She flinched, her eyes widening, until he showed her his fingertips. Before she could speak, he stripped the buttons of his waistcoat from their holes and slipped it from him. Removing the studs from his shirt and cramming them into his pocket, he shrugged from it and held it out to her. His frock coat would have been better, he thought, but he had discarded it in the sea, along with Sonia’s fan in the pocket. He’d miss the coat as it was his Sunday best. The fan, he mourned. One could be replaced, but the other was gone forever.
She took the shirt in reflex action, but immediately pushed it back at him. “I can’t take this.”
“Do you have to make a to-do over everything?” he asked in strained patience as he slid his bare arms back into the waistcoat with its dangling watch chain. “Put it on before you’re eaten alive.”
“If you think—” she began.
“Believe me when I tell it will be best if you’re covered.” A muscle in his jaw flexed as he clamped down on the urge to tell her exactly why it was best that she displayed fewer of her manifold charms. He refused to look at her as he spoke, refused to allow his gaze to return to the silken, heat-flushed curve of her breast that he had touched so briefly.
She searched his face for long moments. Something she saw there made her eyes widen a fraction. She looked at the shirt then. Giving it a hard shake, she thrust her arms into the sleeves and jerked the front edges together over her chest.
It was too big. The cuffs fell over her hands and the tail hung halfway to her knees. Kerr was just as glad to see it. The more of her that was covered, the easier he breathed.
An odd pleasure bloomed in the center of his chest. She might not acknowledge his right to protect her, but at least she accepted his shirt for cover. It felt like a victory. It felt, in some small degree, like an acceptance of him.
“Look,” he said, deliberately removing his gaze from her damp womanly curves, scanning the woods around them. “We need to put distance between us and the Mexican navy. We have to find water, food, shelter and some way out of this mess we’ve been handed. Now, we can feud and fight while we do it, but to my way of thinking we’ll have a better chance if we declare that truce you mentioned on the deck there earlier. We can always take up where we left off when we get back to civilization.”
Slow color rose in her face. For an instant, he thought it was from anger. He realized then that where they’d left off had been with her tormenting him with loving attention and a game of footsie under the table. Well, he wouldn’t mind that, come to think of it.
Her lashes swept down, veiling her eyes. “You’re quite right.”
“What?” The capitulation was so unexpected that he was taken aback, wondering what he’d missed. Or maybe it was the distraction of remembering the feel of her toes in her thin slipper running up the back of his calf.
“It will be best if we put aside our differences, as you said. It would be foolish to do otherwise since I have the most to gain. I’m quite ready to admit,” she finished with quiet bitterness, “that my chances of getting out of this are much better with you than on my own.”
It sounded well enough. He wanted to believe it.
Instead, it worried him. She looked much as she had when she’d decided to torture him with her seductive wiles.
He allowed nothing of his suspicion to show in his face. Holding out his hand, he waited to see just how sincere she was in her agreement.
She took it, sliding her slim fingers into his again as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was, for her hand seemed to fit his as if made for it. The thought slipped through his mind about the same perfect meshing of other parts of their bodies, damp, heated, tight, with or without friction.
That wasn’t the kind of ceasefire she’d had in mind, and he’d better remember it. Turning with determination so strong it made the tendons in his knees crack, he started off through the thick woods again.
Eighteen
“I will deliver Rouillard his bride, one unharmed, unsullied and unrepentant….”
Those words, spoken by Kerr, echoed in Sonia’s mind time and time again as she walked and trotted and walked again, trying to keep up with his long strides that covered ground hour upon hour, putting distance between them and the coast. He had referred to the possible attentions of Tremont at the time, or so she had assumed. Now she could not help wondering if it might not have been his own impulses that disturbed him.
He forged ahead, aiding her, supporting her, half dragging her with him. So single-minded was he that he seemed not to notice the branches that slapped at them, the green-and-red parrots that flew up, squawking, ahead of them, or the small creatures that scuttled away into the undergrowth. Perspiration gilded his skin and made his hair curl on the back of his neck. It glistened on the hair of his chest as well, plainly visible as his waistcoat hung open, unbuttoned as a concession to the heat. For all the good that garment did him, he might as well have given it to her with his shirt. Between its swinging edges, she glimpsed the musculature of his upper body, the power of it and the round coins of his nipples. In fact, she was privy to more male nakedness than she had ever thought to encounter in her life as he twisted, turned and ducked his way through vines and around thornbushes. It affected her with a species of perilous awareness that made her toes curl into the soft leaf mold of the forest floor.
What would it take to persuade him to abandon his good intentions toward her? The question had nothing whatever to do with her recognition of him as an attractive male, of course, but could be vital to her future. Kerr was determined to deliver her to Jean Pierre. If she was less than pure when she arrived finally on her betrothed’s doorstep, would he repudiate her?
The possibility, though enticing, was not without its dangers. Her father would inevitably learn of the disgrace. Chances were high that he would not allow her under his roof again. That would be no great tragedy, but the reason for it would soon become common knowledge, and she would not care to be at the center of such scandal. Her grandmother would no doubt take her in, but Mobile and New Orleans enjoyed close ties and the story would follow her. Her grandmother would be aghast to know her granddaughter could be so shameless.
Could she be?
Sonia wasn’t entirely sure. It seemed possible as a last resort.
The question was, could Kerr be brought to cooperate? Beyond the question of honor—and she did not discount its value to him—it seemed something more was at stake, something that might make him immune to any overt appeal. She would need to come at it from a different angle.
“That shipment of arms you found,” she said to his broad back, “it must be at the bottom of the sea by now.”
“No doubt about it.”
“Do you think it had anything to do with the Mexican ship’s interest in the Lime Rock?”
He sent her a brief glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the rough game trail he was following through the trees. “Who knows.”
“You might hazard a guess.”
“Not much point. It’s nothing to me.”
“You seemed interested when the subject first came up.”
“That doesn’t make me a gunrunner.”
“I never said it did.”
“It’s what you were getting at, wasn’t it?”
She frowned at him in annoyance before looking away again. “I suppose it may have been. Are you sure you know nothing about it?”
“Only that Tremont was interested.”
She considered that. “He did bring it up, didn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t run away with the idea that he was the one meant to profit. Could be he was only curious.”
“And you weren’t?”
“I checked out the boxes in the hold.”
“Yes?” When he failed to answer, she said in astringent inquiry, “So what did you find?”
“Nothing much. Just Tremont doing the same thing, maybe for the same reason.”
“Or he could ha
ve been making certain his merchandise was secure.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t seem anxious to accuse him.”
He shook his head. “I prefer to give a man the benefit of the doubt.”
Admirable as that might be, it told her precious little of what she wanted to know. She opened her mouth to question him further. What came out instead was a short cry as something sharp jabbed into her heel. Her knee buckled and she stumbled to a halt.
“What is it? Here, sit down.” He pressed her to a seat on a pile of stone blocks that jutted up from the forest floor, one of several they had passed.
“My foot,” she said, lifting it to rest on her knee. “I came down on something.”
Without so much as a by-your-leave, he went to one knee in front of her, pushed up her pantaloon leg and unfastened her garter. Sliding it up his arm to his bicep like some exotic bracelet from ancient times, he stripped away the torn rag of her stocking. His swift competence at that task made her frown, wondering where he had acquired it.
“Thorn,” he said, turning her foot in his hand and leaning to peer at the heel.
“You see it?”
He wiped blood away with his thumb. “Broke off, and a good inch deep, maybe more. It’s a wonder we haven’t got on one before now. Here, I’ll get it out.”
Straightening, he dug into the pocket of his trousers. An instant later, he had his pocketknife in his hand.
She set her foot flat on the ground, wishing she had skirts to cover it. “It will be fine, I assure you.”
“More likely it will fester so you’re not able to walk. Let me see it again.”
“It isn’t necessary.” She eyed the razor-sharp blade he had unfolded from the knife’s haft. “Really, it isn’t.”
“Lie down and put your foot on my knee.”
“I don’t believe so.”
“It will only hurt a moment, I promise you.”
“You aren’t sticking that thing into me.”
“I could hold you down while I do whatever I want, and there’s nothing—” He stopped, a flush staining the hollow of his throat. Pushing to his feet, he turned away from her. “Never mind. Suit yourself. Just don’t blame me if blood poisoning sets in.”
She was startled by his volte-face. That was, until she considered the possible connotations of the exchange between them. She blushed in her turn, a hot flood of color that threatened to set her skin aflame. Despite the embarrassment, she was encouraged.
“Wait,” she called after him.
He stretched his neck as if it was stiff and set his hands on his hips. As he shifted a half turn in her direction, his gaze was opaque, the generous curves of his lips firmly pressed together.
“Please.” She dandled her foot. “I’d like you to—to do what you wanted, after all.” Without waiting for his assent, she lay down on the broad rock and turned to her stomach.
Quiet settled around them for long seconds. Then she heard the rustle of his footsteps in the decaying leaves as he came back and eased onto the rock near her ankles. He picked up her foot in his strong fingers.
Sonia pushed her arms out in front of her and folded them, putting her head down on them. The movement pulled his shirt she wore upward, but she refused to allow it to matter. Willing herself to relax, she waited for the bite of the blade.
It was a long time coming. Kerr simply sat with her foot in his hand, one thumb smoothing the same place on her ankle over and over.
“Can you see it?” she asked, her voice muffled by his shirtsleeve that concealed her face. He seemed to surround her as she inhaled the scent of the shirt that was compounded of warm linen, starch and virile male.
“I can see,” he said, a strange note in his voice.
“Well?”
A soft sound, like a cross between a snort and a grunt, left him. Taking her heel in a firm grasp, he pressed the area where the thorn lay between his fingers.
She inhaled, lying perfectly still as she fought the need to snatch her foot free, fought the poisonous ache where the thorn was embedded. She felt so incredibly vulnerable to what he might do. It was disturbing in some fundamental way she could not quite grasp.
He gripped harder, pinching the flesh around the wound. She closed her eyes tight. Then came an instant of hard pressure and a flicker of slicing pain.
“There,” he said. “It’s out. It’s over.”
The need to see was strong inside her. Just as imperative was the instinct to end her supine submission to his aid. She lifted her head, started to turn.
“Just a minute.” His voice was strained as he spoke. An instant later, he squeezed her heel again so something hot and warm ran down her ankle.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it bleed since we have no other way to wash out any bits that might fester—hold still.”
The last command was given as she turned her head quickly to look over her shoulder. He was still clasping her foot, but as she watched, he put it down, reached with his knife to slash at the ruffling that edged one leg of her pantaloons. With a quick twist of his wrist, he wrapped the fabric around his hand and ripped free the long strip. He made a pad and pressed it to her heel, holding it in place while he wrapped the extra ruffling back and forth around her ankle.
“You need shoes,” he said abruptly, his fingertips lingering on a long scratch that crossed her instep.
“So do you.”
Her answer was sharp. The soothing caress on that most sensitive part of her foot brought a clenching sensation to her lower belly. As she met his intent regard, she thought his eyes darkened, gathering heat in their black centers. Deliberately, or so it seemed, he let his gaze rest on her ankle, travel to her calf then along her pantaloon-clad leg to where the curve of her hip began.
It was only then that Sonia remembered the thin batiste fabric of her pantaloons, also the possibility that their split crotch might have gaped open a trifle.
She twisted around with a gasp, pulling her foot from his hand as she sat up. “I’m sure I will be quite all right now, thank you. Don’t you think we should go on in…in case we are being followed?”
“Stay here and rest a bit longer,” he told her with a shake of his head as he rose to stand over her. “I’ll backtrack a mile or two and find out.”
A species of panic touched her. “What if they are there?”
“Could be I can slow them down.”
“But you will come back?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll be back. You can count on it.”
His gray gaze smoldered with banked heat as he stared down at her. Then he backed away with his hands fisted. Turning, he disappeared back along the way they had come.
The woods around her had a breathless hush for long moments after he had gone. The insects began again finally, followed by frogs and then birds. None of them had the familiar sounds Sonia knew from the swamplands around New Orleans. They were louder, more raucous and insistent. Some cries had the shrill edge of screams. As the minutes slipped past, they seemed to be encroaching, gathering near, possibly making ready to pounce.
What would she do if Kerr left her here alone? She might survive after a fashion, she thought, could blunder on until she came to a waterway and followed it as he had suggested. But success was much less certain.
She trusted him to find the way out for them, she really did. It was a strange thought. Strange, yet somehow unsurprising. He was a most capable man.
If he wanted to, if he could be persuaded to want it, he could extricate her from her arranged marriage. All she had to do was present the advantage to him in it. Or else discover what he might require in return and give it to him.
She thought she knew one thing he desired. However much he might try to hide it, he wanted her.
It troubled her to contemplate exchanging her favors for his help. What a wicked compromising of her principles, her upbringing and her future; she cringed to think of it. Yet what else could she do? It was men, her fat
her and Jean Pierre, to be precise, who had entrapped her in this coil. Why should a man not release her from it?
Time crept past. The burning sun climbed overhead, reaching past midday and waning into afternoon. Her heel throbbed with a deep ache. She closed her eyes in exhaustion but was too keyed up, too wary and uncomfortable, to drop off to sleep.
She was beginning to think she had been deserted after all, when some shift in the air, some faint sound, made her bolt upright. Kerr stood in the tree shadows some twenty feet away. He was so still, so watchful that he might have been a ghost. She met his gaze with a suspended feeling inside her while her heart tripped into a faster beat. It seemed something hovered between them, something as untamed and dangerous as the tropical forest around them.
Without her volition, Sonia’s lips curved into a slow smile of relief and gladness, a reaction without subterfuge. And the slashing dimple that appeared in his lean cheek in return was almost worth that moment of unguarded dependence.
He came toward her, carrying a sheaf of wide, flat leaves in his hand. Kneeling as before, he dropped the leaves beside him, then selected a layer and began to wrap it around her foot.
“What is it, what are you doing?”
“Making shoes of a sort.” He kept his eyes on the green, solelike padding he was fitting over her bandage. Reaching for her stocking he had removed, he wrapped it quickly around her ankle and foot like the lacing of a Greek sandal.
She turned her foot this way and that in inspection. It seemed amazingly secure. “I must thank you for the thought,” she said without quite looking at him. “It was…a kindness.”
“Don’t mention it.” He paused while he adjusted the wrapping, and his voice was gruff when he spoke again. “It’s best if I deliver you in fair condition.”
“Yes, of course.” What else? “But…where are yours?”
“My feet aren’t as tender,” he answered as he began to work on similar makeshift protection for her other foot. “I went barefoot from spring to fall as a boy. Even now, I sometimes give lessons on the fencing strip in stocking feet. Takes away the unfair advantage of my height.”
Gallant Match Page 18