Splendor

by Catherine Hart

  He frowned back, his shaggy hair handsomely rumpled. For a moment he said nothing, merely staring down at her. Little did she know that the same lamplight that enabled her to see him so well was also shining through her white batiste gown, very clearly silhouetting her curvaceous bare body. His voice was husky as he finally replied, “Is something wrong?”

  She pretended ignorance. “Why do you ask?”

  He countered with an exasperated look. “Why?” he echoed in disbelief. “Because you are making enough racket in there to wake the dead!”

  On a negligent shrug, she offered, “I’m just restless for some reason. I can’t seem to light in one spot for more than a minute.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She elaborated—very innocently, of course. “I seem to have a bad case of the fidgets. First I’m too hot, and there doesn’t seem to be enough air in the room. Then there is too much. Even my skin seems extraordinarily sensitive this evening.”

  “Are you running a fever?” he queried, apparently concerned. “Do you hurt anywhere? Should I fetch your mother or the doctor?”

  She waved a slender hand at him, dismissing the idea. “I’m not ill. I suppose my nerves are simply on edge.”

  “Have you tried drinking some warm milk?”

  “Nay, but I did pour myself a dram of wine, in the hope it would help relax me enough to sleep.” She lifted the goblet for his perusal.

  It was filled almost to the rim. “A dram?” he mocked, his brow rising. “Duchess, that is definitely more than a dram, and quite sufficient to set you back on your heels.”

  She considered this. “I suppose so,” she agreed lightly. “And ’tis my second glass.”

  At this, the other blond brow rose to meet the first, his eyes lighting speculatively. “Why don’t I come in and sit with you for a while?” he proposed. “You really shouldn’t be imbibing so freely on your own. You could have an accident, mayhap fall and hit your head. And no one would know you were hurt.”

  “You wish to join me?” she asked, seeming to weigh his suggestion. Then she shook her head. “I think not, Devlin. But if you want to share my wine, you may.”

  She offered the chalice to him, but he pushed it gently back. “Nay, sweetling, I do not want your wine. I only meant that I might keep you company while you drink it.”

  “Aye, no doubt with the intent of taking advantage of me when I’ve consumed enough to cloud my judgment, you scoundrel!” She glared up at him while with one hand she flipped a length of burnished hair over her shoulder. Then she made to close the door on him. “Go back to bed, Captain Kane.”

  His sly smile was that of a fox trying to convince a hen that he meant no harm. “Gladly, if that bed be yours.”

  “When roosters lay eggs,” she retorted sweetly, reaching out to give him a little shove, allowing her fingers to caress his bare chest in the same movement. Her eyes went wide and slightly unfocused.

  Devlin drew a sharp breath. “Let me in, Eden,” he coaxed softly, convincingly.

  “Nay.” Her hand dropped slowly to her side. She swayed slightly toward him, her lips still parted, before she caught herself and took an unsteady step back. “Go, Devlin. Please. While I still have the strength to resist your charms.”

  Her words rocked him. In that moment of hesitation, Eden gently closed her door on him. She was shaking, whether more from this mad gamble she was taking or with desire for him, she was not sure. She sensed him , still standing in the hall outside her door. Then she heard the quiet tread of his departing footsteps.

  Taking a deep breath, hoping she was not over-playing her hand, Eden once more opened her door. He stood in the shadows, ready to enter his own room. There he halted, waiting for her to speak.

  Small white teeth gnawed at her lower lip, her indecision evident, and quite endearing. When finally she spoke, her voice was quivering and wistful. “Is it awfully sinful for me to want you so, Devlin?”

  Within the space of one heartbeat and the next, he was beside her, his arms gathering her to him as he ushered them both inside her room and closed the door behind them. Then his lips were devouring hers, giving her no chance to demur. His hands were in her hair, at her waist, stroking the length of her back, moving eagerly as if to touch every part of her at once. At last, when her world was spinning recklessly, he allowed her a breath of air.

  “God, Eden, have you any idea what you do to me?” he groaned.

  “If ’tis anything like what you do to me, ’tis indeed dangerous,” she answered on a wobbly sigh.

  His mouth lowered toward hers again as he pulled her nearer still, curving her soft body into the hard contours of his. “Wait!” she protested mildly, pushing at his shoulder.

  As he drew back slightly, she looked down at the goblet trapped between them, tilted precariously in her trembling hand. “My cup runneth over,” she quipped with a giggle.

  His gaze followed hers, and he gave a rumbling laugh. “So it seems,” he agreed, reaching out to relieve her of the vessel. He glanced about for a place to set it down, but none was near enough to suit. Without another thought but ridding himself of the encumbrance as speedily as possible, Devlin brought the cup to his lips—and as Eden watched in breathless jubilation, he drained the brew in four swift gulps, then carelessly let the empty goblet fall to the floor.

  “That,” he murmured, his arms banding about her waist to gather her near again, “takes care of that problem. Now, you tempting little witch, we’ll take care of another. One that’s been tormenting me since the day I met you.”

  “Me as well,” she admitted daringly, rising to her toes to present her lips to his. “Oh, Devlin. Make me yours. Ease this ache I have for you.”

  Her words, so bold and provocative, were more potent than any ancient aphrodisiac could have been, making his body leap in immediate response. Yet the part of his brain which was still functioning past his lust warned him to go slowly, reminding him that no matter how much she professed to want him, she was yet an innocent, and must be tenderly introduced to the powerful hunger now clawing at him. With effort, he gentled his caresses, his kisses, savoring the feel and the taste of her, relishing every moan of desire that tore from her throat. He spent endless minutes holding her, whispering to her, inviting her inquisitive touch. Only when she was quivering so intensely in his embrace; that her legs began to fail her did he sweep her into his arms and carry her to the bed.

  As he lowered her to the mattress, her arms clung about his neck, reluctant to release him. Passion-glazed eyes stared into his, large and liquid, like sparkling turquoise pools, and he felt himself drowning in her tremulous gaze. “Oh, sweetling! When you look at me that way, I would grant you almost anything.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to request yet again that he apply for amnesty, but she bit the words back, knowing that to do so would immediately cool his ardor. Even as shaken as she was, her desires nearly overwhelming her, some inner voice warned her not to ask it. Rather, she implored huskily, “Hold me. Love me.” Before the wondrous longing once more swept her beyond the point of reasoning, she realized that the sleeping potion did not yet seem to be affecting him. She pondered vaguely whether it would render him unconscious in time to save her virtue—or if she even wanted it to. Then she was once again caught up in the enchantment of his sweet, persistent persuasion, arching into him with wanton delight as he joined her on the bed.

  His hands were everywhere, setting her body aflame. Taunting. Teasing. Arousing. And all the while, his mouth was making sumptuous love to hers. She did not know exactly when he had removed her gown and his breeches; had not the time nor the patience to fathom how he had managed the feat when his hands and lips seemed never to leave her. She only knew that his flesh was now searing hers with a heat that threatened to set her ablaze.

  Just holding her, rubbing his bare body along hers, burying his face in her sweet, soft flesh, was heaven to Devlin. The pebbled tips of her breasts probed his furred chest, burrowing into th
e fleecy nest as if to melt themselves into him, and he knew if he died that very instant, he would perish a happy man. Her hair tangled about him, stroking him with its fragrant length, beckoning him to bury his face in its silken strands. Everywhere he touched, her skin was like warm satin. Her body was flawlessly formed, sleek and firm where God had intended it to be, yet incredibly soft and pliant in all the proper places.

  She was perfection—and in a few short minutes, she would be his. Completely. The mere thought of it, of possessing her totally, his body claiming hers at last, seemed to make his head spin. Fuzzily, he tried to recall if craving any other woman had ever made him quite so dizzy with desire.

  Eden was afloat on a sea of strange and magical sensations of her own, all directly related to Devlin and the fascinating feelings he was awakening within her. Of a sudden, her body seemed to have acquired a thousand places which were now exquisitely attuned to his touch. Her nipples were uncommonly sensitive, supremely ticklish and tingling as his chest hair caressed them teasingly. Wherever it rasped over her bare flesh—her throat, her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach—the shadow of bristles on his usually clean-shaven face seemed to evoke an erotic quickening. Even the coarse hair of his legs as they grazed across her more tender limbs was curiously titillating.

  At every point at which their clutching, passion-misted bodies met, soft against hard, rough against smooth, the differences between them formed a marvelous contrast, yet at the same time were wonderfully complementary. Except, perhaps for one. She did not need to see it to know that the hot, hard protrusion pressing against her thigh was his engorged manhood. She’d inadvertently observed it twice before, and felt it through her skirts numerous times. Still, feeling it against her bare leg, with nothing covering either of them, was quite a different matter, and almost as alarming as it was exciting.

  Even with his mouth now suckling at her breast, sending a quiver of fiery desire to her loins, fear darted through her. In preparation for what might occur this night, Eden’s mother had reluctantly described the mating process, but even with Jane’s explanations, Eden could not see how her body would ever accommodate Devlin’s organ. Surely, it would rend her asunder! To what, precisely, had she committed or condemned herself?

  Oblivious of her fears, Devlin continued to stroke Eden’s trembling body. His fingers trailed upward along the silken skin of her inner thighs until they found the sheltering nest of curls at the delta and delved through them in search of that most treasured pearl of passion.

  Suddenly Eden was lost in a shower of sensual pleasure. Stars seemed to dance in her head in time to the wild beat of her heart and the throbbing between her legs, where Devlin was so deftly caressing her. His thumb continued to fondle that special place that had her writhing beneath him, while his fingers slid lower, searching, probing. One eased inside to stroke the warm, moist passage hidden there. Then two fingers stretched up inside her, readying her for what was to come.

  As he levered himself over her, she was panting, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. No longer was she afraid. Her mind had no place for fear now, or for anything beyond gratifying this intense longing.

  He was murmuring to her, meaningless phrases her brain was too befuddled to interpret, as he positioned her quaking legs about his waist. His shaft pushed into her where his fingers had gone before. He paused briefly, his own breathing labored now as he strove to control his passion, to allow her body sufficient time to accustom itself to him, lest he hurt her more than he must. Then, with his mouth over hers to muffle any cries she might make, he thrust himself full within her tight, wet sheath, piercing the thin obstruction in his path.

  For all her previous fears, Eden felt little more than a twinge of discomfort as Devlin shoved past the barrier that proved her virginity. There was a brief burning sensation, an incredible fullness as her inner chamber stretched to accommodate him. Again he had paused, and a moment later it was she who lifted her hips upward in a wordless gesture of need.

  He chuckled softly, lifting his mouth from hers to gaze into her flushed face. “Your wish is my command, duchess,” he assured her with a roguish grin, even as his hips began the age-old rhythm.

  His thrusts were long and deep, once more igniting her passions to delirious heights. Soon she was writhing beneath him, mindlessly matching his every movement with her own. Together they climbed ever onward, upward, toward the blazing heavens, their ecstasy building until Eden thought they would surely be burned alive in the fierce inferno that enveloped them. Then the sun seemed to shatter, spewing forth a fountain of dazzling rays, showering her and Devlin with golden brilliance. On gilded wings of rapture, they soared—and when their radiant flight was done, they glided gently down to earth once more.

  When next she was aware of her surroundings, she lay with her head gently pillowed on Devlin’s broad shoulder. His hand tenderly stroked her head, brushing the damp curls from her face. “Sleep, my beauty,” he whispered drowsily, “and dream sweet visions of glories yet unshared between us. Splendors yet to come.”

  Past a stifled yawn, he added teasingly, “In the morn, when my head has ceased its peculiar spinning, you and I must inspect your chicken pen, sweetling—for certainly the rooster will now be laying eggs.”

  Eden was still considering an appropriately clever retort when Devlin began to snore sonorously. At long last, the sleeping draught had taken its toll.

  Chapter 22

  Devlin awoke slowly, groggily, his mouth like cotton and his head throbbing. Before he opened his eyes, he could tell that doing so was going to be painful, for through his closed lids the room seemed brighter than normal. It also seemed to be swaying dizzily, much as it had when he’d fallen asleep the night before.

  If it didn’t hurt so much, he would have smiled, recalling the night which had passed, and the wonders of making love with Eden at long last. She’d turned out to be quite a delight, practically a wanton in fact, once he’d finally rid her of her silly, virginal qualms. Perhaps he’d stay abed a bit longer this morn and feast again on her delicious charms.

  With this thought foremost in his mind, Devlin attempted to move his hand in search of her warm, bare body. It was then that he first discovered that his hands were bound above his head, securely tied—to what? Why? Instantly, at the same time that his eyes popped wide in alert reaction and he found himself in his own quarters aboard the Gai Mer, Devlin’s befuddled brain recognized several other facts. The bed was rocking, not because he was still dizzy but because the frigate was under sail. And if he’d had his senses about him, he would "have realized before now that he could hear the creak of the timbers, the slosh of the waves, the familiar flapping of canvas.

  Not only was he now at sea aboard his own ship, but he was trussed up in bed like a Christmas turkey, secured hand and foot! Damn him for being the biggest fool God had ever set breath into! Despite all his suspicions and precautions, he’d still been properly duped, abducted, and bound. By his trusted mate, and the refined little lady who had come to be like a second mother to him, and that spiteful wench who’d had the audacity—the absolute temerity—to seduce him free of his better judgment!

  Unless he missed his guess, the ship was on its way to New Providence, and he with it. Devlin’s brow furrowed as he contemplated his predicament. Then he gave a gruff laugh. They might all have thought they’d outfoxed him, but they had made a major miscalculation. Nate could haul him all the way to the Bahamas, could even hold a gun to his head, but it would all be for naught. Without Eden along, he still couldn’t “appear” before the governor. It would be he who would have the last laugh after all.

  And if Nate, or someone, didn’t trot his rotten carcass in here soon and untie him, there would be bloody hell to pay! How dare his crew treat their captain in such a manner! Why, they’d be lucky if he didn’t have them all hung from the yardarm!

  When, after a few minutes more, no one appeared to check on him, let alone release him, Devlin began to roar. In his b
est authoritative bellow, he cursed, “Nate! You scurvy sea dog! Get your arse in here, or I’ll have you flogged to within an inch of your worthless life. Do you hear me, you sneaking bilge rat?”

  The cabin door opened, but to Devlin’s shock, it was not Nate, or any other of his crew, who entered. It was Eden who strolled in so calmly. Aboard his ship! No doubt dooming them all to a watery grave!

  “Do cease that infernal yelling, Devlin,” she instructed him blithely, “or we’ll have to gag you, as Nate originally intended.” She set the tray she carried on the desk opposite the bed and turned to face him, her hands on her hips as she looked him over with a cool, gloating smile. “My, I rather think I’m going to like having you at my mercy this way.”

  His eyes were nearly bulging from his head, his face blotched with fury, and she hoped he was not about to go into some sort of fit and die. His mouth worked soundlessly until he finally managed to get his lungs and tongue in working order once more. Sailors an ocean away should have leapt to attention as he raged, “Get off of my ship!”

  Eden merely smiled down at him. “And do what, Captain? Swim back to Charles Town? We are several hours out at sea.”

  “I don’t care how you manage it,” he snapped. “I just want you gone! Immediately! Before you send us all to wrack and ruin!” He groaned and thrashed about, trying unsuccessfully to jerk loose of his restraints. “Hellfire! I’d rather have the devil himself aboard, than a woman! You know that!”

  “Now, Devlin, don’t fash yourself so. We’ve taken care of it. Think you that Nate and the crew would have me aboard if we had not?”

  “I’ve no idea what Nate might do these days, for I’m beginning to think love has reduced his brains to a puddle of mush within his foolish head! Blast him, anyway! And blast you as well!” He glowered up at her.