Abruptly, she gave up any attempt at casual conversation. Pushing back the plate she’d scarcely touched, she lifted her chin and regarded him evenly. “It isn’t a lawful marriage. You know it isn’t.”
He pushed his fork through the bacon drippings on his plate. “It is, actually. You spoke your vows. You signed the contract.”
“Under false pretenses,” she reminded him.
He still would not look at her. “There were witnesses.” His tone was gruff and definitive. “Even your aunt will be officially compelled to speak the truth about it.”
Bliss didn’t smile. “Aunt Iris’s truth depends upon the direction of the wind and how long it is until tea time. I wish you good fortune in deriving actual fact from her truth.” She folded her hands in her lap, prepared to debate all night if necessary. Worthingtons excelled at debate—or better yet, confabulation.
His lips quirked slightly. “Your fate is quite inextricably tied to mine now, Mrs. Pryce. Please, let go of your ambitions of duchesshood and proudly claim your place as the bride of a bastard ship captain!”
Bliss shook her head. “You try to sound cruel, yet I know that you are not. Neville admires you so. He speaks of you often. You don’t wish to destroy that, do you? Why will you not agree to annul this mistaken marriage and release me?”
He shifted in his seat. “I imagine that it is quite a disappointment, being wedded to a man like me when you had designs upon a much grander station in life. Yet here we are. Till death us do part.”
Captain Pryce’s words came hard upon Bliss’s hopes, but it was the intensity in his gaze and the dark resolve in his voice that shook her deeply.
She had always known precisely who she was and what she wanted. Marriage had always been a sensible option for her and she’d meant to choose a husband for sensible reasons. Neville matched her list perfectly, and was sweet and gentle, which she’d always known she wanted in a mate.
Neville had never made her feel unsteady. He made her feel admired and sure of herself.
This man, this not-Neville, had the opposite effect. Her belly trembled at the depth of his voice. Her knees weakened at the banked fires in his dark eyes. Even his sneering dislike shook her expectations, for she had always found herself universally liked.
Now she found herself wishing that Captain Pryce liked her. The very notion tore her free of his predatory gaze and gave her the impetus for a counterattack. “How could you have done such a thing to Neville?”
She’d kept her tone soft, yet he visibly flinched from her question. Then the banked coals inside his expression roared to life.
“To save him from a temptress like you! To that end, I would throw myself on half a dozen sacrificial matrimonial altars!”
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she shut her mouth and regarded him primly. “Six brides? How very untoward of you.”
He didn’t laugh, not quite. However, she rather thought the choked noise that rose from his throat counted as a point in her favor.
Encouraged, she continued. “Lord Oliver doesn’t regard me highly, but that is only because he doesn’t know me. I am an utterly likable person. And I am not after Neville’s gold—”
“No? Then it is his tasty title? What in the world makes an ordinary woman think she ought to be a duchess?”
“Worthingtons are not ordinary. And besides, if only I could explain to Lord Oliver—”
At his uncle’s name, Captain Pryce growled. “I don’t know why you insist on arguing the point. It is done. We are wed!”
Bliss focused her considerable will. “I wish an annulment.”
“And I wish a gooseberry pie. That doesn’t mean I’m going to get one.”
“I can see that you are not yet prepared to listen to me at this time,” she replied patiently. “Perhaps you should take me home to Worthington House. Spending the night here will only confuse matters.”
He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his long legs. “Yes. That is the general idea.”
She frowned at him. “I know you care about Neville. You are trying to be a good brother, but I fear you have acted without the proper information. If you only knew how he feels about me.”
“Oh, I know. He went on at some length.”
She was astonished. “Then how could you do such a thing to your own brother?”
He regarded her sourly. “You are strange, indeed. Not how could I do such a thing to an innocent girl? Odd how that never comes up. Very odd, considering that you purport to be exactly that, don’t you think?”
Bliss stood, as if rising to her full height would prove her point. “I am a very respectable person . . . except that, well, there is one thing that I never did have time to explain to Neville—”
“I’ll wager you have many such secrets. There is only one thing you need to understand, Mrs. Pryce.”
She wished he wouldn’t call her that. “And what is that?”
“One thing you should not do is mistake me for a gentleman. I am a bastard. I do what I must, for my family, for my men, for myself.” He leaned forward then and raised his blazing blue gaze to meet hers. “I will never set you free.”
With those words, he wrapped one long arm around her waist and tugged her down into his lap. His other hand swept to the back of her neck and brought her mouth to his.
Chapter 7
BLISS considered herself a well-brought-up young lady, but she was a country girl for all that. One could not observe the seasonal cycles of sheep and horses without gathering a few practical notions of reproduction. These notions sometimes gave way to curiosity, so it was a rare country lass who made it to the vast age of twenty without at least one kiss.
However, getting a peck on the lips from the butcher’s boy behind the springhouse was poor preparation for having one’s mouth ravaged by the likes of Morgan Pryce.
He wasn’t harsh. He was overwhelming. In an instant, his skill and masculine dominance had opened her lips and even captured her tongue before she knew it. He tasted of whiskey and the sea and scorching, aroused male. His hot mouth covered—no, conquered, invaded—hers, while she was still catching her breath at the feel of his firm arm around her waist.
Hot tremors traveled through her and for a moment, the merest moment, she forgot everything. Neville didn’t exist. Propriety didn’t exist. The entire world consisted of this room, Morgan Pryce, and Morgan Pryce’s hot, hungry mouth.
And then there was Morgan Pryce’s hot, hard body beneath hers.
At first, she had pressed her hands against his wide chest in objection. Now she found her fingers digging urgently into the rigid muscles there. Her bottom had landed squarely on his lap. She squirmed on him and she would swear upon her life that she fought for her freedom, and it was mostly true. It was also somewhat accurate to say that a deep hidden portion of her mind had become very focused on the aforementioned lap.
Sheep and horses. Or, to be more exact . . .
Rams and stallions.
Something tugged at her attention. An unexpected sensation of icy chill on bare skin—
Her perfectly appropriate, demurely bridal, happiest-night-of-her-life gown slid right off her shoulders!
With a gasp of shock, Bliss tried valiantly to pull away from the man who had disrobed her with such practiced ease. It was no use. His hands were searing and hard on the bare skin of her back, pressing her close to him, sliding down beneath the unbuttoned gown to wrap themselves urgently over her daintily clad buttocks to press her closer still to his hardening groin.
The act instantly cleared Bliss’s fogging senses.
This Morgan Pryce fellow needed a gentle reminder that, legally wedded wife or not, a woman was no man’s property! Especially not when she was a Worthington!
Therefore it made perfect sense for her to kiss him back with all her might—as she slipped his dagger fr
om its hiding place within his boot.
Bliss knew she had made her point when his large body went quite still beneath hers. She pressed the dagger the tiniest bit more firmly to his throat. His big hands slid slowly off her bottom and out from under her dress. If they lingered ever so slightly upon her flesh, she pretended not to notice, just as she pretended not to notice her own shiver as her skin felt the cold once more.
When his hands were raised to either side of his wide shoulders in evident surrender, Bliss allowed herself to straighten and pull her gown back up to a somewhat more decent altitude. The way his gaze fixed upon the brief exposure of her barely clad bosom told her that while he might be calmed, he was by no means cowed by her defensive maneuver.
This was her explanation for why she remained seated on his lap. It would be easier to apply the dagger as needed from this short distance, and if distraction techniques proved more effective, her bottom on his rigid lap ought to do quite nicely.
That was her reason and she would adhere to it for all of eternity.
Morgan Pryce’s gaze rose to meet hers. She raised her eyebrows in sad disappointment. He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Is that my own boot dagger?”
Bliss still had the point of the knife pressed to the hollow just beneath Mr. Pryce’s sculpted jaw. She gently removed it and held it into the light. “It is. I withdrew it from your hidden sheath while your attention was diverted. Why ever else would I kiss you back?”
“You should be more careful. That is a very dangerous spot to put a blade.”
Bliss regarded him gravely. “Yes. One nick of your carotid artery and there would be no saving you. However, I needed you to take me very seriously.”
His expression was grim. “I see. You now have my undivided—”
Bliss’s unbuttoned bodice suddenly fell prey to the pull of gravity. She grabbed it quickly with her free hand and drew the little sleeves up over her shoulders once more.
“—attention.”
Morgan kept his tone very flat, but he knew that she must have felt the surge of lust from the vicinity of his lap.
She focused that mesmerizing blue gaze upon him. “Now, Captain, while you seem like a perfectly serviceable husband for some, you simply won’t do for me. I fear I have set my sights on my dear Neville, and no other man will do. If you do not intend to behave like a gentleman, I will be forced to take drastic measures.”
Bliss pressed the tip of the dagger to his neck once more. “I believe that you are under a misapprehension, Captain. Unfortunately, you have proven yourself unwilling to listen to the truth. I believe that I should return to Worthington House, and we should take up this discussion tomorrow.”
“No. You will remain here.”
“Captain, that would be most inappropriate.”
“Truly? You are my wife.” He smirked. “Furthermore, you are sitting on my lap.”
“It was easier to reach the dagger that way.”
Morgan held very still. Laughing with a dagger at one’s neck was not the best way to end an evening. Do not laugh.
He should be furious. Morgan licked the taste of her off his lips. Strangely, his righteous anger seemed in short supply after that kiss. His head still swam with lust.
He should lift her into his arms right now and carry her up to that single usable bedroom. The thought of her spread naked upon his covers, with that shimmering golden hair spread upon his pillow, did nothing to clear his lust-muddled mind.
She shook her head in disappointment. “You fail to understand me, Captain Pryce. This dagger is by no means a toy in my hands.”
“I could take that from you in a breath.”
Her lips curved in a saintly smile. “You might try.”
Oh, she was delicious. It was too bad that she was a conniving, lying, ruthless fortune hunter. Yet he now found himself rather intrigued by his odd bride. “What manner of woman are you, to be so calm at this moment?”
She lifted her chin. “Why, sir, I am a Worthington!”
That reminder helped to quell his simmering desire—at least for the moment. “A notorious family, known for shady scandals and disregard for propriety.”
“Nevertheless, you are quite wrong about me.”
His eyebrows went up. “I have a dagger at my throat. How wrong could I be?”
Her prim expression did not falter. “I’m sorry. Were those not your hands inside my gown?”
She had him there. He grimaced and made a go-on motion with his hands still in the air.
The painfully delectable creature on his lap shifted her bottom slightly. Morgan fought the urge to moan in pleasure.
“If you knew more than mere gossip about my family’s reputation, you would understand that I am not who you think I am. Worthingtons do nothing for financial gain—”
“Didn’t your cousin kidnap a wealthy earl to force him into wedding her?”
She pursed her lips. “Do not interrupt. It is rude.” She waggled the dagger at him reprovingly. The irony made Morgan’s blood pound in his head.
“At any rate,” she continued earnestly, “that particular fellow—an earl’s heir, not an actual earl, by the way—couldn’t be happier with the way matters turned out.”
From the last few moments of his own life, Morgan could understand the poor fellow’s deadly bewitchment. Worthington women must be like opium, a dark and fatal road to travel, but what a way to go! No wonder Neville was so in her thrall.
However, this Worthington female would not find him as easy to manipulate as a pampered son of the ton!
She went on. “I understand that I cannot wrest an annulment from you at knifepoint. You would only withdraw it later. What I require is time to convince you entirely that you are wrong about me. I am perfect for Neville. Neville is perfect for me.”
Time. Morgan had plenty of time. The repairs to the ship would not be complete for at least ten days. Plenty of time to turn the attentions of one wayward Society wench. He had seduced foreign princesses in less time than that!
He needed a plan to keep her here with him. The bargain with Lord Oliver had included actual consummation, in order to keep her away from Neville forever. If he offered his bride no hope of winning her case, she would flee the house—which would end any chance he had of securing that all-important wedding night.
His mind began to move more quickly as his lust ebbed to bearable levels. To be truthful, this was not his first bargain at knifepoint. He had survived many a dockside wrangle and come out on top to boot! He narrowed his eyes at her, prepared to negotiate her into a losing position.
First, challenge her claim. “You say you want only Neville, that you have no concern for the luxury and status he can offer. Prove it.”
He knew he’d snagged her attention. She tilted her head. A wisp of shimmering hair slipped to curl along her cheekbone. Morgan forced himself to focus on her words.
“And if I do?” There was hint of canny sharpness to her blue gaze. “If I prove to you that my affection for Neville is real? That I would never do anything to hurt him?”
Bait the hook. “I care nothing for you, but I would never stand in the way of true happiness for my brother.” She would hear truth enough in that. “That is, if you can convince me.” Which would be impossible, of course, so he had no qualms about promising her the moon and all the stars. “Not only will I grant you an immediate and uncontested annulment, but I will intervene with Lord Oliver on your behalf and convince him of your worth as well.”
Her lids fluttered slightly. Ah yes. Come here, little fish. Or mermaid. He’d always wanted to catch a mermaid.
She wanted not only Neville and all his status, but respectability as well. Morgan tossed out more bait. “Oliver garners enormous respect in Society. His approval would turn Society’s opinion indelibly in your favor. No more clandestine midnight ar
rangements. All would be properly done, open and aboveboard. You could have the wedding of your dreams and the unquestioned status of Lady Danton, without a whisper of scandal following you.”
He smiled sourly. “Do not underestimate the hold His Lordship has over my half brother. Neville is entirely dominated by him. If Oliver continues to reject you, Neville will never defy his decree.”
That was plain truth, and he could see that she knew it as well.
Biting her lower lip, she regarded him seriously for a long moment. “You believe you can sway Lord Oliver’s opinion?”
“Entirely.” Morgan put on his best arrogant captain face. It had allowed him to swagger unmolested through more foreign ports than he could recall. “I am not Neville.”
She regarded him seriously for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Very well. Call upon me tomorrow at Worthington House. You must meet my aunt and uncle, and my cousins.”
Morgan shook his head with a smile. “Absolutely not. Neville won’t be wedding your cousins. It is you I must learn to understand.” Time for the final bait, hook and all. “Do not forget that my ship is leaving in just a few days. If you cannot convince me by then, a year or more may pass before I am back in London again. I doubt that even the most generous bribe to the Bishop of Canterbury would undo our vows after a year.”
She drew back slightly, although her dainty grip on the blade did not waver. “I cannot reside here with you alone! What will Neville think of that?”
Morgan narrowed his gaze. “He will kiss your cheek and call you ‘sister,’ for if you cannot tolerate a few days in my lowly company, I will remained unconvinced of your devotion. If Neville is indeed your heart’s passion, should you not do anything you must to make this right so you can wed him?”
The advantage of her prim perch on his lap was that he knew the precise moment when defeat softened her spine. During their conversation, Morgan had lowered his hands from their position of surrender. Now he slipped one palm up the silken calf dangling from his lap.
He felt the prick of the dagger at his throat. He did not flinch, but he did stop. The dagger withdrew. He felt a single warm drop of his own blood run down into his collar. Damn. He didn’t own very many shirts.
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