“I have some unfinished business in the islands, lass. We
can find another ship for you there, or if you prefer, we can sail back to
Charleston now and set straight the
Neptune’s
captain. The choice is
yours, Alys. I’ll abide by whatever you decide.”
Alarmed, Alyson understood at least part of this choice. She
could not go back to the
Neptune
and Cranville. She refused even to
consider it.
The offer of another ship did not ease her fears. She had
learned more of the world since she had so blithely set out so many months ago.
She knew ships were full of men, and very few men could be trusted. The
prospect of sailing with a ship of strangers was not only daunting, but seemed
foolhardy when the one man she trusted stood before her.
Rory’s hand had taken to wandering up and down her side,
testing the boning of her bodice and the fullness of her petticoats, and
encroaching closer upon the curve of her breast. If he thought to reassure her,
he was failing, Alyson thought as she tried to gather her wits. It would be so
much easier to surrender mindlessly to his caresses, but she had done that with
Alan. This time, she struggled for comprehension.
The only thing that was clear was that if her vision were to
come true, Rory would have her, whatever her choice might be. She knew very little
about what went on between men and women, but it had something to do with
making babies. The circumstances of her own birth told her that a child could
result with or without marriage.
That made her choice considerably clearer. She could return
to the
Neptune
and Cranville—who offered marriage without any respect
for her. She could take another ship and return to London—and hide from Cranville
for the rest of her life. Or she could stay in Rory’s protection. And whichever
route she chose, eventually she would find herself in Rory’s bed. Her vision
had revealed that much. That left no choice at all.
The vagueness of her smile left Rory uneasy, but he still
wasn’t prepared for her reply.
“Do they have clergymen on these islands?”
Had he not known her better, he would have thought her mind
had drifted off on another of its strange tangents, but Rory caught the drift
quickly enough. He stared at her in incredulity, however, not believing even
Alyson could be foolish enough to suggest such a thing. What was it about women
that always brought to mind marriage, when it never entered a man’s head?
“Alyson, dear heart, you cannot know what you are saying.
Marriage is for a lifetime, not for a few weeks across the sea. Think, lass,
what would you do with a husband like me?”
“You would prefer I marry Cranville?” she asked with more
tartness than was customary.
She had him there. He most certainly didn’t want her to
marry that villain, but for the sake of honesty, she would be better off with
the handsome earl than with himself. Rory shook his head in confusion. He had
thought he had lined the problem up very neatly. Leave it to Alyson to discover
the improbable solution.
Rory caught his hand in her wild mane of hair and held her
head tilted where he could read the storm clouds of her eyes. Sweet-natured she
might be, but all the passions of a royal hellion welled up in those eyes at
times.
He wanted the sweetness of her passion, not the tartness,
but he would take both if he could have her.
“Nay, I would not prefer Cranville, but I think you might
after a few weeks of my life. I have no home, lass. This ship is all I have and
all I am. Until recently I could not even walk the shores of England without
risking my head. Even now I am in danger of being blown out of the water every
time I cross the path of the Royal Navy. It’s no life for an earl’s
granddaughter. I will love you and teach you the ways of love, but I would do
you a great disservice if I married you.”
Alyson’s eyes grew troubled. Her hand wandered to his chest.
She ignored his hasty intake of breath as her fingers traveled the ridges of
his chest. He tightened his arms possessively, and she swayed into his embrace.
“Stay with me awhile, Alys,” he pleaded against her ear,
holding her as if she might break in two. “I want you more than anything or
anyone else in my life. Just don’t let me ruin yours.” His anguish was all the
warning he could give.
“Alan and Cranville only offered marriage when they learned I
am an heiress. You might not love me, but you want
me,
not my money. That has to count for something,” she murmured.
“That is a most illogical way of looking at things, dear
heart.” He could feel her heart beating with his and couldn’t set her aside.
She lifted her face to meet his gaze. “I have homes, Rory.
You do not need to provide me one. And I’m certain the Royal Navy is in the
wrong about you, and it will be discovered soon. I do not care what you have
been in the past. I know what you are now, and I want to stay with you.”
Those were the kindest words he had heard in many a year,
and Rory smiled affectionately at her assumption that the entire navy was in
the wrong. But he could not let her daft logic soften his heart, if only for
her own good. He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger and met her
gaze.
“The Royal Navy is not wrong, lass. I
am
a smuggler. I have made my fortune breaking the law and do not
intend to change my ways. The only reason they have kept a wary distance is
that I hold letters of marque from the governor of Barbados, and they cannot be
certain whether I’m smuggling British goods or stealing French. That is the
kind of man you would give your life and wealth to, lass.”
Alyson jerked her head away from his grasp and stared out at
the fathomless sea. How could she tell him that words had no meaning to her,
that she had seen things he would never believe? Perhaps in his own logical way
he was right, and she was better off being mistress of a pirate than wed to
one, but she had never acted on logic and could not start now. Perhaps her one
attempt at being careful was wrong too. She turned back to his taut face with
puzzlement.
“I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, Rory. In
society’s eyes, I am well-suited to be a smuggler’s wife, but I do not want the
same shadow to plague my children. Isn’t it better that they have a smuggler
for a father instead of no father at all?” She handed this question of logic to
a man who had more experience in thinking that way.
And he laughed. A wide grin sprawled across Rory’s square
jaw as he lifted her into his arms and cuddled her closer. When she tried to
shake free, he caressed her hair and murmured, “Nay, lass, I’ll not let you go
now. If that is all that troubles ye, I’ll take care that no bairns come of our
loving. We’ll be free as the wind and there will be none to say us wrong.”
Pressing her heated cheeks against his broad shoulder,
Alyson tried to contain the anticipation rising inside her.
She loved the way his soft burr murmured against her ear.
She loved the way he was holding her with tender strength against his chest.
And she loved the way his kisses felt as they burned butterfly touches across
her face. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew this was wrong, but it was
not her mind that he was holding.
Alyson eagerly turned her lips up to meet his kiss in
unspoken agreement.
Rory whistled contentedly as he left Alyson preparing for
bed. He checked their course and consulted with Dougall. His whistling gave
fair warning that something was brewing. Rory seldom whistled unless he had
just pocketed a hefty amount of change from a shrewd deal.
Putting down his sextant, Dougall studied his friend and
employer with suspicion, but he offered no comment until Rory made his request.
Dougall raised his eyebrows with incredulity.
“No wonder the lass ran away from ye. And here I was
thinking ye an honorable man, Maclean. If ye’ve left her thinking it’s all
legal and aboveboard, I’ll tell her different and help her run away again.”
Rory scowled at his first mate. “And if that’s the kind of
loyalty and obedience I can expect from you, I’ll let you go, but the girl
stays. She has run away once too many times. I mean to put an end to it.”
Dougall made a rude noise. Older than Rory by only a few
years, and by his side for many more years than that, he behaved as the brother
Rory no longer had. While Jack frowned at his captain’s orders and continued to
keep his hold on the tiller, Dougall crossed his arms over his chest and glared
at his friend.
“I’ll not let you do it, Maclean. She’s a good girl and
deserves better. You’ve already ruined her reputation, and probably worse.
Either marry her proper or put her on the next ship back to London.”
Unaware of Alyson’s wealth, Dougall had no understanding of
Rory’s predicament, and Rory had no intention of appearing noble by enlightening
him. Still scowling, he charted their course to the nearest deserted island off
the coast of Georgia.
“She already knows what I intend and has agreed to it. I
only mean to give her a little ceremony to mark the occasion. I’ll thank ye to
keep yer long nose out of what ye canna ken.”
When Rory lapsed into his thick Highland brogue, Dougall
knew it was time to shut up. Closing his big mouth in a thin line, he clambered
down from the quarterdeck and stalked toward the men’s quarters to relay their
orders.
As the raucous cheer rose up from below, Rory eyed the
silent man at the tiller. Jack was neither a kinsman nor even a Scot, but he
had been with him since he first bought the
Witch
, and he valued the
older man’s opinion on things nautical.
“I’m protecting her the only way I can,” Rory growled at
Jack’s frown.
“Your damned bloody revenge means that much to you?” From
Jack, the curse words meant little, but his tone expressed disapproval and not
curiosity.
“It’s not revenge, although I mean to have that too. I can’t
allow a feeble female to stand in the way of what I’ve worked for a lifetime to
accomplish.”
“Seems to me she ain’t half so feeble as you make her out to
be. She got away from you before, and she’ll do it again.”
That certainly hit the crux of the matter, but Rory had no
wish to pursue that line of thinking. Acquiring a woman in his life had never
been one of his goals. Alyson was free to do as she pleased. He only wished she
was as easy to forget as the women he had left behind.
***
Unaware of the dissension she had created, Alyson rummaged
for one of Rory’s last remaining shirts to use as night rail. It seemed very
calculating and coldhearted to be left to ungarb herself on the eve of becoming
a man’s mistress, but Rory’s was a practical nature. He had better things to do
than untie and unhook dozens of little fastenings, and it would probably be
most embarrassing with both of them fumbling about in her petticoats.
She had thought it would be more romantic, that “it” would
happen without her having to think about it, sort of like kissing. But this
wasn’t a romance.
Her fingers trembled as she unlaced the bodice and pulled it
off. The warm night air caressed her bare shoulders, but it raised goose bumps
just the same. Untying and unfastening her full skirts and petticoats, she
stepped out of them slowly, reluctant to expose herself to the seductive
elements of a southern night and the knowledge of what she meant to do.
When she had rid herself of all but the frail finery of
chemise and stockings, Alyson glanced down at herself. She could not imagine
Rory buying these intimate things for her. Had he gone into the dressmaker’s
and chosen them particularly, or just stood at the counter and told the modiste
to wrap up whatever was available? He had to have given the woman some idea of
her size. Amusement played at her lips as she tried to imagine that scene.
She ought to be fearfully embarrassed, but mostly she was
curious. She had no mirror to see herself in, but she knew she was not tall or
slender or graceful like the women she had admired in London. On the other
hand, she needed no padding as so many women did to fill out their fashionable
gowns. She had no idea what men preferred, but she would have to assume Rory
liked her the way she was. That brought a flush to her cheeks.
She was going to do what her mother had done, but without
even the pretense of a marriage to make it right. True, Rory had murmured words
of love, but so had Alan. Men meant nothing by those words; they couldn’t.
Perhaps even her father had lied to her mother on that night she had conceived.
Else he would have waited until they were well and truly married.
A brief moment of sadness darkened the moment, but Alyson
shook off the elusive premonition. She could take care of herself much better
than her mother had. She was wealthy enough to do whatever she liked, and Rory
was quite right in denying marriage. If there were ways of loving without
producing a child, then she wanted to learn them.
It would be very nice to have a child someday, but only
after she had found a husband who truly loved her. She trusted Rory to protect
her reputation once they returned to London. He might call himself by criminal
names, but she knew his gallantry from experience.
When she finally decided that Rory would prefer her in the
chemise instead of his long shirt, Alyson returned the neatly folded linen to
the trunk and crawled between the covers of Rory’s bunk. She shivered as the
cool muslin rubbed against her bare skin. Soon Rory would be here beside her
again, and it would be his hands she felt against her skin, and not cold
muslin. She had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from trembling all
over.
She fell asleep before she could learn that Rory never
returned to the cabin.
When she woke, the ship was strangely still except for the
shouts and footsteps above her. Rubbing her eyes, she ascertained it was
daylight. Then, remembering the night before, she turned and hastily searched
the bed, as if Rory would be disguised by the blankets.