by Jenna Jaxon
He laid his head against the headboard of the bunk. What a strange journey, to have led him to this moment with the woman in his arms. Despite the circumstances, he was grateful she was here, asleep with her head on his chest.
Her earlier rejection of his care hurt abominably, but she’d probably thought he would gloat over her weakened state. Perhaps she’d needed the one thing he had been reluctant to give–reassuring words. Though he’d made many gestures that spoke of his deep regard for her, to this woman, words might speak louder than actions. As soon as this crisis was over, she would have them. Lovingly, he dropped a brief kiss on her dark head and closed his eyes.
The next thing he knew, Katarina was struggling in his arms. He came fully awake as she pushed against him, trying desperately to get to the edge of the bed. Too late to disentangle them, he instead rolled them both onto their right sides, then supported her head until it was over, and eased them back onto the bunk. She lay panting with the exertion and he adjusted her position so she lay on her side down the length of his body and he could see her face in the uncertain light of the lantern. With tenderness, he wiped her cheek as she tried to slow her breathing. “Is that better, sweetheart?”
He felt more than heard her response–tiny hitching sobs that were an attempt to cry, though no tears would come, from lack of moisture in her body.
“Oh, Duncan.” Her voice was little more than a croak from a mouth too dry to speak. “Make it stop. Please, please, just make it stop.”
Duncan. She’d called him Duncan. The shock of it made him reel. Drawing a ragged breath, he carefully extricated himself from the bed and laid her down, moving as if he handled the most delicate and fragile crystal imaginable. “I will be right back, my love.” He smoothed her hair back and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I will make it stop. I promise.”
Once he’d closed the door, he tore down the gangway and onto the bridge like a mad beast. The captain had retired for the night, but the first mate acted as helmsman. Duncan seized the man by the shoulders. “Stop the ship, sir. You must stop the ship this minute.”
The mate stared at him as one would a madman suddenly appeared from nowhere. “Stop the ship, my lord? Why? What has happened? Has someone fallen overboard?”
“My wife is gravely ill. You must stop the ship now.”
“But we’re in the middle of the English Channel, my lord.”
He stared into the helmsman’s eyes, hoping the menace the mate saw there would prompt him to action.
“Go get Captain Stratton,” the mate called to the man on watch, and the fellow all but fell down the steps leading from the bridge.
Growling with impatience, Duncan paced back and forth, the echo of Katarina saying his name reverberating in his mind.
The first mate continued to man the wheel, but cast suspicious looks at him. A touch to the pistol stuck in his breeches reassured him he had the situation under control.
The man was a fool if he believed that pistol would stop him from taking the wheel. A thought that had indeed passed through Duncan’s mind. A short time later, a rumpled, bleary-eyed Stratton arrived on the bridge. “You must stop the ship, Captain,” Duncan demanded.
The captain fixed him with a stony look. “Has someone fallen overboard?” Stratton had apparently been apprised of the reason for the request, hence his testiness.
Duncan drew himself up to his full height. “My wife has had no rest or respite from her ordeal for more than a day. She is exhausted and I begin to fear for her life.” Unblinking, he stared into the captain’s impassive face, and clenched his hand in a fist. “If I have to throw the anchor overboard myself, sir, I will have this ship stopped!”
Stratton eyed him for a long moment, as if considering the demand.
Captain be damned. Duncan plucked the flintlock from belt of the astonished first mate, smoothly cocked the piece and shoved it into the captain’s brawny chest. “I assume your first mate is capable of stopping the ship himself, Captain. With or without your assistance?”
The captain’s eyes widened and he pursed his lips, but Duncan didn’t waver. Stratton let out a slow breath then nodded crisply to the helmsman. “Turn her into the wind, Mr. Cooper. This is Lord Dalbury’s ship, and what he wants, or what his wife wants, he gets.” Stratton met his gaze. “Regardless of the danger to anyone else aboard. Make ready to drop anchor,” he called to the remaining crew on watch. With precision born of long practice, the stunned crew banked the sails and the ship began to slow. Within twenty minutes the ship stilled, rocking only with the soft lap of the waves.
Assured the ship had indeed halted, Duncan removed the pistol from the captain’s chest and left the bridge. He raced down the corridor, shoving the weapon into his waistband when he stopped at Katarina’s cabin then eased the door open.
She had turned on her side, facing the door, her face still deathly white. A new look of peace shone there as well, a relaxation far different from the tense, pain-filled expression she’d worn when he’d left her. His heart ached to see her lips curved upward in a hint of a smile, and he thanked God her ordeal seemed over.
He entered the cabin quietly, so as not to disturb her, though he suspected he could have shot off a cannon and she would not have awakened. Placing the pistol on the table, he quickly doffed boots, stockings and breeches. This left him in only in a loose shirt, but with a shrug he crawled into bed behind his sleeping wife.
Settled in next to her, he molded his body to hers, cradling it with his warmth and laying his arm across her for protection. Head on the pillow, he relaxed for the first time that day. He kissed the top of her head and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Goodnight, my lady,” he whispered in her ear.
To his surprise, she turned until she faced him and draped her arm over his body. All sense of relaxation fled. Pray God this was not a dream. He placed another kiss on her forehead and she roused long enough to smile and say, “Duncan? You may call me Katarina now.” Then she was fast asleep, leaving him speechless, filled with the wonder and relief of a captain whose ship had, against all odds, made it into the harbor after a long, hard voyage.
Chapter 27
Kat surfaced from sleep, stretched and winced. Every muscle was sore, like someone had beaten her. She didn’t want to move, just lay here and enjoy the closeness of her husband. Snuggled against his deliciously warm body beside her, she reveled in the protective arm that encircled her. She had indeed gone through Hell to get to Heaven with this man, but now she was certain. He cared for her. Close to her ear, his breathing was regular and even. Still asleep. As she shifted to turn onto her back, his grip tightened. She opened her eyes and met his concerned brown gaze.
“Thirsty.” The word emerged from her dry mouth as a croak.
“Here, sweetheart.” He maneuvered himself to the side of the bed then positioned her with her back to the headboard. When she was settled, he grasped a big pottery mug from the bedside table filled to the brim with some peculiar yellow liquid. Carefully, he held it to her mouth and she wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell. But she was too thirsty to care much and put her lips to the thick rim.
“Don’t take too much at once, my lady. We want to make sure this stays down.”
The pungent taste matched the smell. She made a face as she took a cautious sip. The liquid was laced with honey, though that did little to disguise the unusual flavor. “What is this?” She stared at the mug as she waited to see the effects of the strange brew.
“Ginger tea. Larraby assures me it is the sovereign remedy for nausea from well nigh every sailor on board.” He peered at her expectantly. “How do you feel?”
“Still thirsty.” She sipped again, ignoring the odd taste and enjoying the moisture gliding down her throat like silk. And it seemed to be staying down. “But better,” she reassured him.
Dark circles beneath his eyes attested to his vigil over her last night. His handsome face was haggard, and the thin purple scars on his cheek stood out in harsh contrast to
his pale skin. Stubble she had never seen before lay in a thick blond haze on his cheeks. Rumpled, creased beyond repair, his fine linen shirt sported stains upon it as though... Kat flicked her gaze downward, embarrassed to think what they must be–to find herself even more chagrined at the sight of his bare legs. Thank God his shirt covered the rest of him.
Her cheeks flamed, and Duncan laughed. “I thought comfort a virtue prudent to indulge in last night, my dear. Hence my attire. I assure you I was the perfect gentleman.”
She allowed herself a small smile. “Even I never thought you so depraved, as to take advantage of a woman as ill as I, Duncan.” His sharp intake of breath when she mentioned his name made her smile wider. She bent her head to the mug and savored the tea for a moment. “I meant what I said last night, Duncan. You may call me Katarina now. Or Kat, if you prefer.”
He stared, looking perplexed. “I beg your pardon, madam, but what have you done with my wife? You cannot be the same woman who swore she would never be called anything other than Lady Dalbury.”
One more sip, then she lay on the pillows. She drew in a slow breath and touched his scarred cheek. No recoil. Releasing her breath, she caressed the raised streaks with her thumb. “No, I am not that same woman. But you are not the man you were either.”
He covered her hand with his, pressed it to his cheek, then placed a kiss on her palm. “You now believe I am not the same as when we met?”
She laced her fingers through his, unable to keep from smiling. “If you had truly been that man, Duncan, you would have abandoned me long ago for some other woman. Neither would you have cared about my refusal on our wedding night. I should have realized, but I was too angry.”
“About losing to me?”
“That was not the problem.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. “I had just been given evidence you were an unrepentant rake and had no sort of tender feelings for me.” The shocked look on his face summoned guilt for her actions that night. Ashamed of what she’d said, how she’d hurt him, she couldn’t bear to face him and lowered her gaze. “Jack had received information that made me believe you wanted me only because no one else would marry you and give you an heir.” Would that he had kept it to himself.
Duncan shook his head and squeezed her hand. “Nothing could have been farther from the truth, sweetheart. Since the night at Braeton’s ball, I could think of no one but you. I tried to show you that.”
She raised her head and gave him a small, rueful smile. “You made it extremely difficult for me to dislike you.”
His grin flashed. “I have been more agreeable in the past two months than in my entire life, I believe.” He chuckled. “Just ask Juliet or Tommy. I’ve rarely cared whether people liked me or not.” His eyes grew darker, warmer. “Until I met you, my dear. You led me a merry chase until I feared never to catch you.” Frown lines appeared on his brow. “But why now, my...Katarina?” The name came with difficulty, but was said with satisfaction.
His hesitation tugged at her heart and she felt a rush of unexpected intimacy at the sound of her name on his lips. “From the night we met, Duncan, I have been afraid to trust you. Your words then were so convincing, your manner so kind and considerate that I was completely taken in. Once you made that outrageous proposition, and I knew you had duped me, I felt more betrayed than ever before in my life. The seduction was so effortless, so uncaring.” She glanced away as tears threatened. “I was ashamed that I responded to it, to you. And I knew I could never believe anything you said, because it wouldn’t be true at all.”
“Oh, Katarina.”
She couldn’t look at him, didn’t know how to go on. Then she was scooped into his arms, crushed against his chest. He stroked down her back, soothing her as though she were a child. “Please believe me, love,” he whispered against her hair. “Believe me when I say I love you, Katarina.”
She shivered and a little sigh escaped at the words she’d never dared to trust. “I do believe you, Duncan.”
He eased her down onto the pillows, gaze intent on her face. “But why? Why trust me now, love? Why not two weeks ago, or a month ago?” He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, a delicious feather-light touch that burned, even as it sent chills throughout her.
“Because I know you better now than I did a month, or even two weeks ago. And…” Her heart filled with wonder every time she thought of what he’d done for her. Like a knight in shining armor rescuing his lady fair. “And because you stopped the ship for me.”
Duncan blinked. “Because I stopped the ship?”
His dumbfounded look made her want to giggle. She wanted to laugh out loud as her newfound joy sent her spirits soaring. “You didn’t have to do it. I didn’t expect you to be able to do it. Jack didn’t even try when we crossed from Virginia, though I begged him to.” The need to giggle fled, replaced by a rush of tender feeling that she finally could admit was love. “You could have left me to suffer alone in this cabin. Many men would have. A callous rake surely would have. But you took care of me, Duncan.” She stretched a hand across the coverlet and grasped his. “You had no expectation from a woman so ill. Yet you stayed. And you stopped the ship.” She squeezed his hand. His sure grip in return was comforting. “I’m still amazed you did it.”
His eyes were dark pools she would willingly drown in. “I could not bear to see you so miserable, love. How could I refuse you when you asked me by name?” Quiet passion suffused his voice. She’d had no idea speaking his name would affect him so. “And after all, it is my ship.”
“But you would have done it even if the ship had not been yours.”
Face flushed in embarrassment, he nodded. “I would do anything for you.”
Content simply to lie there and revel in the sight of him so close, she struggled against the heaviness of her eyelids.
“You need sleep, my love.”
Roused by the endearment, she willed her eyes to remain open, but exhaustion overtook her as she sank back into the pillows.
“But, Katarina.” His mild reproof floated just above her head. With a loving touch, he tucked the blankets snugly around her shoulders. “Why did you not tell me you were plagued by seasickness when we began to make plans for our journey? And how on earth did you ever survive the crossing from Virginia?”
“It got better after the second week,” she mumbled, yawned then sank further under the covers.
“But why didn’t you tell me of this? We could have gone overland.”
“I was afraid...”
“Of what?”
“That you would cancel the trip. That I wouldn’t get to learn the disarm.” Silence. About to drift off, she sensed a presence and cracked open her eyelids.
His face, inches away, filled her world with narrowed eyes and strained lips.
Sleep fled at the sight of his stern countenance and Kat suddenly wished he were not so close.
“I ought to beat you,” he said.
Kat flinched at the harsh words and tried to burrow further into the bed, but he restrained her with his hands and fixed her with a baleful look. “You jeopardized your health, worried Margery nearly to death, and drove me to almost shoot Captain Stratton because you wanted fencing lessons?”
Stunned by this declaration, Katarina ignored the question and his menacing tone. “What do you mean, you almost shot the captain?”
Eyelids now mere slits, he slid his gaze away, lessened his death grip on her shoulders and drew a long breath. “A misunderstanding about who is allowed to give orders on my ship.” He looked back at her and gave her a slight shake. “Do not change the subject, madam.”
“There were other reasons as well, Duncan. I didn’t want you to have to give up the voyage.” She returned his stare coolly, though her heart beat a ragged tattoo.
“Why would that be a hardship for me?”
“Because you love to sail. Juliet told me so.” She lowered her gaze, unsure how much she should reveal. “I didn’t want to be the one to deprive y
ou of that pleasure.” She had been afraid he would go without her.
More silence. Reluctantly, she looked into his face. His stare bore into her, pinning her like a bug to a paper, and she had no idea what he might do or say next. Then, with no warning, his brooding look disappeared, replaced instantly with one of intense longing that made her shiver. He slid his fingers down her arms and gathered her hands into his. “You have deprived me of no pleasure, Katarina, save of your presence when you were ill. I would have you safe and well, that is all.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed each finger, soft nibbles that drowned her in sensation. “Captain Stratton will be setting a course for England this afternoon on my orders.”
The fiery sensations that tingled all the way up her arms encouraged her belief that this voyage to Italy would prove to be– Wait. “What do you mean he’ll be setting a course for England? We are not continuing on to Italy?”
“Most assuredly not.” His stern expression returned, giving her no hope of changing his mind. “Once we return to London we can plan another journey perhaps, one that takes us through the Belgian countryside.” He cocked his head. “You are not, by any chance, made ill by the motion of a carriage, are you? If so, I fear you may never leave England again.”
He sounded in jest, but did he tease her, or was he still angry in earnest? The fact that she couldn’t tell seemed a bad sign, but in any case, she would not be cowed by him. “You know I can ride on horseback or in a carriage perfectly well.”
“Good. We hope to make landfall by evening.”
She cringed at his words. “I hope your strange brew helps, Duncan, but I fear I will be just as poor company going back as I was coming out.” Her lips trembled. “Will you stay with me?”
Sternness fled his countenance, replaced by contrite concern. “Sweetheart! Of course I will.” He leaned over and brushed her forehead with his lips. “But I think you will fare better on this journey. First, you need to finish your tea, my dear.” He snared the half-full mug from the table. “Larraby will bring another shortly before we get underway. Fortunately, the captain’s medicine chest contained a vial of laudanum drops.” He raised her head so she could sip. “I will give you a dose in your next cup of tea and you will sleep deeply until we make land. I told Stratton to put in at the closest port available, which he makes out to be the westernmost coast of Cornwall.” He smiled wryly. “It may take us a month to journey back to London, but at least you will be on dry land.”