Pirate's Golden Promise (15 page)

“Where are my own gowns?” she cried. “Where are my things?”

No answer was forthcoming. Even when Mary returned a short time later, Wynter was still in the dark.

“I can't say, Vrouw Van Linden. You better ask the captain,” Mary informed her.

“I'll do that,” Wynter declared, but knew she had to wear something other than the frilly lace nightrail which was as unfamiliar to her as the clothes in the trunk. So, she opted to change into the blue gown she'd worn many times at McChesney Manor to ride the fields with Fletch.

For a brief moment she wondered how Fletch and dear Maddie were getting on. She must write them soon.

When she was suitably attired and her hair brushed by an eager-to-please Mary, Wynter left the cabin and was soon on deck. Breathing in the fresh sea air helped the dull headache she'd had since awakening. She realized she must have taken an awful fall to still have such a big knot on the back of her head, but when she saw Cort on the quarterdeck she forgot her headache.

“Cort! Cort!” she called and waved. In seconds she was beside him, her face lit by a warm smile, and she kissed him intimately on the mouth.

Cort appeared positively taken aback by this impulsive action. “Wynter, this isn't the place for kissing. My men—”

Laughing up at him, her eyes sparkled like ocean pearls. She put her arm through his. “I'm your wife, Cort. The men will get used to me in time, and I think you should be used to my kisses by now.”

He turned his head towards the open sea so she wouldn't see the guilt on his face. After a few minutes of silence, she broke it.

“Fletch would have liked this. I wonder how he is.”

This time she saw more than surprise in his eyes, more than guilt. Something like shock.

“What about Fletch?” he asked.

“He signed up to sail on a ship for somewhere. Virginia, I think. But I don't remember if he left or not by now. Fletch wanted to make his fortune, and I know he will. He couldn't wait to sail away from England.”

“Yes, well … I'm certain he made out fine.”

Wynter sighed. “I hope so. Fletch is so terribly young and was forever down with a cold.” She squeezed his hand. “Cort, tell me about our wedding.”

Did she imagine it or did he stiffen beside her? Why did his hand feel so cold in hers suddenly? The wind blew warm upon them.

“We eloped,” he said suddenly when she had decided no answer would be forthcoming.

“And?”

“That's it.”

Wynter giggled. “Cort, there must be more to it than that. You must have wooed me, otherwise how could I have married you? Why, that time I saw you on the hillside by Lady Montgomery's, we were less than friends.”

“Passionate enemies, my love,” he said and shot her a devastatingly handsome smile which set her pulse to racing.

“Still,” Wynter said, considering him, “I don't see how all this came about. I went to the Fleece to ask you for a loan to buy McChesney Manor … and now we're married and I don't seem to have any of my own clothes with me—”

Without warning, he drew her into his arms. His lips pressed against hers and the warmth of his kiss stilled any more questions.

Whistles of approval surrounded them. “I think my men like my choice in women,” he said when their lips parted.

“And I think it's a good thing I'm a married woman. Cort Van Linden,” Wynter whispered in a breathy voice. “Otherwise I won't be held responsible for my actions where you're concerned.”

He groaned her name almost in agony, but tapped her playfully on the derriere. “Now go below, or my men might get jealous of this attention you've bestowed upon me.”

She smiled seductively. “There's more where that came from, my love. Much more.”

Wynter returned to the cabin, unaware that Cort Van Linden, the man she believed to be her husband, hoped she would forgive him when she remembered the past.

Cort moved among his men, issuing orders, seeing that the sails damaged in the storm were repaired. He had swallowed his guilt and refused to feel remorse for not apprising Wynter of the truth. In fact, he didn't know how to tell her. At one point during his supervision, he stopped on deck to dip a cup into a barrel of water. As he drank and had a moment to think, he wondered how he should phrase the words if he told her.

But after futile attempts in his mind to come up with an adequate explanation, he tossed the cup into the barrel. What good would it do to tell her they weren't married, that he never had any intention of marrying her or anyone? The wound of Katrina's betrayal had long ago healed, but his distrust of women ran deeper than a ravine inside his soul. He found them all frivolous and interested only in what presents he could bestow upon them. None of them gave themselves with a pure heart but had ulterior motives. Like Estelle Montgomery. Granted, Estelle was not cold-hearted like Katrina; but in her own way, she'd tried to tame him, to use him for her own gain after her husband died. She'd told him she loved him many times, but she wanted him to marry her, and Cort didn't care about her enough to make an honest woman of her.

Cort remembered Lawrence, Estelle's husband, who was long past 60 when she married him. Lawrence Montgomery had been a man of property, of means, and a great friend to a young man who desperately needed a friend and benefactor. And Lawrence, despite his hereditary English title and wealth, had enlisted Cort to pirate for him. The old man had loved expensive artifacts and jewels, and he was so tight with the purse strings that plundering was his means to have them without spending a tuppence. Even before his death, Cort and Estelle had started their affair, but Lawrence knew of it and didn't mind. Many times Lawrence told Cort he couldn't satisfy his young and beautiful wife, so he thought it good for Estelle to indulge in a love affair with a handsome young man. He had all he wanted … as long as Cort pirated for him. Which Cort did with relish.

So the expenses of the
Sea Bride's
overhaul had been paid by Lawrence Montgomery, who didn't care that the ship had been confiscated from an Englishman named Henry Morgan; and Cort not only had a powerful ship and great wealth to back him, but the wife of Montgomery to warm his bed when he visited Lawrence. Cort knew he should be a happy man, but he wasn't. Even Estelle couldn't hold his interest for long. But Wynter McChesney could, and this surprised him because she still acted like a spoiled child.

Yet from the moment he saw her preening before him and smiling that brilliant welcoming smile at him at her birthday ball, he was determined to have her. Deep down, he wanted her love, craved it as a drowning man who attempts to swim to the surface and life. But he knew that one day she'd regain that portion of her memory about her dead young husband and would hate Cort for deceiving her into the belief that they had eloped.

For the first time in a long time, he felt unsure of himself and the future. Yet when Mary came to him and whispered in his ear that “Vrouw Van Linden awaits you, sir,” and gave him a knowing look, followed by a little giggle, Cort made up his mind. To hell with the future! To hell with any scruples he might still possess! One must live life for the moment, not the morrow.

When he made his way to his cabin, he knew that that night he'd claim his “bride.”

The sound of Cort's footsteps along the passage way alerted Wynter to his coming. Inside the cabin, she took one last look around the room, making certain that the candles flickered on the table, set for two, where a silver tray was laden with succulent beef swimming in a thick brown sauce. Beside the tray were two crystal goblets, filled to the brim with dark red wine, and a loaf of bread, fresh from the oven. She dipped a finger in the bathing tub she'd ordered Dirk to fill, to make sure the temperature was right. Then her anticipatory gaze slid to the bunk with sheets rolled down and pillows fluffed. A dark stain colored her usually rosy cheeks to imagine that soon Cort would hold her in his arms. “Let me please him,” she found herself saying in the empty cabin.

Dashing to a small mirror which Cort used for shaving, she quickly appraised her appearance and found every strand of hair in place. But she knew before looking that her appearance would please him. Mary had taken great pains to roll the thick strands of hair into fashionable fat curls which rested over the ivory flesh of her right shoulder. And though the gown Mary had pulled from the depths of the trunk earlier in the evening was Spanish, Wynter enjoyed the opportunity to wear something other than her drab blue gown. Since Wynter had never worn a farthingale, she found the orange-colored taffeta, embroidered in silver and gold on the bodice and skirt, to be utterly charming. With a gold-trimmed ebony fan in her hand to match the black lace falling off her shoulders, Wynter rivaled any señorita in old Spain or the new world.

Whirling around at the sound of the cabin door as it opened, she flashed him a sparkling smile. Coyly, she drew the fan level with her lower lashes, allowing Cort to see the glittering gray eyes that captivated him so much.

“Ah, señor,” Wynter said and waved the fan a bit. “I've been awaiting you.”

Cort stood in the doorway, and she saw him take a deep breath before saying, “You're incredibly beautiful … Señora Van Linden.”

A laugh like the sound of the finest crystal bubbled past her lips. “And you're the most handsome sea captain I know. Come and eat.” She swished to the table, and Cort was instantly beside her, holding out her chair for her. “And the most polite,” she told him and dimpled prettily.

He sat across from her, and he appeared lost in her loveliness, the warmth emanating from her. She picked up a silver plate and began to serve his food. “Mary can do that,” he said.

“I'd like to serve you, Cort. I am your wife, and it gives me pleasure.”

Gently grabbing hold of her wrist, he stopped her. “You are my wife, Wynter. In my heart, you shall always be.”

Wynter found this comment vaguely disturbing, but as to why his words bothered her, she didn't know. When they both had eaten, they sipped their wine and gazed into the flickering candles on the table.

After moments of quiet between them, Wynter asked a question which had been uppermost in her mind the last day. “Cort, where is our home to be?”

“Santa Margarita.”

“I heard Dirk tell Mary we'd soon be at an island named Saint Martin. I had thought that was our home.”

“No, no. I have cargo to drop there. We'll be in Santa Margarita within the next few days.”

“I see.” Wynter ran her fingernail over the rim of her wine goblet, and gave him such a penetrating look that she noticed Cort shuddered. “I feel you're keeping secrets from me sometimes. Is there anything I should know, Cort? Anything at all?”

He grabbed her hand and planted a warm kiss on her palm. “Know that my heart is yours.”

“Oh, Cort.” She breathed his name like a gentle spring breeze blowing through a meadow and caused him to rise. He extended a hand to her, and then he locked her in the circle of his arms and kissed her face with small kisses. She felt suddenly transported to a soft and fragile cloud, so consumed by his growing ardor which entwined around her heart that she clung to him.

“I don't remember how it was between us,” she said, “but I know I love you.”

“Are you certain of how you feel, Wynter?”

Nodding, she pushed herself against him and curled her arms around his neck. “I want to love you, Cort, to have you love me.”

A groaning sound escaped him and he scooped her into his arms. He carried her near the bunk and set her gently to her feet. The hunger in his tawny gaze was so intense that Wynter shivered, not from fear but anticipation of the act to follow. In the past she had treated Cort badly, hurled nasty remarks at him. But she loved him, and how that love had grown, she didn't know. Yet she had married him, and from this moment on, she vowed to be a good wife to him. Somehow she knew he had suffered in his life, but she'd bring him only happiness … and perhaps a child.

At the thought of a baby, a small smile curved her lips. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, almost jealous that her attention would be turned away from him even for a moment.

“Happy thoughts, my love. Thoughts of you.”

Cort reached out for her again, and with nimble fingers he undid the laces at the back of her gown. Before she realized it, the beautiful taffeta gown lay sprawled at her feet, and they were on the bunk together.

Warm, arousing hands stroked creamy breasts and pink-tinged nipples which strained against the thin covering of her chemise. His lips traced the swanlike silhouette of her neck, then sought the entrancing valley between the soft mounds of her breasts.

“You taste delicious, my love, as I knew you would,” he mumbled when his hand pushed aside the lace bodice of the chemise which hid the full impact of Wynter's beauty from his eyes. Her breasts spilled forth to be instantly captured, each in turn, by his lips and tongue swirling over their contours and the enticing buds.

Wynter moaned, abandoning herself to the passion he ignited within her. She wiggled against the pressure of his hands as they slid down her body, and it was this movement which caused him to pull the chemise from her and drop it in a heap on the floor.

In the candlelit cabin, Wynter's beauty was bathed in a golden light. She was more beautiful than he could ever have anticipated, so delicate and small … almost like a doll, fashioned from the finest ivory. And she was his, a trusting girl who was as eager for him as he was for her. If he had had more scruples than he did, he'd have stopped their lovemaking then and there and informed her they weren't married and never would be. But at that moment, he was so enamored of her, so hungry for her, that not even a hurricane would have prevented him from loving her and making her his own in the most intimate way possible.