Bound by Decency

by Claire Ashgrove

  Nails scraped against his scalp as he dusted kisses over the tops of her thighs. When he ran his hands along the inside of her knees, to the tender flesh above, she opened for him. One hand resting on her belly, he brought the other between her legs, and lifted his gaze to her face. Her expression softened with rapture as he eased a finger into her slick sheath. Her hips lifted into his hand. Her low moan shocked through him as if he’d been touched by lightning. His cock bobbed against his abdomen, painfully ready.

  He closed his eyes and choked back his own need. His pleasure was not his pursuit. Not when he had done so many things to hurt her. Last night he’d made love to her, but there were so many undiscovered pleasures they had yet to share. So many he wanted to give her.

  With a ragged inhale, he groped for his control and dipped his tongue between her moist folds. One slow, lazy caress, and India writhed beneath him. He lapped at her sensitive nub, grazed it with his teeth, then soothed the bite with a languorous swirl of his tongue. Her hips lifted off the bed. Her hands twisted in his hair. Around his finger, her flesh pulsed. His cock answered, and a straying drop of moisture cooled the tip of his straining shaft.

  This was unwise. He’d sought to draw their joining out. To expose her to another deeper level of intimacy between man and woman, but if he continued, her release would spur his own. He’d spend himself against her knees, and when that moment of utter completion came, he wanted to be deep within her, enveloped by her warm flesh.

  He obliged the fierce tug on his hair that urged his mouth back to hers. Settling his weight into her body, he kissed her in a slow, unhurried fashion, that did nothing to reveal the urgency flowing in his veins. India wound her legs around his waist, lifted so she aligned her body with his erection. Cain pulled in a deep breath and pushed, sliding into her waiting warmth.

  Bliss pounded at him, yet he lay still, spellbound by the way she gloved him. This was heaven. A place she alone could take him to. Pleasure coursed through his veins in waves. Sensation that demanded he move. He braced his hands on the mattress, eased his upper body away from hers, and withdrew. Her hips followed his, guiding him back home, urging him into slow rhythmic thrusts.

  Ecstasy stole over him. It built like drops in a bucket, filling him up until he could hold no more. Each clench of her womb sucked him deeper. Each time he slowly retreated, agony threatened. He wanted to stay inside her forever. Needed the feel of her hot flesh as much as he needed air.

  His body tensed with the effort of holding back, his lungs constricted until he couldn’t breathe. On a hoarse groan, he plunged hard within her, and release broke free. Tiny particles of light burst behind his eyes. A strange, wholly satisfying hum filled his ears. Dimly, he heard India call out his name, felt the strong grip of her slick inner muscles. The squeeze milked another rush of pleasure, and his seed spilled again.

  Gradually, his lungs expanded. He lowered himself into her body, blanketing her with his weight. The dizziness left his head, and he opened his eyes to gaze into hers. Smiling, he brushed a thumb over her swollen lips. “Aye,” he whispered roughly. “I’ll love you.” Replacing his thumb with his mouth, he kissed her soundly. “I’ll love you until we are both too exhausted to move.”

  ****

  In the orange glow of sunset, India listened to the sound of Cain’s breathing. One leg entangled with his, she lay on her back, awakened from slumber by the sound of singing men. Low and rhythmic, the brine-roughened voices resonated through the walls. A sound that added to the contented heaviness in her limbs.

  She rolled to her side to admire the man who lay next to her. In full glory, he rested on his back, as naked as the day he’d been born. She trailed a fingertip down the center of his broad chest to the pale skin at his hipbones which his trousers hid from the sun. He skin was warm, and she flattened her palm against his abdomen to soak up that comforting heat.

  He loved her. Enough to turn his back on his quest for vengeance. Enough to take her to England, even if he despised the thought. Selflessly.

  His hand moved over hers. Eyes closed, voice thick with sleep, he asked, “What are you doing, little wren?”

  “Thinking,” she murmured as she laid her head atop his chest to hear the steady beat of his heart.

  His free hand lifted to the crown of her head. Fingertips played in her hair. “Of?”

  “You. Me. What’s to become of us.”

  “Don’t.”

  She shook her head, brushing her cheek against his chest. “No, I don’t mean it the way you think. I am happy now, Cain. Happier than I can ever remember being. But I would ask a promise from you, if you are intent on parting.”

  Ever so slightly, the weight on her head increased. “What do you wish?”

  She lifted up to look at him more fully. Her hair fell around them, cloaking them both in shadows. She wasn’t so foolish to believe he would never take another lover. His appetite was healthy. Perhaps for a while their love would comfort him, but in time, he would take another. “Never another woman here. This is my bed now.”

  He opened his eyes and rolled them. But his chuckle relieved her mind of worry. “Don’t be absurd. You’ve spoiled me to all others. When I meet Davy Jones at the bottom of the sea, I’ll still be yours.”

  A shameful shiver of delight rippled through her veins. “Cain?”

  “Aye?”

  “If there comes a time when the Navy doesn’t—”

  He crushed her into a hug. “Shh. Enough of this.” Just as abruptly, he pushed her off his body and slid from the bed. He walked to the shelf and picked up the jeweled box. For long moments, he turned it over in his hands. The light glinted off the gold, casting it an even richer hue. His fingers tightened around the trinket, and then he brought it to the edge of the bed, where he knelt on the floor. Placing the box into her hands, he covered her fingers with his. “This is the most valuable thing left to me. I cannot give you rings. I cannot give you my name. But I can give you this.”

  The idea came upon her like a clap of thunder. She dropped the box in her lap and clutched at his hands. “You can! You can give me your name. Marry me, Cain.”

  He drew back as if she had suddenly grown gills. “India, have you lost all your sense? I would not doom you with my name. It defeats the very purpose of returning you to England.”

  Adamant, she shook her head. “No. No one but you, me, perhaps Drake, would know. But I would. If a child comes of this, he would have a name. Your name is better than none at all.” A smile broke free. “I would be proud to bear it.”

  Sinking to his heels, he frowned as if he seriously gave the matter thought. On a deep breath, his hands tightened against hers. “On one condition.”

  “Yes?” she asked eagerly.

  “The only time you would ever speak of it is if a child comes from this. Otherwise, you tell no one. Not your father. Not your maid. Not your friends.”

  “Oh, Cain!” Overjoyed, she threw her arms around his neck and clung tight.

  His shoulders rocked with laughter. Gently, he pried her arms free. “You are an imp, India. Logical to a fault. And you convince me into the damnedest things. But I adore you.” Pulling her to her feet, he dragged her back into the bed. “We’ll find a man of the cloth at the first port we come to.” As he pulled her across his body and guided her thighs around his, he murmured, “Though I cannot, for the life of me, see the purpose in this. Other than it is the decent thing to do.”

  “It is decent, yes,” she admitted with a sultry grind of her hips. “But more so, I will always have a part of you.”

  “Aye, but for now, I have other things to give.” Cain’s shaft thickened beneath her. Lifting her hips away from his, he shifted, then eased her down onto his swollen length.

  ****

  When darkness settled over the cabin and Cain slept soundly, India crawled from the bed, exhausted and fulfilled in ways she hadn’t imagined were possible. Quietly, she slipped into her clothes. Light steps took her out of the cabin, d
own the hall, and to the main deck where she approached the young man who Cain had aided with the rigging the week previous.

  “You are Tom, are you not?” she asked, careful to keep her voice low enough no one else could hear.

  “Aye, Miss Prescott, Thomas Bennett, from London.” He dropped the length of rigging in his hands, clasped her fingers, and bent over them.

  Good manners, as she’d suspected when he’d addressed Cain as sir. And he’d taken the time to learn her proper name. Still, she frowned at the back of his head, uncertain she’d made the correct choice. His face held so much boyhood it could easily disrupt her plan. “How old are you, Tom?”

  “Nineteen, miss.”

  Serviceable. Twenty would have made her more confident, but nineteen was satisfactory. She pulled her hand free and gave him a warm smile. “How long have you been at sea?”

  “Seven years, Miss. Volunteered with the Navy when I was twelve. At sixteen they set me to the rigging. Why do you ask?”

  The Navy—no wonder his manners were refined, and for such a young age he knew so much. She took his elbow and guided him to a secluded corner behind a stack of tall crates. “How do you feel about becoming a captain?”

  Tom stiffened, his back straight as a board, his jaw hard. “Cain’s been good to me, Miss Prescott. I won’t entertain a mutiny. If that’s what you intend, you best leave now.”

  “No, no, no.” When Tom’s face clouded with confusion, she patted his arm. “You are going to rescue me. In return, I’ll reward you with a ship of your choosing from my husband’s fleet.”

  “Your husband?” His gaze strayed toward the cabin beneath the quarterdeck. “Pardon me, but I thought…” A blush infused his freckled cheeks.

  India laughed softly. “That’s exactly who I’m speaking of. Now come along, we must find Drake. We’ll need his help.” She started for the main hatch, but abruptly stopped and fixed Tom with a stern look. “I need your word, Mister Bennett, that you’ll say nothing of this to Cain.”

  He shuffled his feet, his apprehension evident. “I’m of no mind to wrong, Cain, Miss Prescott.”

  “You aren’t. You’re saving his life.”

  Tom cocked his head, studying her in the light of the stars. Slowly, he nodded. “Very well then. Drake is in his cabin.”

  351

  Bound By Decency

  36

  The weeks passed, and India and Cain loved as if they had moments left to live. By day, when they didn’t have duties to attend, they roamed the decks, played at childish games of tag, and indulged in an occasional water fight with a bucket of sea water stolen from some laboring sailor. By night, they exhausted themselves in each others arms until they were so spent and sated they could not lift their eyes.

  A fortnight after Cain agreed to give him her name, India’s time of menses came and passed without result. She said nothing to Cain, knowing the coming of his child would only further wound him when they must part. But she held the knowledge dear to her heart, and in the rare times she spent alone, she fanned her hands over her belly thinking on names and praying the child would be healthy.

  They were married two weeks later, in La Palma, after Tom secured a preacher from a passing merchant ship and rowed the man to The Kraken, where he was more than happy to unite the pair. That night, the crew, even Drake, celebrated in excess, opening cask after cask of rum while India and Cain enjoyed a bath in the warm shallow waters.

  In all her life, she had never known such happiness. The freedom she longed for surrounded her. Her heart soared each time she looked upon her husband. But the ever present weight of separation weighed on her shoulders. She kept her sorrow from Cain, aware he nursed his own. Drake suspected, and more than once when he’d met with her to discuss their plans, he offered a shoulder in his sarcastic, but nonetheless genuine, way.

  Tonight, with the clouds barring the light of the moon, India couldn’t hold the tears at bay. They flowed freely down her cheeks as The Kraken crept, silent as a cloud, Roger lowered, along the English Channel. Cain held her in his arms, soaking up the salty drops with his shirt, his face nestled in her hair. It had come upon them, this time when they would part. When morning would lack warmth no matter how the sun might shine and nights would become as cold and desolate as a frozen plain.

  And it had come too soon.

  Cain’s short sniff, clawed at her heart. She wrapped her arms around his waist more tightly, wishing for some alternative. That perhaps a ship would hail them with news of Richard’s arrest. It was fruitless, for no such miracle would occur. Tonight she returned to Brighthelmstone, and Cain would sail away.

  She felt the presence of the Navy as keenly as she felt Cain’s heart beneath her cheek. All around warships flocked the harbors, cruised through the dark waters. Low bells tolled, any one of them perhaps a warning that someone had recognized The Kraken, despite her extinguished lanterns, well groomed crew, and the rippling Union Jack they’d secured in the Canaries.

  Drake’s low voice pulled her from the haven of Cain’s embrace. “It’s time. Brighthelmstone’s off the larboard.”

  Cain eased India out of his embrace but held tight to her shoulders. His gaze filled with unshed tears. As the men moved about them, quietly lowering the rowboat into the channel, he studied her face. She memorized his.

  “I love you,” she whispered in a broken voice.

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “You’ll live in my heart.”

  As if the thought of parting had suddenly become too much, he captured her face in his hands and his mouth crashed into hers. All the turmoil they shared rose behind the tangle of their tongues. She fisted her hands into his hair, pressed her body close to his. Urgent and needy, they clung to one another, until Cain dragged his mouth away and rested his forehead against hers. His breath came hard and heavy. His fingers trembled against her cheeks. “Go,” he whispered hoarsely. “Go and keep my child safe.”

  He knew. God’s teeth, he knew. The realization sent fresh tears coursing down her cheeks as she allowed Drake to help her over the rail. The one canvas she’d put her meager belongings in sat in the dinghy’s rough bottom where Tom waited, his hand outstretched to aid her onto the narrow wooden seat. She caught it, held on fiercely.

  “You must let go, Miss Prescott,” he urged in a hushed voice.

  Like a puppet on strings, India nodded and pulled her hand away. She tucked it into her lap, willing herself to not look back, to not turn around and watch Cain disappear from view. She’d promised him she wouldn’t. He’d sworn if she did, he would come after her.

  It was time to put her heart behind her. Focus on the plan. She couldn’t take frivolous risks now. With the crispness of a September breeze upon her, one month remained before London expected her to become Richard’s wife. Before then, the babe that grew in her womb would show.

  She cleared her voice and held fast to her courage. “Row on, Mister Bennett.”

  ****

  Cain stood on the forecastle, the same place he had waited for his crew to row India to his ship. Now, four months later, he watched Tom row her away. Inside, he crumbled into bits. He felt small and helpless. Anger at Richard, himself, even God, stung behind his eyes. She didn’t look back, and for one terrifying moment, he questioned her love. Yet as Tom climbed out of the dinghy to push it onto the shallow beach, she turned her head a fraction. As if she longed to look, but on remembering his half-serious threat the previous night, had changed her mind.

  He knew then, he hadn’t imagined her devotion.

  “Cain,” Drake said at his side. “We must leave. We draw attention.”

  Logic ordered Cain to move. To turn around and issue the commands that would bring The Kraken about and point them toward the open sea. But every instinct he possessed demanded he go after India. A child needed its father. He needed her. He opened his mouth. Words disobeyed.

  With a muffled oath, Drake waved at Stuart. A shrill whistle trilled through the crisp night air. Drake fle
d the forecastle. His low-spoken order drifted from the deck below. “To the rigging, men. Come about. Quiet as a mouse.”

  On the distant shore, Tom took India’s canvas and slung it over his shoulder. He offered her his arm, which she accepted. They walked down the rocky beach toward a high bank of trees, until they became mere shadows amidst the dark.

  Cain’s breath shuddered. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the hot flow of tears. Slowly, he turned from the rail, and for the first time in his many years at sea, resigned his duties to another. Leaving Drake to navigate the crew and the ship, Cain fled to the solitude of his cabin, and the only piece of India he had left—her pet.

  ****

  Miraculously, India had escaped the troublesome effects of her first few months of motherhood. But as their requisitioned wagon bounced along the narrow country road toward her father’s country home, she experienced the first. Each bump, hole, and rock left her breasts feeling as if someone had pounded her with fists. She pressed her hands to them, trying to stop the jostling, unmindful of the inappropriate nature of her behavior with Tom seated at her side and the fisherman they’d paid to drive them only an arm’s length away.

  To her surprise, Tom chuckled. At her raised eyebrow, he averted his gaze. “Sorry, Miss Prescott. It’s just, you reminded me of my sister. She is, if you don’t mind my saying, rather ample. Never could stand a carriage ride.”

  The inappropriate comment was just the thing India needed to relieve her of melancholy. She burst into laughter. “Tom, you are a dear. Mister Bennett, I mean.”

  He pushed a hand through his shaggy hair. “I don’t mind the informality. Unless you think we’ll slip when it’s inappropriate.”