Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  They didn't know anything! Anything! He was not good enough to mention Tomas's name, yet alone accuse him of neglecting her circumstances, blaming him for her uncle's wickedness like that! Tomas would have done anything to help her, anything in the world, but there was no fighting the man her uncle had been. Tomas cried over her marks ... he had cried, it hurt him so badly to see it! Tbmas was only goodness and kindness and gentleness, attributes Garrett couldn't even recognize, yet alone ever hope to aspire to!

  He had no right! Who did he think he was? He was the one who was hurting her. And hurting people was his business. He was a world famous sea criminal, a man deserving of hanging! Yet he had the unprecedented gall to pass judgment on Tomas! Tomas, who never hurt another living soul, who —

  "I only pray you are right, Garrett," Leif said to the other, heading for the door.

  "We shall see what news the admiral brings. Yet I have the feeling events will start unfolding fast." "Too fast, if my years of experience with you are a measure."

  Garrett chuckled at that as Leif shut the door. He remained at the table, making a study of the maps for some time until he looked up to see Juliet sitting on the bed, staring at him, fury shining in her eyes. "Easy, love," he warned, forcing himself to look away. "I'm in no mood to see your temper now. I'm still trying to recover from mine last night."

  She almost lost control. Her hands trembled with an effort to control a base fury,.one she would not condescend to give voice to, no matter what he did to provoke her. She had to have a distraction. Not knowing what else to do, she rose, disappearing into the darkened space of the dressing room to emerge with a brush in hand. She sat down on the bed, removed the heavy robe and began unwinding her braids. Once done, she put a brush to them with the vigorous strokes a maid put to beating a rug. Seeing her thus occupied, Garrett's gaze returned again to his papers. Yet an amused light in his eyes told her he was fully aware of her struggle. That did it! She raised the brush and with fair aim she flung it hard at his face.

  Garrett looked up while simultaneously reaching out to catch the brush in midair. He set it lightly on the table. The most maddening thing she ever witnessed was the speed of his reflexes. With a pained gasp, she threw herself against the pillows. "I can't bear it! I can't! You have no right to do this to me! You especially have no right to pass a single judgment on Tomas, yet alone make these horrid insinuations about his neglect of me when all I ever knew from him was a gentle hand, concern, decency! Decency you don't even know, yet alone have! He has more moral fortitude in the small of his finger than you'll ever have in the whole of your life." Tears misted in her eyes, momentarily blinding her as Garrett came over to the bed. "You're not fit to say his name! Do you hear me? When I think that it's you who has hurt me, you who have terrorized and threatened me, you took my virginity by force when I belong to him by marriage—"

  She stopped as he leaned over her, his long arms braced on either side of her shoulders, staring down at the maddening sight of her like that, taking in everything: the blue satin rope beneath the flaming dark silk of her hair, her thin arms raised over her head, the white silk of the night dress doing blessedly nothing to hide the slender curves beneath, the bright fury mixed with tears in her eyes as she returned his gaze, far too furious to be afraid.

  "Aye, love, I am laughing at you. For the part of your child's tantrum that is truly amusing is this idea that the reason I got here first has anything to do with a difference in moral character. Because, love," his eyes were wild with the humor he saw in this, "the only reason I got your innocence before he did has to do with a piece of a man's flesh and the ability to use it."

  The second she understood the meaning of the insult she raised her arm and landed a hard slap to his face. "I hate you!" Pain shot up her arm from the impact but she never felt it. Instead, every nerve in her body ignited with the long wait for his response. When it came, it came with a low chuckle as he rubbed the side of his face. "Love," he said as his hands came over her raised arms, keeping them pinned to the bed as he brought his full weight over her, "you are a fool if you think this has anything to do with hate."

  Like a blinding, white-hot crack of lightning, naked rage burst through her as he lowered his mouth to hers. His kiss had nothing to do with gentleness and everything to do with the unleashed force of his desire. Raging emotions rose in her to fight him, the devastating force of it, him, this kiss. She tried desperately to twist her mouth free. He'd have no resistance now, and with mockery and amusement both he held her still, encompassing the hot surge of her fury by deepening the kiss until her warring emotions ignited into a surge of passion, a soaring sensation that sent the world into a spinning carousel of dizzying sensations. . . .

  And he wanted more. The kiss changed as he molded her mouth to his, teasing her with the skillful play of his tongue, moving in tantalizing slowness over every height and hollow. The kiss fueled the thick, hot pleasure spilling into her. Her denial sounded weak and meaningless against the hammering of her heart and the blood pounding in her ears.

  The kiss broke, offering a brief respite as he caught her lower lip gently in his mouth, kneading its soft resiliency as she drew shaky gasps of breath. He was saying her name, whispering, stopping only to caress her lips as his hand brushed over her side, lingering with maddening familiarity over her most sensitive spots. She braced, confused and waiting for a single coherent defense to rally through the chaos reigning in her body. His hand stopped just beneath her breast, allowing anticipation and heat to build until the tension made her twist and utter a soft joyless cry. This won a warm chuckle from him as he slipped his hand under the thin silk and over her breast, where he gently caressed the flattened mound.

  "Garrett . . . don't do this. . . . Stop."

  "Stop?" he questioned, then released his breath in another low chuckle. Despite her will, the very plea, his warm breath against her ear brought a rush of shivers, more as his mouth rocked with beguiling eroticism over hers. "Not on your life, love." His voice sounded low, rich, made thick with his own passion. "I wouldn't, even supposing I could."

  "No ... oh no, Garrett . . ."

  "Yes . . . and yes," he said as he heightened the hot spinning sensations in her breasts by taking her mouth again. She melted helplessly beneath the driving agony of the kiss, a kiss that did not stop as his free hand drifted over her side and down her flank, gathering up the cloth of her dressing gown to bring it back over her form. The kiss broke as he brought the gown over her head.

  She shut her eyes, feeling the heat of his gaze as his hand came over her. His palm traveled in a slow, hot circle over one breast, then the other, letting the pleasure slowly penetrate her dazed senses. She gasped slightly as the touch changed, tormenting her as his fingers rotated light as a feather over one rosy pink tip until she whimpered. She heard a husky chuckle before he answered the secret wish, gently kneading with the full warmth of his hand. When she could bear no more, when she felt her desire begin to greet his, he pulled her into his arms and began kissing her again. . . .

  This kiss brought the avalanche of his desire. It trembled through him; he was weak with it. My God, but she felt so soft, slim, and warm. Passion overwhelmed his tenderness, the demand of his desire became like a flame, consuming and devouring. The force of it terrified her. She felt the hard taut strength of him, the barely controlled passion even through the fiery sensations engulfing her. The kiss stopped, and she felt his gaze on her again. "Look at me, love."

  She shook her head. He bit her lower lip, gently kneading it again as he let his hand travel over the sculpted softness of her side. Shivers rushed from the touch. Using all her courage, she forced herself to open her eyes. He was so close, their lips almost touched. Passion had darkened his features and desire had changed his eyes, but her consciousness centered on the tease of his hand between her legs. "Who do you belong to, love?" he asked in a caressing whisper, a deceptive veil for the cruelty of what he would now do to her. Until that moment she had
n't understood the nature of the game he played. Now her humiliation burst in a hot wave of shame, a frantic shake of her head as she tried weakly to twist free, but he held her still as his fingers lightly teased the velvet moist softness. "No . . . no-"

  The words caught in her throat as his fingers slipped into her moistened sheath, stopping there. "Yes, love," he kissed her mouth and in a compelling whisper of words said, "I want to hear you say my name."

  "No . . . no," she tried to shake her head but stopped as he slowly slipped out, then back again. Her nerves went wild. Chills gathered there. A building, twisting, tightening spiral formed inside her, tighter and tighter, until without knowing, she arched her back. She heard a low chuckle of amusement as he answered the unwilling invitation to probe deeper. "Say it, love."

  His voice called her back from the pleasure rocking in pulsating waves, orchestrated by the exquisite tease of his fingers. She bit her lip, trying to stop the rising tide but managing nothing more than a weak shake of her head. Just as the exquisite tease of his fingers brought her to the edge of that cliff, he withdrew his hand, only to slowly wipe the rich moistness around first her mouth then her breasts, before drinking the intoxicating taste with a plundering kiss. His kiss was hard and slow, many paces beyond tantalizing, and he stopped only to whisper: "God, I want you. ... I want you to say it, love." His lips traveled over the thin arch of her neck down to her breasts, stopping to draw softly on the exquisite peaks. Warmth gushed in pulsating waves, growing, growing as his hand returned to stroke her. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, but she was only vaguely aware of it now as he carried her to a point of agony, the very edge of ecstasy keeping her there until, in a heart-wrenching denial of Tomas, she not only said his name once but twice as he made his magic spread in one fiery burst of pleasure.

  The shocking intensity of pleasure moved her far beyond agony or thought to pure feeling, a feeling that circled him as the moon circles the earth, the earth circles the sun. "Garrett. . . . Garrett," she turned her head from side to side, breathless and panting, dazed with it as her scattered senses finally collected, returning only to feel the smooth hot pressure of him gliding back and forth over her sex. She cried out, a soft plea as she felt the full awful effects of the betrayal.

  The worst part was that he knew it. She thought that was why he collapsed on her in a fit of sudden laughter. Like an obscenity, the sound filled her with red-hot shame until she heard his cursing. Finally her dazed senses became riveted on the insistent sound of Gayle's voice paired with the knock at his door.

  "Garrett! Goddamn it, Garrett!" Gayle was the only person on earth able to swear at Garrett, which he did only because this was the third time he had knocked since the longshore boat was sighted. "I'm about to bust down the door! What the hell is happening in there? Did Juliet change her mind about shooting you?"

  Garrett pulled the gown over her form as he said to her: "I dare ^ay that it would have been a good deal less painful." As he lifted the robe on her now lifeless form he called to Gayle, "Can you stall long enough to get Juliet out unseen?"

  "Nay, we're pulling the lifeboats up as I speak—" Gayle looked up and grinned, "Admiral!"

  Garret cursed, but with a grin of his own, an alternative to bawling like a child. He first pulled on his breeches then went to get his boots, returning to the bed where she sat up, looking dazed, flushed, and breathless still, more beautiful than he had words to describe.

  "I'm sorry, love. I don't want these men to see you. Nor did I want you to hear what you now will. You will have to stay behind the drapes of this bed while they're here. I'll try to be as quick as possible, but knowing Kingston-"

  A great clamor of boots sounded in the hall as a parade of men descended the steps. Grabbing a shirt from the closet, Garrett pulled it over his shoulders before he leaned over, gently bringing her chin up to kiss her mouth. He lingered for a long moment to study the mystery he saw in her eyes—an unsolvable mystery—as the knock sounded above the raised voices in the hall. He pulled the drapes tight around the bed, then at last moved to answer the door.

  The door opened to a great flurry of salutes, greetings, handshakes, and introductions all round as Admiral Kingston and two commanders of His Majesty's Royal Navy, Billings and Harolds, entered in front of Leif.

  Juliet held perfectly still, waiting for a coherent thought to rise above the sick pounding of her heart. None came. Nothing came to her as she tried to make sense of what had just happened above the roar of her body, a body slow to grasp her changed circumstances. Shattered went the happy illusion that her response to Garrett's touch had been on account of the potion. Gone, too, was an innocence in which she believed emotions determined the physical play between men and women. She loved Tomas with all her heart, and yet Garrett had forced her to experience a subjugation of that love, of what meant most in the world, and all by the unearthly passion brought by his touch—

  Shame and more shame filled her until her hands trembled and the intensity of it sent her face down to the bed, where she asked Garrett over and over how he could do this to her. . . .

  "Better late than never, but I say, Garrett, I was getting worried," Admiral Kingston's shrewd, sharp gaze swept over the neat order and magnificence of the room he remembered so well. Then those same eyes fell on Garrett with concern. "Ferris informed me you might be delayed. Garrett, I must—" He stopped, rephrasing the words in a changed tone, one of uncharacteristic sympathy. "May I extend my utmost sympathy to both you and Lady Evelyn. Edric was a fine young man who shall be sorely missed."

  A soft light came to Garrett's eyes, saying more than words. "Aye, a tragedy, one I shall not soon be over," he replied with unmasked feeling, but in a tone that also managed to convey that the subject would now be dropped. "Do you carry any letters from home?"

  Admiral Kingston withdrew a package of letters tied in a neat blue ribbon from the inside pocket of his uniform. Garrett took the letters and brought them to his desk before returning to the table where all were being seated.

  Despite the acute emotional pain, perhaps because of it, Juliet's curiosity was piqued by the talk of Garrett's family. The realization that she knew almost nothing about him only added to her confused feelings. Cautiously, she lifted the curtains a tiny fraction to view the room and its new inhabitants.

  Three gentlemen sat at the table with Leif and Garrett. Those three gentlemen wore the blue coats of British naval officers. What? How could British naval officers sit at Garrett's table? Why were they even on board? Why, oh God, why, weren't they arresting him?

  The oldest gentleman's uniform marked him as an admiral. An admiral! Her mind tried to make sense of it as she studied his stature and authoritative bearing, the air of distinction that surrounded him. He did not seem tall, but since he sat it was hard to tell. He had a round face, heavy jowls, long sideburns, and graying sides to neatly cropped hair. His eyes were attractive, though, a bright amber color, intelligent eyes that looked to Garrett as he talked, occasionally falling upon Leif, too. His voice was most unusual, he talked slowly, pronouncing each syllable with a low, unhurried drawl that sounded oddly slow witted. She sensed what everyone who knew the famous admiral was aware of: his voice was a deception, like the sheath of a sword, it hid a keen, biting intelligence.

  Looking quite distinguished as well, the two other gentlemen sat opposite each other. A tall blond man, a decade or more younger than the admiral, sat in rapt attention as the admiral and Garrett spoke. The other, sitting on Leifs side, looked with interest about his surroundings. Not unhandsome, he had dark curls edged attractively with gray, a long thin face, and narrow eyes. He held a leather-bound set of papers in front of him. Garrett had an unnatural, aristocratic bearing, a quiet air of command, a thing outshining even the admiral's presence; seeing it filled her with strange thoughts, much of these of wonder. He leaned back in the chair, attentive but relaxed, as he motioned to Gayle standing by the door to begin serving.

  A tray was brought
and drinks were served. The conversation centered on the recent movement of the French fleet, Admiral Nelson, and naval battle plans. Why in heaven's name were they discussing naval plans with Garrett? Didn't they know who he was?

  Admiral Kingston was one of Garrett's most admired superiors in rank, a friend in life. The corpulent, unlikely man, the product of both noble birth and a long family history of naval officers, was an engaging, infinitely complex man. His sharp wit and disarming cynicism proved to be both entertaining at the dinner table as well as an unexpected success with the ladies. Yet one had only to watch him command a fleet during battle to know why he elicited the respect, if not the reverence, of every last ensign who served under him.

  The admiral paused in his lengthy pontifications to take a sip of the wine. "Ah, leave it to you, Garrett to have the best of the world's treasures in women, wine, and ah, cats. Where is my friend, anyway?" he asked, but did not wait for a response as he continued, "So I assume you grasp the theme, if not the plot, of the pandemonium unfolding in our little world theater thus far?"

  "Aye, but how'd we come to the information?"

  "Two merchant ships at Gibraltar, flying Dutch flags but downed just the same as the French fleet sailed into the Mediterranean. Ever careless, the French left survivors, who in turn were eager to tell us of the twenty-two ships of the line. We then learned—via paid informants—of the eleven Spanish ships joining them in Cadiz last month. No word since, however."

  "And Nelson?"

  "Ah, Nelson!" The admiral chuckled while the other two officers grinned. "Our great hero. Have you heard, Garrett?"

  "I'm not sure I have. Heard what?"

  "Only the greatest scandal to sweep the British Empire since the French actually stooped low enough to put a crown on some puny Italian corporal. Nelson left his commission to take up residence with what is reputed to be a charming and lovely young lady named Emma."

  "So? Ah," Garrett guessed with his own grin, "has Nelson's wife finally decided to cause problems about his famous infidelities? After all these years?"