Diana stepped back, breaking his hold. “No.” She pulled the placket of her gown together, swallowing hard. Her heart thumped and throbbed, the fires he’d lighted in her still burning bright.
James’s green eyes were expressionless. Whenever Diana had denied Edward — and after he’d behaved so badly about Isabeau, she’d always tried to — he’d gone tight with rage. Sometimes he’d insisted, and not with words.
James looked . . . neutral. As though he could take her or leave her alone.
“What’s the matter?” He kept his voice low.
“Nothing is the matter.”
He kept his glittering gaze on her. “I know when a woman is on fire for a man. I’m offering, but you push away. Now, what is it?”
She tried to play the innocent. “Is not morality reason enough?”
“Not for you.”
Diana’s mouth dropped open, startled out of her pose. “What?”
“You shoved a pistol in my face this afternoon and told me to bare my backside. That’s a fine example of morals.”
“That was a game.”
Anger flared briefly in his eyes, then the coolness returned, a man who mastered himself easily. “You can get yourself into a lot of trouble playing games like that.”
“I know. I already have.”
James came to her and cupped her shoulders, his touch gentle. “You weren’t playing games, love, and you want what we’re leading up to now. But you’re backing away. I want to know why.”
His touch was so warm. She wanted it forever.
“I can’t explain.”
“You can.” James released her. “You just don’t want to.”
He walked away from her. Diana held her breath, her heart banging in disappointment that he was leaving.
James stopped at the door, and she heard the click of the key in the lock.
He came back to her as she tried to catch her breath, key in hand. “You’re trying to anger me,” he said, “and yourself. For whatever reason, I don’t know. But we’ve both been dying for each other. We might as well get on with it before we burn up inside.”
Diana barely heard him. She stared at the key in a wash of fear. Not for what he would do with her on the bed, because that would be glorious.
Her fear was for what would come after. For what must come after. She thought of Isabeau tucked in bed, unable to hear the thunder that had shaken the house.
His gaze turned puzzled. “Diana, what is it?”
She shook her head, trying to decide how to explain, but James wasn’t a patient man.
He tossed the key to the bedside table. “I know you don’t give a damn about morals — not your English society’s version of morals anyway. You’re afraid of something. Me?”
The absurdity of that made her laugh. “Goodness, no. I have never been afraid of you.”
“Other women have told me that.” James’s voice became grating. “A few I threw overboard. Mostly they learned respect.”
James came to her. He was a truly large man — tall and very strong. His eyes held no remorse and no warmth.
He lifted Diana before she could so much as scream, carried her across the room, and dumped her facedown on the bed.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“I’m going to spank you.”
Outrage brought back strength. Diana sat up hurriedly. “No, indeed, you are not.”
“Why not? It might be fun. But I’ve thought of something better.”
She caught up her pillow, readying it as a weapon. “I already told you no.”
James’s gaze lingered on the nightgown he’d loosened. “Not that. You don’t want me, so I’ll swallow my pride and let you remain virtuous.”
He would not insist. Sudden, acute disappointment filled her. Then anger, because Diana should have felt relieved. Why the devil did she never feel what she was supposed to?
James sat on the bed beside her, his warm thigh touching hers. “I’m going to show you pleasure, Diana. Pleasure alone. Do you want that?”
She tried to shake her head no. It came out as a rigid nod. Yes.
James moved to sit with his back against the headboard, stretching out his long legs. He untied his dressing gown and let it fall open.
He wore nothing beneath. He lay there for her, well-muscled and solid, his chest shadowed with dark hair. Black hair also dusted the base of the cock that rested, hard with wanting, against his lower abdomen. His eyes were liquid green in the shadows.
James held out his hand. “Come here.”
When Diana sat still, looking her fill, he took her stunned assessment for hesitation.
“I promise you,” he said softly. “We won’t do anything you don’t want.”
Diana gave up. She took his hand and let him tug her to his inviting lap, not minding a bit when he wrapped his warm arms around her from behind.
It felt right to be here, leaning back against him, her legs tangled in his. Holding James’s strong hands felt like holding a lifeline.
“I’m just a man, Diana,” he breathed into her hair. “I can’t help wanting you.”
“You’re a legend,” Diana corrected. “Like my husband.”
“I’m flesh and bone. Like you.”
James’s warm breath touched her neck as he laced her fingers through the backs of his, her hand on top of his. “Now, Diana,” he said softly. “You show me how you want me to touch you.”
Chapter Twelve
Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Silly Diana, to think that James could destroy her only by coupling with her.
No, he would take her down one finger’s breadth at a time until Diana belonged to him entirely. He was determined to melt her into one, smoldering heap.
Before she could think about what she did, Diana slid his hand under her breast, outside the nightrail, and held it there. She closed her eyes, letting go, and leaned back into his embrace.
*** *** ***
James buried his nose in the soft crinkles of her hair, loving the scent of it. She’d washed it today — he’d seen Mrs. Pringle carry water upstairs to Diana’s room. James had lingered in the doorway of his bedchamber, imagining Diana lying with her bodice pushed down and her head back over a basin, while Mrs. Pringle poured ewers of water over her hair. Lavender-scented water.
The feel of Diana’s body through the cotton nightdress was unbearably good. The round of her breasts, the points that rose under his touch, the soft of her belly, the outline of her thigh — silken heat. James’s lips touched the embroidered collar that rested modestly at the nape of her neck.
He did not know what Diana was afraid of. Not him. Not even desire. She feared something else that she kept tucked away from everyone, even her beloved father and daughter.
No, Diana liked desire. She knew what she wanted. Under the loosened nightdress, she guided his hand to her breasts, her belly, Diana’s fingers and James’s twined like ropes.
Diana drew one knee up to her chest. James smoothed the firm muscles of her calf to the warm fold behind her knee. He lingered there, their thumbs dipping together to stroke the soft skin.
To her thigh now, muscled from climbing and sailing her father’s boat. From there to Diana’s hip, so firmly placed against him. Up to her belly again, inside the nightdress, warmth and comfort there.
The fabric dragged up with their movements, exposing Diana’s long legs, which by day filled out her man’s breeches with fine suggestion.
Diana turned her head, and James met her lips with his. Their mouths played for a time, while their hands together stroked her bare skin.
She tugged downward, pressing the heel of James’s hand to the place between her bent leg and her lowered one. James met slippery heat. Your thoughts must be traveling along some fine lines, darlin’.
Sparks, James had told her. Raining on a man until he crumbled to ash. The great Captain Ardmore was about to burn up.
He dipped his fingers into her waiting fire. Diana sti
rred, laid her head back against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. James stroked her sweet opening, her fingers going with his.
“James,” she murmured.
She was hungry. Diana’s father and daughter loved her, but they could not fulfill every part of her. Diana was starving, just like James was.
“It’s my pleasure, pleasuring you,” he said. “A gentleman always obliges.”
Diana wasn’t listening. She’d focused, eyes closed, on inner fire.
“Always obliges,” James whispered again and kissed the fiery line of her hair. “Do you know how beautiful you are? When I woke up in this house I was delighted to see you again. I decided I wanted to stay here a good long time.”
He dipped his first two fingers inside her. Diana moaned with the sensation. She was tight, and yet so giving. Her chest lifted with her breath, and her just-washed hair bathed him with the scent of lavender.
“You smell good, darlin’,” he said.
Diana’s eyes grew heavy, her face, flushed. Their joined hands moved on the wiry hair that was even redder than that on her head. James’s palm brushed the berry that had swollen with need, her moisture wetting his hand. She showed him where she wanted him to touch. Their fingers skimmed, teased, together, and James’s desire grew tighter.
He longed to take her in wild frenzy, but he was also enjoying this quiet pleasuring. Diana’s cheek was sweet against his, her moist breath brushing his mouth. Her hair drifted across his skin, the tendrils soft, cool, and filled with her scent. His cock fit nicely between her buttocks, tip touching the soft niche where it so longed to go.
This was pleasure, pure and simple. James had not felt this in a long, long time.
The fire crackled, embers smoldering like the heat in James’s veins. Diana looked up and back at him, her eyes shining and languid.
“You see, love?” James said softly. “I am flesh and bone. Just like you.”
“Mmm.” Her eyes half closed again.
James brushed a kiss to her cheekbone. “I want to tell you some things while I have your attention. I wasn’t lying when I said we could be good together. I still want that, no matter what happens, understand? I want your tall, lovely body you don’t bother hiding from me. I want to taste you and make love to you and hear you laugh. I want to see your eyes get all sparkling when you’re mad at me.”
Diana’s breath came more quickly, her desires spinning faster.
“I’m going to break you of your habit of being a tease, sweetheart. I’m not leaving this island until I do.”
Diana made another noise of pleasure. James knew she couldn’t hear him, not really.
“You give, and pull away,” he whispered. “Give, and pull away. Before I go, I want you to take me by the hand and show me some long, slow loving. No teasing, no flirting. Just some good loving, man and woman, because you want it.”
Diana’s eyes flew open, and her inner fire took over. She came sweetly, making soft feminine noises, her hand gripping his. Her sheath’s muscles squeezed, clamping his fingers, but James would not withdraw for the world.
Diana’s buttocks rubbed on him most dangerously as she moved, but James would honor her request. Or rather, her stark fear. Before he left this island, he’d figure out what she was so afraid of and banish that fear.
Because if he didn’t, he truly would ignite. All that would be left of James would be a pile of ash. And Diana Worthing would laugh.
She wasn’t laughing now. Diana’s face twisted in pleasure, and she said James’s name with low, happy desire.
“That’s my girl,” James murmured, and they shared a kiss that made the thunderstorm that rocked the island seem like a weak summer shower.
*** *** ***
Later alone in his chamber, James watched lightning flickering on the edge of the horizon. The wind had blown the storm away, and the disk of a moon filled the sky with silver light.
James donned breeches and boots and pulled on his long coat. The feel of Diana and her scent had not left him, lingering on his skin like the headiest perfume.
The moonlight pleased him. James would have plenty of light in which to sail around the island to the huge cave where Admiral Lockwood had stashed his smuggled goods.
No one stirred in the house. James had left Diana asleep. He’d kissed her forehead and tucked the sheets around her, departing the room as quietly as he could.
James silently made his way down the stairs, avoiding the creaking stair fourth from the bottom. He told himself he had tasks to accomplish. James could not simply walk away from them because he’d found a woman he wanted to dally with.
The house remained utterly silent as James left it, not a light in any window. The gate clicked when he opened it, and squeaked the tiniest bit when he closed it.
James followed the path, clear in the moonlight, down to the beach and around to the cove where the one-masted gig was moored. The little boat bobbed next to a short dock, ropes tying it firmly to the posts.
James stepped aboard and cast off.
Here was the test of his recovery. James lifted the oars, slid them into the water, and began to row.
Chapter Thirteen
James’s wound pulled. It hurt, but nothing dire happened. His muscles had knit enough that he could at least row a boat.
Once out of sight of the house, he stashed the oars and raised the sail. Plenty of fresh wind should make his journey fairly simple, as long as he avoided rocks.
He tied the ropes firmly, then steered with one hand on the rudder and moved the sail with the other hand. Not the easiest way to go, but better than nothing.
James searched for the cave opening for an hour and a half. The crack in the rock eluded him, and he sailed the boat around the cliff face in impatience. He would lose the moonlight soon, and he wanted to be back in his bed well before the sun came up.
The island hid its secrets well. Just as James was about to give up and return another night, he spied a gull, white against the moonlit sky, fly past what looked like solid rock and then disappear.
James turned the gig sharply and made for the side of the cliff, never taking his eyes from the spot where the gull had vanished.
His diligence rewarded him. As James drew closer, he saw that one tall rock protruded slightly in front of another, making it look like a continuous surface from a distance. Between these lay the sliver of an opening.
James dropped the sail and found the oars. He piloted the boat carefully, avoiding the swirls of foam that spoke of rocks beneath the water. A wave lifted him gently and deposited him inside the cave, scraping the boat against the tiny beach on which he and Diana had stood earlier that day.
He spent a moment remembering the heady rush of what he and Diana had done in this cave. The wickedness of her, the playful yet serious way she told him to open his breeches made his too-needy cock want to stiffen again.
But he was here for more than play. James lashed the oars to the bottom of the boat and struck flint and steel to light the candle in his lantern.
A breeze poured down from the top of the cave as James looked up at the natural shelves of rock and the many crates resting on them. The innocuous brandy had rested in barrels on the lower levels, easy to find. More interesting things were probably awaiting him higher up.
James lifted the lantern to the highest ledge he could reach and climbed up to it. He rested a moment, waiting for his wound to calm down, before he climbed to the next one.
He continued to climb, ever higher, lifting the lantern to each ledge above him to light his way.
James paused on a ledge halfway to the top and stood up to take a breath. Below him, the gig rocked, straining its tether, waves sloshing into the cave on cold wind and spray.
He pulled out the pry bar he’d brought from the boat, fitted it under the lid of one of the crates, and pulled.
Nails gave way, screeching. James yanked the wood free, grunting as the strain pulled at his healing wound. He lifted the lantern and loo
ked inside.
Muskets, at least twenty of them, filled the crate, lay neatly side by side. James let out his breath, but he was not very surprised.
He opened another crate. More muskets. Methodically, James went through every box on that level. All were muskets.
On the next ledge, he found bullets, boxes and boxes of them. On the next were crates full of the little pouches of gunpowder an infantryman would rip open to pour down the barrel of his gun before loading the bullet.
James moved to another level. More crates, more weapons, but these were of French manufacture. The next stash of muskets proved to be Prussian.
Lockwood was a fool. James had hoped, since meeting the man, that he’d been wrong.
Last year, when James had pinpointed Haven as the place he needed to find, he’d assumed that this Admiral Lockwood who owned it would be corrupt through and through, as hard as the man James hunted. Even after abducting the admiral’s daughter and being tempted to run away with her, James had assumed Diana’s father would be a typical villain from the British navy. This end game should have been easy.
Now, everything was complicated. James liked Lockwood. The man had every quality he admired — courage, integrity, respectfulness. And then there was Diana.
James kicked a crate. He should have taken one look at Diana and run the other way. Or abducted her permanently and locked her up somewhere while James got on with his vendetta. Diana was making this mission the hardest thing he’d ever done.
No, what James should have done was taken her in that tavern near Southampton and been finished with her. On the table, next to the remains of the soup. Should have parted her legs and plunged right in . . .
Diana burned with passion — a man could be blind and know that. She sizzled every time he touched her. And yet, James had not mistaken the flare of unreasonable fear he’d seen when he’d silently proposed they finished what they’d started.
He growled. James shoved one of the admiral’s secret crates to the edge of the rock shelf and toppled it over the side with one shove of his booted foot. The box crashed to the bottom of the cave with a satisfactory shatter, breaking open in the shallow water.
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