Deborah Hale

by The Bride Ship

  Sir Robert jumped to his feet.

  “You see?” Will addressed the ladies. “I told you he would be hard at work—even with the indispensable Mr. Duckworth off on his honeymoon. Where have the happy couple gone, by the by?”

  Sir Robert opened the top drawer of his desk and stuffed his letter to Jocelyn inside. One look at her, and somehow he knew he would never finish it.

  What had the governor been writing that he’d put it away with such furtive haste? It had nothing to do with his official duties—of that Jocelyn was certain.

  “I believe the Duckworths were going as far at the inn at Twelve Mile House, last night,” he said. “Then taking the stage to Windsor today.”

  Had the newlyweds enjoyed such fine sport as she and the governor last night? Jocelyn tried to catch his eye to communicate her question with the secretive hint of a smile and the discreet arch of a brow.

  “What brings you all here this afternoon?” He would not, or could not, look at her. “Would you care to join me for tea?”

  Will Carmont shook his head. “Another day, perhaps. We are on our way home after fetching Mrs. Finch from Prince’s Lodge. Now that all her young ladies are married off, there is no need for her to rattle around a place that size by herself until she returns to England.”

  “No, indeed.” The governor sounded as if he were referring to a perfect stranger rather than a woman he had come to know on the most intimate of terms. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I should have made some provision.”

  For a moment Jocelyn was tempted to resent his formality. But she could not, any more than she could resent his height or his blue eyes. The man had a severe facade he presented to the world. But he’d allowed her to see behind it, to the warmth and passion of his most private self.

  “By no means, Sir Robert.” She would not embarrass him by being too familiar, but fondness warmed her words. “You were kind enough to make provision for me and my charges when we first arrived in Halifax. I would not wish to be deeper in your debt.”

  Unless he would accept her favors as payment. Jocelyn suppressed a grin that might betray her wicked thoughts. “The Carmonts have offered me their hospitality for the remainder of my stay in Nova Scotia.”

  “How long may we hope to enjoy your society before you are obliged to leave us?”

  He met her gaze for only a fleeting instant. But in the depths of his eyes Jocelyn glimpsed his hunger for her—no more sated by last night’s encounter than hers was for him.

  “The Hestia should be coming for me sometime in the next fortnight. With fair winds, it could arrive as early as tomorrow.”

  It wasn’t as though she would never see the man again. She would be back next spring with a new group of brides, assured of a warm welcome and aware of what pitfalls to avoid. Somehow, that prospect did not soothe Jocelyn as it should have.

  “We’ve come to invite you to dine with us tonight,” said Colonel Carmont, “if you have no prior engagements. A nice cozy meal—just the four of us. What do you say?”

  After a moment’s hesitation Sir Robert replied, “I have no other engagements. I would be pleased to dine with you. What time should I come?”

  “We will expect you at seven,” said Sally, who had been unusually quiet until then. “I know we can count on you to be prompt.”

  Jocelyn sensed unvoiced laughter beneath her friend’s words. Did Sally find the governor’s punctuality amusing? Or did she suspect his feelings and trust he would not be late for an engagement that might be his last with Jocelyn for some time?

  “Indeed you can, ma’am.” The governor gave a slight bow, clearly taking Sally’s remark as a compliment. “I appreciate the invitation more than I can say.”

  Sally hooked her friend and her husband by the arms. “Now we must leave the governor to finish his work. And we must get Jocelyn settled in at our house. I, for one, hope we do not see that ship back in Halifax Harbor for at least a fortnight.”

  They bid their goodbyes and set off.

  “Oh my!” Jocelyn came to a sudden stop as they headed out the back door of Government House. “I just remembered something I meant to tell Sir Robert. Go on and I will join you in a moment. It should not take long.”

  “But you will see him again in a few hours,” said Sally. “Why not wait and tell him then?”

  Jocelyn shook her head. “My memory is so dreadful these days, I fear I will forget if I delay it.”

  She dashed back to Sir Robert’s study where she found him facing the window that looked onto Hollis Street and the harbor beyond. He started at her sudden appearance, as if she had caught him doing something improper. But when she approached, he opened his arms and gathered her into a swift, fierce embrace.

  Grazing his cheek with hers, she whispered, “I hope you are not sorry for what happened between us last night.”

  He bent forward to kiss her. “I must admit, I do have one urgent regret.”

  “I feared so.” She pulled back to search his expression. “Tell me.”

  He bent forward, pressing his brow to hers until his blue eyes filled her vision like the wide sky far out at sea. “My only regret is that it was too dark for me to see you stretched upon that chaise.”

  A powerful surge of relief buoyed Jocelyn and swamped her at the same time. She gave a shaky laugh. “If that is all, I hope we may find the means to remedy your regret…next time.”

  “Tonight?” The urgency of his tone assured her he had no other regrets. At least none of any consequence.

  She nodded. “At the Carmonts? I trust Sally and the colonel to keep a confidence even if they find us out.”

  “Very well, then. Tonight.” His kiss told her the hours until then could not pass quickly enough.

  If the Carmonts suspected an amorous relationship between their guests, they gave no sign of it at dinner that night. Sir Robert could not recall when he had enjoyed dining out so much. Will Carmont doled out the wine with a very liberal hand and before long he and his friend were regaling the ladies with stories from the campaigning days. Jocelyn and Sally countered with amusing tales their first London Season.

  The food served that evening was nothing out of the ordinary—Windsor beef braised in ale, some new potatoes and other early vegetables. But seasoned with banter, comradeship and delicious anticipation, it tasted better than any dinner Sir Robert had eaten in a long while.

  After the meal, the four of them retired to the sitting room and spent the rest of evening in more lively conversation over several hands of whist. Sir Robert relished every moment. If only Jocelyn had accepted his proposal, he might have looked forward to many nights like this one.

  He comforted himself with the hope that a few months’ separation might convince her there was more between them than physical desire alone. Perhaps, this time next year, she might look upon his marriage proposal with more favor. Especially if he used the time to compose an appeal that sounded less like a dry business arrangement.

  But how would he bear to be apart from her for so long?

  As the hour grew late, Sir Robert began to wonder how he and Jocelyn would secure their planned rendezvous.

  Then suddenly Will Carmont pushed away from the card table. “I must beg to be excused. I fear something I ate at dinner has not agreed with me. Or perhaps it mixed ill with the wine. I am not feeling at all well.”

  Mrs. Carmont sprang from her chair almost before he got the words out. “Poor dear! I must tend you.”

  “No need, Sal.” The colonel headed for the door. “You must see to our guests. I beg your pardon for spoiling the end of a pleasant evening with my indisposition.”

  “Nonsense.” Sir Robert laid down his cards. “This evening has been too pleasant for anything to spoil. I should be on my way now in any case. I hope tomorrow finds you much improved.”

  Before he finished speaking, Will bolted from the room and up the stairs with noisy haste.

  “Oh, dear.” Sally glanced from her guests to the stairs and ba
ck again. “I really must go to him, poor dear. Jocelyn, can I prevail upon you to see Sir Robert out?”

  “Of course.” Jocelyn waved her friend on her way. “I shall be happy to make myself useful. Now go tend to your poor, suffering husband.”

  “What a shame,” said Sir Robert when Mrs. Carmont had rushed off after her husband, leaving Jocelyn and him alone in the sitting room. “Will Carmont used to have a stomach of cast iron. The things I have seen him eat! I hope he is not ill on account of bad food.”

  Jocelyn gave him a strange look as she rose from her chair and circled the table toward him.

  He reached for her. “You are not feeling ill are you?”

  She fell into his arms, shuddering with silent laughter.

  “Jocelyn? What is it?”

  She gasped for breath, struggling to curb her runaway mirth. “Will Carmont…should have gone…on the stage…rather than into the army!”

  Assured that she was not ill, Sir Robert could fully enjoy the sensation of having her in his arms again. “Are you saying that indisposition of his was all a sham?”

  “Perhaps not. But I did find it odd they gave me a guest room on the ground floor, claiming the upstairs ones were being repapered.”

  “I see.” He owed Will Carmont a bottle of very fine brandy. “Then shall we take advantage of their hospitality?”

  “A capital idea!” Jocelyn lunged up on her toes to plant a playful kiss high on his cheek. Then she caught his hand in hers and led him out into the entry hall.

  After a thorough look around to make certain there were no servants lurking, she grabbed his hat off a peg beside the door and thrust it at him.

  “Go wait for me,” she whispered, “through the last door on the right.”

  As he stole off down the hallway, Sir Robert heard her open the front door then call out in a loud voice. “Good evening to you, sir! Do come again!”

  The door swung shut with a deep, loud thud, which Sir Robert used to cover the furtive sounds of him slipping into her bedchamber.

  Jocelyn joined him a few moments later, bearing a candle she must have taken from the sitting room. The warm, frolicsome light of its flame played over her features as she lofted a teasing glance at him. “I do not want you to have even a single regret about tonight.”

  For a moment he puzzled her meaning. Then he recalled saying he had been sorry not to see her naked.

  With a slow shake of his head, he took the candle from her and set it on the nightstand. “I am certain I will not.”

  Turning back, he held out his arms to her. When she stepped into his embrace and raised her face to invite his kiss, his heart felt full to bursting.

  Their second encounter was quite different from their first. As much as Robert welcomed the light by which to admire Jocelyn’s ripe, womanly beauty, it made him rather self-conscious—unable to spout the romantic fancy that had bubbled out of him the night before. Perhaps that was not such a bad thing, for tonight they were obliged to speak in the softest of whispers, if at all. And to stifle the sounds of pleasure they’d voiced with such abandon in the darkness of the prince’s music pavilion.

  Having blunted the sharpest edge of their desire only the night before, and with the threat of discovery far less, they were able to take their time exploring new sensations and savoring each to its fullest. True to her word, Jocelyn took mischievous delight in testing the limits of Sir Robert’s self-control. She subjected him repeatedly to blissful torment with the tantalizing play of her hands and mouth until he feared he would strangle on his stifled moans of pleasure.

  At last, when he writhed on the knife-edge of need, she slid on top of him, sheathing him in her sultry depths.

  “Now,” she whispered, “we must take it slow and gentle. The Carmonts and their servants may not be very sound sleepers.”

  He could only accept her terms with a convulsive nod and remind himself to keep breathing. He was her prisoner, albeit a very willing one. Trained from a young age to fight and conquer, he found surrender an amazing novelty. Yet when he recalled their wild gallop to release from the previous night, he rued the necessity for restraint.

  Then Jocelyn began the slow, sinuous roll of her hips, urging him degree by blissful degree to heights of yearning he had never suspected let alone explored. Her exquisite breasts, on which he’d earlier feasted, now rubbed against his chest in a provocative counterpoint to the hot, moist grip below. Unable to accept an entirely passive role, he raised his hands to cup the smooth lobes of her bottom and fondle them.

  She quivered at his touch, sending shards of pleasure skittering through him. Then a surge of ecstasy engulfed him, so powerful it jolted him again and again. He bit his lip bloody and all but burst his lungs in an effort to muffle a bellow of savage release. The force of it propelled him beyond consciousness to a place of explosive enchantment.

  The week that followed taxed Colonel and Mrs. Carmont’s powers of invention as they contrived one reason after another to absent themselves at the last moment each evening, leaving Jocelyn alone to see the governor on his way…or not.

  At first Jocelyn found the days long, even with Sally’s witty company. Then she got an idea that excited her almost as much as her anticipation of a tryst with Sir Robert that night. She dug out her little writing box, which was by now almost empty of paper.

  “Whatever are you scribbling?” Sally raised her head from her needlework. “And why are you chuckling to yourself?”

  “It is a report about our tour of the colony this summer.” Jocelyn paused long enough to take up her penknife and trim the nib of her quill. “I mean to offer it to Mr. Wye for publication in his newspaper.”

  “How nice.” Sally dug out her sewing scissors and clipped a thread. “You must have had a more amusing time on that tour than you told me about.”

  “It was very interesting and enjoyable.” Jocelyn dipped her pen in the inkwell then began to write again. “But that is not why I was laughing to myself.”

  “Do enlighten me.” Sally wet the end of a fresh thread between her lips to ease its passage through the narrow eye of her needle. “I detest being on the outside of a joke.”

  “It isn’t a joke. More getting a little of my own back—at least I hope so. The editor of the Gazette has been such a thorn in Sir Robert’s side. I should like to turn the tables and make his newspaper a vehicle to rouse popular support for some of the governor’s projects.”

  Sally shook her head. “I don’t follow you at all.”

  “Listen to this.” Jocelyn set down her pen and read aloud part of what she had written. About Seal Island and how the survivor of one wreck had been found frozen to death, crouched over a pile of wood he’d tried to set on fire after crawling out of the frigid sea.

  “Oh dear!” cried Sally when Jocelyn had finished. She wiped her brimming eyes. “I had no idea. Those poor people! What can be done?”

  A glow of satisfaction kindled in Jocelyn’s heart. Sally was a lively companion and a loyal friend, but she had never been the most tenderhearted of women. If she could be moved to tears by such an account, it boded very well indeed for Jocelyn’s plan. “Sir Robert wants to have a lighthouse built, but the assembly and council are balking, pleading poverty.”

  “The brutes!” Sally sniffed. “I’ll wager Chapman is behind it. Horrid Horace, Will calls him. I shall put a flea in Mrs. Chapman’s ear the next time I see her. And I may suggest the bishop speak to him about his lack of Christian charity.”

  Jocelyn returned to her writing, her lips stretched in a broad grin. With luck, Sally would not be the only one calling for immediate action to address the situation on Seal Island. And an addition to the National School, so girls in Halifax could receive instruction. And the plight of the local Indian people, which was a grief to the governor.

  Mr. Wye accepted Jocelyn’s first article with surprising alacrity and demanded as many more as she cared to submit as quickly as she could write them. He even offered to pay her for her
efforts which, after a moment’s hesitation, she accepted.

  After all, this might be an additional source of income worth exploring when she returned to England. If a woman hoped to maintain her independence, she could not afford to put all her eggs in one basket.

  During the course of the next week, Jocelyn wrote more articles during the day, then welcomed Sir Robert to her bed at night. And though every new encounter served to deepen their pleasure in each other, she found herself enjoying their dinner, conversation and cards with the Carmonts almost as much. And her satisfaction in helping the governor with his work.

  Now that her compelling physical attraction for him had an outlet, she began to see there was far more between them. She admired his dedication to the welfare of the colony and she enjoyed his company, flattered to be allowed a glimpse of the private man behind his public facade.

  She suspected he could love her, given time and the proper encouragement. Though still wary of losing her hard-won independence, she toyed with the notion of accepting if he proposed again before she had to leave for England. Fate seemed eager to foster the match as day after day passed with no sign of the Hestia’s return.

  Jocelyn had just dropped off her latest article at the Gazette printing shop on Grafton Street when Mr. Wye summoned her into his cramped little hole of an office. Was he going to beg her to remain in Halifax and continue writing for him? She had heard from many quarters that her “Summer Tour of Nova Scotia” series had been very well received, boosting the Gazette’s circulation.

  As she took the seat Mr. Wye offered her, Jocelyn noticed the top of his desk was piled with London papers from which he reprinted much of his news. The packet ship must have arrived that morning.

  Mr. Wye picked up one newspaper and shoved it under her nose. “Is there any truth to this, Mrs. Finch?”

  “Truth to what?” Jocelyn scanned the page of crowded columns wondering what the editor could mean.