Surrender the Stars

by Wright, Cynthia

  The decks were quiet; in the starlight, she could see a few sailors propped against masts and rigging, half dozing. The wind was with them, filling the sails. Glancing upward to the quarterdeck, Lindsay recognized the tall, hard-muscled silhouette of Ryan Coleraine. He was leaning against the rail, forearms braced, gazing out over the shimmering blue-black ocean. She told herself that there was no other place to go and went to join him.

  Unmoving as Lindsay approached, Ryan continued to look ahead even after she had reached his side. Then the corners of his mouth turned upward slightly as he murmured, "To what do I owe this honor?"

  "My restlessness," she replied, copying his pose at the rail. "What a dazzling night!"

  "Next you'll say that the stars look like diamonds."

  "They do!" Lindsay felt no desire to take offense at his sardonic tone. On the brink of arriving in England, she was strangely giddy. "I should apologize for suggesting that the loss of your beard would unman you," she said magnanimously. "If anything, you are handsomer—in a most masculine way—without it."

  Surprised, Ryan turned his head and stared at her, his brows raised. "How reassuring! Now I'll be able to sleep. I've been fretting all day..."

  "No doubt." Lindsay gave him a happy smile. "I seem to be in high spirits tonight. I don't think that you can annoy me."

  "Perhaps I'd better not try, then."

  "That would be pleasant."

  Still leaning on the rail, they both looked back out at the sea and stars. Ryan indulged in a sidelong glance at Lindsay and saw that she was still smiling. He was struck by the delicate beauty of her profile, from the cloud of burnished curls to the sweep of her lashes to the fine lines of her profile. She truly was exquisite.

  "Do you know the names of the stars?" Lindsay asked.

  "Yes, of course. Didn't you learn them from your father?"

  "As a child, I think, but I haven't been to sea for a very long time. I didn't want any part of that family pastime."

  "Ah, yes, I remember. The black sheep. Or were you the white lamb and the rest of the Raveneaus black sheep?"

  "A good question!" Lindsay laughed lightly. "But let's not rehash that tiresome subject. Won't you show me the stars? I can only identify the Big Dipper."

  "Ursa Major, the Great Bear," he elaborated. "It's always there, you know, in this hemisphere. When I was a little boy in Ireland and my father showed me the stars, we called it the Plough." Ryan lifted a bronzed hand and outlined a different pattern through the dipper so that the handle slanted down to form a blade. "You see?"

  Lindsay nodded, her eyes shifting from the stars to his deft, strong fingers.

  "You know, the stars that one sees depend on the season, and even the month," he explained. "Cassiopeia is another constellation that never sets. It makes an M there to the north." He showed her how to draw a line from Mizar, the second star in the tail of the Great Bear, to find Cassiopeia. "Do you see the Little Dipper? That's the North Star at the end of its handle."

  To Lindsay's surprise, she found that she was fascinated as Ryan went on to point out a the constellation of Cygnus, which made a cross, and finally he helped her find Bootes, which was nearly overhead. Its brightest star, Arcturus, was a marvelous light orange.

  Lindsay murmured, "You love nature, don't you?"

  He breathed deeply of the salty sea air and smiled. "Don't we all? Why would you make such an observation?"

  "I looked at the volume of Wordsworth you left in my cabin. It was a celebration of nature."

  After a moment, Ryan looked at her and smiled. "The outdoors is the touchstone for my life. The sky, the sea, the change of seasons... these and all the rest are more wondrous than material possessions, and they are constant. Wordsworth articulated it much better than I ever could, but my feeling is that I can turn to nature when troubles accumulate, and I'm reminded of the greater scheme of things. When I can put aside petty everyday concerns, the simple act of breathing gives me peace."

  "I suppose that your philosophy must make it easier for you to adapt with good grace to this charade we are forced to perform."

  He gazed down into her intent gray eyes and drew in his breath. "Perhaps, but don't misunderstand me, Lindsay. I'm still very much a man and, being human, am tied to the cares of our world."

  "Yet you seem to be amused by the same things that vex me intolerably!"

  "My threshold for anger is doubtless higher than yours, perhaps because I've lived longer. I have a temper, though, as you well know."

  Looking up at his chiseled face, Lindsay was all too aware that her heart had begun to drum faster, her cheeks were hot, and a strange tingling sensation seemed to course through her veins. "Does it make you angry to have to pretend to be my brother?"

  "It may... but I'm not pretending yet. Until we reach English soil tomorrow I am still Ryan Coleraine." His right hand touched the soft curve of her cheek, then traced Lindsay's bare neck. "I don't feel a bit like your brother, and though I'll act the part once we reach London, you'd be wise to remember that it's only a masquerade."

  Lindsay felt intoxicated by the stars, Ryan's voice, and the warm proximity of his body. She yearned to touch him, and she did so, reaching out to brush her fingertips over the tiny black hairs on the back of his hand. The thought of London was both exhilarating and frightening, but for this instant Lindsay could escape. There was no future, just these moments out of time on a ship that bore no resemblance to her usual world.

  When Ryan's arms encircled her waist, Lindsay melted against him, craving the sensations his kiss had evoked that wild morning in Pettipauge. How differently he is made! she thought as he drew her against the length of his body.

  Just before she closed her eyes to await Ryan's kiss, a sudden blaze of silvery light arced across the night sky. Lindsay gasped in surprise and appreciation.

  "Ryan! A shooting star!"

  "Mmhmm." He was far more intent on the responsive female body in his arms. "Comets are never more beautiful than over the ocean, I think, when the sky and water seem to merge. An astronomer once wrote that comets dart through the night 'as the fishes in the sea.' I love that imagery."

  He spoke softly and his breath was warm and intimate on Lindsay's brow, setting off a chain of feelings, not the least of which was an unsettling twinge that radiated downward from the pit of her stomach. Somehow, though, she summoned the power to speak. "When I was little, I was staying one night with my grandmother in New London. I saw a shooting star and thought it was the most glorious sight—like a miracle! And then Gramma told me that comets were formed by the smoke of sin, set afire by God's anger."

  "What a charming tale to feed to a child, especially one with an imagination like yours," Coleraine remarked dryly, meanwhile running one hand lightly over her back.

  The delicious sensation made her shiver with pleasure, but her voice was still troubled when she said, "I was fascinated and horrified all at once. For years after that, I would sit in my window at night and stare at the sky, waiting and wondering what sort of sin would make God angry enough to send down a comet. Once, I told my father a lie and then fell asleep in my window seat while keeping vigil to see if a shooting star would appear." Lindsay laughed shakily at the memory and rested her face against Ryan's fresh-smelling white shirt. Through the fine fabric, she could hear the slow beat of his heart.

  "So you've waited a long time to earn that comet, hmm?" he teased Lindsay gently, tipping up her chin to look into her luminous eyes. "What's your sin? Touching me?"'

  "Oh, no, no! I don't believe that story anymore!" Flustered, she blushed even more furiously when Ryan touched her hot cheek with his fingertip and silently lifted an eyebrow. "I mean, it's silly, isn't it! Intelligent adults could never subscribe to such a theory!"

  "Still, in a corner of your mind, you might be a little worried..." He pressed her closer, one hand sliding down over the curve of Lindsay's bottom. "Don't you think," Ryan murmured, his mouth grazing her temple, "that if comets were the smok
e of sin that the night would be continually ablaze?"

  Lindsay swallowed hard and managed to nod, nearly trembling with arousal.

  "I prefer to believe," he went on quietly, barely an inch above her parted lips, "that if God chooses the moments when stars fall, He does so in a spirit of celebration. Perhaps He knows that you and I are enjoying a last night of freedom..."

  "Yes," Lindsay breathed, yearning, aching for his kiss. "I'm sure you're right...."

  "Are you?"

  Coleraine's soft, enigmatic tone gave her pause, but his sculpted face and midnight-blue eyes were unreadable in the shadows. Slowly, their lips touched, and as reason fled, Lindsay closed her eyes and yielded to her unschooled feelings.

  Sweet, he thought, luxuriating in the taste and texture of her sensual mouth. How many nights had he dreamed, unwillingly, of kissing Lindsay and feeling her melt against him? Now, as her arms found their way around his shoulders, he thought dimly that this would satisfy his cravings, enabling him to keep a proper distance in London.

  The tantalizing play of his mouth only heightened Lindsay's desire. Now his lips were brushing fire over her eyelids, jawline, and throat, before returning to cling, gently, to her eager mouth. She was swallowing a moan when she felt his tongue touch her lower lip, then her teeth, until it grazed the tip of her own tongue. Unable to bear another moment of such torture, Lindsay pressed upward against Ryan's hard body and his mouth slanted over hers in response. Hot waves of sensation swirled down to her loins as they kissed and kissed, tasting and ravening, for long minutes.

  Lindsay felt overcome with passion. Her breasts swelled as she pressed against the strong expanse of his chest. Meanwhile, her hips sought Ryan's, driven by an instinct she hadn't known she possessed. The place between her legs was moist and yearning. She wanted to lie down with him right there on the quarterdeck.

  Ryan's deft fingers explored Lindsay's back, fit themselves around the curves of her waist, hips, and derriere; then, as his mouth abandoned hers to explore the slim column of her neck, one hand slid upward over Lindsay's ribs until it touched a breast.

  "Oh, God," he whispered, feeling the puckered nipple through the thin muslin of her bodice. "I have lost my senses!"

  She nearly panicked as she felt his body tense. "Ryan—"

  "Lindsay, this is madness! We're on a ship with your parents—not to mention the men on the other decks!" Gripping her forearms, he held her away from him. "I never meant..." Ryan paused, looking from her stricken, beautiful face to the dark water. "It should have been just a kiss. A taste. Anything more would be not only wrong but insane!"

  Suddenly Lindsay felt chilled; her shawl had fallen away to the deck behind her. Reason and pride returned in a sickening rush. "Of course. You're right!" She tried to disengage herself from the hands that still seemed to burn her flesh all too pleasurably. "You said it yourself this morning. We've been at sea too long and are both a bit mad. Why don't we just pretend that this... interlude never happened?"

  Ryan stared down at her intently, wondering what she really felt. "Our dealings have ever been stormy in one way or another, have they not? Whether we can forget about tonight remains to be seen, but I do think that we can agree to keep it our secret."

  "You have my word." Lindsay felt her composure return when he released her arms. Straightening her back, she put out her hand and saw Ryan's mouth curve ironically as he took it and they sealed their agreement.

  Although she longed to look upward at the night sky, Lindsay realized that the last visible traces of the shooting star had disappeared long before, taking its secrets with it.

  Part 2

  This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,

  This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,

  This other Eden, demi-paradise,

  This fortress built by Nature for herself...

  This precious stone set in the silver sea...

  This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England....

  —William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

  Chapter 10

  Falmouth to London, England

  May 27-June 1, 1814

  At dawn, Lindsay climbed the ladder through the main hatch and discovered that La Mouette was safely anchored in the misty harbor of Falmouth. Her parents chatted with Ryan Coleraine, Harvey Jenkins, and Cassie and Able Barker on the quarterdeck, but she made her way to the bow of the ship, longing to survey her new surroundings undistracted.

  In truth, Lindsay was embarrassed to face Ryan, especially in the company of her parents. It seemed that she hadn't slept all night, for now, on top of her worries about the unknown fate that awaited her in London, there were these horrid new snarls in her relationship with Ryan to ponder. In the cool light of morning, Lindsay felt like slapping herself for her behavior under the midnight stars. How could she have been so... wanton? Especially with Ryan Coleraine? He was the one man she wished to keep ignorant of her feminine desires, and yet she had clung to him, pressed herself against him, trembled at his kiss.... Almost as galling was the memory of all the other women who had succumbed to his charm. She had lowered herself into their company, reinforcing his already insufferable conceit.

  That was probably the only reason he had kissed her at all. Ryan was accustomed to having a willing female in his arms, and after these weeks at sea his appetite must have been quite strong. She had been the only suitable woman available....

  Flushing anew with humiliation, Lindsay gripped the bow rail and looked out at the English shore. The small basin of the harbor was filled with at least two dozen ships, mostly packets, and was surrounded by softly undulating green hills dotted with grazing cattle. The first thing that struck her was the virtual absence of trees, for she was used to Connecticut's pervasive woods.

  "That's Falmouth," an all-too-familiar voice said behind her shoulder, as an equally familiar tanned forefinger pointed toward an ugly cluster of little houses on their left.

  Lindsay couldn't breathe for a moment, then pride reared up and came to her rescue. "So I assumed." She turned to face Ryan directly, trying not to notice how handsome he looked in snug buckskins, polished boots, and a tailored dark blue jacket. His cravat, tied simply yet expertly, was snowy-white in contrast to the bronzed line of his jaw, and Lindsay was keenly aware of the intensity of his crisp blue gaze. "Good morning. Should I call you Nathan now?"

  He winced slightly. "Is that any way to treat a friend? The only peace I'll have these next few months will be when I'm alone with you and your parents. You must allow me to be Ryan Coleraine when no one's watching."

  His tone was light, and she was relieved that he wasn't taunting her with veiled references to their midnight interlude. Still, it seemed to Lindsay that his turns of phrase were laced with double entendres. Or was she imagining things? Confused and upset, she turned back to the rail. "You can be whomever you please in private, sir. It matters to me not at all. Remember, though, that I shall have a new life of my own to deal with in London, and I would only hope that I don't forget and call you by the wrong name."

  His brows raised slightly at Lindsay's convincing air of detachment. "Perhaps we can say that Ryan is your pet name for me," he suggested, teasing gently.

  Lindsay blushed involuntarily and cursed herself as she sensed his amusement. "I beg your pardon!"

  "It's a common practice, isn't it? Little children garbling relatives' names and then continuing to use them out of habit... or affection?"

  She was saved from replying by the approach of her parents. "Good morning, sweetheart!" Devon greeted her, adding a hug and a kiss. "Your father and I were just saying how relieved we are that you two are getting along."

  Andre nodded. "Just don't take advantage of the situation, Coleraine! Lindsay is to be your sister."

  Laughing ruefully, Ryan murmured, "If I should have a lapse of memory, I'm certain Lindsay will hasten to remind me."

  Father, mother, and daughter stood together at the rail chatting about Pendennis Castle
, which was situated behind them on a mound near the entrance to the harbor. Ryan drifted off to one side where he could look at Lindsay unobserved. In spite of her obvious uneasiness, she was more beautiful than ever, and he wondered what part her newly discovered passions played in her glow. She wore a short, fitted blue spencer over a dove-gray traveling gown that was highlighted by a pretty white ruffle encircling her neck. How soft and sweet-smelling her neck was, Ryan remembered with a pang. Lindsay's curls were swept up and covered by a charming scoop-brimmed straw bonnet that tied under her chin, but a cloud of tendrils framed her delicate face and set off her long-lashed gray eyes.

  Suddenly, she turned and met his eyes, and the rosy color in her cheeks deepened. Ryan stared back unapologetically.

  "Is everyone ready?" Raveneau asked. "It's time to go ashore."

  "And thence... to London!" exclaimed Devon. "Of course we're ready! Who knows what adventures await us!"

  * * *

  The seven travelers followed a northeasterly route to London, the women traveling in a fine carriage that Raveneau hired in Falmouth, while Able and Harvey shared the box with the driver and Andre and Ryan rode on horseback. In spite of Cornwall's narrow, crooked roads that zigzagged up and down the treeless moors and softly rolling hills, their progress was rapid. Everywhere they saw evidence of Cornwall's abundance of mines but could not afford the time to inspect them.

  In Falmouth, Andre and Ryan had learned that the war with Napoleon was over, and rumors flew that the czar would soon visit London in the company of other members of European royalty. Devon was anxious that they reach the city as soon as possible. The social events surrounding the royal visit would provide perfect opportunities for the Raveneau family to take their place quietly among society, but first there were innumerable purchases to be made, tailors and dressmakers to be called in, and, most important, Ryan's role as a fop to be perfected.