During the course of just one day, she realised, as she took a bite of fruit cake, she had learned as much about him as, probably, any woman ever learned about a man before she married him. That he was given to good works. He had told her, rather angrily earlier on, that this place was not a home for waifs and strays, but she had since learned that was exactly what it was. He had given each of his men a home, and work here, whether he was in residence, or away at sea.
Yes, he was autocratic, and quick-tempered. Grew affronted when she doubted his integrity.
But he was also quite handsome, if you overlooked his scar. Was actually quite appealing, in spite of it. For he had a certain vitality …
He might not make her very happy, she reflected as she took another large bite of cake, but then, the truth was, marriage was something of a lottery.
There were no guarantees of happiness for a woman, whether she ran away with someone she was wildly in love with, as her mother had done, or bowed to family pressure and submitted to an arranged marriage as, apparently, her aunt had done.
Or took a chance on a complete stranger, as she was considering doing.
She rubbed her finger round the plate, sweeping up every single crumb, as she asked herself exactly what she did want of marriage.
Captain Corcoran had said he did not want love to form a part of it.
He said he had done that once, and it had been a disaster. She could believe it, having witnessed her parents’ own turbulent match.
Now all he seemed to want was a woman who would not disgrace him by running off with some other man, or having adulterous affaires behind his back.
She almost dropped the cake plate as she suddenly realised that it was right after he’d realised she had run off into a storm rather than submit to being his mistress, in spite of all the money he had offered her, that he had begun to speak of marriage again. As though she had passed some kind of test.
Why had she not seen it before? Behind that take-it-or-leave-it attitude, she had detected a certain tension. It was because he was trying to hide how very keen he was for her to stay.
She had watched enough men playing cards, gambling for ruinous stakes, to be able to read the signs of suppressed emotion.
And the way the crew were all trying to persuade her to stay … was it because they knew he really, really wanted her? Was that a bargaining chip? Could she use that, somehow, to her own advantage?
She leaned back into the cushions, her mind a whirl. How, exactly, did learning all this help her to make up her mind?
Aimée gazed sightlessly into the blazing fire, and before long, what with being replete from tea and cakes, and being so comfortable with her foot propped up, her eyelids began to grow heavy. It was hardly surprising. She had barely slept the night before, so furious had she been with herself for so badly misinterpreting the situation. And for days before that, she yawned, she had not been in any dwelling where she had been able to so much as lie down without first checking that the door was securely barred and there was a means of defending herself close at hand.
As her eyes drifted shut, she thought she saw the door open, but when she opened her eyes fully, there was nobody there.
Captain Corcoran shut the door softly, so as not to disturb her. He had thought he might as well join her for tea, since he had been totally unable to concentrate on the mountain of correspondence he ought to have been attending to. How right he had been to liken her to a siren. She drew him to her, just by being in his house. He stood in the hallway, the image of her lying on the sofa emblazoned on his mind. She looked so lovely, her cheeks flushed with sleep and her hair escaping its pins so that it spread all over the cushions. But for some reason, it was seeing that empty plate still clutched in her fingers that clawed at his conscience.
She was always hungry. But she must have been exhausted, too, to fall asleep in that position. She could not have slept very much last night, he thought, rubbing absentmindedly at the scarred side of his face. She had been scared, and confused, and in a great deal of pain. But she had refused the laudanum, which might have helped her get some rest.
His mouth firming into a grim line, he marched upstairs to the linen closet and fetched a blanket. There was not much he could do about what had happened last night, but he could at least ensure she was comfortable now.
He went back into the parlour as quietly as he could, detached the empty plate from her lax grip and gently draped the blanket over her.
The slight noise he made putting the plate on the table had her half-opening her eyes. But they drifted shut again almost immediately, and she snuggled down, one hand under her cheek.
He straightened up abruptly. She needed somebody to look after her. She might not want to admit it, but she did. If she married him, she need never go hungry again. Nor would he let anyone harm so much as a hair on her head.
Rather stunned by the ferocity of his determination to protect her from imaginary enemies, as well as potential draughts, he stalked to the door and made for his study. He had work to do. Important work. And she had already proved far too much of a distraction for one day.
Even without opening her eyes, Aimée had known Captain Corcoran was the person creeping about the room, making her comfortable. She recognised his unique scent, from when he had carried her from the woods to the house. Besides, he would not permit any of his men to perform so intimate a task as tucking a blanket about her person, like this.
It was only later, when she awoke, that she fully understood the significance of what had just happened.
Somehow, she had begun to trust the Captain. She knew he meant her no harm, or she would not have been able to lie there, quite relaxed, and allow him to tuck that blanket round her. Or snuggle down again afterwards, completely unperturbed by his presence.
It was not much to go on, perhaps, but it was more than most women got. If she were to marry the Captain, she knew he would take good care of her, in his own way, the same way as he looked out for the welfare of the other members of his crew.
She sat up, folded the blanket neatly, and draped it over the arm of the chair, smiling at the image she had conjured up. Of herself swabbing the decks, whilst Captain Corcoran stood, legs braced, on the poop deck, bellowing orders at her like any other of his crew members.
Her smile faded abruptly as she reminded herself that marriage was not like a grand adventure in some storybook. In fact, she had no idea what marriage to a man of the Captain’s temperament might bring. When she tried to picture it again, all she could see was an endless stormy sea and her in a little boat with the Captain, heading who knew where.
She did not have to marry him, of course. He had said she could leave as soon as her ankle was better.
And at the very prospect, her stomach lurched as though she really was in a boat on a storm-tossed sea. It had been something of a miracle that she had escaped London the last time. Was her luck likely to hold if he sent her back?
Because, it struck her, although she had passed all the tests the Captain had set her, and though he was keen to bend her to his will, he was not so set on her, and her alone, that he would feel all that much of a qualm if she left.
He would probably rant and rave a bit, then go out and pressgang some other unsuspecting female into service. She imagined him sitting at that beautifully set dining table, offering this imaginary woman jewels, and servants, and his title. Her mouth tightened as she heard her replacement cooing that she would be delighted to accept. And as she pictured him sweeping the sly minx up in those steely arms of his, and carrying her out into the woods, she discovered that her fingers had formed claws and were digging into the weave of the blanket.
Taking a deep breath, she uncurled them, and smoothed away the creases her spurt of irrational anger had put there.
It seemed her choice was already made. She had no idea whether it would prove to be a good choice. Only time would tell. But the one thing she knew was that she could not permit some other woman to
become Captain Corcoran’s bride!
She got to her feet and limped to the door. It was time she was changing for dinner. The Captain had asked her to dine with him this evening, when he would expect her answer.
She clung to the banister rail as she hobbled up the stairs, her mouth set with grim determination.
She might live to regret this. But the alternative, of leaving his home and trying to fend for herself again … She gave an involuntary shudder. She knew that life all too well. And she would be a fool to go back to it, when the Captain was offering her the kind of security she had always longed for.
Her travelling dress was horribly creased from having dozed in it. Her best gown had disappeared from the airer—not that she could have repaired it, anyway. So Aimée lifted her dark-grey morning gown from where she had packed it at the top of the trunk. She shook it out and hung it up while she had a quick wash. She had bought it because it made her look sober and respectable, like a very severe governess.
But that image, coincidentally, was exactly what Captain Corcoran appeared to be looking for in a wife. A sensible, respectable woman, upon whom he could rely.
She hid her face in the towel, rather than meet the accusation she feared seeing in her own eyes. She would not cheat the Captain, once she was his wife! She was not exactly cheating him now. He had not specified he wanted her to have an impeccable background. It was only her future conduct that he was interested in.
She whirled from the mirror, hooked her buttons up swiftly and patted her hair into place.
Captain Corcoran got to his feet when she returned to the same little parlour in which she had already spent so much time. He looked quite splendid in what she surmised was his dress uniform. It had the effect of making her feel at even more of a disadvantage than ever in her plain, drab little gown.
And very conscious that the power was all in his hands.
Feeling suddenly very nervous, she went to the chair in which she had been dozing earlier and sat down.
‘I may as well tell you, right now,’ she said, ‘that I have almost made up my mind to accept your proposal.’
His face remained impassive as he took his own seat, across the hearth from hers.
‘Almost?’ he drawled, leaning back and crossing his legs. ‘May I remind you that I require your decision tonight?’
‘Do you think this is easy for me?’ she flared. ‘I know that you are used to simply ordering your crew about. That you have come to expect instant obedience. But have you no notion of how hard it will be for me to simply hand over complete control of my life to a man I barely know? And you are so very autocratic!’
‘You seem to have no problem with voicing your objections, however,’ he said coolly. ‘From the very first moment you saw me, you have not hesitated to berate me for one crime or another.’
‘Yes, but that was when I thought you were a coachman! And then …’
‘A kidnapper,’ he agreed. ‘Yes, I know what you have thought of me.’
‘But as my husband, you will expect me to obey you!’ she said plaintively. ‘Without question!’
‘That, madam, is only what every man expects from his wife,’ he replied coldly.
His heart was beating uncomfortably fast. She was teetering on the verge of making up her mind in his favour. He wished he could do something, say something to persuade her … but then she would know how very much this meant to him. He would seem weak. He would rather let her go than admit his susceptibility to her considerable charm was a weapon she could wield against him.
‘Miss Peters, you have only two choices. Either take me as I am, or return to London.’
Aimée could have screamed with frustration. Why would he not just give her some kind of reassurance? Would one kind word be so hard for him to utter?
She was so afraid that she was on the verge of making the most colossal mistake of her life! Marriage was so final. A woman who made an error in her choice of husband would spend the rest of her life regretting it. She had only to remember the circumstances her own mother had been reduced to by marrying her father. She forced herself to keep looking him straight in the eye, though her heart was pounding hard.
But he saw her clasp her hands in her lap to hide the way they were trembling. His glare became so ferocious her tongue dried in her mouth.
He got to his feet, and came to stand right in front of her chair. He was so close that his boots brushed the tips of her stained slippers. His eye glittered strangely as he leant down and took her chin in one hand. It was all she could do not to shrink back into the cushions.
‘Or is the truth really that you are afraid of becoming intimate with me? Is that it?’
As the warmth of his breath fanned her cheek it occurred to her that it was strange she had scarcely considered that aspect of marriage with him, for he had stressed that the whole point of remarrying was because it was now his duty to produce heirs.
She swallowed, and had to crane her neck to keep looking up into his face. He was so close to her that she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She was suddenly struck by a vision of lying in a bed next to this strong, hot-tempered, vital man. It made her cheeks flush. In fact, it felt as though her entire body flushed.
It was very far from being an unpleasant feeling.
‘N-no,’ she stammered. ‘I am not afraid of you. Of that …’
She felt her cheeks grow hotter still.
‘That is as well,’ he said, and his thumb swept over her parted lips. ‘Because one of the reasons I specifically advertised for a woman who was willing to become a governess is because I must have children. They will be yours …’ he released her chin, but so slowly it felt like a caress ‘ … and mine, if you marry me. Do not forget, also, that you will also become a wealthy woman. A titled woman. I have recently become the Earl of Bowdon. You will be my Countess,’ he purred seductively.
Goodness! If one caress could make her feel like this, all warm and breathless and … girlish, what would it be like if he kissed her? Held her?
‘Yes,’ she whispered, her heart beating very fast. ‘I think I shall marry you.’ And then, slightly louder, almost feeling as though she should be requesting permission to come aboard, ‘Yes, Captain. I will marry you.’
Something that looked like relief flickered across his face. ‘Thank you,’ he grated. Then, taking her by surprise, he leaned forwards and grasped her hands tightly between his own callused palms.
It had been the lure of a title that had weighted the scales in his favour, but he did not care. She had agreed to marry him, and that was what counted. With a sense of jubilation, he pulled her to her feet, and before she had time to take evasive action he kissed her full on the mouth.
Aimée had wondered what it would feel like if he should kiss her. And now, as he pressed his mouth hard against hers, just briefly, as though he was intent on stamping his mark on her, she knew. It was as though somebody had lit a barrowload of fireworks inside her.
‘Let us go in to dine,’ he said, apparently oblivious to the fact that his kiss had produced such an astonishing effect, ‘and share the good news with the rest of my crew.’
The rest of his crew. She smiled at him dazedly. She had always suspected he would regard her as another crew member.
He took her hand, linked it through his arm and led her across the hall and into the dining room.
The others were all there, clearly waiting to hear the latest, although they were all trying, not very successfully, to look busy.
‘She’s agreed,’ said Captain Corcoran.
There was a moment’s silence, and then, to her slight embarrassment, and great delight, the entire crew gave her three rousing cheers. Mr Jago bustled off and came back with some champagne. After that, the meal became a full-blown celebration.
She felt a smile spread throughout her entire being. She would belong to a group of people in a way she had never experienced before. Billy, and Nelson, and Jenks, and the fat cook and Mr
Jago … they would all be like a sort of family!
She had always envied those families she sometimes became acquainted with, who lived in houses handed down to them from their ancestors, who had regular incomes and recognised positions in society. Now she was going to know what that felt like!
She might become the kind of woman who inaugurated societies for the improvement of the local poor. The Captain seemed inclined towards charitable works. And, oh, there were so many people out there in need of a helping hand!
As for herself, she might do something as simple, yet foreign to her experience, as making friends with whom she could sit gossiping over cups of tea in a drawing room. She would have shelves in that drawing room. And she could fill them with knick-knacks of no intrinsic worth, but which held, for her, some sentimental value. She had never been able to keep souvenirs of any of the places she had visited before. Had never owned more than could be crammed into one case should hasty flight from an irate landlord become necessary.
But now, thanks to Captain Corcoran, anything might be possible!
‘We shall be married tomorrow afternoon,’ the Captain informed her at the end of the meal, as he passed her a glass of port. ‘Do you care for port? I should have asked.’
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