by Susan Grant
She stirred. Hastily he shut the door. Leaning his forehead against the cool wood, he squeezed his eyes shut, until the familiar scents of oiled mahogany, leather, and tobacco erased the last vestiges of the dream.
He trudged back to his hammock and climbed into it. The sky was so dusted with stars that it had taken on a silver cast. It reminded him of the night he and Carly had spent on the chains . . . her back nestled against his chest, his arms around her as they’d gazed at the heavens, laughing and making wishes when they’d spied a shooting star.
Making wishes.
Nonsense! By the time he was six years old, he’d given up on wishes. Why then, with Carly, did everything seem possible? What was it about that woman that made him believe all over again?
He closed his eyes.
And saw the heart-stopping expression of affection and admiration and trust she wore on her face whenever she gazed at him. He knew she was quite capable of looking after herself, but that expression made him want to protect and defend her against all the ills life might conjure.
He rolled onto his side and stared at the rigging. The faint perfume of flowers on the breeze mingled with memories of her warm skin’s sweet scent.
He flopped onto his back. The moon had risen higher, casting its magic through the ropes and rigging, bathing him in silver.
Silver.
Strands of silver-blond . . .
Blast!
He was sick of it, sick of it all. He had wasted his life locked in a pointless feud with Richard. He’d dragged others into his battles and put innocents at risk to further his selfish ventures.
No more.
He might not be ready to forgive, but he was bloody well tired of seeking vengeance. Perhaps he could salvage what was left of his life. If it was not too late.
He’d begin by thanking Carly; her faith in him had prompted what he could only describe as an emotional awakening. Then he’d tell her what he had decided. Aye, at first light.
He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes and climbed down from the swinging hammock. The air tasted earthy, alive, hinting at land nearby. Although nothing had been sighted yet, he knew land would come soon—unlike a good night’s sleep, which clearly was beyond his grasp.
Andrew walked barefoot toward the stern, nodding to the sentry on duty. The sailor returned a hushed greeting and strolled in the opposite direction, toward the helm, where another man stood watch at the wheel.
The deck was silent but for a few faint snores of sleeping men. Most slept belowdecks, save a few, like Andrew, who preferred to sleep under the stars should the weather permit.
The moist, tropical air clung selfishly to the heat of the day. Even the deck planks felt warm under his feet. If it had not been the middle of the night—and a foolhardy thing to do—he would have taken a swim.
Silhouetted in the moonlight was the longboat on its mount above the deck. He sauntered over to it, propped his back against the rough wood, and crossed his arms over his chest. Drumming his fingers on his upper arms, he willed sleep to drift over the railing and claim him. He forced a yawn.
The longboat shifted slightly with his weight. The movement set off a sudden scratching and scrambling from inside the vessel. Vermin? Peeking inside, he made a mental note to toss Jonesy’s one-eyed tomcat in there on the morrow.
Carly gasped in surprise.
“Ah, ’tis but a woman rattling about,” he said, his heart leaping at the sight of her. “I thought it was a family of rats.”
Her mouth curved ruefully. “Been called worse.”
“Why, may I ask, are you not in your quarters?”
“Couldn’t sleep. I heard you check on me. After that I gave up and came out here.” She gazed skyward and sighed. “It’s incredible tonight, isn’t it? I’ve never seen so many stars.”
“Nor have I.” Andrew watched her as she watched the stars. Good God, how he dreaded telling her. But he must. ’Twas the fist step. “Ah, Carly,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’ve something to discuss with you.”
“I have something to tell you, too.”
“Oh?”
She patted the bench opposite her.
He hoisted himself up and over the edge of the longboat. ’Twas the oddest thing, but he had the feeling that by doing so, he’d committed himself to a battle in which he was outmanned and outgunned. Settling himself on the bench, he propped his arms atop his knees.
She picked at the fabric of her trousers. “We haven’t had much time to talk recently.”
Guilt swamped him. He cleared his throat and glanced away.
“I can’t blame you,” she said. “You promised the men their share of the ransom before you found out I’m not Amanda. I don’t envy your position.”
“Carly, I—”
She held up her hand. “One more minute, okay?”
One minute, hell. He’d give her a lifetime if he could. “Go on.”
“Getting to know you has meant so much to me,” she said softly.
He expelled a breath. It was the first volley, and she’d hit him broadside.
“The past few months have been, by far, the happiest of my life.”
He was taking on water and sinking fast. “Mine, too,” he said.
Moonlight glinted in her wide golden eyes.
Framing her upturned face with his palms, he kissed the warm, downy place on her temple where her hair met her skin. “Know this. You are free to go.”
She shook her head, seemingly confused.
He forced himself to say the words. “You may go to England with the duke’s men. Or,” he said with a sigh, “if you wish to return to your home—to your own time—I will do everything in my power to help you.”
“No.” Her soft, husky voice was emphatic. “I want to stay here . . . with you.”
He wanted to cheer. However, it was ill-advised to claim victory before the battle was over. Once he told her the truth about himself, she would turn away. She would never want to touch him again. “Carly, do not make that decision until you hear what I have to say.”
“I doubt you’ll be able to change my mind.” The old vulnerability flickered in her eyes. “Unless, of course, you don’t want me—”
Incredulous, he blurted, “Carly, I’m in love with you.”
Her eyes widened, and she took several deep breaths.
Before she could reply, he gripped her hands in his. “I’ve agonized over how to tell you this. And I’ve determined that there is no best way. So I’ll just tell you.” He swallowed hard. “My father never recognized that I existed. I despised that, despised him. This you already know. When he passed away, I acted on that bitterness. As a result, my family is dead.”
Iron bands of self-loathing and grief constricted his chest. Holding her rapt gaze, he said quietly, “Their blood is on my hands.”
Chapter Thirteen
Carly stiffened. Thankfully, she did not pull away.
Andrew said, “I told you I was summoned to court and knighted.”
“Yes.”
“’Twas five years ago. My mother was living in the town house with Jeremy. Westridge bequeathed it to her before he passed away. For his generosity in that regard, I am grateful. Jeremy was lame, you see.”
“Your younger brother,” she murmured.
He nodded. “When I was eight, my mother discovered she was with child. She tried to comply with the duke’s wishes and rid herself of the pregnancy.”
Carly’s expression was one of utter grief. Even in the moonlight she looked pale. “What happened?”
“Something went wrong. She bled for days. I was so frightened, Carly. I feared she would die. To this day I remember her maids pulling me from her side because I wouldn’t stop crying.”
“Oh, Andrew.” She squeezed his fingers.
“The botched procedure damaged Jeremy’s legs, I believe. Afterward, my mother had something done that would prevent further pregnancies. She was never the same again.”
�
��No,” Carly said grimly. “She wouldn’t be.”
Andrew exhaled and began again. “After my presentation at court, I stayed on in London. It was the beginning of the season—when society attends one ball after another and parents try to marry off their daughters,” he clarified, so she would understand. “As a bastard, I was considered too scandalous to be an acceptable marriage prospect. But because of whose bastard I was, I amassed enough invitations to paper four walls.”
“What was it like at those parties?”
“Interesting, to say the least. My appearance caused quite a stir. I was the image of my father. A man who was legendary for his, ah, abilities as a lover. It seemed every woman in the ton thought I’d inherited his charms. Or hoped I had,” he added wryly.
Carly tried to tug her hands away. “Do I want to hear this?”
He pressed her palms to his mouth, then kissed the insides of her wrists. Her golden eyes deepened to the sultry shade of melted caramel. “I was living the life I believed was my birthright. ’Twas an exceedingly pleasant experience for a young man who’d spent five years at sea. Until it occurred to me how often I was called ‘Edward,’ my father’s given name. Nonetheless,” he said on a sigh, “being a vigorous young rake, I endeavored to look beyond their passion-induced confusion.”
Carly’s mouth curved in amusement.
“I digress,” he said ruefully, peering at the sky. It had changed from a inky black to deep indigo. Dawn was not far away. “Several titled young gentlemen joined me in my carousing. My scandalous mixed blood and my ability to attract the opposite sex won me their acceptance. Hellions we were. Somewhere along the way, they convinced me that I ought to wrest my father’s title from Richard.”
“Richard, duke of Westridge,” Carly said uneasily. “Amanda’s fiancé.”
Andrew gave a curt nod. “I was Westridge’s eldest son. His child. I deserved to be the duke . . . or so my companions told me.”
“Were you able to reclaim the title?”
“As a bastard, no.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “But I was young and naive and full of myself. I had a desperate, misguided need to be looked upon as an aristocrat.” His lips thinned. “A twisted way of gaining the acceptance my father never saw fit to give me, I suppose.”
Carly frowned. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
Oddly, the protective anger in her voice gave him the will to continue. “I craved the title and the lands. And more. I wanted my mother to be treated with respect, Jeremy to be protected and cared for. I was so consumed by my desires that I did not consider the consequences of flaunting my parentage in front of Richard. And worse—I truly believed my companions were assisting me because they cared about my welfare.” Shuddering with pent-up anger, Andrew snarled, “But all I was to them was a game. A bit of sport, a dress-up toy duke they paraded in front of Richard to provoke him.
“Naturally, he lashed out,” Andrew said tiredly. “And my so-called friends simply sat back to watch the cockfight. Richard responded to my challenge by giving me a well-deserved lesson on the balance of power. But he waited until I returned to sea—and my first command.”
Andrew swallowed hard as remorse swelled inside him. “He had my brother arrested for stealing. Stealing! The lad was a cripple, for God’s sake. Sweet and gentle. Jeremy died in custody, Carly. Beaten to death.”
“Oh, Andrew—”
“My mother demanded an investigation. Richard silenced her by having her thrown in debtor’s prison. By the time I returned to London eight months later, she was dead.” Andrew stared out to sea, fighting to breathe past the tightness in his chest.
Carly drew him into her embrace. “Oh, sweetheart, it hurts,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his throat. “I know how much it hurts.”
He was tense with the old shame, the fury, but her caresses and soothing murmurs guided him home through the haze of pain.
This is what it feels like not to be alone, he thought, allowing himself a moment to savor the embrace—for it would soon be gone.
“That despicable coward destroyed the only two people I loved,” Andrew ground out. “But it wasn’t enough. He wanted my very soul. And I suppose I wanted his. But he had power and money, which I did not. In a blink of an eye, he blasted apart my career, my reputation—”
“How?” she asked, incredulous. “You were a war hero.”
Self-loathing shuddered through Andrew. “An earl’s young daughter was raped and strangled. The evidence against me was overwhelming. They found bits of my clothing in the field where they found the poor girl, strands of hair that matched mine.”
“Richard,” Carly said flatly.
“I cannot think of another explanation. He was quite vocal about his desire to crush me.” He moved her back, studying her sweet, forlorn face as he spoke. “I was placed under house arrest to await my court-martial. ’Twas the talk of the ton. I was a threat to society, they said. And far too dangerous to remain at home. That’s how I ended up in a remote prison on the Welsh border. I met Booth there. He helped me escape.”
She recoiled. “I detest that man.”
“He is not a likable sort.”
She set her jaw.
Her forced composure didn’t fool him in the least. “What did he do?” he demanded. “Tell me. I can see it on your face, Carly. He’s bothered you.”
“It was a misunderstanding,” she said stiffly.
Andrew slammed his palms onto the wooden bench. “He has. I suspected as much. ’Twas why I warned him not to speak to you.”
“No harm done. I don’t think it’ll happen again.”
“Nay, it will not!” Anger vibrated inside him. When he’d questioned Booth, the man had denied having spoken to Carly. Andrew made a mental note to watch him more closely, and to have Cuddy do the same.
Carly shrugged. “Now I understand why you keep him around. I didn’t before.” Her voice dropped lower. “He isn’t like the rest of the crew.”
“Nevertheless, I owe him. Revenge was what I sought, and he was eager to help. We escaped. Then I hired a rig, and we sailed to Liverpool. The Phoenix was there, awaiting her new captain. I told my former crew that I was taking her to sea. Any man who wished to join me was welcome. Two thirds said ‘aye.’ ’Tis why I value their loyalty above all else.”
He gathered her close, gazing over her head to the stars fading on the eastern horizon. “All these years I have blamed the duke when I should have blamed myself. ’Twas my own selfishness and stupidity that killed my mother and brother. And the earl of Cheshire’s daughter as well. But instead of learning my bloody lesson, I pursued what I considered the ultimate act of vengeance: kidnapping Amanda. Putting you, yet another innocent, and my men at risk, so I might exact my futile revenge.” His mouth twisted. “Now the real Amanda and her crew are dead because of it.”
Carly regarded him.
Andrew searched her eyes for the disgust he expected to find there. Instead, he saw the unconditional love he’d dreamed of all his life.
“You may have provoked Richard,” she said. “But in no way does that justify his actions. What he did was evil. He’s evil. You’re nothing like him,” she said with conviction. “You’re a good and honorable man.”
Andrew bowed his head.
Fighting her rising emotion, Carly curved her hand over his cheek. His sharp whiskers pricked her palm, just as his undeserved self-blame pricked her heart. “The blood is on the duke’s hands, sweetheart, not yours.”
Andrew’s eyes flashed with something precious and wonderful, filling her with love.
“I intend to pay the men from my own funds once we arrive at the island,” he said. “No ransom will be collected.”
Carly’s heart soared. He would stand by her! He wouldn’t leave as Rick had, as her father had.
“No one needs to know why,” he assured her.
She laughed softly. “They wouldn’t believe it anyway.”
Andrew’s grin formed a dent in eac
h cheek.
She touched them with her fingertips. “You have the most adorable dimples.”
He wove his fingers through her hair and drew her to him. “And you, my little spitfire, have the most kissable mouth,” he murmured against her parted lips, tasting her with each word.” ’Tis hard to believe that I am kissing a woman one hundred and eighty years my junior.”
“Mmm. You’re a pretty good kisser . . . for an old man.”
“Old man!” Growling, he nibbled her ear. “I demand to know what you mean by pretty good,” he said, nipping the side of her throat.
“I mean very good!” she yelped.
Laughing, they fell hard onto the blankets on the bottom of the longboat. He propped himself over her, fitting himself in the cradle of her thighs and pressing the small of her back into the musty wool. She worked his shirt out of his waistband, slipped her hands under the damp linen. His mouth came down over hers in a deep and sensual kiss that scattered her senses like blossoms in a spring wind.
Desire flared deep in her belly. “Andrew,” she whispered, dragging her thighs higher on his back. “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted you—”
“Not nearly as much as I’ve wanted you, love.” His powerful muscles flexed beneath her palms as he pressed feverish kisses along her throat. “Not nearly as much . . .” He cupped the sides of her breasts and buried his face in the small valley between them.
“Land ho!” came a shout from the deck.
Carly heard the thudding of running feet. Breathless, she squinted at the lightening sky, then at Andrew burrowing kisses between her breasts.
“Land ho,” she repeated, questioningly, wondering why he hadn’t leapt to the deck.
He made an expressive growl, grabbed the zipper at her collar, and pulled.
“Andrew!” She slammed her hands onto his thick shoulders. “Didn’t you hear it? Land ho.”
“Aye. Twin peaks.” He cupped her breasts and touched his lips to the sliver of bare skin now between them.
She squirmed, grinning. “For God’s sake, I’m not talking about my copious bosom,” she said sarcastically.