Sea Mistress

  “Yes,” the man said, gesturing toward a forest path, “directly down there.”

  Bess moved toward the trail without waiting to see if anyone followed her. She was scared. She was disappointed that things were happening this way. I should have been married at Metcalfe Manor . . . I should have been a happy bride.

  Seth caught up with her just as she reached a small crystalline pond. She felt his hand on her arm and smelled his clean, woodsy scent, but didn’t look at him. Her attention was caught by the clear body of water ahead and to her right. The sunlight was diminishing, but the air was warm. She noted with awe the beauty of the spot . . . the lush green ferns scattered low about the woods and the bright, colorful profusion of wild flowers.

  Memories of a certain place on Metcalfe Manor returned to her . . . of Seth making love to her . . . of the sweet scent of the tall green grass that cushioned their naked bodies . . . of hours spent frolicking nude in the cool, pristine waters of the pond.

  She looked at Seth and saw by his strange expression that he was remembering too.

  “It’s lovely,” she said, almost afraid to speak lest she lose the wonder of the magical moment.

  Seth met her gaze, and the flame of desire that lit his blue eyes made her gasp and her hand flutter to cover her left breast . . . near her heart.

  “Shall we marry here?” he suggested.

  Her eyes glistened. Whatever had happened since those two weeks they’d spent together in Wilmington on her uncle’s estate, those two weeks remained cherished memories, for the time had been truly wonderful.

  She nodded. “I’d like that.” It would somehow make up for the haste of their marriage, the odd circumstances. Here, in this lovely place, she could pretend that she was a willing bride—that Seth’s love for her was real.

  “Yes,” she murmured, “I think that would be lovely.” She turned away then and went to the edge of the pond, bending to cup a handful of water, which she drank.

  She could hear Seth speaking to the Dunnons, hear the loud, grating tones of Mathilde Dunnon complaining, and then, after a few more moments of conversation with Seth, George’s hearty and Mathilde’s somewhat more subdued agreement to perform the wedding ceremony in the woods near the pond.

  James Kelley came to Bess’s side. “You seem pensive,” he said.

  She had risen from the pond and was staring out over the water, watching, in fascination, the ripples made by a fish that had jumped. The circles widened and then disappeared until another fish came to the surface for food.

  She faced the first mate. “Pensive? Doesn’t every bride experience a moment of doubt?”

  James nodded. “He’s a good man,” he said after a silent pause.

  She smiled at his attempt to reassure her. “You know that for certain, do you?”

  He seemed taken aback by her words. “If you don’t believe it true, why are you marrying him?”

  Bess realized her mistake, a mistake she had to rectify if the first mate was ever to believe that she and Seth were happily married and in love. “No, no, it’s not that . . .” Have I a choice? she thought. She sighed. “Forgive me, James. Of course, I think Seth is a good man. It’s just I’m a little unnerved by the haste and all the excitement . . . and . . .” Her voice became a whisper. “George Dunnon is not my ideal for a man of God.”

  James nodded, his brow furrowing as he frowned. “And his wife would try the patience of a saint.”

  “Which I’m not.” Bess gave him a genuine smile, for she liked James Kelley and enjoyed the man’s company. Perhaps if she’d met him years ago, before Seth, before she was ruined for love, she might have fallen in love with him.

  The others soon joined them at the pond. Bess observed Seth where he stood speaking to the two seamen, Mark Hawke and his brother Jacob.

  Compared to the other men present, compared to anyone, Seth was the most virile, attractive man alive, Bess thought. In fact, she had never in all of her twenty-one years ever met a man who could hold a candle to Seth Garret. Any woman, under other circumstances than hers, would be proud to have the captain to husband. If only he could be trusted to hold his part of the bargain . . .

  When he’d left her over five years before, she and Seth hadn’t actually been engaged. They hadn’t even told Uncle Edward or Joel Johnson of their love. [Seth had confessed that he had commitments to see to, before he could marry, commitments that would be taken care of once he’d made this last voyage across the sea.] Bess had never understood the nature of these commitments, but then she’d been too enthralled with Seth, too in love with him to question him. She’d trusted his word and believed in their love. She’d waited for his return daily as first one month and several passed without word . . .

  Had these commitments involved another woman? she wondered now, again after all these years. He was so handsome, surely there had been women in other ports who had offered themselves to the good-looking seaman. And if there had been a woman, had he gone back to her and found himself unable to stay away?

  She frowned, confused at the direction of her thoughts. It was too late now; the damage had been done. Why was she still concerned over it? What wild nonsense was she conjuring? If Seth had a woman somewhere else, a woman he loved above her, then why wasn’t he with her now? Why wasn’t he married?

  “Let’s get started, shall we?” The missionary held a small black book. A preacher’s book, Bess guessed.

  He gestured to a spot before him. “Miss Metcalfe, you stand here. Captain, you stand next to her, on her right, please.”

  Seth took his place at Bess’s side, and captured her hand. It felt cold and clammy to the touch, and he frowned, rubbing it between his palms. “Are you all right, love?”

  She nodded without looking at him. Her face was pale, and there was a haunting sadness in her expression. He felt like a heel for forcing her to marry him this way.

  “It’s the only choice,” he said softly, trying to assure both Bess and himself that they were doing the right thing.

  She looked at him then. “So you say.” Her tone was bitter. Her dark eyes glittered with subdued anger.

  He scowled, feeling frustrated. How could he make her understand? Did she think so ill of him that she couldn’t endure marriage to him even in name only?

  She’ll come around, he thought. As long as you can keep your hands off her.

  “Please, Seth,” she whispered. “It’s our wedding day. If you continue to glare that way at me, no one will ever believe we’re in love.”

  He was startled by her words, until her message sank in. “You’re right, of course,” he said, and grinned. He placed his finger under her chin, raising it up a notch. “Buck up, love, it’s the best way.”

  Mathilde Dunnon stood at Bess’s opposite side, her large form stiff with disapproval. “What are you two whispering about?”

  Please, lady, Bess thought, don’t spoil the illusion. The only way Bess knew to get through the ceremony was to pretend that their love was real.

  “We’re in love,” Seth told the woman, and Bess glanced at him in surprise and gratitude. Mathilde Dunnon blushed.

  “I still can’t see why we can’t have this ceremony inside,” Mathilde complained again.

  Bess faced her. Seth had left her side for a moment, and without his calming presence, she wanted to vent her anger on the aggravating woman. She opened her mouth to speak her mind and then she saw Seth, only a few feet away, bending to pick wild flowers. He was picking the flowers for her. A bridal bouquet. Her anger dissipated, and she found herself apologizing to the minister’s wife instead.

  “Mrs. Dunnon, I’m sorry. I truly am, but this gown . . . it’s so warm. You have a lovely home, but I always wanted to be married beside a pond.”

  Seth joined her, silently handing her the wild flowers. With misty eyes, Bess took them, her expression giving him her thanks. As she turned back to see how Mathilde had taken her apology, she wondered how much Seth had heard, and if so, how he had taken
her words. They had once thought of marrying beside the pond at Metcalfe Manor . . .

  Mathilde’s face had softened as she saw Seth’s simple gesture of love for his bride-to-be. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “I must learn to keep my mouth closed. It’s your wedding, after all.”

  Yes, it is! Bess thought testily, but she only smiled at the lady and nodded her agreement.

  The actual ceremony only took a few moments. Bess stood beside the man she had once loved, her mind a blur, her vision a blank haze. She heard very little of what the minister was saying. She must have answered correctly in all the right places, though, for there were no horrified comments from Mathilde Dunnon.

  And then there was Seth’s kiss. He pressed his mouth to her lips, and her head spun, her world turned and became a kaleidoscope of color and bright lights. Her senses became alive with the feel and texture of Seth’s mouth upon hers, with the sensation of his strong arms about her, pressing her firmly against his hard, muscled form.

  The kiss must have only lasted seconds, but it seemed like forever, for it was indelibly imprinted on her mouth and memory. The contact seemed like forever, yet at the same time it wasn’t long enough, for it had started a fire of desire within her that made her yearn to know more of him . . . to touch more of him.

  Impossible, she thought, silently praying that her face didn’t give away her thoughts . . . or desires. She felt a ring on her finger and looked down, wondering where it had come from and when Seth had put it on. It was a lovely wedding band in gold filigree.

  Wife. I’m Seth’s wife.

  Seth had come prepared, she thought. She had no time to ponder on this further, for everyone in the clearing was congratulating her and Seth. James Kelley kissed her cheek and gave her a hug, until Seth glared at him, and the first mate withdrew.

  “Congratulations, old man,” Kelley said, extending his hand for Seth to shake. “She’s yours, Seth,” Bess heard him say in soft undertones. “Relax. I’m not about to steal her away from you.”

  “Yes, she’s mine,” Seth said, and Bess thrilled to hear the possessiveness in his voice, although she knew that it was all an act to convince everyone theirs was a true love.

  If only he meant it, she thought. If only it were true. The wild pleasure of his kiss lingered on her lips.

  Confused by her desire for Seth to love her and her desire for him, Bess walked toward the pond to try to make sense of her feelings. She threw in one of the wild flowers that Seth in his gallantry had given her, watching as the tiny purple flower drifted from the shore and floated away toward the center of the pond.

  “Bess.” Seth had come up behind her. He settled his hands on her shoulders, and she closed her eyes, enjoying the touch. As he drew her back against his chest, she allowed herself to pretend again . . . to pretend that he loved her.

  “We have to go.” As he spoke, his breath stirred the golden tendrils of her hair. “I’m sorry. I know you would have liked to stay a while longer yet.”

  She turned within his arms. “You allowed me to come ashore. To marry here, in this lovely spot.” Her dark eyes glistened. “Thank you.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.” He touched her cheek and then tenderly brushed the hair back from her face. “I wish I could give you more— something to commemorate this moment.” His words sounded husky. “Once this was to have been real. It seems strange that we married here, by this pond. Remember the pond at your uncle’s? Remember the n—”

  She spun from his arms. “It’s time to go, isn’t it?” she said in a shaky voice. She didn’t want to reminisce with him. It was too dangerous. She could pretend alone, but to involve him in her make-believe would be too dangerous, for what if she forgot that it was only a game. What if she became trapped in the magic all over again?

  “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t pull away.”

  “You forget. Ours is a marriage of convenience. We’re to be husband and wife in name only.”

  “You can deny how it might have been, how it could have been under other circumstances? How wonderful, how glorious it was each time we made love?”

  Pain lanced her breast, making her reel dizzily. She closed her eyes to block his tortured expression, his physical allure, and to stop the wild imaginations of her thoughts.

  In her mind, she heard a baby cry. She felt the joy of knowing she’d bore a son, his son—and then the stark realization that she’d been dreaming of a healthy baby, but the baby had been a stillborn. That she couldn’t have heard the cry, for a dead baby could never have made a sound.

  She opened her eyes, and Seth was stunned by the strange haunted look in her dark orbs. “Bess?” He lifted his arms to comfort her. For what, he had no idea.

  She blinked, and the look vanished. “It’s time to get back to the ship, isn’t it?”

  He stared at her, wanting to question her, but afraid to, for fear of seeing the return of that terrible look of pain. At that moment, despite their past, despite the pain she’d given him, he realized he loved her still. He would always love her.

  He nodded, astonished at this awareness, hoping that she didn’t see, hadn’t guessed. “Yes, yes, it is,” he said. Seth extended his hand, wondering if she’d take it or refuse. To his relief, she grabbed hold of his hand, and he gave hers a little squeeze as if promising her that things would go smoothly from now on.

  It was dusk as they headed back through the woods, but this time Bess didn’t allow Seth to carry her. She needed to put some distance between them so she could regain control of her emotions—and her destiny.

  He is married, her inner voice said, refusing to be silent. To you.

  Bess was frightened, afraid of losing control, of loving Seth again. He had forced her to marry him or be put off the ship. How could she still be attracted to him? How could she even think of love? What kind of man would threaten a woman with abandonment in a strange land?

  A man who would promise to return to you and then not come back.

  At the edge of the shore where water washed over sand, Bess bent to remove her slippers. There was no way she was going to allow Seth to carry her. She was afraid if she were close to him again she would melt. Or flame into passion.

  “Don’t,” Seth said, stopping her. “I’ll carry you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not necessary.”

  He scowled at her. “It is necessary. Your gown will be ruined if it gets wet. Now stop being unreasonable and allow me to be a gentleman.” He growled the last at her with an anger that made her blink and step back. “Bess,” he warned her, his gaze promising retribution if she didn’t obey him in front of his men.

  She emptied the sand from her slipper, replaced the shoe, and lowered her foot to the sand. The sand in her kid slippers had irritated her feet on the walk back to the shoreline, but she had refused to show weakness by stopping and emptying the sand from her footwear. She took a moment now, though, to remove the sand from her other shoe.

  Mark and Jacob Hawke picked up the dinghy and waded into the water.

  Seth touched her arm. “Hold on a moment, and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Really, captain,” she said unable to control these last words of defiance, “I can manage quite well on my own.”

  “Bess!” He flayed her with his blue gaze.

  She sighed, finally admitting defeat. “Very well, sir, but be quick about it.”

  He blinked and then grinned. “Cheeky minx,” he said.

  And his sudden sense of humor in the wake of his anger enveloped her like a soft cloak, making her smile.

  About a half hour later, Bess stood in the dinghy, eyeing the tall side of the Sea Mistress warily. Now that it was time to board once again, the distance looked intimidating to her. How was she to climb up and over the rail in her skirts?

  Seth ordered the men to throw down a rope and then, as before, he placed himself directly behind her so that she could feel the heated masculine length of him against her back.

  �
��Grab the rope, Bess,” he said.

  She bit her lips. “I’m afraid.” Her admission of fear didn’t come easily.

  Seth’s voice when he spoke was incredibly gentle. “I’ll not let you fall, sweet. I promise.”

  She looked at him over her right shoulder and saw the truth in his beautiful blue eyes. His tender smile was nearly her undoing. She trusted him to keep her safe.

  Bess faced forward and caught hold of the rope. She felt Seth’s breath on her bare neck. She was conscious of the trickle of perspiration that had gathered between her breasts and trickled down into the bodice of her gown.

  “Hold tight, love,” Seth murmured.

  Love, she thought, thrilling to the sound of his husky voice. She gripped the rope hard, encouraged by his presence, his words of confidence as he instructed her in what to do.

  “Reilly,” he called to the top deck. “Go ahead and pull her up.”

  Bess panicked. “Seth?”

  “It’s all right. I’m going with you. Hang on.”

  To Bess’s astonishment, the rope moved, holding her and Seth’s combined weight. They had ascended a foot or so when she bumped against the side of the ship, grimacing as her knee hit wood, but her skirts protected her from any real injury.

  “Halt!” Seth shouted after hearing her stifled cry of pain. “Put your feet against the side, Lisabeth,” he told her.

  She tried to, but couldn’t. Her feet skidded off the side and fell against Seth’s legs. Bess wondered what to do. She was in danger of losing her slippers, but didn’t want to say so, because it seemed a silly thing under the circumstances to worry about one’s shoes.

  Seth shifted, and Bess gasped with fear. She sensed that he’d wrapped his ankles about the rope, forming a cradle of sorts for her body. Bess relaxed, feeling safe once again.

  “Are you all right?” His words caressed her right ear.

  She nodded.

  “All right, men, pull!” he commanded.

  The rope moved and Bess, snug in the hollow formed by the position of Seth’s muscled body, felt herself rising up the side of the ship. And she felt no fear. Finally, she was eye level with the ship’s rail. She had reached the top safely as Seth had promised. Now she had to somehow climb over the rail.