities or the tax man are you? I mean, you haven’t committed any crimes?”
He tilted back his head and laughed, the sound bitter. “No, none that I’ve been caught at.”
“Then what is it?” she dared to press. “Tell me.”
“Ah, Sam, leave it be,” he begged softly, and
taking her hand, he lifted her fingers to his lips. He kissed their tips and then brushed his lips along her palm. She could feel the roughness of his whiskers. His hand cupped her buttocks, pulling her toward him. The cotton texture of his breeches scratched the soft skin of her belly. He brought her hand down between them.
He was already hard for her.
His hand over hers, he slipped the first button from its buttonhole. Samantha knew he wanted her to touch him, but she hesitated. “Marvin? Trust me, please.”
Placing his hands on either side of her face, he forced her to look up at him. “Leave it be,” he whispered, and then his lips came down upon hers.
And because he knew her body better than she did herself, because he was in her blood like a narcotic, because
she loved him
—she did as he’d asked.
They made love, but this time there was a difference. She tried to communicate to him through the only means he would allow—her body—the strength of her love.
I will be there for you. I will honor you. I will love you.
Perhaps he didn’t have the same feelings she had, but someday he would. She knew that. Squire Biggers had said Marvin was her destiny. Now she believed those words.
And if the only way she could hold him was through her passion, then so be it.
He was her white knight. The man who had
rescued her from a life of obscurity and uncertainty. He was the man she loved.
In the dark hours of the night, Yale sat against the headboard of the bed, Samantha asleep in his arms. His conscience bothered him too much for sleep.
He was in a devil of a fix. Why hadn’t he told her his real name when she was begging earlier for the truth?
Because he feared what she’d say when she discovered their marriage was a fraud. Marvin Browne’s name was on the special license, not Yale Carderock’s.
And because he didn’t want to see disappointment in those trusting eyes of hers. Right now, he was her hero…and, damn, it felt good.
He had agreed to this hell-born marriage out of righteous anger. The villagers had no reason to treat Samantha with such callous disregard. And he’d meant the part of his wedding vows promising to keep her safe.
Of course, since he hadn’t been able to keep his bloody hands off her—and he refused to regret a moment of it!—his plans of installing her in her own cottage with her own income, before riding out of her life were not going to work.
He bent down and kissed the top of her hair. It smelled of wood fires, fresh air, and their lovemaking. His dear, dear Sam.
Why did she have to say she loved him?
For a second, he toyed with taking her with
him when he returned to Ceylon, but then ruthlessly rejected the idea.
He wasn’t worthy of her love. Nor did he need it, he assured himself. Besides, what did they know of each other? He wasn’t a naïve, love-struck fool who believed passion between the sheets could last a lifetime. He was her first. Of course she would think she loved him. But sooner or later, they would grow bored with each other. It was the way of things. He’d had many mistresses over the years and that was how it had gone.
Once, he had been like Sam and believed love was important, that it mattered. That was before Sally, Lady Garrett. She’d taught him that money and power mattered. Love was a means to achieve an end.
What a fool he’d been! Even now, he could conjure Sally’s face in his mind. Golden blond hair, laughing green eyes…the most beautiful woman in London.
But it hadn’t been love. She’d refused to see him once he’d been disinherited. It had been lust.
“Just as this is lust,” he told the sleeping Sam.
But then, Sam was no Lady Garrett. She was a country girl, a vicar’s daughter whose clear-eyed thinking saw the world in black and white. Shades of gray had not invaded her safe corner of the world—yet.
Nor did he want to be the one to introduce them.
Confessing he’d married her under a false
name would destroy the trust she had in him.
And Yale discovered he couldn’t do that. But his ship was waiting for him. His shipping empire could not wait much longer for his attention. Every day was an opportunity to make money…and he was wasting precious time in the small village of Sproule.
For a second, he could almost hear his father’s stern voice. What would the old man say about this current scrape his least-favorite son had embroiled himself in?
But what if he
didn’t
tell Sam his real name? What if he kept the marriage as it was?
The idea had merit. He shifted her weight, cradling her close to him. He could set Samantha up as originally planned in a small cottage of her choosing. That way she could continue to be Mrs. Browne and he could see her once or twice a year and pretend to be Mr. Browne.
Many couples lived that way and she’d never be the wiser.
Now all he had to do was think of a convincing story…
“You are a sailor?” Samantha said with surprise.
They sat across from each other at one end of a table in the far corner of the Bear and Bull’s common room. Marvin had insisted that they come down and join the others for their breakfast. Mr. and Mrs. Sadler had greeted the newlyweds with jovial good humor.
Samantha was wearing her brown dress. She felt dowdy after wearing the beautiful wedding dress that hung in their room. She was nervous, excited, and a bit giddy all rolled into one. The time had come for her and Marvin to start their married life together.
He’d waited until Emma had set beefsteaks and tankards of ale in front of them before telling her what he did for a living.
“What of the squire?” she asked. “You told him yesterday you would work in his stables.”
“I had to tell him something to avoid trouble. But the sea is in my blood,” Marvin said regretfully, before taking a healthy drink of ale. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You do understand, don’t you?”
Samantha ran a finger along a crack in the table before admitting, “I suppose. I—I have trouble picturing you with a tarred pigtail.”
He laughed. He’d been in great humor since he’d awakened her by making love to her. Her husband was a lusty man. But then, she found herself a good match for him.
“There is many a sailor who does not sport a tarred pigtail,” he told her.
“None that I’ve ever seen. And you dress well. Too well for a sailor.”
“These clothes aren’t mine, remember?”
Samantha smiled at him as if he teased her. “Of course I remember, but I also recall what you were wearing when you first arrived in Sproule. I would never have thought you a
sailor, Marvin.”
Marvin.
She’d even become accustomed to his name. It was a good, strong name. An honest name. She was proud to be Mrs. Marvin Browne, with an “e” on the end.
“Well, I am a sailor,” he said decisively. He leaned across the table, reaching for her hands. His voice dropped a notch. “The problem is, I can’t take you with me, Sam. Not when I’m out sailing, but I’ll come home to you between voyages.”
Samantha pulled back. “Come home to me?”
“Aye. Today you and I are going to start a new life. We’ll leave Sproule forever.”
“Where shall we go?” she asked cautiously.
“Wherever you wish. You can stay in Northumberland, preferably closer to the sea, or even go to London, if you like.”
Samantha studied him a moment. He was smiling…but something didn’t seem quite right. She pulled her hands from his, folding them on the table in front of her so that he couldn’t see them shake. She traced her wedding band with her thumb. “How often would I see you?”
“Anytime my ship is in port. But you won’t have to worry about anything. I’m a wealthy man. You’ll be well taken care of. We can hire a companion for you so that you won’t be lonely.”
Her smile seemed fixed on her face. “I’ve never known a sailor who was wealthy.” She waited for his reaction.
It was very subtle. If she hadn’t been watching
closely, she might have missed the slight hesitation, the hint of annoyance in his eyes.
“Ah, Sam,” he cajoled, in a low, warm voice. “It’s all for the best, you know. If you had me around all the time, you’d grow bored with me sooner or later. This way you will always be happy to see me.”
It wasn’t the words that hurt; it was the carelessness with which he’d said them. “I would be happier to live with you.”
“Yes. But it’s not possible.”