Captain Of Her Heart (11 page)

“But—is this allowed?”  As he pushed deeper still, unfamiliar but pleasurable tension coiled in the pit of her belly, as he stretched and filled her, and she moaned.  “Never have I heard of or seen—
oh
—anything of the sort.”

“I would have been surprised if you had, because I learned this particular orientation on a trip to India, and I have longed to share it with you.”  When Jason seated himself inside her, he groaned, and she marveled at the power she unwittingly wielded over him.  “Relax, and open your mind, Alex.  There is nothing wrong with what we do, as we are consenting parties, but if you wish me to stop, you need only say so, and I shall obey.”

Emboldened by his expression of pure ecstasy, she found pleasure in the pleasure she gave him.  “You may continue, Captain of my heart.”

With a primal grunt, he slumped and nipped the back of her neck, as he played havoc in the aperture at her core, with his fingers.  At first, he thrust slowly, but when he sank his teeth into her shoulder, he quickened his pace.  The lascivious bump and grind, unlike anything she had ever known, scorched Alex to the marrow, and coupled with his naughty fondling, she soon teetered on the precipice of sweet completion.  Just as she reached for that oh-so-sumptuous pinnacle of their erotic waltz, Jason withdrew from her bottom, rolled her onto her back, and rejoined with her in a single fluid flex of his spine.

“I want your honey harbor, love.”  Hooking an arm behind her knee, he lifted high one leg and recommenced the decadent dance.  “There is no one like you, Alex.  You fascinate me as has no other woman.”

How she wished she could form a response, but his declaration, although lacking the much-hoped-for proposal and the four-letter word she ached to hear, rendered her speechless, all the same.  So she surrendered to the tantalizing tide, which ebbed and flowed, as Jason navigated her to the very edge of hedonistic oblivion, where she clawed at the blissful crest, before he tempered his movements in maddening undulations.

Wavering on the brink of insanity, she dug her nails into his forearms.  At last, he gave her his weight, claimed her mouth, and drove her relentlessly, pumping hard and fast, to the decadent finish, where she slipped the bonds of reality and yielded to fiery passion with a vast deal more than healthy scream.

When next Alex resurfaced, she discovered her knight gone, sat upright, and frowned.  “Jason?”

“Coming, darling.”  With a steaming bucket in each hand, and wearing only his silk robe, he entered the chamber.  “I thought, perhaps, you would fancy a bath.”

“How very kind of you.”  The tub hugged the side wall, and he dumped the hot water, as she stood.  “Will you scrub my back?”

“My lady, after that remarkable performance, I will wash whatever you wish.”  He waggled his brows and sketched a bow.  “Now, your humble servant awaits to fulfill your bidding.”

“Jason, are you not the charmer?”  She giggled and sank into the bath.  Soon she would assume her new social status as Mrs. Collingwood, and they would enjoy countless such revered occasions.  “Oh, I am quite sore in a rather unusual spot.”

“Sorry, love.”  With a wink and a boyish grin, he retrieved the soap, worked a rich lather, and tended her as though she were a most invaluable treasure.  “But you make it impossible to restrain myself, when you are so accommodating.”

And then some unknown interloper pounded on the front door and interrupted their interlude.

“Who in bloody hell could that be at this hour?”  Swearing a string of invective that left the sear of a blush in her cheeks, he dried his hands.  “Remain where you are, as I shall return, posthaste.”

The lull of muffled voices almost rocked her to sleep, and when Alex dipped her chin beneath the surface of the water, she jerked alert.  The fire in the hearth dwindled, and the room had grown cool, so she swiped the towel from the washstand, dried herself, slipped into her robe, and threw two logs on the blaze.

Myriad approaches swirled in her brain, as she considered how best to introduce the topic of marriage.  Given their less than appropriate activities, of late, she had to steer her sailor for the altar.  But she doubted his steadfastness not for a minute.

“Well this is deuced lousy timing.”  With a heavy sigh, Jason reappeared, holding a curious missive.  “I just received orders from the Lord High Admiral.”

“When do you depart?”  A twinge of concern shivered over her flesh.  “And how long will you be gone?”

“Given the completed refitting of the
Intrepid
, I am to rendezvous with the Brethren at the North Forelands in three days.”  Jason speared his fingers through his hair and scowled.  “And I am to patrol the North Atlantic for up to six months.”

“Six months?”  Since she was a little girl, Alex had always dreamed of a church wedding, with London society in attendance.  But her future husband’s occupation necessitated altered plans.  “Then we should speak to the local parson, as soon as possible.  And I should send a missive to Damian, that he might procure a special license.  In the interest of expedience, I shall use a local vendor for my dress, and I would dearly love to have Molly stand with me, if you do not object.”

“I cannot marry you, sweetheart.”

“Of course, you can, as it is just a matter of securing the requisite papers.”  In haste, she ticked off items from a mental list, as was her habit.  “We might hold a small reception at the inn in Plymouth.  Oh, we will be the talk of the Season and the most marvelous couple in London.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”  The poor man looked to be on the verge of an apoplectic fit.  “If proper etiquette concerns you, I promise, I do not expect you to kneel.  But I can see us, now.  We shall attend all the balls and dance every dance.  And we will make the most beautiful babes and spend summers in the country.”

“Will you not listen?”  Jason huffed a breath.  “We are at war, Alex.  And I am to cast off on an extended tour of duty, knowing not when or if I shall ever see you again.  This is no time to wed, when the future is uncertain.”

“But you claimed my virtue.”  She swallowed hard.  “No nobleman would treat me, the daughter of a duke, thus.”

“Need I remind you that I am no nobleman?”  He arched a brow.

“Then are you bereft of honor?”  How could she impress upon him the urgency of their predicament?  “As without you, I am ruined.”

“As you gave yourself to me, of your own free will, with no spoken vows.”  He shifted his weight. “I could ask the same of you.”

“How dare you.”  She bared her teeth.

“Why did you come here?”  He folded his arms.  “Was it to trap me into marriage?”

“
Trap
?”  Knife to the chest with lethal accuracy.  “You are the worst sort of blackguard, sir.  My brother could secure any number of men who would kill to have me.  I favored you with my bride’s prize because—”

“Because—what?”  He lashed out with an arm.

“Because I love you.”  And then she anticipated his reply.  White as a sheet, Jason retreated and then collapsed on the mattress.  Alex had expected him to drop to his knee, not the bed.  Excruciating minutes ticked past, and her dream died a slow, agonizing death, counted by the steady beat of her heart, as it broke.  “Oh, I see.  You do not share my devotion.”

“Hell and the Reaper.”  He cradled his head in his hands.  “I know not what to say.”

“I believe if the obvious does not strike you, then it may be best to hold your tongue.”  Devastated by his rejection, she would die before she ever apprised him of her distress.

“I wish you had never journeyed here.”  Another brutal cut.

“In that we agree, yet I cannot regret my actions, as it is better to know the truth, and I owe you an apology.”  A spontaneous plan shot to the fore, and she marched into the closet, opened her trunk, and collected her travelling gown.  “Had I known you did not return my affection, I never would have trespassed on your hospitality.  And now I have only to be ashamed of my actions.”

The horse in the stable provided fortuitous transportation, and she could take a room at the inn, until her coach arrived.  After securing her garters and stockings, she stepped into her kid half boots.  As Molly had taught Alex, she pulled her chemise over her head, followed by her heavy twill dress, and tied the laces, herself, which proved a tad tricky.

“Alex, please do not be angry, as I do this for your own good.  I refuse to make you a young widow, as you deserve better.  My mother was destroyed when my father died in battle, and she passed shortly thereafter.  I will not do that to you, as you have your whole life ahead of you.  If the worst happens, you will survive, without me.”

“Such endearing sentiment.”  As she tugged on her gloves, she strolled into the chamber.  “As I come from a family of mariners, with a proud tradition of service to His Majesty, I would have you know I am made of sterner stuff.  You truly know me not, and you are a stranger to me.”

“What are you doing?”  His gaze swept her from head to foot.  “Why are you dressed?”

“Do you expect me to remain here, with you, given what has transpired between us?”  She scoffed.  “I hope that someday we renew our acquaintance as friends, but I shall require time before that comes to pass.  I am sure you understand my position.”

“Alex—”

“Do not address me so informally, sir.”  Fueled by high dudgeon, she lifted her chin and stiffened her spine.  “I am Lady Alexandra Seymour, and you are nothing more than a lowborn sailor.”

“Perhaps.”  He narrowed his stare.  “But I was man enough to satisfy you, this evening.”

“You are vile—”

“Please, sweetheart.  I do not wish to fight with you.”  He extended an arm and flicked his fingers.  “Come let us talk things through.  Perhaps we can broker an agreement?”

“I beg your pardon?  I gift you my heart, and you would make me your whore?”  How could she have been so wrong about him?  “You must think me despicable, that I would settle for such terms.  Had I known you cared so little for me, I never would have offered you more than that first waltz.”

“Be that as it may, you cannot intend to leave, now.”  Jason lurked large in the doorway.  “I will sleep on the sofa, and you can send for your coach, at first light.”

“Do not worry about me, Captain Collingwood, as I can take care of myself.”  With a quick sidestep, she stormed into the great room and fetched her coat.  “And I shall send for my things, so you need not concern yourself with them.”

“Where will you go?”  Garbed only in his robe, he drew up short.  “You lied to your friends.”

At the front door, Alex freed the bolt and then peered over her shoulder.  “But I am for London, and
you
may go to the devil.”

CHAPTER SIX

It had been six months since Jason had seen Lady Alexandra Seymour.  Six months since he had held her in his arms.  Six months since he had made love to her.  Six months since that fateful evening in Plymouth, when she had stormed from his rented cottage.  Six months to change his mind where the delectable, brown-haired hellion was concerned.

As he manned the helm on the quarterdeck, a chill of dread coursed his spine.  The warm July wind rustled through his hair, as the
Intrepid
sailed into the docks at Deptford, and the familiar scent of musky river water and brine weighed heavy in the air.  The crew sang dirty little shanties and scrambled into the ratlines and across the decks, in a flurry of activity expected of a ship returning to port.

How many tormented nights he had spent at sea, reliving that horrid ending with his lady, and she was his lady—though she knew it not.  He had all but torn apart Plymouth in search of his errant debutante, prior to his departure, but Alex had vanished without a trace.  Then again, preparation for his journey had consumed much of his time and forestalled his efforts to locate his future wife.

The innkeeper had explained that no woman of quality had patronized his humble establishment, and neither had anyone fitting Lady Seymour’s description taken the stage to London, thus he had cast off without discerning her whereabouts, which had left him imagining all manner of tragic possibilities.

“Drop anchor.”  Jason checked their position at berth and gathered his charts.  “Mr. Hemmings, have my trunks delivered to the docks.”

“Aye, sir.”  The second in command dipped his chin.

As Jason descended the gangplank, he braced for the impending confrontation with Alex.  However he dressed it, he had treated her abominably in January, and if he had to crawl on his knees to secure her forgiveness, he had prepared for such prospects.  Now if only he could persuade her to marry him.

How odd it was that their positions had reversed.  Then again, the sheer brutality of war had a peculiar way of defining life in the simplest terms.  In short, he had realized, however late, that his Alex was an uncommonly strong and fiercely independent woman—so unlike his mother, God rest her.  In the event of his untimely demise, his society miss would survive, manage the household, and rear their children, come what may.  With Alex as his bride, he could sail into battle with an easy conscience.  Indeed, she fit every single rational item on his rather long list of matrimonial requirements, including some irrational ones he refused to examine.

“Step lively, brother.”  Dirk Randolph, a fellow knight of the Brethren, elbowed Jason and then charged the field.  “My Becca awaits.”

“My love.”  Rebecca took a flying leap into Dirk’s outstretched arms and bestowed upon her husband an amazingly thorough kiss.

“Out of the way, Collingwood.”  Trevor Marshall, the other recent entrant into the famed order descended of the Templars, almost trampled Jason.  “I see my sweet Caroline.”

As Trevor and his countess enacted a similar scene, with a heated clinch that invoked the burn of a blush in Jason’s cheeks, he chuckled.

“
Ahoy
, Collingwood.”  Lance Prescott, with his new bride Cara at his side, waved a greeting.  “That was a devil of a maneuver on the Channel.  Thought that French corvette had caught you unaware.”