Sea Wraith

by Jocelyn Kelley

  “How do you know about that?”

  He laughed. “Why wouldn’t I know about it? I am Wraith, aren’t I?”

  She put her hand over his where it rested on her face and closed her eyes to savor the moment she had waited for so long. The moment of truth. The moment when the man behind the mask and the man behind the clerical collar became one. It made complete sense. He had insisted he was not like Gillis, that he did not believe in killing, that he wanted to halt a war. The very things a curate would do. She should have seen that before, but she had been confused with the remnants of her amour for Constantine. He had been honest with her, so she could blame only herself for holding onto something that could never be.

  Now she wanted to hold onto Wraith.

  “Sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, “is that gentlemanly curate what ye truly want? A gentleman who will woo ye only with trite words and tepid gazes?”

  “No. . .” Her voice faded into a sigh as his fingers grazed her bodice. A trill of exquisite pleasure swept aside everything but the longing for his touch.

  When he took her shoulders and raised her to her feet, she rested her cheek on his black shirt and clung to him, more afraid than she had been at the tunnel’s end. She was afraid she would lose the joy she found in his arms. As his arms closed around her, she raised her face so her mouth met his. Longing whirled through her, powerful, frightening, yet exhilarating. Slowly her hand rose to curve along his shoulder. Heat flowed from her to him and back until she knew she risked being seared wherever they touched.

  “Is this what ye want?” he whispered. “Do ye want a man who will teach ye to free the passions ye cannot hide?”

  “Will you be a patient teacher?”

  His voice became a husky growl. “Aye, I will. I know ye shall be an impatient student. Ye will want to learn everything at once.”

  “Whatever you will teach me tonight.”

  “This is what I want to teach ye.” He ran his tongue along her lips before slipping it between them. He lifted her into his arms. “I told ye it would be another place than yer bedchamber, sweetheart, but I did not expect it to be here.”

  “I do not care where we are as long as we can be together.”

  “We will be together, but first I want to see ye writhe with desire for me. I have many lessons to teach ye.”

  He placed her gently on the shadowed pallet and sat beside her. He pulled off his boots, then drew back her skirt just enough to remove hers. Tossing them aside, he stretched out beside her. When he found her lips anew, his tongue grazed them with a gentleness that excited her. She knew how much he was holding himself back, not wanting to hurry what they had waited for since that first night when he had kissed her. His mouth covered hers, and his breath soared within her. She softened against him as his leg drew hers between his.

  “I want you, Wraith.”

  “Ye are a fool,” he whispered against her ear, but she heard his eagerness in each word.

  “Am I? You have invaded my thoughts since the first time I saw you.”

  He ran his fingers up beneath the pins holding her tangled hair, taking care not to brush the spot that still ached, and let the strands fall around them. “Aye, I understand that all too well.”

  “Do you understand as well that I love you?” Her face grew cold. She had not meant to say that.

  He did not answer, and she feared her plainspoken words had driven him away even though his arms were still around her.

  “I am sorry,” she murmured. “I should not have said that.”

  “Aye, ye should not have because now ye will want me to own to loving ye, too.”

  “Can’t we pretend I never said those words?”

  His hands framed her face as he gazed down into her eyes. Could he see them? When she looked up at him, his face was lost in darkness.

  “No,” he said as softly as she had spoken. “We cannot, and I do not want to.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “I want to treasure yer words while I make love with ye.”

  “Wraith—”

  He silenced her with a kiss. Sweeping her arms up beneath his cloak, she explored the strong muscles across his back. His moan slid into her mouth, intensifying the yearnings into a desperate need. She did not want to talk any more. Not now, not when she knew one thing remained unspoken between them. He was a hunted man in his role as Wraith, and, if captured, even his claim of being a curate would not save him from the gallows.

  His fingers trailed along her to settle on her hip before he drew her up to her knees while their mouths danced together and apart. She reached for the pin holding his cloak in place. His cloak fell to the pallet behind him. As she reached to push it aside, he caught her hands between his.

  “I must ask ye this again, sweetheart,” he said.

  She sought to see him through the dark, but could not. Then she realized it did not matter because she was aware of him with every other sense. The scent of the leather and salt on his clothes; the heat of his skin when their lips met; the increasing tempo of his breathing when she touched him.

  “Are you about to ask me not to touch your face?” she asked.

  “Aye.” He reached up to loosen the domino.

  “I promised I would not. I promised you that when last you held me.”

  “But I know ye, sweetheart, and ye have enough curiosity for ten people.”

  “Don’t you realize, Wraith? I no longer care about the mask and what it hides. I want the man who wears it.”

  With a moan, he pressed his lips to the curve of her neck. She arched toward him, wanting to feel him with all of herself. When he undid the buttons down the back of her gown, it fell forward between them. She did not raise her hands to keep it in place. Instead, she drew it aside, so her breasts were burnished by the rough fabric of his shirt.

  He cupped one breast in each hand and ran his tongue in the soft valley between them. Her fingers fumbled for the lapels of his coat, pushing it over his shoulders. Each motion brushed her against the low mat of whiskers on his face. When he leaned her back onto the pallet, she brought him over her. He shrugged off his coat and sent it in the direction of their boots.

  Pulling her sleeve down her arm, he set scintillating kisses in its wake. It did not take him long to rid her of the rest of her clothes.

  “Are you in a hurry?” she asked, surprised she could pose a question when her mind was on fire with pleasure.

  “Not now.” His laugh brushed her lips before he claimed them again.

  The rough material of his clothes were hundreds of teasing caresses, but she wanted to feel his skin. As quickly as he had undressed her, she began to undo the buttons on his shirt. It gapped, and the hard planes of his muscular chest teased the tips of her breasts. She was riveted with a powerful tremor that was centered in the emptiness she needed him to fill.

  When she gasped his name, he laughed. “Lesson one, sweetheart. It is always sweet when two hearts are next to each other.”

  “What is lesson two?” Her voice trembled beneath the tender assault of his tongue on her ear.

  “There is a great deal of fun in discovering each lesson for yerself.”

  She moaned when the words swirled through her like a wild tempest. Sliding her hand over the firm breadth of his chest, she found the waist of his breeches. She loosened the first button and discovered the hard line of him eager to escape. Undoing the rest, she hesitated.

  “Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “It is a part of me that will soon be a part of ye.”

  “I know,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Let me show you what it will be like.” His hand glided down over her abdomen, then lower to where her need pulsed strongest.

  When he fingered that sensitive skin and rose over her, she grasped his arms. His mouth found her breast as his finger delved within her. As his tongue laved up along its tip, he slid his finger in and out of her, each stroke faster and deeper. Her body matched his motions. A cl
oud of heat misted around her as her body pressed up against him in a tumultuous explosion of sensation.

  She returned to herself as he kissed her, slowly and with a craving he could no longer hide. “Is that another lesson?” she whispered.

  “One of the best.” His voice was ragged.

  “Is this?” She slid her hand into his open breeches and ran her fingers down the firm column of hard flesh.

  His only answer was a groan that urged her to be even bolder. As she quickly rid him of the breeches, she copied the rhythm of his finger within her by curving her own fingers around him and moving them up and down. Listening to him gasp her name as she had his, she smiled. He wanted her just as she wanted him. She could imagine nothing more perfect.

  But she was wrong, she learned, when he suddenly seized her shoulders and pulled her beneath him. His knee pushed her legs apart. This time when he rose above her, it was not his finger he drove into her. She gasped at the sudden stab of pain, but on the next stroke it was gone. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brought his mouth down onto hers so they were connected everywhere. She held tightly to him as the heated clouds reformed, this time into a fierce storm that seared her. At the moment ecstasy overcame her, she heard his gasp of perfect release. It was the sweetest sound she had ever heard.

  * * * *

  Sian leaned against Wraith’s shoulder and drew in a deep breath of his musky skin. His lips were pressed to the top of her head while his fingers wandered from her breasts to her navel. Cradled within his arm, she did not want this rapture to end.

  “Ye are a wonderful student, sweetheart.”

  “And you are a great teacher, as I knew you would be.” Teacher! She giggled. How long would they continue to play this game where she pretended she did not know he was Arthyn and he acted as if he thought she still believed his disguise had hidden the truth from her?

  “Ye sound happy.”

  “I am. Very, very happy.”

  “Then there is another lesson or two I want to teach ye tonight before the tide turns and we are no longer cut off from the rest of the world.”

  “Do not speak of any time but now.”

  “Aye,” he murmured as he rolled her onto her back. “I shall think of only now when I can explore yer lovely body. Let the rest of the world tear itself apart while we are together once more.”

  “Teach me, teacher.”

  He answered her request with a kiss that fired her cravings again until the only sound was the hush of the ebbing water and the gasps of escalating passion.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sian sat in the breakfast-parlor, sipping a half-empty cup of hot chocolate. Rain slid down the diamond-shaped mullions in the bright green room’s windows. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind tore at every plant in the garden.

  But for her the day was warm and perfect and bright. She never had felt as alive as she did while she loitered in the breakfast-parlor waiting for Arthyn to arrive. Since Wraith had brought her to Bannatyne Hall in the early morning dark and left her with a searing kiss that promised more joy to be shared, she had anticipated this moment. Surely, he would set aside the charade now.

  Footsteps came toward the room, and she looked up eagerly. She kept her smile in place when Constantine walked into the room. How odd that she had ever believed she was falling in love with this compelling man. She could not help admiring Constantine’s easy grace as he went to the sideboard and selected a fruit muffin. He was a dedicated man who should not marry until he was as old as Lord Pitchford. His work obsessed him. She respected that, even though, if she had never met Wraith, she might have gone on pining for Constantine.

  “You look happy,” he said as he spread butter on the muffin. “A bright spot on such a dreary day.”

  “I am happy.”

  He walked over to the table and rested one hand on it. “That is very nice to hear, Sian.”

  “Yes, it is good. Very good.”

  “You have been unsettled since you arrived in Cornwall.”

  She nodded, knowing she must choose her words with care. Odd, for she and Constantine had always been able to converse easily. “I had some problems I needed to consider and some decisions to make.”

  “It would seem you have resolved both.”

  “Yes.” Her smile felt so wide she wondered if her face could hold it.

  “And your resolution makes you happy?”

  “More than I ever guessed.”

  He took a bite of the muffin as he went back to the sideboard. He poured a cup of coffee and stirred in some sugar. Raising it in a toast to her, he said, “Hearing that makes me very happy, too. You care so much for others that it is nice to see you smiling. Very nice.” He drained the cup and set it beside the plate of muffins. “I must ask you to excuse me, because I need to meet with Pitchford to discuss what we do next.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, but my efforts have recently taken a turn for the better.” As he went to the door, he added, “I will see you tonight at dinner, and I hope you are still wearing that pretty smile.” He winked at her before, whistling a jaunty tone, he walked out of the breakfast-parlor.

  Sian leaned back in her chair and sipped her hot chocolate again. Could happiness be infectious? Constantine’s smile had brightened when he noticed hers, and he seemed more hopeful about halting the wreckers than she had ever seen him.

  But where was Arthyn? Maybe he had been able to sleep in the aftermath of their night of passion. She could not, for each time she tried to relax, the luscious sensations of their lovemaking swept over her and she wanted him again.

  As if she had spoken aloud, Arthyn walked into the breakfast-parlor. His blue waistcoat was fuzzy with dust, and he slapped his hands together to loosen more. He must have been working in the library, as he did each morning.

  “Good morning, Arthyn,” she said, coming to her feet. “May I get you something to eat?”

  “You serve me?” His brown eyes grew round. “Miss Nethercott, that would not be seemly.”

  You did not worry about what was seemly last night, she almost replied, but, for once, was able to stop the words from bursting past her lips.

  “You must be exhausted,” she said as she picked up a plate and spooned out eggs and the meats he ate each morning.

  “Why would you say that?” He stood by the table, but did not sit.

  She realized he intended to keep his disguise firmly in place when anyone else might chance to overhear. That was wise. A misstep at this point could be deadly for him. . .and her. How like Wraith to worry about her to the point that he would not let her past his façade as the village curate.

  “You must have been up early to get that much dust on you,” she hurried to say.

  He brushed at his waistcoat. “Not really. I was moving some books from the uppermost shelves and was showered with dust.” He sneezed as if to emphasize his words.

  Bringing the plate and a cup of coffee to the table, she set them in front of where he stood. She picked up her chocolate and took the chair next to his. Again he seemed startled by her brazen action, but he thanked her as he pulled out the chair and sat.

  Between bites of his breakfast, he told her about a set of books he had found. “On the history of early Cornwall. Fascinating books, which I must read at the earliest opportunity. I assume Lord Bannatyne will not object to me reading them.”

  “Most certainly not. Gideon will be pleased to have someone enjoy them.”

  Arthyn launched into a meandering explanation of what the books contained. Sian tried to listen, but her own thoughts were louder than his voice. When he put down his fork, she grabbed his hand and held it between hers. He looked at her, astounded.

  “I understand why you have acted as you have,” she said.

  “You do?” A blush appeared from beneath his stiff collar. “How did you come to that understanding?”

  She looked for the glint of humor in his eyes or a smile teasing his li
ps. He had a skill as an actor that would be the envy of anyone who had ever trod the boards in a theater.

  “I guess you could say that I can see everything more clearly now.” She paused, then said, “The naked truth, if you will forgive me for speaking so bluntly.”

  “Then you should let me explain why I truly am in St. Gundred.”

  “There is no need. I know.”

  “You do?” He gulped so hard she could hear it.

  “Yes,” she said with a smile. “But I know we cannot talk about that now.”

  “That is very kind of you.” Puzzlement lined his brow. “I understand if you wish me to leave.”

  “Leave?” Her voice squeaked on the single word, then she smiled. He was jesting again. “I do not want you to leave, Arthyn. You asked if I would be your wife, and I want to give you my answer.”

  His eyes lowered. “I understand if—”

  “Will you be quiet for a moment?” When his head jerked up to stare at her in astonishment, she hurried on, “Be quiet and let me tell you my decision. I will marry you and work beside you in St. Gundred.”

  He grasped her hands and pressed his lips to her palms. “You have made me the happiest man in all creation.”

  “You may kiss me again, if you wish.” She almost laughed at her prim tone when her body was pleading, Please, please, please. Kiss me. Not just on the lips, but everywhere, as you did last night.

  His eyes widened again. “Here? In the breakfast-parlor? That would be questionable behavior, Miss Nethercott.”

  “Arthyn, we are betrothed. You must call me Sian now.”

  “That would be appropriate once we are wed.”

  Baffled, she wondered why the man who had held her with such passion now acted as skittish as a. . .well, as a church mouse. “If you will not use my given name, how about if you call me by a name you share only with me. Maybe sweetheart?”

  “I would like that.” His eyes twinkled. “Sweetheart describes you perfectly.”

  She laughed with a return of her happiness. What a delight it was going to be to share his life as both curate and Wraith.