He pressed her hands between his. "He is strong and honest and wealthy and his appearance is not in the least objectionable. I know it is important to a woman to have a man that bathes regularly and has good teeth."
"Let me put it another way. I'm not Tank's type."
"He would be a lucky man to have you."
As would I, Griffin thought. But it could not be, for he and Merrie had been doomed from the start. They came from different lives and places, sharing only this short moment in time before all would be set right.
She pulled her hands from his and idly fussed with the bed linens, tucking them snugly around her. "Griffin, don't worry about me. I'll be fine after you leave. I was fine before you came, wasn't I?"
He nodded then cupped her cheek in his palm, tipping her gaze up to his. "If I lived in your time, I would offer for you."
She covered his fingers with her own. "That would be very noble of you. But I wouldn't want you to offer for me, unless you loved me."
"Many marry without love," he said. He hadn't loved Jane when he'd offered for her. In fact, he had barely known her. Yet over the two years they had been married, they had grown to care for each other. And when he'd lost her, he felt as if his heart had been torn from his body and buried beside her and their baby. Maybe he had loved her, but then, he would never truly be sure.
She had died alone, in their small house in Williamsburg, three days after the fever had taken his infant son- the son he'd never seen or held. And where had he been, but on his way home from London, busy with his duties as captain of the Spiritand gloating over the fine price he had secured for his cargo of Virginia tobacco.
"Griffin?"
He blinked and found her staring at him.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
Slowly, without speaking, he bent forward and touched his mouth to hers. She didn't pull away or play the coy maiden. Instead, Merrie returned his kiss, parting her lips slightly, inviting him totake more. And when he didn't, she did, touching her tongue to his lower lip, gently tempting, teasing.
What began as a simple gesture of thanks, suddenly vibrated with an overwhelming sensuality. He wanted to feel her mouth beneath his, bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair, then gaze into her passion-clouded eyes.
It took all his strength to draw away. He could not take what she offered, not in this time, not in any time. He had no right, for he could not offer her anything in return. Dropping his hand from her soft cheek, he sucked in a deep draft of air, averting his gaze from the apprehension that colored her deep green eyes.
"I-I'm sorry," she said.
"There is no need to apologize," Griffin replied. "I am the one to be sorry. I acted impulsively, without thought for your feelings, or your honor."
He quickly stood and walked to the bedroom door.
"You don't have to leave," she said.
"I do," he replied. "'Tis nearly midnight. Your friend said that we must try to duplicate what happened. Perhaps it wasn't the weather, but the time or the place. I'm of a mind to wait outside and see."
Merrie sat up straight in bed. "Do you think it will work?"
Griffin shrugged. "We'll not know until we try." He smiled. "Go to sleep, Merrie-girl," he said softly. "And if I am gone when you wake, you will think this has all been a dream."
"I'll never believe it was a dream," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'll never forget you."
"Nor I you," he said.
Griffin turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Merrie alone. She would be fine, she had assured him of that fact. Merrie had lived alone for a long time before he had come to her. Still, in a small corner of his soul, he knew he was leaving something rare and precious behind. And if he magically stepped back to his own time on this night, he knew he would always wonder what might have been had he been forced to stay.
He had spoken the truth when he said he would not forget her. He would see her eyes in the sea and her smile in the sun. He would feel her skin when he touched the finest silk and he would smell her perfume every time he brought a flower to his nose.
No, upon his life, he would never forget Merrie.
Meredith flopped back on her pillow and covered her face with her hands. She felt like crying but she wasn't sure why. This man had blown into her life with all the force of a hurricane, and now there was a good chance he'd blow right back out again.
She knew she had to let him go. There was nothing for him here, and he was intent on his plan to avenge his father's death. And yet, she didn't want him to leave. There was something about him, something she felt on such a visceral level, a feeling that she couldn't put into words, something that told her this thing between them was not finished. He was not supposed to leave, not yet.
Meredith fought against the temptation to run out to the beach and try to convince him to stay. But deep down, she knew that would be wrong. She had to let him try, and if nothing happened this night, she would put her feelings aside and continue to help him until he found his way back.
With a groan of frustration, Meredith climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled back the curtain and looked out into the yard. He stood on the lawn, his form illuminated by the full moon, his hair blowing in the breeze.
He stared out at the water, watching, waiting. A halo of silver light seemed to surround him, gilding his body like some ancient statue of a sea god, lining a shimmering path from his feet out to the horizon. He looked so far away, already lost to her, and she touched her lips with her fingers, hoping to feel the warmth of his mouth still there. But her lips were cold, his touch long gone.
Meredith glanced over at the bedside clock. Her stomach tightened as the numbers changed to 11:57. She let the lace curtain fall from her fingers and numbly walked back to the bed. Shoving all her papers to the floor, she crawled beneath the covers and curled into a tiny ball.
She was frightened, not of what she had been through, but of what the future might be without him. Would she ever feel this powerful attraction for a man again? Or would she be left with her memories of Griffin and her half-finished dreams?
Reaching over, she turned off the bedside lamp and let the darkness envelop her. As she closed her eyes, an image of him flashed in her mind, imprinted on her memory. "Go to sleep," she whispered, rolling over on her back to stare at the ceiling. "What will happen, will happen. If he isn't meant to leave, he won't."
She lay perfectly still for a very long time, listening to the sounds around her and inside her: the waves, her heartbeat, the breeze, her breathing and the silent cry of an abandoned soul. The clock marked each minute and as it did, she was forced to face the fact that he was gone. He'd disappeared from her life as quickly as he'd appeared. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep.
Meredith wasn't sure how much time had passed-she'd been afraid to open her eyes and look at the clock. Maybe she'd even drifted off for a few minutes. But slowly, she realized that she wasn't alone anymore. He was here, in the room. She sensed his presence as surely as if the light was on and she was staring at his handsome face.
She heard him approach the bed and for a moment he stood over her, his breathing deep and even. Then she heard him whisper her name. Her heart leaped and she fought the urge to jump up and throw her arms around him in joy. Instead, she keep her eyes closed and her body still.
The bed sank beneath his weight. He moaned softly as he pulled her against him, pressing her backside into his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. She knew he just needed to be with someone, anyone, right now, but she was thankful he'd chosen her. For the first time, she understood the loneliness he felt, isolated and so far from everything familiar. She'd felt that same loneliness as she watched him on the beach.
Still, though she knew he was in pain, a lazy sense of comfort and satisfaction worked its way through her body. She felt exhausted, yet strangely exhilarated. He was here with her, where he belonged, at least for a little while longer.<
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When she was certain he slept, Meredith slipped out of his arms and turned on the bedside lamp. The light spilled across his face and she held her breath, waiting for him to open his eyes. But he was deep in slumber, his perfect features tranquil and untroubled.
She turned on her side and faced him, lazily studying every detail of his face. Dark lashes, sinfully long for a man, and flawlessly arched eyebrows, as black as raven's wings, framed his eyes. Taken alone, they would have appeared almost feminine, but amidst the strong cheekbones, the sculpted mouth and the aristocratic nose, they fell into a remarkable masculine balance.
He had changed back into his old clothes before going out to the beach, but he had discarded his waistcoat before crawling into bed with her. His linen shirt gaped open in the front, revealing a wide expanse of smooth chest, dusted with dark hair. She reached out and held her hand close to his skin, close enough to feel the warmth radiating into her fingers, yet not close enough to touch him. Slowly, she skimmed her fingers above the ridges of his muscles, imagining the feel of him, without making contact.
As she explored his body this way, first with her eyes and then with an invisible touch, she marveled at the man who shared her bed… the man who had kissed her earlier… the man who had awakened feelings she never knew she possessed.
She'd had a number of relationships with colleagues on campus, always more intellectual than anything else. But she'd never felt for them what she felt for Griffin. Though she had tried to convince herself she was sexually attracted to these men, when it came right down to consummating the relationship, she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.
In this day and age, her virginity loomed over her like a big scarlet V, a quality that most men felt was more odd than admirable. So maybe she was a little repressed, but all repression aside, she couldn't deny her attraction to Griffin.
He was the opposite of everything she'd thought she wanted in a man-he was a man of action, not introspection. He could be brooding and distant, keeping his emotions locked deep inside. Griffin Rourke was definitely not a sensitive, nineties kind of guy. But she didn't want that. She wanted him-exactly the way he was, with all his simmering arrogance and sensual energy and chauvinistic ideas.
Maybe that was why she felt so at ease around him. In the past, just the thought of making love to a man had caused her paroxysms of nervousness. But Griffin knew nothing about the games that men and women played in today's society. To him, she appeared sophisticated and self-assured, a woman of action, and in his presence, she'd begun to believe as much of herself.
She groaned inwardly. If only that were true. If only she werea woman of action, she might be able to touch him, instead of just holding her hand so near to his body. Or she might have the nerve to kiss him, instead of just staring at his lips. Or she might even make love to him, instead of fantasizing about it.
She watched him for a long time, inhaling the scent of him, committing every detail of Griffin Rourke to her mind, knowing that at any moment, he might be snatched from her life forever.
As her eyes finally drifted shut and she felt herself slip ping toward sleep, she knew that it didn't matter how much time they had left. It would never be enough. And yet, it had to be. For whatever it was-a day, a week, a year-it would have to last her a lifetime.
Rain drummed gently on the roof of the cottage. Griffin stood at the window and stared out at the steel gray sky and the dark water below. The trees in the yard swayed against a fine breeze which blew across the Sound to the mainland. Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and deep. With a silent oath, he turned and looked at Merrie. She sat on the sofa, her legs curled beneath her, books spread all about her, perfectly happy to stay inside.
"I have sailed in weather much worse than this," he said. "The wind is perfect for a quick sail up the Pamticoe."
"Pamlico," Merrie corrected distractedly. "And I'm sure you have."
"You would not be in any danger."
She looked up at him with doubtful green eyes. "There is nothing that you can say that will get me out on the water today, so you might as well relax."
"Relax," Griffin muttered. "I cannot relax. I don't understand this preoccupation you have with relaxing. We have been relaxing for three days, waiting for this weather to clear. 'Tis only rain."
After three nights waiting on the beach, waiting for time to swallow him up again, he was anxious to try something new. Their trip to Bath had given him new hope. A visit to where it all began might provide answers to the way back.
"We're in the middle of hurricane season. I'm not going out on the water until the sky is perfectly clear and that's that." She glanced up at him. "Can't you find something better to do than pace the room and curse beneath your breath? Why don't you take a walk?"
"I do not find aimless walking about a relaxing venture," he replied.
"What do you colonials do for fun? You must have something to occupy your leisure time."
"There is fox hunting and cockfighting," Griffin said.
"I meant like a hobby," Meredith said.
"Horse racing, wrestling matches. Sometimes there are parties with dancing and gambling… and drinking, of course."
Meredith frowned. "All right, maybe there isn't much of interest to occupy your time here. We'll just have to find you some new hobbies."
"To what end? What would this pointless activity accomplish? Would it turn me a better profit or make my life easier?"
Merrie blinked, then frowned, a look of consternation crossing her pretty features. "No," she finally said. "But it would give me time to do my own work."
Griffin sighed inwardly at her edgy reply. Would he ever learn to control his impatience? It was his least admirable quality, right behind his stubborn nature. "All right," he relented. "I would agree that during my time here, I could make use of a hobby."
Her smile was worth his capitulation, for it warmed him to the very center of his soul.
"Good," Merrie said. "Now, what did you usually do on a rainy day back in your time?"
He grinned lasciviously. "I can think of only one thing," he teased. "And I would guess things have not changed that much in this century."
"I'm talking about hobbies, here," Merrie said, understanding his meaning immediately. "What would you like to be doing… for fun… I mean, for a hobby?"
Griffin considered the question for a long minute then shook his head. Besides spending a rainy afternoon in bed with a warm and willing woman, the only other thing he could imagine doing was standing on the deck of his own ship, feeling the swell of the sea beneath his feet and the rain on his face, hearing the snap of the sails above his head. He'd been born to captain a ship, to realize the dreams his father had of building a vast shipping empire on the profits from tobacco.
From the time Griffin was a boy, his father had talked as if Griffin's destiny had already been determined. He was an only child, and he and his father had been inseparable, and of one mind. By the time he was ten, he knew every facet of growing tobacco. And he also knew that every crop of tobacco harvested on the Rourke plantation was crucial to realizing the dream.
Finally, after years of planning, the ship was built, and the empire founded. They christened their first ship the Betty, after his mother, and launched the sloop on Griffin's twelfth birthday. And from that day onward, Griffin's life was promised to the sea.
He could still recall with such clarity the look of pride on his father's face as the boat slipped into the water. The Bettywas his father's life, the business of the ship sustaining him after Griffin's mother died.
And then Teach took it all away. The pirate attacked and captured the Betty off the Virginia shore while his father was on board. The brigands stole what cargo they fancied, then scuttled the ship with the rest still in the hold.
"What is the date?" he asked softly, stopping to stare at a strangely silent Ben Gunn.
"September twenty-sixth," Merrie replied.
He stroked the parrot's b
reast with his finger. "Nearly a year gone by," Griffin murmured. "That is when this tangle began."
"What tangle?"
"Teach and me…and my father." His voice was flat and emotionless. He barely recognized it as his own.
"Can you tell me what happened?" Merrie asked.
Griffin turned away from the parrot and began to pace again, stopping at the window to check the weather once more. "Teach killed him," he finally said. "There is nothing more to tell."
"That's strange," Merrie said.
He turned and stared at her. "And why is that?"
"Even though Blackbeard fashioned a wicked image for himself, he didn't go down in history as a bloodthirsty murderer. We know that sailors on merchant ships were superstitious and they believed him to be the devil himself. But the sources say he managed to capture most of his booty without a fight."
Griffin felt his temper rise. How could she defend such a man? Had the pirate Blackbeard merely become some romantic myth, a colorful hero whose evil deeds had faded with the passage of time? "He murdered my father," Griffin repeated, trying to keep his voice even, "as surely as if he had run him through with his own cutlass."
Merrie drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. Would you like to talk about it?"
"No," Griffin said. "There is nothing more to be said."
"But maybe if you talked about it, you might-"
"No," he repeated. "Talking will not bring back my father, so what is the point to it?"
"All right," Merrie snapped. "We won't talk." She pointed to the place on the floor at her feet. "Sit!" she ordered. "And relax!"
He glared at her through narrowed eyes, then grudgingly did as he was told. She handed him a boating magazine.
"You're making me tense," she said.
He sat on the floor for a moment then sighed and tossed the magazine on the low table in front of him. "You see, I cannot relax. It is not part of my nature."
Merrie placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back down. With a frustrated oath, she settled behind him on the couch, pulling him against the cushions, her legs on either side of his shoulders, her bare feet braced along his thighs.
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