Anne Gracie - [Merridew Sister 03]

by The Perfect Stranger

  She greeted him in bed wearing the nightgown Marthe had given her, the fine lawn with exquisite handmade lace, creamy with age and stitched with love.

  Nicholas caressed her through it, the old lace abrading her skin deliciously. With shaking hands, as if it were their first time, he undid each tiny mother-of-pearl button, one by one by one, carefully and deliberately slow, until it was open to the waist. He kissed her breasts though the fabric, once, twice, then suckled her through the lace. Then he peeled the nightgown from her and made love to her with a concentration that threatened to shatter her heart, caressing her all over, as if he was learning her, learning each curve and hollow, laving each patch of skin, tasting her, storing up memories, saving her.

  He tasted every part of her from her fingertips to her toes, and then he worked his way back up the inside of her thighs and tasted her there, where the damp vee of golden curls clustered, and she gasped and clutched his hair as sensation shivered through to her very bones. His tongue explored her delicately at first, then deeper and more demanding. And he suckled her there, where she had not known it possible, and before she knew it she was shattering in fierce, helpless ecstasy. And as she began to shatter, he surged up and in one movement, buried himself in her and took them both to paradise.

  They lay in each other’s arms, stroking languidly, murmuring of this and that, small, inconsequential things.

  And later Faith took her turn to make love to him, sitting astride him, tasting him as she’d never tasted him before, suckling him where she had not thought to do so before. And she was filled with deep female pride and love as she watched him buck and writhe in helpless pleasure beneath her, until he flipped them over and buried himself in her again, and she felt the hot spurt of his seed inside her.

  “We might have a baby, Nicholas. Would you like that?”

  “I would, my love. I’ve given Morton Black instructions to take to my solicitor. You and any babe will be well taken care of.”

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I am an heiress.”

  “How nice for you,” he murmured, uninterested. “If there is a babe, would you take it to show my mother? She would love to see it.”

  “Of course I will, we will both go—we will all go when you return,” she amended. “And we’ll stay with her often. And she can stay with us.”

  He kissed her again with such tenderness that Faith wanted to weep. But she was determined not to. She was going to make this night a happy one if it killed her. If Nicholas was going off to risk his life on some important mission, she would make sure he had only happy memories to take with him, not memories of a blotchy-faced wife with red eyes.

  “Tell me about your mother,” she asked. “Will I like her?” She was more worried that Nicholas’s mother would not like her. What mother would welcome a chance-met, strange, convenient bride?

  “My mother is a wonderful woman,” he began, and Faith’s heart sank. “She adored my father, even though he was a bully and seemed to show her no affection.” He thought for a moment and looked at her with sudden awareness. “Though perhaps in the bedchamber it was different. I had not realized—until you—the depth of intimacy…and love…possible.”

  Faith smiled tremulously and rubbed her cheek against the hair on his chest. She had dreamed of it, had been promised it by her mother. Mama’s dying promise to all her daughters: sunshine and laughter and love and happiness. Nicholas had given her all that and more.

  “They seemed happy enough, and she openly adored him. But then, a few years ago, my father had an accident. He loved to hunt, and he came off at a fence one day when his horse balked at the last minute. He broke his back.”

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed.

  He glanced at her. “I—he and I were never on good terms,” he admitted, “but his accident nearly killed my mother.”

  “In what way? Did she fall, too?”

  He caressed her back absently. “No, she didn’t ride. My father took more than six months to die. He died slowly and in great pain. Watching him suffer and die like that nearly killed my mother. She nursed him to the very end.”

  Faith hugged him silently.

  “She was a dark-haired beauty when Father fell. She was a white-haired old woman when he finally had the grace to die.” He was silent for a moment, then shuddered. “He should never have put her through that, never!”

  “He could not help it,” she offered tentatively.

  “He could. He could have taken something to end it quickly, spared her the sight of his suffering when she was helpless to alleviate it, except with laudanum. But he wouldn’t even take that. He was determined to draw out the whole filthy process as long as he could, damn him!” There was anguish as well as rage in his voice, and she knew it was not as simple as he was making out, that he had been deeply torn by his father’s decision.

  “You had to watch him die, too,” she suggested.

  “No, I didn’t! He loaded it all onto Mama’s frail shoulders. I didn’t even know he’d been hurt until I received the letter saying he was dead. It reached me a month to the day after he’d been buried. I wasn’t even there to help her with the funeral!”

  She hugged him silently, knowing the hurt of being shut out from the family at such a time would have made the grief bite all the deeper, fester longer. “But your mother is well now?”

  He sighed. “Yes, she is well.”

  “I will visit her as soon as I get to England. She may not like me, but I want to tell her how much I love her son and how you are. She will want to know you are well.”

  He looked at her with anguished eyes. “Yes, she will want to know I am well. And she will love you, Faith, have no doubts. She won’t be able to help herself.”

  And then he made love to her again, silently and with a desperate edge, as if he was seeking oblivion in her, seeking forgetfulness. And Faith sought oblivion, too. Live in the moment, forget about the past, don’t worry about the future. The moment was all that counted, this moment, here in this bed in the inn in Bilbao with Nicholas, her husband, her miracle, the love of her life.

  The door of Mac’s bedchamber creaked open. He feigned sleep, but his fingers stealthily secured the knife that was never far from reach.

  “Tavish, you awake?”

  He put the knife away and sat up. “Aye, lass. What do you want?”

  Her face was wet with tears. “I have bad dreams again, Tavish. Can I stay here with you?”

  He pulled back the covers. “Aye, lass.”

  She faltered and stared. “You have no clothes, Tavish. I not come here to diddle with you.”

  He sighed. “Just get into bed, will you, lass? I give you my word I’ll do nothing you don’t want.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I stupid gypsy girl who just believe what man say? When man is naked in bed? If you try force me, Tavish, I fight you. And then I will have to kill you—even if it break my heart.”

  “I think you’re a foolish gypsy girl who is standing there freezing us both for no reason. I gave ye my word, Estrellita, and I’ll no’ break it.” He looked at her scantily clad body and sighed theatrically, “Even if it kills me.”

  Cautiously she padded across the room and climbed into bed beside him. “I mean it, Tavish!”

  “Just lie down and shut up, will ye?” He reached out and pulled her against him. She was stiff and awkward, like a wild animal that had been trapped, but gradually he felt her body relax.

  “You nice and warm, Tavish.”

  “Aye, I am,” he agreed glumly.

  She snuggled down, wriggling against him until he groaned and clamped an arm over her. “Be still, will ye, little witch. A man can stand only so much.”

  In answer she turned in the circle of his arms and faced him. “I think you good man, Tavish,” she said softly. She stroked his chest, pushing her fingers experimentally through the fur on his chest. “You like big warm bear, Tavish.” She darted him a look and explored further. “I like
bears.”

  “And I like little gypsy cats.” He groaned. “Estrellita, lass, you’re killing me.”

  She snatched her hand away. “You no like?”

  “I like, too much.”

  She stared at him thoughtfully. “You want diddle with me much, I think, Tavish.”

  “Aye, I want ye much, Estrellita.”

  She swallowed, and her eyes slowly filled with tears. “Sorry, Tavish, I cannot. I only came because of terrible dreams.” She started to get out of bed, but he caught her and pulled her back.

  “Hush now, lass, ye needn’t leave. We’ll stop all this…fondling for now, and sleep. That’s what ye came here for, sleep and comfort, no’ a big, hairy, lustful Scot.” He pulled her down beside him and tucked her into the curve of his body, pulling the bedclothes around them. “Now sleep, my little cat,” he said. “Nothing shall harm ye.”

  She curled up against him and slept; just closed her eyes and slept. Women were amazing, he thought, his body aching and unfulfilled. She was amazing. She didn’t trust him enough to lie with him as a woman, but she could sleep in his arms as trustful as a kitten.

  She stirred and rubbed her lush little bum against him. It was going to be a long, sleepless, uncomfortable night, Mac thought. But he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The greatest happiness is to transform one’s feelings into action.

  MADAME DE STAËL

  THEY WALKED DOWN TO THE DOCKS, HAND IN HAND, IN THE faint gray light that precedes dawn. Stevens followed, carrying Faith’s meager baggage and chatting quietly to Morton Black. Mac and Estrellita trailed behind, walking close together but not quite touching. Even the dog, Beowulf, had come to see Faith off. Probably to make sure she was gone, Faith thought dismally.

  A gentle breeze blew, and the morning sky looked clear and calm. A perfect day for sailing.

  Faith desperately didn’t want to go. She was ragged with the effort of not weeping. “Why can’t I stay in Bilbao? You can go and do whatever it is you have to do, and—”

  Nick cupped her face between his palms and said gently, “Hush, my love. We’ve been through this a dozen times. It’s just not possible. Your presence here would be just as distracting for me. You must go to England, to your family. You will be happy to see them, won’t you? You said you missed your sisters—”

  “Yes, of course, but that’s not the point. I could wait for you, and we could go home togeth—”

  Abruptly Nicholas released her and walked the last few paces to the dock alone. He stood, his back to her, staring out to sea. The breeze was picking up, and canvas and rope flapped and slapped impatiently as sailors shouted and went about their business. They were the only passengers, and the captain had been waiting for them to arrive. He was impatient to leave.

  Morton Black took their bags and walked up the gangplank.

  Stevens came forward and touched her on the arm. “Don’t make it harder for him, missie. The more you ask to stay, the more it tears him apart.”

  Her face crumpled, and she fought back the tears. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…I cannot bear to leave him, after…just…now that we know how much we love each other. He loves me, Stevens. He said so.”

  The wise, battered face crinkled. “I know, my dear. I’ve known for a long time. But you cannot stay. If you love him, you’ll do what’s best for him and leave.”

  Faith wiped the tears from her eyes. “I suppose this is truly what being a soldier’s wife is about.”

  Mac spoke at her shoulder. “Aye, lass, it is. Now, make him proud o’ ye. Go, and bid him farewell with a brave and bonny smile and a sweet kiss.”

  They were right, Faith knew. Nicholas had his duty to perform, and her duty was to smile as she saw him off and then wait for him to come home to her, as the women of Mingulay waited. Only she was the one going to sea…

  She scrubbed at her face with the handkerchief to remove every trace of tears and took several deep breaths to calm herself. “Do I look all right?” she asked Nicholas’s friends.

  “That’s my brave girl,” Stevens told her.

  “Aye, lass, you look bonny.”

  Her face crumpled briefly as she looked at them, these two men, who such a short time ago had been strangers to her. Stevens had taught her so much, he was a bit like the father she’d missed so much, growing up. And Mac, who had started out so horrid—astounding to think how fond of him she now was. She hugged them both and kissed them on the cheeks, then embraced Estrellita.

  “Good-bye, my sister of the road,” the gypsy girl whispered in her ear. “I never forget you, Faith.”

  Faith nodded and hugged her again. She couldn’t speak.

  Bracing herself, mustering all the control she could, she closed the gap between herself and the tall, dark man standing still and alone on the wharf.

  She touched his arm, and he stiffened and turned to her. He wore his officer’s face; still, remote, controlled. But he was breathing hard as if he’d been running, and she felt the intensity radiating from him.

  Her beloved man.

  This was just as hard on him as it was on her, she realized suddenly, and the knowledge fortified her resolution as no amount of argument could.

  “Farewell, my dearest love. I will wait for you.” Tears blurred her vision again, but it didn’t matter because he was holding her in his arms, so tightly she couldn’t breathe, but it didn’t matter. He kissed her deeply, once, twice, and then released her, stared down at her with a still face and ravaged eyes, then grabbed her again for one last anguished kiss.

  “You have been the best thing in my life,” he said in a voice that cracked. “I will love you till I die—and beyond. Remember that always.”

  She nodded dumbly. “Keep safe, my love, keep safe. I will see you in England.”

  He gave her one last, devouring kiss, then turned and strode away.

  “Come along, my dear.” Morton Black was at her elbow. Faith allowed him to steer her up the gangplank and onto the boat; she was blind with tears.

  She stood at the rail, dimly aware of the bustle of sailors scurrying around hoisting sails and heaving on ropes as the boat cast off.

  She gripped the rail with white-knuckled hands as the narrow silver band of water widened. Slowly the boat swung around, and she walked around the edge of it like a sleepwalker, never taking her eyes off the still figure watching on the shore.

  And then the sun spilled over the mountains and blinded her, and Nicholas was lost in a golden haze. She tried shading her hands and squinting, but try as she might, she could no longer see him, only the burning rays of the rising sun.

  The tears came in earnest then, and she slumped down on the deck, weeping.

  “I’ll go doon an’ fetch him then,” Mac told Stevens after a while. They’d packed up, ready to leave on the last stage of their journey, leaving Nick in privacy as he watched his wife sail away. The boat was a tiny shape in the distance, the size of a child’s toy.

  “He’ll no mind a wee detour to Estrellita’s gran, will he, d’ye think?”

  Stevens shrugged. “Depends where that is. The girl’s been mighty close-mouthed about where that is, exactly.”

  Mac shook his head. “Aye, she still has it in her stubborn wee noggin that the cap’n means her gran ill. But I’ll talk sense into her.” A bit self-consciously he added, “She and I have a better understanding of each other now.”

  Stevens raised his brows. “I should hope so, after she spent the night in your room!”

  Mac flushed. “It isna what ye think. And anyway, I aim to marry the wench, so dinna be thinkin’ disrespectful thoughts of her!”

  Stevens grinned. “Congratulations. She’ll make you a good little wife, I think.”

  Mac looked glum. “As to that, she hasna said yes, yet. As I said, she’s a stubborn piece.”

  Stevens nodded. “Off you go, then and fetch the capt’n. We should get on the road straightaway—it’s no good to let h
im brood.”

  When the two returned, Nick mounted his horse in silence. He looked as weary and defeated as ever Stevens had seen him.

  “Cap’n, you’ll no mind a short detour to Estrellita’s great-granny, will ye?”

  Nick shrugged indifferently. “Of course not. Where is it?”

  “I’ll ask her. She’ll have to tell us now. Estrellita?” Mac called, looking for the girl. “Where is the wench?” He walked back into the inn but could find no sign of her.

  “Stevens, have ye seen Estrellita?’

  “Not since she said good-bye to—” He glanced at Nick. “Since she was down at the wharf. She slipped back here then, before the boat left. I figured she had something to do.”

  They looked everywhere, but it soon became clear; sometime in the last forty minutes, the gypsy girl had slipped away.

  “Where the devil has she got to?” Mac growled. He was refusing to admit she’d gone, was certain she’d just popped out for a moment, the way women did, and would be back.

  “What’s that around Beowulf’s neck?” Stevens asked.

  Mac whistled, and the dog came shambling up. He still wore the red ribbons that Estrellita had plaited into his fur, but around his neck was something blue and frilly. Mac felt suddenly hollow inside.

  He pulled it off the dog and said dully, “It’s a garter—blue satin ribbons and lace.” He stared at the scrap of bright fabric. “It’s Estrellita’s. She canna write, but this—” He crushed it in his hand with a fierce, angry gesture. “This is her farewell note.” He stuffed the garter in his pocket and strode toward his horse. “No point waiting. And no need for any detour—we might as well get straight on to Vittoria, then see where your Algy is buried.”

  “I’m sorry, Mac,” Stevens murmured.

  Mac shrugged. “Women! I should ha’ known better. They never take to me.”

  “Estrellita was different.”