Kerr Wallace shifted the point to the man’s Adam’s apple. His face was set in hard lines, his eyes a deadly gray-black behind the gleaming weapon in his fist.
The timbre of the voice, the lethal blade—who else should it be except Wallace? Nevertheless, the shock of his appearance was like a blow to the heart. With it came such despairing recognition of defeat that Sonia clenched her hands into fists and pressed them to the center of her chest as if that could stop the burning desolation inside her.
Kerr spared her a glance, his gaze resting on her torn shirtfront. His features hardened as he looked back to the man he held at the point of his sword. “Apologize to the lady.”
The seaman spat on the deck, glowering his defiance.
As casually as if swatting a fly, the maître d’armes reached out with a flick of his wrist. A red line appeared under the jaw of the seaman. “Apologize,” Kerr repeated in soft command.
“Gawd, man.” Sonia’s attacker wiped at his neck, stared at the blood on his fingers.
“How many scratches will it take to make you say you are a misbegotten bastard unfit to touch a lady?”
“She ’as leavin’ the ship. You said look out fer ’er.”
“And I was here to stop her. Had you forgotten I was also on watch, or did you expect me to share?”
“Could, still and all.”
Another slash whipped across the man’s jawline in a movement so fast the shining red of it seemed to appear by magic. “Apologize. To both of us.”
The seaman stood white-faced and with murder in his eyes while breath whistled through his flared nose and blood dripped in black spots onto his bedraggled shirt. Then his gaze flickered to the sword point in front of him. It wavered, lowered to deck. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Kerr flicked his sword toward the railing. “Over it with you.”
“What? Wait a mo’!”
“Now.”
“I can’t swim!”
“Learn. Fast.”
“Fo’ the love of God, man. She be only a skirt!”
Sonia closed her eyes tight as she saw the sword point flash once more. A hoarse cry sounded. An instant later, it was followed by the clatter of feet, a pause and a splash.
When she dared open her eyes again, Kerr was wiping the tip of his blade with a square of white linen. He paused as he met her gaze. His own hardened, then he seated the sword with a snap, twisting it into the sheath-like section of his malacca cane. His face grim, movements lethally silent, he stepped closer.
Nerves she hardly knew she possessed tightened in Sonia’s chest, her stomach, low in her belly. Against her will, she sidled away from his advance. Angry chagrin boiled in her mind, becoming a single, near-incoherent cry. “Do you never sleep?”
“I’ll sleep when we’re at sea and you have nowhere to run,” he said in grim reply. “Have you no sense whatever? Can you not imagine what might happen to you if you go prowling at night?”
“Imagination is no longer required.” She made as if to push away from the bulkhead behind her.
He moved swiftly to block her way, slapping a large hand against the surface near her head. “But you’re still willing to risk being taken for a lady of the night.”
“What difference should it make to me whether the man who takes me is a seaman or a husband who is also a stranger?”
“Living to tell the tale, for one thing,” he countered in hard tones as he leaned nearer. “Careful bedding rather than assault, for another.”
“Careful.” Her choke of laughter was layered with scorn.
“It should be nothing like what almost happened here.”
“And I’m to take your word for it.”
“All men are not the same.”
“No, indeed! Some are worse.”
“Yet some more tender.”
“I can see you have never met Jean Pierre Rouillard.”
“That pleasure has not been mine,” he said, his voice grave, his eyes holding a steel-like shimmer in the uncertain light. “Nor have you known him as a husband.”
“You don’t understand,” she said, her voice tight with the rage of despair. “You’re a man. You’re free. No one will ever force you to marry. You’ll never have to come or go at the will of others, or because of events you can’t control.”
“None of us are as free as you seem to think. Events always move us, sometimes with our will, sometimes against it.”
“Oh, yes, you’re being forced to take ship to Mexico.”
“As surely as you are.”
“For the money.”
“Wrong. I vowed—” He stopped. “But we were talking about you. Letting you go wandering the streets is like staking a lamb outside a wolf’s den. Besides, how do you know you’ll hate being married? You might find a husband’s touch to your liking.”
She might have known he would have no more consideration than to delve into the matter with her. She refused to play the coy maiden, however, in spite of the hot flush that rose to her hairline. “And I might be sickened by it.”
“Have you never had a stolen kiss? If you liked one, chances are you’ll enjoy the other.”
The argument had logic, but she refused to concede it to him. “I should think that would depend on the man.”
“Why would you say that?”
The sound of his voice, its deep vibrancy, seemed to seep into her, setting off echoes of longing that spread in waves to the very ends of her nerves. It was dangerous to stay here with him hovering so close above her. His nearness, some hard masculine power from inside him, seemed to sap her strength, leaving her oddly vulnerable, yet at the same time prey to a reckless need to defy fate, her father and everything she had ever known.
“Some people draw you to them,” she said, her voice tight in her throat, “some have little effect and some repel for no reason.”
His laugh was soft, short. “You have a point there.”
“Of course, I could be wrong and you are right. It may be any man’s kiss could be the prelude to…to love, of a kind.”
“Of a kind?”
“Women are told they will come to care for their husbands no matter how they may feel in the beginning. That affection will grow as you come to know each other.”
“But you don’t believe it.”
“And you do?”
“It seems reasonable.”
Wariness edged his voice as he hovered over her. She refused to meet his gaze in the feeble light from the stern lantern. “If I could be sure…”
“You require proof.”
“If…if you would care to provide it.”
She caught her breath on the last word, stunned at her own daring. How strange it was, this moment in the gray night while the ship rocked with the river current and the shadows of its rigging wavered back and forth over the oaken deck. Mist hung in the air, rising from the water, curling upward to drift around them. In it, the man so close to her seemed not quite real, the figment of a dream. She would wake in a moment and discover she had not yet left the cabin and her sleeping aunt, that she had somehow missed the chance to escape the ship.
Kerr Wallace drew back a fraction, his features perfectly still. Then he dipped his head toward her. “I might at that,” he whispered.
The words drifted over her lips in a warm current, waking them to tingling sensitivity. The first brush of his mouth was careful, a mere exploration of surfaces and intentions. The next was sweet, so sweet yet heady in its flavor that her breath left her in a soundless rush. Firm, smooth, a little rough at the corners from his day-old beard, his touch enticed her, made her dizzy and dis-oriented so she reached out to clutch a handful of his frock coat. He drew a quick breath, perhaps at her boldness. And she felt that cool inhalation before he settled his mouth more firmly over hers.
An experiment, she had thought, evidence against his conclusions about her and her marriage, refutation for society’s ridiculous certainty regarding such arrangements. That was all she wanted.
<
br /> She had not expected this intoxicating fascination with tastes and textures, the instinctive response to deep, inner need. A part of her mind stood aghast, disbelieving, while the remainder savored his kiss as she might hot, sweet morning chocolate, seeking the delicious stimulation, the awakening promise of sublime surrender, ultimate fulfillment.
He dropped his sword cane; she heard it clatter to the deck and roll away. His hands closed on her arms to draw her against him then smoothed across her back. Blindly, she pressed into him, feeling the buttons of his waistcoat between her breasts, the loop of his watch chain beneath them. He surrounded and sheltered her with his innate power; he held her safe.
She wanted to consume and be consumed, to capitulate and forget. Most of all, to forget. The urgency of that need surged up inside her, burning behind her eyes. It pressed around her heart with such force that a soft moan of distress sounded in her throat.
Abruptly he dragged his mouth away. Breathing a fierce oath, he released her, took a fast step back.
She swayed an instant at that wrenching loss of support, the too-swift return to reality. He put out a hand to aid her, but she had already regained her balance and pretended she didn’t see.
“That was…” he began, than stopped as though at a loss for words.
“Unwise? Dangerous?”
His eyes met hers in a searing glance before he inclined his head. “Both. Either. You had better go below before you are seen. Before you are missed.”
It was a recommendation, not an order. He must be as disturbed as she was, Sonia thought. That was some comfort.
She drew a deep breath, let it out again. “Yes. You are perfectly right. It may be you are right in the matter of husbands as well. And wouldn’t that be a farce?”
What he replied, she didn’t know. She didn’t wait to hear it. Gathering her dignity around her like a cloak, she turned from him and walked away, back toward the blessedly safe confinement of her cabin.
Eight
Kerr watched the lady until she disappeared down the dark companionway. It was his duty as well as his pleasure. More than that, he could not have looked away if his life depended on it.
She had staggered him. Just when he thought he knew what he was about with her, she set him on his ear again.
This time he feared he had gone too far. Retribution had been in her eyes. Though whether for the kiss they had shared and her reaction to it or his role in keeping her a prisoner, he couldn’t begin to guess.
He raked a hand through his hair and clasped the back of his neck as he turned his gaze heavenward. Lord, give him strength, because he knew he was going to need it.
The rattle of his sword cane rolling on the deck snagged his attention. Leaning, he picked it up in a stranglehold then stalked toward the stern of the ship where it jutted out into the river. His footsteps thudded on the thick planks. Above him, the ship’s rigging clanked and jangled in the night wind, and a brown pelican, disturbed in its roost on a crossbar, squawked at him. Higher in the midnight black of the sky, the moon sailed, unconcerned with the problems of mere mortals.
What the hell was the matter with him? Had he lost all principles, every vestige of judgment? Had he slept so little in the nights since he’d taken on this post that his reason was skewed? Or was it just that something about Sonia Bonneval destroyed it?
What maggot of the brain had caused him to lay hands on her? She had put herself in danger, yes, but he had been in control of the situation. Never at any time had there been a chance of real harm coming to her. The run-in with the woman-starved seaman might even have been a good thing if it put the fear of God into her.
Or so he had thought at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Glancing around for the man he’d forced overboard, he saw him crawling from the river a few yards downstream where the current had taken him. Baptiste shook water from his hair and clothing like a dog as he got to his feet. Throwing a last, malevolent look over his shoulder, he trudged off toward the row of dives that lined Levee Street. Kerr, staring at where he’d disappeared among bales of cotton, wanted to nick the bastard a time or two more before kicking him overboard again.
How had that misbegotten devil’s bastard dared touch Sonia? He should be whipped for the thought, much less the deed.
Yet Kerr himself had taken her in his arms moments later. It must have been the last thing she needed after what had gone before. He should have been more considerate of her upset. Instead, he had taken advantage of it.
“If you would care to provide…”
The words she had spoken whispered through his memory along with the painful challenge in her eyes. Oh, he had cared, all right; every vestige of male pride inside him rose up to meet it. How was he to resist?
Somewhere in his mind, too, had been the memory of the paint on her face that first night. He had thought to test its hint that the lady had experience in the ways of men.
His mistake. She’d been as innocent as the most blushing of brides. Curious, yes, responsive in a way that told of sweet passion waiting to be brought to life, but innocent.
A groan rumbled deep in his throat. He should have stood firm against temptation, should have seen her to her cabin, turned her over to her aunt for comfort and said good-night. That he had not made him as bad as the twice-damned seaman squelching his way into town. The cause for both of them was the same and he knew it. Lust, it was pure, unbridled lust.
He would put a stop to it, Kerr swore in silent resolve. Another such mistake could bring his carefully laid plans to ruin.
He could not afford to feel attraction for the lady, had no use for the guilt that ate at him because of her. It wasn’t his fault that she was on this ship or that her father had arranged a hateful marriage for her. Seeing her to Vera Cruz was a job, the means to an end. That was all.
Fine words. But who was holding her prisoner on the Lime Rock, guarding against her escape even now?
No, he was the one who had slammed the door on the trap that held her. It was he who intended to see to it that she was delivered safely to her groom. And what did that make him?
Kerr was still on deck when the dawn arrived in a glory of gold, lavender and rose that turned the river fog to opalescent mist. He was there when the order came to sail and crew swarmed from below to prepare the ship. He watched as the gangplank was swung in and the shout came to cast off, as the great hawsers were released from their dock cleats and pulled aboard, snaking through the water, while the steamer drifted away from the dock. He was there still, leaning against the deck housing with his arms crossed over his chest when Sonia Bonneval came up on deck and stood staring out over the sleeping city.
She was the consummate lady this morning in a gown of lavender blue over full petticoats and matching bonnet ribbons that twisted and fluttered in the morning breeze. Regardless, he was more aware than he wanted to be of the womanly form that lay beneath the layers of cambric and lace and behind the restriction of whalebone corsets. Her warmth, her softness, the resilience of her female flesh under her boy’s disguise were embedded so deep in his senses they might never leave him. His mouth was parched for another taste of her, his body as yearning as a drunk gone a week without the taste of liquor.
She was watching for someone, scanning the carriages that pulled up to the various river packets and sailing ships that were also making ready to sail this morning. Her gaze touched on the various gentlemen who stood about, lingering on those who were older.
Kerr didn’t have to guess for whom she watched and waited. She thought her father, for all his displeasure over her attempt to avoid the marriage he’d arranged, would come to see her departure.
There was no sign of Bonneval. No one hurried from the still-dark streets; no one lifted a handkerchief to wave farewell. No one stood forlorn, as if reluctant to see her go.
The ship’s deck shuddered as the steam engine began to rumble and the first turning of the side-wheel paddles sent river water cascading in w
ide falls. Coal smoke, already blowing in the wind, belched in black gusts from the big, single stack overhead, raining bits of soot onto the deck. The Lime Rock’s steam whistle blasted for their leave-taking. It was answered by others along the levee, and by ragged cries of farewell from well-wishers on the dock. The gangway was drawn in. A roustabout lifted a hand in an all clear.
They were moving faster, backing into the river’s current. The Lime Rock was sailing, the grumble and thump of the steam engine growing louder as it surged into action. Still, Bonneval did not appear.
What kind of father would refuse to wave his daughter goodbye and look his last upon her face when it might be years before he would see her again? What kind of father would send her away at all to a man like Rouillard?
Kerr refused to think on it. He could only watch as Sonia turned away from the railing. A female passenger spoke to her, perhaps in civil good-morning, and she summoned a smile as she answered. It was a valiant attempt, but even from where he stood, he could see the sheen of unshed tears standing in her eyes.
Damn Bonneval to hell and back. It would not have hurt him to rise early and make his way to the docks.
Damn Rouillard for demanding the hand of a lady he barely knew and did not hold in regard. Damn him, too, for expecting her to comply as if the careless proposal was an honor.
Yes, and damn the man who had kissed Sonia last night and made her stay, and wanted nothing so much this morning as to kiss away her tears and tell her she had no reason to cry.
That bastard was the worst of them all.
The steamer turned downriver and gathered headway. Wharves, warehouses and anchored ships slid past. The town fell away behind them. Plantations with their big houses, outbuildings and river docks appeared like mirages drifting past in the morning fog. Shanties built on flatboats or raised on stilts edged the great waterway, perched above their wavering reflections. These faded away to endless stretches of trees. They were on their way, gliding down the hundred or more miles of river that would take them to the Gulf of Mexico.
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