by Cheryl Holt
The boy never tired of hearing how Lucas had been hiding behind a barrel when one of the brigands reached for him. He'd escaped by stabbing the cutthroat in the hand. A gruesome
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narrative, to say the least, but it always kept the boy enthralled, and Lucas had omitted the truly terrifying sections about what had actually transpired, instead making it sound as though evading murderous pirates was full of fun and adventure.
At the end he blew out the candle, then waited while Harry's breathing slowed and became deep and regular. He leaned over and kissed the boy, then stepped into the hall, only to discover Penny standing there. Obviously she'd been eavesdropping on their whispered words of love and good-night, and she blushed prettily at having been blatantly caught.
"I couldn't help listening," she said.
"It's all right," he insisted. "I don't mind."
"Was that account really true? Did that really happen to you?"
"Yes," he answered casually, shrugging off those horrid, lonely years, hating to talk about them, hating to think about them. "It's water under the bridge."
"But you must have been little more than a child!"
"I was eight," he surprised himself by admitting.
"Hardly older than Harry," she murmured.
"By a few years."
The more she thought about it, the more she became incensed. "Why, that's outrageous. How did you come to be in such a place?"
"I was kidnapped off the docks in Virginia."
"Oh, Lucas ..." she said with such genuine concern that it caused a sudden wave of powerful emotion to sweep over him. He'd never felt anything like it before. All the memories he thought he'd carefully buried—the desperate yearnings, the fear, the hunger and cold and whippings—were unexpectedly close to the surface, scratching and clawing and trying to see the light of day.
Barely able to speak through the lump in his throat, he commented, "It took me a long time to find my way home."
"How old were you when you were stolen?"
"Five," he said. "I was five."
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"And your parents? Did they search for you?"
"They wouldn't have had the means, I don't expect." He gazed down the hall, past the compassion and worry registering in her eyes. "But I don't know. They died of illness shortly after I disappeared."
"Oh, my dear husband," she said, and she did the very worst thing he could possibly imagine, she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. "What became of your sister, Caroline? And Harry told me you have a brother as well?"
"Matthew." He murmured his brother's name.
He wanted to resist her comforting, but no one had ever offered any before, and he realized that it was something he'd never known he was missing. Overwhelmed, he returned her embrace, draping his arms across her shoulders and resting his chin on the top of her head. "They were just babies. They were farmed out. It was bad ... for all of us...." He left it at that and was relieved that she didn't press for more information.
"How old were you when you returned?"
"I was nearly fifteen. I found them, and we became a family again." Closing his eyes, he crushed her to his chest, desperately trying to impart comprehension of some of the intense emotion that had been driving him these past years. "When I was still on the ship, I spent every moment conjuring up methods of making my way back to them; it's all that kept me going. After we were reunited, I would have gladly given my life for either one of them. When Caroline died ... it was as though someone had snatched out my very heart."
"Yes, I imagine that's exactly how it felt." She pulled back slightly so that she could gaze up into his face. "Who is Harry's father? He didn't marry Caroline, did he?"
"No," Lucas said, shaking his head.
At her question he wanted to be angry, but she'd asked it so delicately that he couldn't be. For the first time, he was able to think about Caroline's death without becoming blinded by rage. "She went visiting, and she was away from home. Even though she was fully grown, she was impressionable, and,
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apparently, easily tempted and swayed. If I hadn't allowed her to go, I always wonder if it might have ended differently."
"You feel as though it's your fault, don't you?"
"Well .. . perhaps."
"Oh, darling, you mustn't." She gave him a slight shake to emphasize her point. "Do you know who the cad is?"
"Yes, I learned just recently."
"Harry is such a wonderful boy, and knowing both of you as I now do, I can surmise what Caroline must have been like. What kind of man would behave so badly toward the two of them?" She gazed up imploringly. "Now that you've detected his identity, what are your plans?"
"I haven't decided," Lucas fibbed.
"Is he an Englishman?"
"Yes," he said carefully. "That's one of the reasons I'm in the country, but I'm not certain what steps to take."
“Perhaps I could help you. I'm acquainted with many people, and my family has extensive connections...."
"Perhaps you could," he agreed, wanting to forestall any further discussion of the topic. "I'm still contemplating what I'd like to do."
"You will let me know if I can help, won't you?"
Without answering, he pulled her close unable to stare into those sapphire eyes. “I loved my sister beyond imagining. You can understand that, can't you? I might go to any length to see her avenged."
"Of course I understand." Her words were a mere rumble against the center of his chest. She held him for a few moments, then said, "It's been such a long day. Let's go to bed."
"Oh, Penny ..." he breathed, hating what was occurring, hating himself. He released her from the circle of his arms and set her away. Pulling himself together, he said gently, "I need to go out for a few hours."
"Truly?" She regarded him, taking his measure, looking inside to the private, solitary places he never let anyone see. "You know, Lucas," she ultimately said, "whatever it is,
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whatever is worrying you, you can tell me about it. We can get through it together. That's what I'm here for."
"There's nothing wrong, Penny," he lied, wishing it weren't so.
"All right," she sighed.
"Don't wait up for me."
His statement brought a crushing look of disappointment to her eyes, but she quickly concealed it. "I won't, then."
"Good night."
He took a step back, wanting only to reach the safety of the stairs, when her quiet voice stopped him. "Lucas?"
"Yes?"
"If you ever get swept away from home again, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to find you. I'll never quit searching. And Harry and I will always keep a candle burning in the window to light your way back to us."
He left her standing there and went to the barn, waiting in the shadows. Eventually he saw a light in her room, and with a painful urgency he thought about how she would appear as she prepared to retire. Her arm would bend and flex as she pulled a brush through her long hair. Her breasts would shift and move as she washed. The muscles in her back and legs would stretch as she tugged her nightrail over her head. Those long, slender fingers would smooth the fabric down her front and thighs. Her rosy lips would pucker as she leaned over to blow out the candle.
Quietly she would lie in the bed with her knees curled up to her chest, gazing out the window into the night, wondering where he had gone and when he might return.
She deserved so much more than the pittance of emotion he'd given her. All he'd done was compromise her and ruin her for any other man. While some part of him reveled in the knowledge, his more rational self felt only an extreme burning shame.
How was he any different from Harold Westmoreland?
Westmoreland had seduced Caroline when she was alone
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and away from the protection of her family. She'd fallen for his smooth talk and charms, and thus ended
up offering him the most precious part of herself, and he'd gladly accepted without hesitation or consideration of the consequences.
Wasn't that exactly what he himself had done to Penny?
As he pondered the similarities between his situation and the duke's, he couldn't help ruminating over the most horrifying possibility of all: What if he'd gotten Penny with child? In light of how quickly sexual events had spiraled out of control, he had yet to spend any length of time calculating the probable aftereffects of his incautious behavior, but he knew better than anyone that a disastrous conception could be the result. His conduct was so outlandish that it almost made him think he wanted her pregnant.
People always said a babe couldn't be created from a handful of joinings, but what if they were wrong? And when did a handful turn into numerous opportunity? Certainly, they'd passed any safe limits. What if his child were already growing in her?
He'd need to marry her straightaway.
But how can you marry her? a small voice warned. She believes you're already married!
If a babe became a reality, he'd need to wed her legally and truly, which would mean confessing his sins, telling her all.
What would she do?
Without having to consider very extensively, he decided she'd leave him and never return. For wasn't this false marriage the ultimate betrayal of her faith in him? Probably she'd be willing to forgive many sins, but not deceitful vows. If she learned that she couldn't believe him when he promised to love and honor her till death parted them, how could she ever trust him again?
There would be no absolution. She would vanish, only to be reabsorbed into the sheltered, wealthy world from which he'd taken her. The Westmorelands would banish her to a secluded country property where no one from Polite Society
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would ever hear from her again. Or perhaps they'd marry her secretly to another, falsifying the date of her wedding, in order to hide her disgrace.
Some other man would have Penny and raise Lucas's child, and Lucas would never learn the outcome. He'd never know if it was a boy or a girl, if it was healthy, what name Penny had selected. The child would remain a vast open hole in his life that he would never be able to fill, a continuing disgrace to his personal honor, one that he would never be able to make right no matter how long he tried.
There was no distinction that could be made between himself and his nemesis, Harold Westmoreland. He and the duke were two of a kind, so why persevere with his search for vengeance?
For years he'd yearned to locate the person who had ruined Caroline and to make him pay. Now he had the rogue within his grasp, was a hairsbreadth from winning what he'd come so far to receive, but the contemplation of victory was hollow. It was definitely a sobering thought to realize that he was no different from the man he hated, and that the rationalizations for his intense dislike no longer applied.
How was he to find the animosity necessary to continue on with the plan? Being enraged at Westmoreland was like being angry with himself.
Disgusted, dismayed, confused, he stood in place long after the light was extinguished in Penny's room, then he walked through the woods to the secret meeting place he'd arranged with Matthew. He gave the bird's whistle that signaled his approach, and he encountered Matthew sitting against a tree, resting patiently.
Without preamble his brother asked, "How did the day go at the house?''
"It was extremely difficult. How did it go in town?"
"No better."
Matthew rose, dusting the dirt and leaves off his trousers. Of a same height, they faced each other under the spreading limbs of an ancient oak.
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"What was Westmoreland's response to my last note?"
"Much the same diatribe. He doesn't want her back."
Lucas blew out a harsh breath. "Did you hear any rumors running about yet that she might be missing?"
"No."
"Why hasn't he told anyone?"
"I wouldn't even venture a guess."
"Before she left with me, he'd pushed up the date of her wedding. It's to be held in a week. How is he explaining her absence from the preparations?"
"Maybe he's not." Matthew shrugged. "Perhaps a man in his position doesn't feel he owes explanations to anyone."
"Perhaps," Lucas agreed.
"But I've been thinking," Matthew said, "that if the wedding date passes by and she doesn't appear, there truly is no value in keeping her. We'll have no continuing leverage with which to bargain."
"So ... we need to finish it," Lucas said, giving voice to what he'd been contemplating without realizing it.
"Yes."
"In the next day or two. One way or the other."
"My conclusion exactly."
"We tell him we're going to kill her," Lucas said harshly. "I'll write the note and see it delivered on the morrow."
Matthew nodded his accord, and they parted.
Lucas returned to the house, and it was late when he arrived. Luckily he wasn't accosted by Colette, although he almost wished she'd caught him sneaking in. He fantasized about telling all and letting her carry out one of her numerous threats. His untimely death would certainly end his misery without further ado.
Tiptoeing, he hurried to his room, disrobed, and lay down under the bedcovers, the cool linens brisk against his bare skin. Unable to sleep, he was staring at the ceiling, when, many minutes later, he heard the soft fall of footsteps coming across the hall. Penny slipped in unannounced and uninvited. Sighing,
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he should have realized she'd appear as she had each night so far.
What courage it took for her to traverse the small distance that separated them. He never did anything to make her feel welcome. Despite his pretended disinterest, she always came. It seemed there was no avoiding her, for how could he command her to her bed? He understood enough about her to know that even if he tried, she wouldn't obey.
At seeing him awake, her eyes widened, but she didn't speak, instead stepping to the edge of the bed. She reached for the bottom of her nightgown, pulled it over her head, and tossed it on the floor. Gloriously naked, she stood with her blond hair shimmering around her shoulders and down her back, her breasts swelled and full, the nipples puckered from the cold.
"My parents always slept apart," she explained, "and they were never happy. I don't want it to be that way for us." She lifted the covers and slipped underneath, and he tensed as she stretched out against him. "Don't tell me to leave," she whispered. "I won't go."
He chuckled. "I was just imagining it wouldn't do any good to order you about."
"No, it wouldn't," she said, smiling, then sobering. "You're distressed, Lucas; I can feel it." He started to deny her observation, but she placed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You'd be surprised at how well I understand you. Let me ease your worries. That's what I'm here for."
With that, she moved over him. Her two perfect breasts dangled in front of his lips, her thighs spread wide across his abdomen, and her sex rested directly against his phallus, which was long, hard, and achingly erect.
He did nothing to further the encounter, neither moving nor touching, and he thought he was succeeding well until she shattered his resolve by stroking her hips across him in the sexual rhythm he'd taught her.
Dear Lord, but did she have to prove to be such an apt pupil?
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"Take me to that place again," she begged. "Where we go in the night." She kissed him, and he was lost.
He pulled her forward, just that last inch, and her breasts were in his face, her nipple in his mouth. Greedily he sucked, taking her far inside, and as she was obviously still tender from his prior ministrations, she hissed out a breath, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. Except her and this.
Caressing her breasts until she was wet and squirming, he anchored her hips just so and eased her down. Then she was riding him. With her head thrown back and her hair tumbl
ing about, she looked like a goddess. The tempo increased, and he let her revel in the power she held over him, encouraging her in her movements, loving the way she manipulated him with skill and confidence.
One hand drifted between her legs, toying with her sexual nub, making her tense with anticipation. The other rose to her nipple, twisting it roughly, giving her all the sensation she could possibly stand. When she shattered, so did he, holding her through the mutual pleasure. Finally, blessedly the moment ended, and she collapsed onto his chest with a lusty laugh that made him feel virile and experienced and so very fortunate.
Their breathing slowed, but she didn't shift away. Nor did he. He held her, feeling her heart beating against his own as her body relaxed and her weight increased. He caressed her, comforting her and cherishing her presence.
Perceptions tried to intrude into the sweet hiatus—that he was weak and unprincipled for what he'd just done to her again—but he refused to pay attention to them. Considering what was coming in the next few days, this precious tryst might never be repeated, and he intended to enjoy every second while their time together lasted.
Tomorrow, he told himself. I'll chastise myself tomorrow. But not now. Not tonight.
She probably thought he was asleep, because she whispered, "I love you so. I always will," and she placed a gentle kiss against his neck.
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Remaining completely still, he closed his eyes and inhaled her words, letting them sink like a balm into his troubled heart and soul, where they could ever reside. Though he loved her more than life, he dared not repeat the sentiment. What purpose would a declaration of emotion serve? He adored her, he worshipped her. But instead of telling her, he kept the words to himself, speaking them to her silently, then he let them drift away on the falling tide of slumber.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Are you certain this is the one?"
Westmoreland turned to Purdy, giving him the eye, then looking back at the sleek three-masted schooner tied off before them.