Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Duckworth was no help at all. “Do I look all right, sir? I had a devil of a time with my cravat—all thumbs this morning.”

  “You look fine, I promise you.” Sir Robert took another swig of coffee and glowered at himself in the looking glass. “Even if you did not, you have only to stand beside me and you will appear impeccable by contrast.”

  Duckworth stepped in front of the glass and began to fiddle with his neck linen. “Did you not sleep well last night, sir?”

  Not last night. Not the night before. His last restful sleep had become a fast-fading memory. He was not accustomed to sleeping poorly. In his campaigning days, he had been able to doze off under artillery fire.

  “Neither did I.” Duckworth untied his cravat then commenced to twist and fold and tuck the long fillets of linen into their proper configuration. “I kept worrying Miss Winslow might change her mind about marrying me. You don’t think she will, do you?”

  “Of course not. Your bride is far too sensible a young woman to contemplate any such thing.” A shame Jocelyn Finch did not share some of her charge’s prudent dependability.

  But then she might not stir his banked passion as she did now. One moment he dreaded the thought of seeing her again, the next he ached for even a brief glimpse of her.

  When at last he spied her sitting in a pew near the front of Saint George’s, looking deceptively demure, his pulse began to pound in his ears and his knees went quite weak. He managed to make it up the aisle thanks to the bride’s steady arm.

  He had every intention of sitting apart from Jocelyn but at the last moment his resolve failed and he slipped into the pew beside her. He tried to keep his attention fixed straight ahead, but his eyes refused to cooperate. Several times during the ceremony he found himself glancing sidelong at Jocelyn, until at last she caught him.

  In the flicker of an instant their gazes locked, her bewitching lips curved upward in a little smile that mingled flirtation and triumph.

  When the Duckworths retired to the vestry to sign the parish register, she turned toward him and whispered, “Please don’t spoil this lovely day by being cross. I promise I will be a model of restraint and do nothing to embarrass you.”

  He dared not risk turning to look at her. But he acknowledged her plea with a curt nod. Her restraint was not the only one he doubted.

  His wordless response did not seem to satisfy her. “If you can be civil to me for the rest of the day,” she whispered, “I promise I will stay out of your way until I return to England. You need never lay eyes on me again.”

  Her bargain left Sir Robert with a sick, empty feeling. Could he stand to be parted from her forever—especially with so much left unresolved between them? The past three days absence from her felt like months. The only thing that had made it bearable, he realized, was his certainty of seeing her today.

  He did not get a chance to speak until the newlyweds walked up the aisle together. Then, while everyone else’s attention was on the bride and groom, he reached for Jocelyn’s hand. “I beg your pardon. It would be unfortunate to end such a pleasant summer on an unpleasant note. If you can tolerate my society, I will make every effort to be more sociable. And I sincerely hope today will not be our last meeting before you depart these shores.”

  She shook her head. “If you do not wish it, then it will not.”

  “Good.” Sir Robert offered her his arm to escort her from the church.

  Perhaps for the remainder of Jocelyn’s time in Nova Scotia they could pretend their conversation on the lawn of Prince’s Lodge had never taken place. Sir Robert wondered if his powers of imagination could stretch that far.

  What had possessed her to make Sir Robert Kerr such a scandalous proposition? Jocelyn had asked herself a hundred times since that afternoon. She had not received very satisfactory answers. Now, as she stood on the very spot where she’d received and rejected the governor’s offer of marriage, she asked herself once again.

  Night wrapped the Nova Scotia countryside in a warm embrace. A gentle breeze carried the aroma of fruit and flowers at their fleeting moment of ripe perfection. The murmur of conversation and laughter drifted through the open windows of Prince’s Lodge. Her reception to celebrate today’s nuptials was winding to its close.

  Soon the brides and grooms would depart for wherever they intended to spend their wedding nights. As she’d done so often that summer, Jocelyn had taken each of the girls aside for a private talk about what some might have called “wifely duties.” Jocelyn had avoided those odious words, referring instead to “the physical pleasures of marriage.”

  She longed to share those pleasures with Sir Robert—but not within a marriage. Perhaps if they had been in love, she might have taken the risk of accepting his offer. But she was not in love…at least she didn’t think so. She was not inclined to examine her feelings more closely in case she should discover otherwise.

  For Sir Robert had been quite frank about the practical nature of his feelings toward her. He wanted a skilled hostess, a congenial companion and willing bedmate. Sentiment was of no consideration. Was such a solitary man even capable of love?

  “There you are.” The governor’s rich, resonant voice came winding out of the night behind her, drawing closer with each word. “I was beginning to worry.”

  Jocelyn turned to see his tall, spare figure, an imposing shadow against the faint light that spilled from the windows of the house. “Worry about what? That you would find me trying to quell another riot on the doorstep?”

  He responded with a muted chuckle. “My concern was rather more vague in nature.”

  The thought touched Jocelyn just the same. “You needn’t have fretted on my account. I only came out for a breath of air and to compose myself before bidding farewell to the last of my charges.”

  She did not mention that all her thoughts had been preoccupied with him. Tonight might be the very last time she would see him, for there was no compelling reason to bring them together in the days ahead.

  “That is why I came looking for you,” he said. “I overheard some of the young ladies express a desire to leave soon.”

  “Then I had better not delay them, had I?” She tried to sound bright and eager as she headed toward the house.

  When she brushed past him, Sir Robert thrust out one strong, warm hand to graze her bare arm. “A few moments more will make no difference, surely?”

  Part of her wanted any excuse to linger in the shadows with him. But another part could see no sense in prolonging contact that would only frustrate them both. “What is there to say in a few more moments that we did not discuss at length the other day? There is no point in trying to argue one another out of the way we feel. It can only create ill will between us and I should regret that more than anything.”

  He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “It was not talking I had in mind.”

  As he bent forward, his hair tickled Jocelyn’s cheek and his lips grazed her neck, sending all manner of delicious sensations rippling through her. The moist heat of his breath whispered over her bare skin, hastening a little with every exhalation. Hers sped up to match his.

  Jocelyn gave a sigh of pleasure mingled with wistful longing as she raised her hand to caress his cheek. He drizzled kisses from the base of her ear, down her neck and over her shoulder, then back up again. One hand stole slowly upward from her waist until it reached her breasts, closing over one with a gentle squeeze that made Jocelyn tremble.

  “What are you trying to do, Robert?” she demanded in a husky murmur. “Taunt us both with what we cannot have? You bid me not tempt you…mmm…. and I have made every effort to behave decorously…ahh…around you.”

  “So you have,” he whispered between strewing kisses through her hair. “But I have discovered you need not say or do anything provocative in order to tempt me. You need not be within five miles—a single thought of you is temptation. Overwhelming temptation.”

  “Do you mean—?” Lost in the pleasure of having him f
ondle her breast, Jocelyn could scarcely form the words.

  “Mmm.” Robert nodded. “I will make my official departure shortly. Slip away as soon as your guests have gone and meet me down at the music pavilion.”

  Earlier in the evening when they’d danced there, Jocelyn had caught herself wishing all her guests would disappear, leaving the two of them in sole possession of the place.

  Now it seemed she would get her wish.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Why, Mrs. Finch,” cried Lily Duckworth with a moist catch in her voice, “I thought you would be sorry to see the last of us go, but you look quite radiant.”

  Raising a hand to smooth Lily’s fair hair, Jocelyn could feel the rosy flush of arousal glowing in her cheeks. “How can I be sorry to part from you when you have all made such happy matches? Today has been the fulfilment of everything I’ve worked to accomplish this past year. Can you blame me for reveling in our shared success?”

  “No indeed, ma’am.” Lily’s new husband bowed to Jocelyn. “You have every reason to be happy and proud. I wish I could recall the toast His Excellency proposed to you on the evening after the weddings in Liverpool. I believe it would capture the spirit of my gratitude perfectly.”

  He turned toward the governor, who lurked on the edge of the crowd. “Do you remember what you said, sir? It was rather eloquent, as I recall. Perhaps you could repeat it now?”

  Sir Robert shook his head. “If it sounded so to you, I suspect you had too much of that privateer’s punch, Duckworth. The members of my council can cheerfully attest that I am never eloquent.”

  When his self-deprecating gibe drew good-natured laughter from the crowd, he acknowledged it with the brief flicker of a smile. But when his eyes met Jocelyn’s, they smoldered with feverish desire. That look made her want to grab a broom and use it to chase all the other guests away!

  Perhaps Robert read her thoughts. Or perhaps, now that he had decided to accept her offer, he was eager to commit himself before discretion made him change his mind. “Surely I have proposed enough toasts to Mrs. Finch in the past weeks that one more cannot add to her awareness of the esteem in which we hold her. After her tireless efforts this summer, I reckon we cannot give her better thanks than a good night’s rest.”

  Moving toward her through the crowd, he caught her hand in his and bowed over it, pressing his lips to the backs of her fingers. “As a mark of my regard, ma’am, I shall be the first to depart. I hope the rest of your guests will not be tardy in following my example.”

  Nothing in his tone, manner or countenance betrayed the governor’s true, roguish intentions. No question the man had hidden depths she was impatient to explore.

  Donning his hat, Sir Robert mounted his chestnut gelding and rode off into the night. The newlyweds were quick to follow in their various traps and gigs, some only hired for the day. A few of the other guests looked as if they would have liked to prolong the celebration, but the governor’s parting words shamed them into setting off for home without undue delay.

  When Jocelyn had finally bid farewell to the last of her guests, she returned to the house for a moment to find Miz Ada supervising a number of girls hired to help prepare and serve refreshments. They were collecting dishes and straightening furniture.

  “You did a marvelous job tonight,” said Jocelyn. “Why not wait and clean up in the morning when you are fresh and rested? If you would care to help yourselves to food and punch, there is plenty left over and it will not keep.”

  The servant girls curtsied and thanked her, their handsome brown faces alight with smiles.

  Jocelyn feigned a yawn. “It has been a long day, but I am still rather keyed up from all the excitement of the party. I believe a little stroll in the fresh air might help me sleep.”

  Miz Ada nodded. “Should I scald you some milk, ma’am?”

  If Jocelyn had truly wanted to sleep, she might have accepted. The cook’s scalded milk with a pinch of sugar and a dusting of nutmeg was a soothing and toothsome sleeping potion.

  With a pretence of reluctance, she shook her head. “You have done quite enough cooking for one day. I don’t imagine you will need a cup of scalded milk to put you to sleep.”

  As she slipped out of the house, Jocelyn heard the cook ordering her helpers to bring all the leftover food and punch back to the kitchens.

  She had not gone more than a few steps from the house when one of the young sentries called out to her. “Anything wrong, ma’am?”

  “Quite the contrary, I am only taking a little stroll to help me sleep.” It was not altogether untrue. The music pavilion was quite nearby and Jocelyn had always felt deliciously drowsy after lovemaking.

  “Would you like an escort, ma’am?”

  “How kind of you to offer. But I only plan to take a brief turn around the garden before retiring. I shall be fine on my own. Now that all the young ladies are gone, I doubt we will be bothered by any intruders. You and the other guards are welcome to enjoy some of the food and drink left over from the party.”

  “That’s very handsome of you to offer, ma’am. I’ll tell the others. Enjoy your stroll. It’s a fine night for it.”

  Jocelyn headed in the direction of the garden, then disappeared into the shadows and practically flew down the lane to the music pavilion. As she drew nearer to the water, she could hear the lapping of the waves as they caressed the shore. A gentle breeze whispered secret endearments to the trees.

  Another noise from the beech grove at the base of the knoll made her jump and her heart hammer until she realized it was only the soft whicker of a horse. Sir Robert’s chestnut gelding no doubt. Jocelyn tried to laugh off her foolish spasm of panic, but she could not.

  What would happen if they were caught together?

  She had little to lose. Reputation did not matter nearly so much to a woman who had no interest in society or remarriage. Her employer, Mrs. Beamish, did not give a fig for propriety, bless her charitable heart. She was not apt to dismiss Jocelyn from her position for a single romantic indiscretion. Sir Robert, on the other hand, stood to lose everything that mattered to him—his position, his reputation and his dignity.

  As she hesitated, caught between yearning and apprehension, his voice whispered out of the darkness luring her toward him. “What kept you? I was beginning to fear you had changed your mind.”

  His shadow detached itself from that of the pavilion. By the silvery light of a slender sickle moon and a shimmering swath of stars, Jocelyn could make out his arm extended toward her. He caught her and pulled her into his embrace.

  “I must be mad!” His lips blundered with tender eagerness over her face—her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks. “You drive me mad and have ever since that first moment I saw you step off that ship.”

  Something about his words sent a heady surge of power through Jocelyn. Tilting back her head, she let wanton laughter gurgle deep in her throat. “Do you want me to stop?”

  Her own teasing question roused her earlier doubts. If Sir Robert abandoned discretion, did she care for him enough to curb their headlong flight into a sweet, shared madness?

  How could he resist the seductive sheen of her white throat in the starlight?

  Almost of their own will, Sir Robert’s lips closed over the warm, fragrant flesh again and again. “I do not believe it is in your power to stop. This is a runaway enchantment. Who knows but it might be dangerous to rein the thing in.”

  “Magic? Madness? Can this be our sober, sensible governor speaking?” More laughter bubbled out of Jocelyn, fresh and sweet as spring water.

  And just as necessary to him as water or air? Surely not! More like delicious, intoxicating wine that a temperate man might sample to his enjoyment on occasion, but make a habit to his peril.

  “Would you have me sober and sensible?” He affected a severe tone and left off ravishing her lovely throat to stand at attention. “You are the enchantress—I am yours to command.”

  She rewarded his playacting with more l
aughter. One delicate hand roved up his dress tunic to find his cheek and caress it. “I think you must guess by now that I will have you any way I can get you, Your Excellency. But you must unbend a little, otherwise the disparity in our heights will make it difficult to kiss.”

  “That will never do at all, will it? Unless…?” He seized her, one arm around her back and the other beneath her bottom. Then he lifted Jocelyn until her lips were level with his.

  The deep, hot kiss he administered was anything but sober and sensible. Her arms went around his neck. With one hand cupped behind his head, she pressed him closer, making him her very willing captive.

  But after a few moments, he reluctantly broke from their kiss and set her on her feet again.

  “This will not do, either, I’m afraid.” He panted for breath as if he’d marched all the way from Fort George in full kit. “Whenever I kiss you like that, my knees threaten to buckle. It would not be very romantic if we ended up in a heap on the ground.”

  “Perhaps not.” Jocelyn reached up to twine a lock of his hair around her finger. “Though it is flattering to think I could bring a man like you to his knees. What is to be done then?”

  “I feared you would never ask.” He extracted her hand from his hair, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist where he fancied he could feel her pulse galloping. “Follow me and you shall see. Well, not see perhaps…but find out at any rate.”

  Like any experienced campaigner, Sir Robert had scouted the terrain in advance, making note of any features he might later exploit to his advantage. Not that he meant to make a conquest of Jocelyn—rather a passionate alliance, or mutual surrender.

  Clasping her hand in his, he led her into the unlit pavilion through its wide double doors. The interior of the circular chamber was even darker than outside with only the faintest starlight glimmering through the windows.

  Sir Robert groped toward the spot he had scouted out, towing Jocelyn behind him. Earlier in the evening while dancing, he had taken little notice of the chairs arranged in groups of two and three around the perimeter of the room. Upon returning here with quite another purpose in mind, he recalled seeing at least one chaise lounge.