Summer Darkness, Winter Light

by Sylvia Halliday

  “Aye, Cap’n. We shall have storm by morning.”

  “Well, as the old tars would say, ‘Bid the wind blow devil, the more wind the better boat.’” He nodded to his guests and left the roundhouse, the mate trailing behind.

  Ellsmere sighed. “I do dislike rough seas. I fear I haven’t the guts for them. Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

  “I find it helps to take the air,” said Grey. “If I were you, I should avoid the solitude of a cabin, and seek the deck when you can.”

  Allegra had had her share of seasickness on her voyage from America. “But to look at the horizon riding up and down only makes it worse.”

  Grey raised a mocking eyebrow. “I think that Lord Ellsmere would be infinitely safer on deck, with his eyes closed and in full view of others, than he would be below. Who knows what dangers lurk where no one can see?”

  She had a sudden fear that Grey might tell Wickham of her plans. She laughed nervously. “Will you have Lord Ellsmere shrinking from empty shadows, milord?”

  “I’d only warn him of genuine dangers should I deem it necessary,” he said pointedly. “As I’d warn anyone in danger. Including my missing bond servant, who would be wise to take heed.”

  She was growing quite weary of the hostile edge to his voice. “That…saucy creature?” she asked, her lip curling in disgust.

  His eyes narrowed. “She’ll pay a forfeit that she’ll not soon forget.”

  “That sounds exceeding cruel, Your Lordship,” she said through clenched teeth. “You’re quite sober now, I see. But are you any kinder than you were in your gin-soaked days?” She rose abruptly from the table, smoothing her skirts. “By your leave, gentlemen,” she murmured, and swept from the room, leaving a scowling Grey behind her.

  She closed the door of her cabin and threw herself on the bunk. Curse him! He couldn’t stop her—not even with his angry threats. Not when she’d come this far, endured so much!

  She looked around the snug cabin. Like the roundhouse, it was comfortably appointed, with a large bunk between the bulkheads, and a small table and chair. Captain Smythe treated his passengers well, if they had the money to pay for furnishings.

  She laughed bitterly, remembering her passage over from the Carolinas only this past spring. Cramped into a dark hole just above the stinking bilge, starving most of the time, fearful that one of the seamen would see the woman beneath her boy’s disguise and rape her.

  As for the Baniard family’s voyage in the convict ship all those long years ago…She shuddered. She would never, never forget that horror. Nor the fact that the Ellsmeres had been the cause. By God, whether Grey tried to interfere or not, Thomas Wickham would never see the coast of Yorkshire!

  She sat for a long time, her thoughts in a turmoil, while the light faded and the cabin dimmed. She lit her lantern and watched it sway gently with the movement of the ship. She thought she heard sounds in the passageway beyond her door; Grey and Lord Ellsmere must have gone to their own cabins by now.

  Grey. She ached to throw herself into his arms, to beg him to make love to her. But she had her duty. And that came first. Perhaps she would search for him, force him to understand that she couldn’t live her own life until Wickham was dead. Perhaps if he saw her desperation, he’d leave her in peace to do what she must.

  She opened the door and stepped out into the passageway. She knew which was Wickham’s cabin; she’d asked the mate almost as soon as she had come aboard. But she didn’t know where Grey was berthed. She hesitated, frowning at the several doors that opened onto the dim passage.

  Suddenly, one of them opened, and Grey was there, tall and menacing. Allegra’s heart constricted with dread. His hand shot out and clamped around her wrist. He pulled her, protesting, into his cabin and slammed the door. The hanging lantern above his head cast terrifying shadows across his scowling face. He wrapped her tightly in his fierce embrace and glared down at her.

  “You may kill him in the morning, if you must,” he growled. “But tonight, damn it, you belong to me!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  His mouth ground down on hers in an all-consuming kiss. She gasped as he forced his tongue between her lips, thrusting it savagely into her mouth as though no part of her was safe from his overbearing possession. His hands roamed her body; he clutched her flanks through her skirts and held her against his swelling loins until she trembled with longing. Her fear melted away, to be replaced by a burning hunger, a desperate need.

  It was still so new to her—to make love with a man. Her body scarcely remembered the hard fullness of him within her, the sensation of intimate flesh pressing against flesh. But her heart recalled the thrill.

  She threw her arms around his neck and welcomed his kiss, gliding her tongue sensuously against his. He groaned and dropped one hand from her body to fumble with his clothing. In another minute, he had gathered up her skirts to her waist. He slid his hand along her bare thigh, lifted her leg and guided it to wrap around his hip. She felt his rigid manhood against the moistness of her cleft and held her breath, anticipating his loving entrance. Instead, he growled like a beast capturing its prey, tightened his grip on her thigh, and plunged wildly into her.

  She cried out and clung to him, returning his impassioned kisses with her own. She had forgotten how glorious it was. And when he began to move, rocking against her sensitive flesh in a tantalizing rhythm, she felt the stirring of sensations that were new and strange and frighteningly wonderful. It was as though there were a taut band somewhere within her body, a band that twisted tighter and tighter with each thrust of his loins. She knew it would snap, she knew it would explode. And what would follow after that, God alone knew. She only knew it was sweet agony to feel the tension building.

  “Godamercy,” she breathed, throwing back her head in rapture, “don’t stop.”

  He scowled down at her, then abruptly withdrew his shaft and pushed her away. “No,” he muttered darkly, “not yet, my impatient Allegra. I’ll know every inch of you first.” He reached for the bodice of her gown and began to tug roughly at the hooks.

  She returned his frown, feeling her rising excitement die. He meant to torment her before he satisfied her—or himself. And not out of love. But because the cauldron of rage still boiled within him. She thought at first to leave, to storm out of his cabin, to refuse to be a party to his ill humor.

  Then her common sense reasserted itself. She hadn’t forgotten his threat of chastisement. He had every right to take his hand to her—she still belonged to him, by law. No matter what they had bargained that night. He might even have brought the accursed contract with him. She’d find no refuge with Captain Smythe if she sought his protection.

  She sighed. Better to accept Grey’s lovemaking, even in anger, than to feed his wrath by resisting. He was perilously close to the edge; she could see it in his eyes. If she dared to reject him now, and shatter his fragile pride…

  The knife! In a sudden panic, she remembered the knife in her bodice. She pushed away his fingers and clutched at her bosom. If he should find it hidden there! “You needn’t be my maidservant, Grey,” she said, forcing herself to sound calm and reasonable. “I can do for myself.” She turned away, working at the fastenings of her gown and stays. She could hear behind her the sounds of his own clothing being removed—the clump of shoes, the rasp of velvet breeches, the silken whisper of cravat and shirt. As she finished her own disrobing, she felt his hands on her bare shoulders.

  “Don’t turn around yet,” he ordered.

  She tensed as he slid his hands down her back to cup the soft roundness of her buttocks. It was not quite a caress; his hands were hard, urgent—kneading the tender mounds with a roughness that bespoke his continuing anger, not his passion. She felt a thrill of renewed fear. Was this merely a prelude to something more painful? Would the fondling end with the sharp smack of his hand against her bare flesh? Worse still, would she suddenly find herself sprawled across his knees, like a child, awaiting a humiliating punishment?<
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  By all the Saints, she wasn’t about to wait like a meek bird to find out! She whirled around and glared at him, her chin thrust forward in defiance. “Do you intend to beat me, or make love to me?”

  His face told her that she’d been foolishly rash to challenge him. His thick brows were drawn together in a scowl, and his mouth was set in a tight line. He seemed to be debating with himself over what would bring him the most satisfaction.

  She gulped at the savage look in his eyes, and took a step backward. At that moment, he reached for her, swept her into his arms, and tossed her onto his bunk. He threw himself on top of her and kissed her hard, his mouth demanding a response. She sighed—there was as much relief as pleasure in her reaction—relaxed, and lifted her arms to his neck.

  His hands on her wrists stopped her. He stretched her arms over her head and held them there, pressing her into the softness of the thick straw pallet. She laughed gently and tried to pull loose; she wanted to touch him, she wanted to explore his dear body with her fingertips. But instead of releasing her hands, he tightened his grip. “Grey?” she said tremulously, and struggled against his hold. It was useless. His hands were like chains, shackling her to the bunk. She felt like a helpless prisoner, weak and powerless against her captor. She writhed in a ferment of impotence. “Let me go!”

  “I told you that you belong to me tonight,” he growled. “I intend for you to know it.” Though she resisted with all her strength, he jammed his knee between her closed thighs and spread her wide, then planted his burning shaft at the juncture between her legs. But instead of entering her, he glided back and forth against her tender flesh, a sensual stroke that roused her in spite of herself. Again and again he rubbed his firm manhood against her, teasing her to a fever of longing and desire. She ceased her struggles and closed her eyes, aching to feel his hard length within her, to quench the flames that had begun to burn in her loins. She arched her hips to meet him, desperate to force him to take her, to enter her. To satisfy her unfulfilled need. And still the torment continued.

  She opened her eyes to look at him. His face was granite-like and impassive. She groaned in frustration. “In the name of God, Grey,” she pleaded, “have a little mercy.”

  “As you had mercy, when you ran away without so much as a word to me? Damn you, I nearly went mad, wondering how you could leave me like that.”

  She twisted and twitched beneath him, her arms helpless and pinioned, her body equally trapped, a captive of her own desire. “And so you torture me now?”

  “No, God help me,” he muttered. “I want you as much as you want me. But be warned. I won’t be gentle with you tonight. I can’t. Not yet.”

  “I don’t care,” she whispered, and closed her eyes again.

  She gasped at the shock of his savage entrance. He buried himself deep within her, thrusting again and again with a fierce, pounding tempo that shook her to her very soul. He was hard and strong and brutal, each stroke of his manhood a conquering assault that was very close to pain. She felt as though she would explode and dissolve into nothingness beneath his demanding possession. She cried out, torn with the desire to be released from her agony, yet never wanting him to stop.

  In response to her fervent cry, he let go of her wrists, slipped his hands under her writhing hips and pulled her even closer to his surging loins. She could feel the jolt of each wild thrust deep within her belly. Again and again, until she thought she’d be ripped asunder. She lost all sense of reality. She clung to him, raking his back with her nails in an excess of passion. She was floating, trembling, soaring. Helpless beneath his ferocious attack, yet heedless of her own will. Pain was pleasure. Surrender was joy.

  She felt the hot flames racing madly through her body. Burning her flesh, blazing into her face, roaring in her ears. Release came in a final explosive shudder as Grey convulsed above her and collapsed. She could feel the hot wetness of his sweat on her breast, the pounding of his heart against her ribs. His ragged breath was a heavy rasp next to her ear.

  At last he stirred. “Damn you, you perverse witch. If ever you leave me again…” His tone was more gentle than his words. He lifted his head and kissed her. There was warmth and peace in his eyes, in his kiss.

  She gazed at him in wonder, sensing—with that flash of intuition that was so much a part of her—what had happened. She had atoned, with her body, for all the years of pain he had suffered. All his anger, all his helpless rage, had come pouring out in that one savage act of love. “Are we forgiven now?” she asked softly.

  He frowned. “Forgiven?”

  “For abandoning you.”

  He swore softly, rolled over and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck in uneasiness. “I must have been mad, to use you so roughly. I should beg your pardon, not the other way round. Of course you’re forgiven.”

  “Both of us?”

  “What do you mean, both?”

  “Myself…and Ruth.”

  He started at her words and looked away; he stared for a long time at the swaying lantern, his brow wrinkled in thought. After a while, he turned to Allegra with a rueful smile and shook his head. “I never thought of it until now. I suppose, all unaware, I was angry and unforgiving. That she should die. That she should leave me.”

  “As did your saucy wench.” She smiled and pulled him down to lie beside her, feeling a warm contentment that flooded her with joy.

  He grunted. “My saucy wench risked a great deal.”

  “Would you have punished me instead of making love to me?”

  He stroked her bottom with a tender hand. “It did cross my mind,” he said dryly.

  “For running away?”

  “No. I had Briggs tear up your bond contract.”

  She was glad of that news! “For stealing your dagger, then?”

  “No. I reclaimed it from that rascally pawnbroker in Change Alley.”

  “Then why did you follow me? And threaten punishment in such a cruel way at supper?”

  “Because, my fair Allegra, my sweet thief,” he said, kissing her with a tenderness that made her tremble, “you had stolen my heart. And then had the temerity to go away.”

  “Oh, Grey,” she said, nestling in his arms. “You know I didn’t want to. I meant every word in my letter.”

  He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “I know,” he said gruffly.

  “I’m sorry about stealing that beautiful knife. I had no other way. No means to support myself in London.”

  “’Tis forgotten. I told you, I reclaimed it. The pawnbroker even directed me to the Bell Inn to find you. You’d already gone. Where were you?”

  “With Dolly. That is, Lady Dorothy Mortimer.”

  “Poor Dolly. And Richard. I treated them badly at the Hall, drunken fool that I was.”

  “I think they understood, and are only waiting for you to hold out the hand of friendship again.” She sighed unhappily. “Poor Dolly.”

  “Such a deep sigh? Simply because I was uncivil to her? It can be remedied.”

  “’Tis not you. ’Tis Jonathan Briggs.”

  “Briggs? Uncivil? Did he dare to insult my guests?”

  She laughed softly. “Of course not. His only failing is pride. And a too-tender heart.”

  While Grey shook his head in disbelief, Allegra told him of the hopeless, silent love that had blossomed between his steward and Lady Dorothy. “That bloody fool, Briggs,” he exclaimed at last. “To refuse to speak up! And all for the want of money?”

  “’Tis his sense of honor, and he refuses to bend.”

  “And this was happening while Richard and Dolly were at the Hall? Under my very nose? Was I too blind to see it?”

  “You were too intoxicated most of the time to see it,” she chided, then snuggled against him to soften her reproach.

  He snorted, but returned her embrace. “And you’re as saucy as ever you were in the Hall. I once demanded a kiss from you as a forfeit for your insolence. I think the price has now gone up.”

/>   She felt the sudden, unexpected hardness of his member against her body and giggled. “As have other things, milord.”

  He laughed outright at her sally. It warmed her heart to hear. “Come to me then, you devil,” he said. “I’ll never get enough of you.” He covered her body with his and took her lips in a sweet kiss. And when he made love to her this time, it was with a tender gentleness that left her trembling and weeping for joy.

  After a little while, he stirred. “I have a powerful thirst. Look in my sea chest. I think Ram left me a flask of good claret.”

  She eyed him with curiosity and more than a little disquietude. But she obeyed, fetching the wine and filling a tumbler with the ruby liquid.

  He took the proffered glass and laughed softly. “Take the frown from your brow, my sweet. I drink a bit of wine for the pleasure of it. No more than that. I drank gin for forgetfulness. I wasn’t sunk so deep into corruption that I couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “And now?”

  “I don’t want to forget a moment with you,” he said hoarsely. “Not a solitary hour.” He reached out and stroked the side of her face with a gentle hand. “Until you came along, only my toil in the almshouse made sobriety worth my while.” He finished his wine, stood up, and pulled her into his arms. “If we haven’t reached Yarmouth by morning, I’ll have Captain Smythe make for the port. Ram can arrange for a carriage to take us back to the Hall.”

  She pulled free of his embrace and shook her head. “No, Grey. I cannot.”

  “Damn it, are you still set on your bloody course? You’ll come back to Baniard Hall with me. I’ll not hear a word of rebellion!”

  She stamped her bare foot at his high-handed tone. “Am I still your bond servant?”

  “Of course not. I told you…”

  “Then I can travel where I choose. And I intend to follow Wickham to Yorkshire.”