by Madelyn Hill
He squinted at her and said, “Bloody hell, Forrester, she’s a beaut.” He winked, and she felt a blush stain the crest of her cheeks at his audacious comment.
Mischief filled Declan’s gaze. “Aye, ‘tis the truth of it.”
She waved a hand. “Pah. I’m dirtier than some of your sailors.”
The men laughed and the captain said, “I’m Captain Brooks.”
She nodded and sipped her wine. The flavorful spirit eased down her throat and settled into her stomach. Pleased her body didn’t rebel, she took another sip.
Brooks regarded her intently. “A bath ye’ll have, milady. And I’ve some gowns that would suit ye.”
Although tempted, Martine held up her hand. “I couldn’t possibly.” Och, it cost her, especially since her new clothing was secured below deck and out of her reach.
“Ha,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Insult me and no bath for ye.”
She blanched, disgusted with her filthy hair and skin. “’Twould be my pleasure to accept.”
“That’s the way tae be, milady.” He thunked down his glass and wine sloshed over the rim and onto the table. He stood and went over to the trunks. He lifted the massive objects as if they weighed as little as a feather. Opening one, vibrant fabrics slipped over the sides.
Not able to restrain her curiosity, Martine rose and looked into the wooden trunk. Heavenly silks and damask made into breathtaking gowns shimmered before her eyes. She reached out to touch one, then quickly pulled back her hand.
Brooks picked up one of the gowns and held it before her. “’Twill suit.”
While she enjoyed the captain’s jovial attention, she felt Declan’s scrutiny. He sat leisurely with his feet resting on a chair, ankles crossed. But his intense gaze never left her.
The way he watched her sent shivers of pleasure through her and she wished they were in their chamber. She flushed and turned her attention back to the Captain.
Martine fingered the gown and nodded.
The captain laid the gown on top of the trunk.
Declan raised his glass in salute. After a moment, he said, “’Tis time for business, Brooks. Ready my betrothed’s bath.”
He nodded. “Aye, have one of yer men stand guard. Wouldn’t want to be temptin’ me own.”
Martine shivered and tried to dismiss the oblique remark. The captain pulled a chain near the doorway. In the distance, mixed with the sounds of cresting waves and men shouting orders, a bell tinkled. Brooks then grabbed the bottle of wine and nodded to Declan.
He flashed a reassuring smile and followed the captain. “I’ll send Little to watch the door,” he called over his shoulder.
After the men had left, a cabin boy entered with steaming buckets stretching each arm. “’Ere’s yer water, m’lady.”
She moved aside so he could enter. “Thank you.”
He set down the buckets and wiped his brow. “I’ll be getting the tub.” The young boy went to the corner and whipped back an oilcloth. Beneath the cloth was the largest tub she’d ever seen. She could barely hide her excitement. As the tub slowly filled with bucket after bucket of water, she told the boy to set the last bucket for rinsing and bade him to leave. She peeked out the door to ensure Little was at his post, then closed and secured the door to intruders.
’Twas heaven, the hot water soaking the dirt from her body. Tension eased from her as she lathered the scented soap the captain had left on a chair along with a linen towel.
As she bathed, she inspected her surroundings once again. How did her husband know such a man enough to do business? Was the captain the reason Declan seemed to have ample funds? The more time she spent with her husband, Martine realized how little she knew him. Surely, once they reached London answers would be given.
She soaped her hair and rinsed with the cumbersome bucket. Satisfied she was as clean as possible, she lifted from the now tepid water and dried off. She still walked a little slowly, gripping her stomach when it rumbled.
Martine picked up the peacock blue gown with white lace trimming and gold stitches. A matching pair of slippers were found beneath, along with under garments.
‘Twould be suitable to wear as they departed to ship. After she twisted her hair into a knot at the base of her neck, Martine opened the door.
A piteous whimper passed her lips when Declan turned around and startled her.
“Clean as a whistle, I’d say.” He captured her in his arms and nuzzled her neck. “Hmmm.”
Martine squirmed against him. He trailed kisses up her neck, over her chin, and then finally captured her mouth with searing heat, spurring her heartbeat.
“Declan,” she whispered. “We’re in the captain’s cabin.”
He lifted his head and looked chagrinned. “Och, that’s the truth of it.” He led her out of the chamber as he flashed her a smile full of promise and raw with lust. She shivered at the invitation his gaze extended, pleased with his humor.
They strolled to their cabin, hand in hand, heat simmering between them as each step led them closer to making love. The breeze off the water hinted at fish and brine as it mingled with the crisp blue day blessed with sunshine.
“You look lovely,” he said as his gaze slid slowly over her.
Humor laced his tone, so she tilted her chin up and replied, “Aye, ‘tis lovely, isn’t it?”
He grinned and nodded. “You seem to have found your sea legs, my love.”
She nodded to one of the crew as they passed. “Aye, just in time to land, I’d say.”
His jaw pulsed and his blue eyes deepened with what she knew was desire. He pulled her hard against him and kissed her hungrily. Martine felt it to her toes as excitement and passion surged through her body.
She was no longer aware of the austere ship’s deck, the sailors watching or completing their tasks. Declan’s hard body imprinted on her own so deeply she found it hard to breath.
“To our cabin, my love.”
She nodded and followed his lead. They reached the cabin quickly, prodded by their desire to be in one another’s arms.
He secured the door, shifted her so she leaned against it, then crushed her against him. He splayed his hands on the hard wood and just devoured her lips. She started removing his clothing, and all the while their mouths never parted. He loosened her stays, practically tearing the gown from her. They tumbled onto the small bed and began the dance that had become their own as their love flowed from one another in nips and caresses and panting breaths.
The evening rang in as barely audible shouts in the distance announced their arrival in London. Martine ignored the shouts as the crest of desire rode through her body in a wave of unrestrained passion. Together they coaxed physical and emotional responses from each other as their bodies merged into one. She touched every part of his body, loving the twitch and strain of his muscles, the hiss when she touched a particularly sensitive spot. Ah, she loved when he nuzzled her neck, nipped along her jaw. Sweat sheened their bodies and Declan lapped along her shoulder, between the valley of her breasts, tickled along her navel.
“You taste delicious,” Declan murmured against her skin, his breath hot and moist.
She laughed and he pulled up. His knuckles grazed along her cheek. “God, Martine you are so beautiful.”
“Ah, my handsome man.”
They plunged into the passion, the love surrounding them, until at last climax was reached as they called each other’s name.
Declan collapsed beside her. “You’ll be the death of me,” he said as he traced her jaw with his forefinger. “’Twill be a blessed way to go.”
She chuckled and snuggled into his arms. “We’ve arrived.”
“Aye, that we have.” He voice was sleepy.
“In London.”
She felt him t
ense as muscles in his arms flexed tightly. He lifted from the bed, the moment lost. Bitter awareness came painfully to her. She wished they’d never come but knew peace would remain elusive to him if they did not. He retrieved her gown from the floor and laid it upon the foot of the bed. He avoided her gaze, obviously lost in his own thoughts, which she knew were anything but pleasant by the scowl on his face. Sighing, she began dressing, truly unsettled at the uncomfortable silence after such shared passion.
They left their cabin and the ship unhindered, Martine aware of Declan’s men walking silently behind them. She tried to prod him into conversation, all to no avail.
“Nate and Lange, secure a carriage for Martine to be taken to the townhouse.”
Townhouse? Was he not going with her? Hurt and anger blurred her vision as she tried to assimilate herself to the busy and dirty docks. At the end of the plank, Declan brought her hand to his lips. “You’ll be taken to my home. Feel free to make yourself comfortable. ‘Tis ours now.”
She glowered at him, but he failed to acknowledge her displeasure. She thought he would at least bring her to their home. They’d enter together and he’d introduce her to his staff. But now—now she’d be alone.
Little and Pierce flanked her as they escorted her to the waiting carriage. She allowed one last look at the ship and witnessed Declan and his men in deep conversation with Captain Brooks. The man handed Declan a large bag and they shook hands. What sort of dealings did her husband have with this man, she wondered, fearful and curious at once?
“My lady,” Little said as he interrupted her fury. “Your carriage awaits.”
She knew he meant to bring levity to the moment, but she flashed him a frowning glance regardless. When Pierce offered his hand to assist her, she slapped it away in aggravation. Pah, I’m being a child. But hurt at Declan’s dismissal stung her eyes as she battled to blink away the tears. Here she was in a strange country, feeling so alone. She’d left her family, abandoned them for the man she loved. And it felt as if she was abandoned by Declan.
Wordlessly she entered the carriage and ignored the scenery of London as they traveled down the crowded roadways.
Chapter 23
“Does she know?”
Declan shook his head as he watched the carriage meander down the cobbled road.
Nate tugged at his chin. “’Tisn’t wise, lad.”
Bollocks. His heart urged him to chase after her as his mind told him to stay on the ship. It must be this way. Brooks had valuable information and he needed to conduct business with the colorful man. “’Tis necessary for now.”
His friend gripped his shoulder. “That’s tae be determined.”
Declan shrugged off the hand and the ominous warning. He felt grief enough as it was, and he didn’t need constant reminders of what lay ahead. It rendered him unworthy of her love and devotion, her true loyalty as she left all she’d known for him and with nothing promised.
“Forrester,” Brooks called in his booming voice. “’Tis news of Randolph.”
Finally. A flicker of hope remained that he’d settle his past so he could then focus on the future. “Where is he?”
Brooks tugged at his earring, and cocked an arrogant brow. “That’ll come. First, we’ve business. Yer fortune has grown faster than I can earn it for ye. ‘Tis time for a larger cut, I’d say.”
Declan grinned. “Greedy bastard.”
The captain laughed uproariously. “To be sure, lad, to be sure.”
They conducted their business in the captain’s cabin with a bounty of wine and ale and bawdy comments. Declan remained reserved as his men, along with the captain’s trusted few, congregated at the table and deals were cut. He blessed his good fortune at finding Brooks before he left England for Ireland and the foresight to invest in his ventures. Now he’d never have to depend on another such as Ettenborough to make his way in the world. In this venue, he was the boss who directed the men and earned a vast percentage of the take.
Aye, ‘twas not the most legal way to conduct business. But this way, the English did not gain from his dealings, and he was assured Brooks didn’t take anything that wasn’t fairly paid for. What the pirate did on the side, Declan didn’t want to know. ’Twas the English’s own stupidity to pay inflated prices for the goods he offered under an assumed identity. Silks, spices, coffee, and furnishings all comprised his stock. And his customers were more than willing to pay whatever he demanded. His agent told the customers the products were in demand in France and Italy, which spurred them to buy more.
Declan chuckled.
“Something funny, Forrester?”
“Nay, captain,” he said as he drank more wine. ’Twas time to see to Martine, yet to insult Brooks wouldn’t be wise.
The pirate lifted up his tankard of ale. “Are ye bored? Or is it a fine lady ye are thinking of, ye bastard?”
Chuckling again, he felt something akin to loneliness even in the midst of his men. Aye, he missed her. Just the idea she was near and he wasn’t with her tortured him.
“Weel?” Brooks raised his cup. “To Forrester for finding the loveliest lass I’ve laid eyes on in quite a while. If only I’d seen her first.”
“Och,” Nate said. “She’d run from ye for sure.”
Silence. Then rumbling laughter as the captain turned as red as a whore’s petticoat.
“Bloody hell. Go to her. ‘Tis where yer mind is. Randolph will come to you at Broderick’s estate tonight. Broderick’s gone to the country for a house party and it will be empty save a few staff. Randolph’s purchased their compliance.”
He waited for a moment, not certain he liked being told what to do by the captain, then stood and left the room. His men followed suit and they made haste to his city home.
The carriage rounded the corner and stopped before a large town home. Several stories high and lovely it was with its white exterior and paned windows. Martine gazed at the building without enthusiasm. Boxwood trees lined the walkway along with small pines acting as a privacy hedge flanking the side. Cold, is what she thought, hard and cold.
Little and Pierce left the carriage and extended a hand to help her out. Slowly she mounted the steps to the black lacquered door with huge brass knockers as if she were being sentenced to her death.
It burst opened and a wee lass of about five bounded down the steps and halted before her.
“And who are you?” the girl asked with her clipped English.
Martine smiled despite her mood. “I’m Martine. And who are you?”
The lass gave a sheepish grin. “I’m Betsy. Me mother is the cook and she’d skin me alive if she knew I was out here.”
“Well, we just won’t tell her, now will we?”
The girl grinned. “That’s the ticket.”
They walked into the marbled foyer. The high ceilings were framed with moldings and elegant chandeliers dangled like fancy earbobs. Gilt-framed pictures lined the halls and a velvet settee and mahogany table were the only furnishings. A shiver of uncertainty snaked its way up her spine as she watched the staff line up before the stairwell. Eight. Eight formally garbed maids and she presumed a butler and another man. She gripped her shaking hands so that no one else witnessed her nerves.
“Betsy,” a robust woman with raspberry-stained cheeks hissed as she rushed to join the line. “Mind your manners.”
The young girl gave her an apologetic glance and skipped to her mother.
The cook bobbed a curtsy. “Sorry, m’lady. Don’t know what’s gotten into the gel.”
She waved a hand. “No apologies are necessary.”
“Why, you’re not English.” The woman pulled up, obviously realizing her guffaw.
Little came forward. “Lord Forrester will arrive in a thrice. The lady of the house, Lady Martine, will make her rounds and assu
re everything is in order before he arrives.”
She stifled a chuckle at the butler’s sudden pompous attitude. But the fact that he didn’t mention her surname wasn’t lost on her. Did Declan tell him not to? Was he trying to hide the fact she was a Gypsy?
As she walked past the staff, each bowed or curtsied and announced their station and name. They seemed to be a pleasant group of people and she was certain they’d get along. At least she hoped all would go well. ‘Twould be unusual, staying in such a grand home with people at her beck and call. How could she convince them she could fend for herself?
A maid called Gertie came forward. “Let me show you to your chamber.”
She tipped her head and smiled at the maid. “That would be lovely.”
She followed, all the while peeking over her shoulder to look at Little and Pierce as she ventured into the unknown. Pah, where was Declan? Did he expect her to survive this on her own? Something so foreign and frightening?
The maid opened a double doorway and stepped back. Her thoughts had distracted her so fully, she’d hadn’t noticed they reached the chamber.
She hesitated and then walked in. A canopied bed garnered her attention as did the large fireplace and sitting area before it. Such grandeur. And it all belonged to Declan. As she walked to the fireplace, she ran her hand along a damask chair. Her steps were soundless against the plush rugs obscuring the dark wooden floor.
“I’ll send up your bags, milady.”
She nodded as she continued to explore her chamber. ’Twas decidedly feminine. Did Declan expect to sleep elsewhere as many of the wealthy did? Perhaps as her parents—