She reached across and stopped Malik from licking the plate with a shake of her head. Adelina chuckled at the sight as she brought in some kind of sweet.
Jack turned his wineglass in his hands, candlelight reflected in it. It had grown dark outside. She liked the sound of the roar of the waves hitting the beach and drawing away again. It was like the cycle of life, something she’d become very aware of while in Africa. Alex! She chewed her lip and pushed the memory away. But the question lingered, as to why he’d changed so much. He’d always been officious, Englishmen tended to be, but he was quite a different man at the end.
“I’ve been thinking about how we can get to England,” Jack said, breaking into her thoughts.
She stared at him. “We? You’re not coming with me.”
“How do you imagine you’ll get there without me?” His blue eyes sought hers with that arrogant expression. Could she dare cross him?
She flushed. “Jack… I know about your past. You can’t go back to England. They will hang you. Please don’t blame Pete, I wrangled it out of him. I won’t let you take your life in your hands for me.” She scrunched up her napkin in nervous fingers. “There must be some trading ship I can purchase a package on. If you would be good enough to help me. I’m aware it might not stop here, this is a small island. But perhaps one of the bigger islands in the Azores?”
He put down his glass and slowly shook his head. “No, Lydia.”
She frowned, not surprised she’d met with opposition. “Surely it is my decision, Jack?”
He scowled at her. “You think I’ll let you go off and spend the rest of my days wondering what happened to you?”
She stared at him, trembling slightly. This was a declaration. He cared for her. She caught her breath. “Jack. I…can’t let you. I won’t.”
Malik stirred in his chair. He’d eaten his dessert and most of hers.
“You may leave the table, Malik,” she said.
He went to stroke the cat where it lay in front of the fire.
Jack pushed back his chair. “Come with me.” He held out his hand.
Chapter Thirteen
The breeze whispered around them, heavy with the tang of the sea. Jack led Lydia to the far end of the loggia where a lush creeper twined itself around a post releasing a pungent scent. Moths bashed themselves against a lantern, in danger of a fiery death.
Her hand trembled in his. He leaned back against the wall and drew her closer while he gazed into her lovely face, her soft brown eyes and inviting mouth. “This is all we have, sweetheart. A few days, a week or two, before you must return to England and my ship is ready to sail again.” His fingers toyed with a loose curl in front of her ear. “Shall we not waste time disagreeing?”
“No, but…”
“There you go again, what an unreasonable woman you are.”
“Me, unreasonable…?” she stuttered and tried to slip out of his grasp.
An arm around her waist, he anchored her there. “Infinitely desirable, and utterly unreasonable.” He wasn’t used to a woman defying him, but found he enjoyed the challenge. Let her disagree with him all she liked; he would have his way in the end. Right now, there was a more pressing need of undeniable mutual enjoyment.
“Do you want me, Lydia?”
Her big eyes sought his, dark with passion. “Yes, but…” she hesitated.
“But what, sweetheart?”
She shook her head, unable to express what it was that worried her.
“I will not hurt you.”
“I know you won’t.”
He’d never dealt with a lady of such delicate sensibilities. His passion for her sent smoldering heat through his veins. Not sure whether she had experience in lovemaking, he stroked over her slender spine and delicate shoulder blades, then kissed the enticing spot near her ear, breathing in her womanly fragrance. “Tell me what worries you,” he murmured.
“I don’t want to become enceinte,” she said, flushing. “Alex accused me of it on the day he died.”
A pox on the man! “You won’t, Lydia. I promise you.” He knew how to avoid such an occurrence, not wishing to bring bastards into the world to fend for themselves once he moved on.
Lydia’s breath quickened while her hand stroked over his chest, toying with the black curls there. Taking it as consent, he pulled her closer and trailed nibbling kisses along her jawline. Then took her mouth, a long slow meeting of lips as she sighed and kissed him back. He tried not to think of the months and years ahead without her.
Slow, drugging kisses followed. She opened to him, and he deepened the kiss, delving into her mouth to taste her, wanting to taste all of her, while his groin throbbed with need.
She sagged against his onslaught and he caught her up.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmured, struck by how sensual she was, how enticing. Her effect on him was explosive, and while he prided himself on always being in control, he feared that would not be the case with Lydia.
She placed a hand on his chest to push him back. “You have no need to flatter me.”
“There you go disagreeing with me again.” He gently removed her restraining hand and lowered his head to the silky-smooth skin of her breasts rising and falling beneath the constraints of her bodice. Something he soon intended to rectify. He could already picture her naked in his bed.
“Jack,” she said unsteadily. “You’re right. We have such little time before I leave. I want to spend every moment with you.”
“We will, sweetheart.” He was impatient, but moved back a step to put some space between them. It wouldn’t be smart to carry her down to the beach and ravish her, even though the idea was infinitely pleasurable. “Put Malik to bed. He can sleep in the smaller bedchamber. Let him have the cat and the bird cage, too, if he wishes. And you come to mine.”
Her laugh was husky, driving him to discover the passion which he knew lay beneath her lady-like demeanor. He’d caught tantalizing glimpses, which had tormented him.
Her hand clasped in his, and he strode with her into the house.
Malik sat drowsing by the fire, the cat in his lap. He roused as they came in.
Lydia spoke quietly to him and led him to the bedchamber. A moment later, she emerged and closed the door. “We’ve finally tired Malik out,” she said. “I think it’s because he feels safe now.”
Jack wondered what awaited the child in England. Would he be happy and safe there? Now was not the time to dissuade Lydia of it. He wanted her fully focused on him.
He closed the bedchamber door. “Let’s not rush this, Lydia,” he heard himself say, marveling at himself.
This would not be a hasty coupling to satisfy both himself and the lady. He would have to be gentle, not something required of the women he’d known who knew how to take their pleasure. And while he was eager to take Lydia swiftly, employing all those skills which pleased a lady, a part of him, maybe the gentleman he might have been, wished for something more. He had never made love to a virgin. And surprisingly, it appeared she still was one. He found he relished the idea of introducing her to pleasure, not to merely engage in bed sport.
His hands resting on her shoulders, he kissed her. With a sigh, she wound her arms around his neck, her breasts pressed against him, sending a bolt of urgent lust racing to his loins.
“Shall we undress?” he asked in a growl.
In case she might decide to dart away from him, he pulled away the laces on her gown and slipped the bodice open to reveal her corset. He paused to kiss the satiny, cream-colored skin of her shoulder, revealed to his gaze as the dress slid down and pooled at her feet. Lydia’s cheeks flushed as she stepped away from it. Emboldened, her fingers worked at her corset laces, and a moment later, she stood in her chemise, the dark moons of her nipples and the curve of her firm breasts thrust up through the thin material.
With a groan, Jack traced his fingers over the cotton, then slipped a hand beneath. Silky smooth, her full breast rested in his palm. He groaned and thumbe
d a stiffening nipple.
Lydia moaned softly.
Urging himself to be patient, when his body had very different ideas, he turned away to undress.
Her limbs felt strangely heavy and her pulse raced. His feathery touch brought a frisson of desire to every part of her, and a heavy urgency between her thighs. She watched him sit to pull off his boots. His coat, waistcoat, and shirt followed, a tantalizing display of taut muscles flexing as he moved. She stopped breathing when he dropped his breeches and his erection burst free. She had seen men naked in the jungle, but this was Jack. While she was nervous, she knew she had always wanted to make love to a man. Had known it since that day when the gardener’s son touched her inappropriately behind the hedge, and foolishly, she had let the shame of it allow her father and brother to rule her life. She placed her hands on that special part of her, which throbbed with need, and made her wriggle. She pulled the chemise over her head.
Jack kicked off his breeches and turned. Lydia stood before him naked. His gaze raked over her, taking in her beauty from the long column of her neck to her perfect breasts, and down to the gentle rise of her belly and the soft nest of dark hair at its base. Her legs were shapely and long. His cock jumped approvingly. His gaze traveled up slowly again to her face.
Lydia’s mouth was slightly open, her eyes wide with anticipation.
He scooped her up in his arms and laid her on the bed. When he leaned over her, she reached up and traced his lips with a finger, her smile a passionate invitation. “Make love to me.”
His breath caught. “You are shameless, Miss Bromley.”
For a moment, his use of the word shameless harked back to her father. Then she smiled and reached up to pull Jack down to her. His warm, hard body rested against hers, his erection nudging her belly, and she reveled in the feel of his skin on hers. She stroked over his back, enjoying the solid feel of him while sensing the great strength in him, strength of will as well as body. They were so very different, yet so perfectly matched. This was as nature intended. As life was meant to be.
He kissed her, a long slow meeting of lips. Then down to sweep his tongue around her nipples. His mouth drew them into stiff peaks causing her to cry out and grip his shoulders. He sucked slowly, gently, watching the play of emotions on her face, taking delight in it. She moaned as he moved on and down, kissing and nibbling, then found that sweet, velvety place between her legs.
“Please, Jack,” she moaned as his tongue increased the pressure.
Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips trembling. When her hips jerked up in invitation, he could wait no longer. He parted her thighs, and taking hold of her hips, pushed into her with a loud groan.
Lydia clutched his shoulders, uttering small cries as he partly withdrew and thrust in again. To join with her was beyond anything he’d felt before. He cared for her. And he’d wanted her for so long, he couldn’t hold back. He gripped her hips and increased his speed, thrusting hard. With a cry, Lydia dug her fingernails into his shoulders as her body tightened around him. Minutes later, he withdrew before he came.
He rolled until she sprawled over him. “I wondered… I never imagined it could be like that,” she said.
“It will be better next time,” he promised, worrying that it wasn’t up to his usual standard.
“Better?” She settled beside him. “How could it be?”
“I look forward to showing you.” With a grin, he pulled the bedcovers over them. “Sleep sweetheart.”
Lydia needed no urging, she was already half asleep, so completely sated.
When she woke, the sun shone through the window, and the space beside her was empty. She went to the window. She could see Jack swimming down in the bay, stroking slowly through the water. She donned her shift and wrapped a shawl she’d brought around herself.
She peeked in but Malik was still asleep, the cat stretched out on his bed. It raised its head and blinked its green eyes in warning.
With a smile, Lydia left the house. She felt womanly and marvelous as she picked her way over the rocks and down to the water’s edge.
She watched as Jack struck out for shore.
She sat on the warm sand, burying her toes. It was blissful. Out in the bay, gulls soared and dived over a school of fish, the water churning.
Jack waded through the shallows. He was naked. Rivulets of seawater ran down his broad chest. He swung his long hair back, sending an arc of spray flying. She drew up her knees with a sigh. He was magnificent.
He picked up the towel from the sand and tucked it around his waist. “Like a swim?”
She shook her head. “It’s a little early for me.”
He stood there, and she wondered if he was considering throwing her in. She could believe it of him and was relieved when he sat down beside her. He turned to smile at her. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, I did.”
Just remembering the passion between them made her want him again. She was struck by the color of his eyes, such a hard, dark blue when she’d met him, but softer now. The blue of the ocean depths. She was convinced this place cast some sort of magic spell over him, and her, too. They were different together here. Just two people enjoying each other. It hurt her to think of how short a time they would spend together.
He leaned back on his hands, gazing out to sea. “Tell me something of England.”
Her pulse began to gallop. England. Her mind skittered from what she would face there, then back to him. Would the country of his birth intrigue him too much? Would it draw him home? He would be vulnerable there and was unfamiliar with the way things were done in England. He could deal with the dangers he faced at sea, but not the hard reality of a land where justice wasn’t always guaranteed.
She wanted to tell him, so she spoke of her childhood in Devon, her garden, and her dog, Hugo.
“Why did you not marry?”
Startled, she turned to study his profile. He didn’t move. It was an innocent enough question, and yet she thought something momentous lay beneath it.
“I cared for my mother. She was ill for a very long time.”
Jack finally turned his head, his eyes meeting hers, asking questions she didn’t want to answer. “I have a feeling there is more to it. A lovely woman like you should have married.”
“No suitors sought my hand,” she said quickly. She didn’t add that she didn’t get much of a chance to meet any because her father was so possessive and so strict with her during his last years. She shrugged. “It was so long ago.” She prayed he wasn’t going to pursue it.
Jack shook his head, bemused. “I find that difficult to believe.”
She continued to speak of her second-hand knowledge of London society, the soirees, the balls, and then her cousin, Charles, who was now Baron Bromley, and his estate in Devon, where she would have to go and throw herself on his mercy. “It’s in Buckfastleigh. Not so far from Cornwall. I’ll hire a carriage to take Malik and me there.”
Jack made no comment.
“Do you remember anything of England, Jack?”
“Very little. One persistent image comes into my dreams. I’m not sure if it really happened.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I was holding a man’s hand. We walked through the mist behind a funeral cortege. We followed the hearse, the horses, and the carriage dressed with black plumes.” His voice sounded strained. “Then I’m running, I don’t know from what or where.” His lips firmed and his eyes looked sad. “Not much, is it?”
It was obvious the memory brought him misery. She decided not to pursue it. “Memories are very powerful.” She reached up and softly caressed his cheek.
He caught her hand and kissed it, then climbed to his feet, drawing her with him. “I’m ready for breakfast.” They climbed the slope, his big, warm hand in hers.
Might he remember more if he set foot in England? She mustn’t long for such a thing. He could not take such a risk. It was fraught with danger.
Malik was waiting,
hopping from foot to foot at the door. With a pang of guilt, Lydia hurried to him. “Jack has been for a swim. Are you hungry?”
He clasped her hand and dragged her inside.
“I guess that means yes,” she said laughingly to Jack.
“We’ll take him to the caves later. We can climb the cliffs for bird’s eggs.”
“I’ll stay here. You two go,” she said with a shake of her head. “I have no interest in caves.” In fact, she found the idea abhorrent.
Joncalo and his wife, Adelina, served them breakfast. An egg dish of some kind with herbs and good strong coffee. The couple appeared to have become fond of Malik and fussed over him, heaping his plate with egg.
“They don’t have children?” she asked Jack when they left the room.
“No. Their son drowned in a storm. He was a fisherman.”
“Oh. How sad.”
Malik had picked up more of their language than English. Lydia wondered briefly if he would be happier here, but pushed the thought away. He wanted to be where she was. And she felt the same.
When Malik followed Joncalo out to feed the goat and dig in the vegetable patch, Jack took Lydia’s hand and drew her back to bed.
Some hours later, sated and drowsy, Lydia roused herself and left the bed. Jack and Malik had gone off to inspect the caves. She shuddered, there were probably bats living in them. As she dressed, a heavy dark rain cloud blocked the sun. The ensuing deluge drew her to the window. Outside, rain filled the barrels against the wall. If she was careful with the water, she might wash her hair.
As quickly as the rain came, the clouds cleared away again. The sun emerged, steaming the landscape. Her hair wrapped in a towel, Lydia washed some clothes in the same water with soap made from goat milk. As she hung them over the loggia, Jack and Malik appeared, climbing up from the beach.
Malik ran to join her. “Bats,” he said solemnly, but his black eyes danced.
“I thought so.” Lydia raised her eyebrows at Jack.
He gave her a quick hug. “You look like one of the inhabitants.”
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