by Raven, Sandy
"Before I go up, I have to ask how you came to know so much about naval architecture and mechanics. I took courses in both at University and would never have thought of half the innovations you have."
She returned question for question. "How could you have studied it at University and not know what I know? I sometimes wonder what I could have done had I been born male and had the means to a formal education."
Mary-Michael knew not everyone had the capacity to understand the things she did. But she had to believe that any man who went to University surely had the capability to understand. This man took university level courses on the subjects that she could only study on her own, with Mr. Watkins' help and encouragement until he could teach her no more. The captain had no idea how fortunate he was, and how she envied him that.
When the captain reached the deck, and Mary-Michael thought she heard him mutter something about being glad she wasn't born a male. She pretended not to hear it as she put her pencil in her mouth, and her note pad under her chin to begin her climb up the ladder. She'd done this same thing hundreds of times, and never had the thought of a man's gaze watching her as she did her job affect her in this way before. She felt a bit like a tasty morsel about to be pounced upon by a starving man.
Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the light, when they did she straightened her blouse, and came to stand beside him. "I told you. I do this every day." She led the way to the gangway. "Is there anything else you'd like to see? We can take the skiff and row around the hull if you'd like." As she took the first step onto the plank, a wave hit the boat and she teetered backward. Instinctively she threw her arms out for stability as she always did when that happened. She'd been in no real danger of falling, yet her companion instantly grabbed her by the waist and pulled her against him, leaving her no time to protest.
After the initial shock, she inhaled and caught the scent of his citrus and spice soap. Not the usual bay rum scent so many men over-indulged in. No. Captain Gualtiero smelled fresh and... Oh, heaven above, he smells so good. His rock hard chest felt safe and secure, and though she already had both through her marriage to Mr. Watkins, she suddenly craved them from this man without knowing why. His forearm was bare where it snuggled under her breasts, having rolled his shirt sleeves up hours ago when the temperatures began climbing into the usual summer heat of the Maryland coast in June. For just the smallest fraction of a moment, she felt him rest his chin on her head as he expelled a deep breath.
Being enveloped by his massive arms felt so right, almost as if they fit like two pieces of one puzzle. But the reality was that no matter the safety and security her heart desired from this man, she was married. And though she might need him for one very important thing, she could never allow her heart to belong to him because of the vow already made. With a regret he would never know, she pushed away from his embrace.
She struggled to find her voice, as his scent still lingered on her blouse. "That was quite noble of you to attempt to rescue me, though I was in control the entire time."
Captain Gualtiero looked confused a moment and Mary-Michael continued, hoping she appeared as confident as her voice sounded to her own ears. "The plank is going nowhere, it's fixed in place." She pointed at the steel hooks holding the end of the gangway onto the rail of the ship. "And, I know how to walk on a bobbing gangway."
"Tell me, Mrs. Watkins—" He matched her sarcasm with his own, "do you know how to swim? Because I would really hate to ruin my favorite boots by diving in to rescue you."
She sent him what she hoped was a frosty glare as she turned and climbed back onto the plank leading to the dock. "Of course I can swim." She strode down the narrow plank of wood and onto the dock. He fell in place beside her as she walked toward the office. Once outside the main doors, they stopped. She didn't see any reason to re-enter the warm, stuffy building when there was a perfectly nice breeze outdoors.
"I believe I have enough to start on your drawings tonight. Could you plan on spending several hours tomorrow—perhaps five or six—going over a list of accessories, appointments and finishes?" Please say no. Let this be something you allow me to finish on my own because you do not have the time. She still felt his touch under her breasts and his scent still lingered in the air around her, both of which caused her to feel unsure of her ability to stay detached and still do that which was necessary to get her a babe. "To speed things along, I'll see if I can find the lists from Ajax, and..."
"What time would you like me to arrive?"
She wondered how early he rose, then decided not to inconvenience him too much. "How about eight in the morning? If we're fortunate we can get through all the lists tomorrow and I can finish the drawings in a few days. Hopefully, Friday afternoon you can sign off on them, so the process can begin." She then remembered what Mr. Watkins had asked her to do before letting their client leave today. "Captain, what do you prefer as a main course for dinner on Friday evening?"
His gold-flecked, brown-eyed gaze met hers, and he smiled. "I'm sure I will enjoy whatever you choose."
"But this celebration is in your honor," she reminded him, "I would have Sally make your favorite dish." For as much as she knew it was sinful to desire this man as she did.
"My favorite dish is whatever you select." He then lowered his voice to just above a whisper when he said, "I want what you want." He looked around as if to make sure no one stood near enough to overhear him. He leaned toward her as he spoke, and Mary-Michael felt the warmth of his breath in her hair as he added, "Always remember that, Mrs. Watkins. I want what you want." That said, he smiled, then walked away and left her standing where she was, still quivering inside, and her heart still as unsettled as the bay in a storm.
The moment he was gone Mary-Michael ran up the steps and into her husband's office so she could watch him walk away. Lord help her, but he was handsome, with his dark good looks and confident manner. And, did she just hear what she thought she did? Was that an attempt to flirt with her? If so, he was making her eventual seduction of him easier than planned.
He was also taller than she by a good head, and he had a way of making her feel dainty and feminine when she knew she wasn't. If he was flirting with her, it must mean he found her at least somewhat attractive. Didn't it?
If she had this man's son, she prayed he would have his father's height, build, and handsome visage. The captain was certainly healthy-looking, and with that rugged appearance it would make it easier for a son to find a wife one day.
Once he was out of sight, she plopped into her husband's over-stuffed desk chair. Her chest tightened as she struggled to get a deep breath. Could she love a child again? Risk her heart again?
She thought about Rowan and Emily and instantly her eyes welled. Her arms ached to hold them again, and she wondered where they were. Surely they'd made it to Tennessee by now. It's been almost three months since they'd gone. She still missed them terribly, and she prayed constantly that the brother and sister would grow to love their uncle and aunt. And that they never be haunted by the loss of her and Mr. Watkins, just as she was haunted by the death of her parents. Granted she might have been older when her own parents died and had more years with them, but Rowan was a smart little boy and she feared him having confusing memories. Mary-Michael certainly had many happy ones of the two children—until the day she got the message from Father Douglas that the next of kin had traveled from the Tennessee mountains to fetch them. Instantly her world had grown dark. For two weeks straight all she did was cry. Then, slowly, the tears subsided, though easily brought back with a mere thought. After the children left with their maternal relatives, Mary-Michael began to pacify herself in the darkness of her room with crying into a second pillow and squeezing it tight until she fell asleep.
Now, when she thought about what she was considering, it made her both nervous and excited at the same time. Was this what it felt like to be so close to a dream? She'd wanted a child for so long, and never, ever thought this might be a possibility f
or her. Never, of course, with Mr. Watkins. As she grew older each year she didn't think she would ever remarry if and when the time came that he passed from this life. For one, the entire community thought her an oddity, and two, no man ever looked at her the way Captain Gualtiero did. His smoldering gold-flecked cocoa eyes raked over her as though she were beautiful. It was enough to...
Breathe, Mary-Michael. You can do this.
Inhale. Exhale. When he touched her, her knees weakened and her body melted toward him. He smelled masculine, clean and fresh. Inhale. Exhale. Obviously there was some reciprocation of attraction, or he would not be playing these word games with her. "If he only knew what I wanted," she whispered into the empty room. Inhale. Exhale.
Any adulterous sentiment or action was sinful, no matter what Mr. Watkins said. It was what she'd been taught in her religious upbringing. And while she gave her husband her faithfulness and honor for these past six years, it was her husband who suggested a temporary liaison that would give Mary-Michael the child she so desired. Just one babe. That was all she wanted. All she'd prayed for because she wasn't a greedy woman at heart. But she was a woman. If this captain could just give her one babe to bear her husband's name and inherit her husband's fortune then all those prayers would be answered.
Inhale. Exhale. How was she going to survive tomorrow, now that the captain basically told her he was as attracted to her as she to him?
Inhale. Exhale. There was only one place to go at a time like this.
She took her plain white parasol and her pad, pencil, and rolled drawing from the night before and left the office. "Andrew, I'm going to work from home the rest of the day so I can start on the official drawings for our new client. But first, I'm going to stop by Becky's and try to have lunch with her."
The other man nodded and she left the building. As she passed the stable, she saw Victor was still out with the buggy, and didn't wonder much about it. With him gone, she wouldn't have to explain her desire to walk today.
But, before she went home she needed to visit with her friend, and tell her that she'd decided to go through with it.
Lucky had felt the ragged breath Mrs. Watkins drew when he'd caught her against him and he knew she shared this spark of a flame attempting to catch between them. His arm still burned with her heat even now, twenty minutes after leaving her office. A sick feeling welled up within him and the pressure made him want to scream. Scream as he hadn't done since he was a child. He'd bedded married women many times before, but always after he knew for certain he wouldn't wake with a blade at his throat from some jealous husband. This frustration bubbling inside him came from wanting something on a different—more intimate—level, and recognizing he couldn't have it. He wanted Mrs. Watkins in this way, and he knew he couldn't have her. She was devoted to another. An old man.
As he made his way back toward Avenger, he kicked a stone in the path for a few yards then, in frustration, picked it up and threw it as far as he could into the bay.
Why did this always happen to him? He realized that this life he chose for himself wasn't the most conducive to courting a woman, marrying, or producing a family. But he did want these things. With all his heart he truly desired them. He wanted the peace and happiness that Ian found with Sarah, and that his sister found with Ren. He loved children and wanted dozens of his own to love as he loved his nieces and nephews.
Long ago he and Ian had bonded over fate's cruel hand when it came to family. Ian had overcome his issues of being abandoned by his father, to live with a grandfather he believed hated him. Lucky's parents had died in a fire when he was a young child, but it was his paternal aunt who'd tried to kill Lia and him to gain the fortune left to their father by Lucky's grandfather. His memories of his parents, their death, and the months living with his aunt were faint, so when Lucky thought about his family, the first thoughts were of his sister, Lia, and her husband, Ren, and his siblings through his sister's marriage, and all the combined children. They were his family, and he'd always hoped to one day add to that family when the time came that he took a wife.
His brother-in-law once told him he'd know when the right woman came along. That when she did, his world would feel more right with her in it, than without. So he'd waited. And now? The devil take him, but he now wanted a married woman in that way. He could feel it deep to the very roots of his soul. And the reality of the fact was crushing. He couldn't court her. Couldn't have her.
He knew, as he knew nothing else; that she wasn't like the married women he'd dallied with in the past—women after a fling for a few weeks or months, after which they'd part amicably to seek other beds. Mrs. Watkins was different, and it wasn't just the way she dressed, or that she worked. She impressed him as a woman who took her commitments seriously, and as someone who would give you her all when she gave you her heart.
The Watkins union was very unconventional, this was for certain. From what little he witnessed of their interaction, he would bet his right arm there was no real marriage between them. Lucky's curious mind wondered at many things, but the reality was The Watkins's didn't relate to each other in the manner of the married couples with whom he was familiar. And it wasn't that his family was different or special that he believed this. He saw with his own eyes Watkins treat his wife as one would a devoted daughter, and Mrs. Watkins treated her husband as a respected mentor.
Walking past the street which led to his boat, Lucky kept going until he spied a familiar sight. Taking the stone steps two at a time, he grasped the iron latch on the wooden door and pulled it open. Incense and burning beeswax candles scented the entryway to the small seaside town's only Catholic church. His eyes still adjusting to the dimmer interior, he looked toward the altar and saw the figure of an old man kneeling in prayer in one of the front pews, another seated next to him with his head bowed. Lucky spied the alcove he sought near the statue of St. Joseph and went to kneel in front of the bank of candles adorning the base. He took a match and lit one, then lowered his head.
He stayed that way, meditating and praying for several minutes, when a young priest came out from the sacristy and greeted the elderly man in the pews. The gentleman's voice sounded familiar and from under a bent arm Lucky caught a glimpse of the man. Mr. Watkins?
Lucky didn't move a muscle. He also didn't want to be recognized here. After all, he was praying for the strength of will to overcome this covetous feeling for that same man's wife. Lord forgive me, but I cannot leave now. Curiosity ate at him as he wanted to know what the old man was doing here. What were they about to discuss?
The men before the altar exchanged a few words, then Lucky heard a crinkling of paper as Watkins handed a large wrapped package over to the priest. "Thank you again, Spenser," the younger man said. "The children all benefit greatly from your generosity."
"You know my wish, lad. One day, when I'm gone, I pray you'll see that it happens."
"This will bring us one step closer," the priest replied, taking a seat next to Watkins. "So, how is Mary-Michael today?"
Lucky strained to hear the older man's reply. "Ah, your sister.... Poor lass. She still cries at night. I hear her through the wall and it breaks my heart."
"There are many other children she can choose from you know...." Lucky couldn't hear what the younger man said no matter that he held his breath and strained his ears to listen to the two men.
"For some reason Mrs. Watkins took to those two immediately and, I'll admit to loving the two little half-pints myself." Lucky chanced a quick glance under his arm and saw Spenser Watkins' white head shaking mournfully. "Since then, I don't think she has it in her to go through that ordeal yet again to perhaps have her heart broken once more."
"I understand," the priest said. "Other than that is she doing well? I noticed she'd lost some weight the last time I saw her. Please tell her to take care of herself, Spenser."
"I will pass that on," Watkins said. "She does have something new at work that has her excited. There's a new client we've taken on.
She'll be designing and building two clippers for a British gent whose partner is Hamish's son. Make sure ye tell Gideon. He'd love to hear that little Ian is all grown and has his own tea import business. And that the old earl is finally fertilizer in the churchyard, and Ian is now the earl."
There were a few more words shared, then Lucky heard some shuffling of paper and the sound of men rising and parting ways. He heard the priest say, "There is a special place in heaven waiting for you, Spenser. I know it."
The older man chuckled. "Eh. That's if I even see those pearly gates."
Lucky heard movement in the pews, and kept his head down as the echoing sound of steps approached, then left the building.
"Victor, help me to the buggy," Watkins said as he walked out of the church, "and get me in my bed soon, before I expire inside this sweltering church. Thank the Lord, I've already got that trip to the farm planned for the weekend. I have to get out of this heat. This town in summer just sucks the life right out of a man."
"It does do that, sir, yes it does," replied his escort. "Especially with summer comin' so early this year."
Lucky kept his head bowed a while longer and did actually pray for a few minutes. When he was done, he looked around to see if the priest was still in the pew before getting up. He wanted to avoid questioning by this man who appeared to be Mrs. Watkins' brother. Realizing the other man had quit the chapel, he got up and walked out as well. Lucky thought that maybe he needed to see if there was another church he might attend for the duration of his visit, perhaps across the bay. One in which the object of his fascination and her husband were not parishioners.
He shaded his eyes as he turned toward the dock where his little gig was tied.
He was already thinking of her as his Mary. Mary, the woman with the intellect greater than any many he knew. A woman with silky auburn hair of undetermined length and eyes the color of a cup of fresh-brewed tea. She was his still-married-Mary. Mary, whose husband was a generous and good man. A man who just made what appeared to be a substantial donation to the church for some reason.