When the Perfect Comes (The Deverell Series Book 1)

by Susan Ward

  “The girl has become a problem, Varian. It is past time to resolve the issue of her,” announced Tom Craven.

  Morgan’s opaque gaze transferred slowly to meet Tom Craven’s blighting stare. Tom was carelessly relaxed against the balustrade of the villa’s porch, one leg bent, swinging, watching Merry, as well. His strict eyes were not quite generous in their assessment of her.

  “Is it the boy? Is that why you keep her?” Tom added, less provoking.

  The boy. This was a new theory. Morgan found it as unpleasant as the rest. It was a logical theory. Before Merry, Indy would have given the girl no notice at all, scarred and frigid as he was. The only contact the boy allowed with anyone was casual. Infrequent and rapid encounters with mature women of a certain order. Yet with Merry, there was a gentleness of manner Morgan had never before seen in the lad.

  Sighing, Tom remarked, “I don’t know you anymore. What could there possibly be about this girl to interest you, Varian.”

  It had been a long time since they had attempted to speak to each other in total honesty. The ghost of what their friendship had once been, of who they had once been, hovered between them.

  “You are too harsh in your perceptions of women at times. Harsh, but amusing. During my days in London she is exactly what I pursued.”

  Tom’s pale gray eyes sharpened. “You are not in London, Varian. Don’t try to put a noble wash on this. You are maneuvering her to maintenance in a house on Green Street. Be truthful with yourself for once. Do you imagine yourself entertained by her any longer than you have been entertained by the others? What becomes of her then? By the time you tire of her, she will leave here knowing too much of who you are. She may, very well, destroy us all with those parts of yourself you give her in reckless lust and whim.”

  Morgan cut him short. “I’ve already made my decision. We will discuss it no further.”

  Tom swore softly under his breath. “Goddamn her. I knew she was a curse the first moment I set eyes on her, with what she is, and the way you looked at her as she hovered on your bed.”

  “If she is a curse, Tom, then she is my curse. Surely, I deserve one,” Morgan said evenly as he rose. “Come. I must go to the village before we join the others at the beach.”

  Tom’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps, you should take the boy to the village, as well.”

  Morgan’s smile took on an edge. “He finds his own amusements. Don’t examine too closely, your opinions of her, Tom. She is all our curse, my friend. All our curse, since the time when God first made Eve for Adam.”

  Morgan made a fast stop at the piano. Merry had been glancing skyward toward the wild twitter of a bird, which darted across the trees. She didn’t note his presence, and startled when his hand found her shoulder and his lips touched her hair.

  “Thank you for the song, Little One,” he said, smiling at her.

  Merry was disappointed to find that Morgan’s light kiss could send her again into internal disarray. His touch had been only casual. His comments amused.

  There must be a better way to manage with a man. These waves of uncontrollable feelings were like shackles at times.

  Into her silence, he said, “Enjoy the afternoon and your birds, My Dear. We return to sea tomorrow.”

  His black eyes shifted to Indy.

  “Come, lad. Tom thinks a walk to the village will serve you well.”

  Indy’s eyes glittered. Captain Randall coughed nervously. Emily colored, rather prettily, on her cheeks. It was Merry’s clear stare that made Morgan look away and quickly leave them.

  A heavy silence ensued while Indy stared off at the captain. When her questioning gaze fixed on Indy, the boy sprang up on his feet, running slowly until he caught Morgan on the edge of the lawn.

  Shifting her gaze, Merry found Emily watching her. The older woman quickly dropped her eyes.

  Merry’s spirits were hardly elevated by an evening alone in her bedroom. Morgan had not returned from the village. There was to be a party at the beach. A British man-of-war had dropped anchor off the island. Lord Deverell was required to make welcome to the officers there.

  Shortly after supper with his family, Captain Randall left to join the festivities. Emily was clearly not pleased by this. Prior to his departure, Captain Randall had forbidden both women to leave the house.

  “Why has Captain Randall ordered us not to go to the beach?” Merry finally asked, after a strained hour sitting with Emily in her parlor.

  “It is better for a woman to know as little as possible about what men do in their private amusements.”

  Emily continued to keep her gaze locked on her sewing. Merry stared at her, trying to make reason of Emily’s uncharacteristic mood and response.

  Then, exasperated and angry, Emily said simply, “Lord Deverell brings women from the village for the pleasure of the British officers.”

  In an angry huff, Emily tossed the shirt into the mending basket, and promptly retired.

  Alone in the quiet house, Merry went to bed.

  Sleep eluded her. She had been with the pirates long enough that none of this shocked her now. It wasn’t maidenly outrage that kept her awake through the hours of the night. It was more the anxious churning of a woman’s heart, which could not be stilled with the reminder it was foolish to be so despondent over anything Morgan did.

  What a strange power men possessed to so easily claim the thoughts and emotions of a woman, without want or effort.

  At midnight, she climbed from her bed and padded barefoot out onto the balcony. Her fingers curled the balustrade.

  There was only darkness, indigo fields, and jungle in front of her. There was a dot of light in the distance, the slave colony that Morgan had warned her about. From the beach she could hear the music and revelry.

  It made her feel warm and agitated in her flesh. It instantly brought memories of Ireland to her. The memory of how it had felt to dance in the firelight, to have Morgan’s eyes upon her, and then her wantonness in his arms as her body strained into his as he devoured her with his kisses. If he kissed her that way tonight, would she stop him?

  She felt that ever present restlessness takeover her body. She did nothing but think of Morgan these days. The more she thought of him, the more this urgent need grew into a free-flowing possession of her that never seemed to completely quiet.

  She did not want to think of his flesh and touch, she could not stop herself.

  She did not want to want him, she wanted him all the more.

  She wanted to maintain the security of her anger at him, and found herself forgiving each and every cut as they came. Whatever this affliction was, she wanted to be done with it.

  After years of avoiding men, she had found herself trapped by one.

  ~~~

  Morgan returned to his room alone. There were any of a dozen women at the beach he could have selected for this night, seasoned, eager, and knowing in relieving the hungry demands of his flesh. He had chosen instead to smoke, a vile indulgence he despised, and to return alone, his flesh raging, to an empty bed

  He still had the bottle of Cici in his hand as he settled in a chair in the darkened corner of his room.

  Cici was a harsh drink that made its way to the island from Chili. A rough gin made of corn, the maize chewed by toothless women and left to ferment in water. It was hard on the stomach, hard on the palate, and rapidly intoxicating. It suited his need, and his mood.

  He didn’t know for certain the source of his turmoil. Was it this day? Was it his conversation with Tom? Or, was it the man he used to be, always watching and slightly repulsed by what he’d become. That thought had hardly finished before he saw Merry float through his open French doors.

  Merry did not see him in the chair. She would not have gone into the room if she had.

  She glided toward his desk, stopped, and then began to move her barefoot back and forth across the rug, as her soft fingertips gently floated across the items on his desk. She was wearing a sheer, sapphire lace nightgo
wn. She didn’t know it, but she looked very tempting and very beautiful. Her wild disarray of curls fell loosely about her shoulders, her fingers moved in artless flutters across his possessions, the delicate lines of her body, clearly silhouetted by the soft candlelight.

  Morgan knew he should send her from his room quickly. His soul raged. He had a fiery hunger for the girl. A dangerous combination.

  Merry glided before his gaze to his bed. She lightly touched the coverlet, before lifting his pillow and pressing it to her face. He watched her in silence, understanding better than she what had brought her here.

  The desire between them was very strong. It seemed to only grow with each passing day.

  It was the pug, suddenly yapping and running across the room that drew Merry’s attention to him. She flushed guiltily and into her silence he said, “Pretty, pretty Merry. Where did you come from? Why are you here?”

  Her eyes rounded in dismay. She stared at him. He could see the desire, not fully concealed, in her sapphire eyes and the indecision on her face.

  Merry crossed the room, sank down in front of Morgan, and took away the bottle. “I am here because you will not let me go.”

  “Ah, then we are even, yet again. You will not let me go, either,” he said.

  She touched his face, gently, tentatively. “Go to sleep, Captain. You would do well to get some sleep.”

  She set the bottle on the table, and made to move toward the door.

  “Don’t go. I don’t wish to be alone yet,” he ordered.

  Before she could make it to the door, he crossed the room in three steps. In no time at all, he had her in the chair, on his lap, and her body pressing sinuously into him. He lifted her hair and touched his lips against her neck.

  Into her ear he breathed, “Do you know you make my life a torment?”

  Carefully, she said, “You have only to return me to Falmouth, if I am torment.”

  His laughter was soft and of something other than humor. “So like a woman.”

  Running his thumbs over the rise of her lips, he finished the touch with a probing kiss. Her unrestrained breasts made lush contact with his chest, the slightest movement made her rub against him. A shudder passed through her body. He felt it, and lowered to gently kiss across her lace covered breasts.

  He kissed her once on the lips and drew back, waiting for her to look at him. When she didn’t immediately, his fingers spread over her flushing skin.

  Her bluebell eyes went wide. “If you’re done playing your games with me, sir, I’d like to go to my room.”

  He grinned. “I’m nowhere near done, My Dear. Is there a young man in Falmouth that you care for, Little One?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Morgan was silent for a moment. “Surely, you had many suitors. Surely, there was someone.”

  His eyes burned into her now, even as he held her gently, stroking her shining hair. She ran her tongue along her passion plump lips, searching his face as if unsure how to answer him.

  Finally, looking away, she whispered, “One suitor. I did not care for him.”

  “Remarkable. Do you have any idea what a beautiful woman you are?”

  His fingers, firmly on her chin, forced her resisting gaze back to him. After a moment of kissing her, he whispered. “Do you like that, Merry?”

  “I do not think that’s the issue here.”

  Easing her back against him, his mouth on the silky flesh beneath her ear, he said, “What is the issue here?”

  “That I should return to my room.”

  She tried to climb from his lap.

  “We return to sea tomorrow,” he said. “I need to resolve what I should do with you.”

  He felt her try to pull back from his flesh.

  “You could return me to Falmouth.”

  “Can I?”

  He lifted her hair, letting it fall across his face, while his moving hands on her back brought her mouth to his again. All her fragility and sweetness were flowing into him. Whatever his more honorable inclinations were demanding, his male inclinations had other thoughts.

  In the warm space that separated their bodies, somehow his hands had undone the fastenings on the front of her gown. The ribbons fell a loose tease against her flesh. The blue strands moved with the rapid intakes of her breath within the lush crevice of her rose tipped breasts.

  “I can never take you back to Falmouth. Do you think me a fool? You know too much of who I am. And I know too little, so much less than I want, of you.”

  He made another neat, fast move of their bodies to the bed. She tried to pull away, but with strong, gentle hands he held her against him, feeding the flesh he so wanted to consume with the fervent kisses of his mouth. When her resistance gave way and left her pliant beneath his touch, his hands moved upward on her bare skin, paused, and then covered her breasts.

  “Please. I will not do this. You must let me go,” she begged, moving her hands in a forceless way against him.

  Her face came hazily into focus before him, the soft shining eyes, and the desperate anxiousness of her features. Desire rose in his body with a fierceness that had not visited him in many years.

  Softly laughing into their kisses, he rolled until he covered himself with her flesh, savoring the joy of being surrounded by her. It had been too long since he’d felt the fire like this. He missed the sweet thrill of gentle hands touching him lovingly, of honest passion in lush flesh, and the pleasure of sharing both his heart and body at once.

  “Varian.”

  His name on her panting whisper sent a rocketing shiver along his stomach and hips. His hands molded her back against him.

  She whispered his name a second time, and that only brought her lowered to the bed. His knee held one of her legs in a warm cradle. To her dismay, he was above her, his long, tanned fingers working the fastenings of his own clothing.

  “You must let me up.”

  She struggled as with one hand he steadied her body. The other began to stir back her tangled hair that clung to her lips and eyelashes and cheeks.

  “Please. What must I do to make you stop this?”

  He buried his lips in her hair. His voice was but a ragged whisper, “Let us make love all night so that this suffering inside of me will end.”

  Moving his hands down to hold her hips, he pressed his throbbing flesh against her as he brought his mouth to hers, once again. He felt her move against him, even as her hands tried to work between them against his chest.

  “Please let me go, Varian.”

  As though from far away, her stricken tone pierced his senses. Still he continued, his fingers searching within her soft hair, his motions growing deeper, longer, until she was damp and helpless, struggling against the demands of his lower body, and hers.

  Feeling her yield, he felt his senses explode. Her lips were meeting his with a passionate want to equal his own. Her hands roamed anxiously the supple muscles of his back and shoulders. He felt his pulse quicken under the innocent motions of her fingers.

  He whispered his desire for her, working free the fastenings of his breeches, breathing her name to urge her onward.

  All at once, her tiny body stiffened. She jerked back from him and she hissed, “Let me go. I will not let you bed me in a drunken stupor and want of another woman.”

  The anguish in her voice was enough to clear his head. Morgan stared at her. Tears of humiliation were burning down Merry’s cheeks, and her face was a tensing of hurt. In an instant, he realized what he had done.

  Abruptly he released her, and with purpose he left the bed. It came to him in an inescapable shock wave, what he’d nearly done and why he had nearly done it.

  Morgan faced toward the wall, his posture frozen. There was much inside of him running loose he was trying to bring under control.

  Merry screamed, “I may be nothing to you, but I deserve more than being raped by a drunken fool, while being called another woman’s name. I would rather you toss me into the sea than ever hav
e you touch me again.”

  Morgan looked at her then, his eyes as severely bright as fire embers. “I will never let you go. Never.”

  Brushing frantically at her tears, she screamed, “And I will hate you until I die.”

  His gaze fixed on her as emotion rose sharply through him.

  “Go, Merry,” he ordered harshly. “Go now. Lock your door. It is not safe for you tonight.”

  Morgan watched Merry run from the room. What a fool I am, he thought. What an incredible fool.

  He had not seen it before this moment, but it had been there all along. Oh, on the surface it was only a whisper tucked cleverly inside of her brilliant extremes, a quiet suggestion to nag at his brain. Tonight it was in the room with brutal clarity.

  It was why he kept her.

  It was why he wanted her.

  It was why he couldn’t have her.

  It was all there, plain to see. Her sweet innocence. Her naïve gallantry. Her sharp intelligence that hid behind her youthful face. Her grace. Her beauty. The gentleness of her manner that existed in a laughing effervescence that made her beauty a thing beguiling.

  Merry was a living, breathing creation of all he had once loved, in an exaggerated form that even he could not dismiss by will.

  The boy had read him well in this. There was sudden sureness as to why Indy had brought her to him. Oh, it had been wrong to underestimate the lad.

  He sank down on his bed, cradling his head in his hands, wondering how he could not have seen it. Indy’s plotting was so glaringly obvious that a blind man could see it.

  The boy had been brilliant in this.

  ~~~

  By midmorning, Morgan had concluded all remaining business on the island and was eager to return to the Corinthian.

  Merry had missed breakfast. She had refused to come when Emily had gone to fetch her. Splitting hangover and all, Morgan knew he was going to have to deal with her. His even strides carried him up the stairs with no noticeable hurry or reluctance, though he was claimed by both, and more than mildly, not wanting of this confrontation.