Mark could see in his lordship’s glance, confirmation that he no longer intended to oppose Mark’s courtship. “We should allow Alvaro to fetch Miss Wood.” He gave his wife a knowing look. “Sometimes, a couple needs privacy to sort out their differences. As we did.”
A blush stole across her ladyship’s cheeks. At her nod, Terrance gave Mark permission to seek out Nevara.
Mark bowed and withdrew. All he wanted was to ensure she was well.
Chapter Ten
AT NEVARA’S CABIN, Mark knocked.
There was no answer.
He knocked again and called her name. Worry clamped onto his heart like a vice. He tried the door. Locked. He passed his staff over the knob, and the key clicked open. He pushed the door in and found Nevara on the cot, her eyes closed.
He shut the door and laid his staff against it, barring entry. He approached softly so as not to startle her. “Nevara.”
Still no response.
Her silk gown lay discarded on the floor and she slept with her spectacles on. Noting her half-dressed state, he shook her gently. “Nevara, wake up. It is past time for the musicale.”
She did not move.
Bending, he passed his hand above her nose. No breath stirred. Fear hammered as he shook her in earnest. “Wake up!”
Her face and neck were pale, almost deathlike. He opened her mouth. There was nothing obstructing her breathing. Her stays seemed really tight, pinching her flesh. Ribbons crisscrossed across her front. Lady Terrance had implied that Nevara dressed herself, so why would she tie it so tight? He tugged at one ribbon to loosen the knot. It cinched her in even tighter.
Magic! Drawing on his power, he sliced his hand across the material, to the right of the ribbons. The stays ripped apart, and he flung them away.
Nevara gasped.
Relief coursed through him as she took that first precious breath. She opened her eyes.
“Nevara.” He knelt beside the cot and gently straightened her spectacles that had become askew. “Are you all right?”
Her brown gaze was confused. “Mark, what are you doing here?” She then glanced at herself and gasped before she covered her breasts and lower extremities with her arms.
Mark’s blood heated. In his rush to strip away her stays, he had ripped off the shift beneath, leaving her naked. He swallowed, anxious, nervous . . . and now that his fear was receding, thoroughly aroused.
“You seemed to be asleep.” He pulled the sheet beneath her as a cover, but the more he tugged, the closer she rolled toward him. He stood abruptly and turned around.
“You were not above deck, so I came to find you. Those stays were constricting your breathing, so I tore them off.”
By the creaking of the cot, he guessed she sat up and covered herself. “I will wait on deck,” he said. “Then we must talk.”
“Mark.” Nevara caught his hand. “Please stay.”
“I cannot.” He clutched at her warm fingers, wanting to obey, wanting to do much more than talk. Talk was what was needed. “Nevara, where did you get those stays?”
“They were a family heirloom. A wedding gift from ages past.”
Ah! What a fool he was. While he had been so busy protecting her from an outside attack, he had missed the threat from within.
“Do not be angry, Mark,” she whispered. “I thought wearing the lace garment might make me pretty enough for you.”
Her concern touched his heart. “You do not need any such assistance, Nevara,” he said in earnest. “You take my breath away every time I look at you.”
Her hand slipped from his, and he swung back and then sucked in his breath. She had not covered herself at all. She looked magnificent in the moonlight. Soft, voluptuous, and delicate, like a budding pink rose. He knelt and touched her pale wet cheeks. She was a beauty, but her aunt had painted such a wicked black picture of her that Nevara was blind to her true appearance. He took off her spectacles to kiss her and that way, show her how desirable she truly was.
Her eyes adjusted ever so slightly. Did she unconsciously shift her sight to keep him in focus? Somehow, that attempt made her even more loveable. “You need nothing to enhance yourself, Nevara. You are perfect as you are.”
He leaned in, knowing he should leave, but drawing her to him instead. She came, willingly. He kissed her gently and then with urgency. He had wanted to do this for years, to show her pleasure, to shower her with sensations that would delight her and obliterate the pain and self-doubts her aunt had inflicted on her.
He laid her back on the cot and stared into her serious gaze. Her solemn expression made him smile. Nevara drew him closer by his jacket. He chuckled and reclaimed her lips. She gasped as he slid kisses across her cheek and down to the delicate nape of her neck. He wanted to pay homage to every corner of her beautiful body. His hands trailed down in such a gentle caress, she groaned her appreciation.
A knock on the door startled them both.
What abominable timing! Mark stood, turned his back to Nevara and wiggled a clandestine forefinger at the door. The lock clicked softly just as the handle was turned.
After a pause, the knock came again.
“Miss Wood?” Mendal called. “Are you well?”
“Mendal, I have had one of my headaches, but it is passing. I shall be up shortly.”
Silence. “Mr. Alvaro was sent to fetch you, miss.”
“He came by earlier. I was too unwell to open the door and apologized for disappointing him. I feel better now, so he shall hear me sing after all.”
“Very well, miss. I shall tell Lady Terrance you will be up shortly.” The sound of footsteps receded.
Mark glanced at Nevara with regret.
She was blushing, and her pouting lips indicated that she was as disappointed as him at the world’s intrusion.
“I look forward to your song, Nevara.” His voice sounded huskier than normal, and he let his eyes devour every inch of her exposed curves before layers of propriety would cover what deserved celebration in sunshine. He bowed and left before he changed his mind.
THE MOMENT HER cabin door shut, Nevara slumped back on the cot. Her heart was pounding, and her body thrummed with joy. What delights Mark’s gaze had promised. She had wanted him to stay, yearned for it with all her heart.
She touched her lips, cheek and neck where he had traced his kisses, reliving the wild sensations. She did not want to go up on deck and be surrounded by people. She wanted to remain on this bed and wait for Mark to return.
If she delayed any longer, though, Belle might come next. That lady’s uncanny senses would surely detect those kisses. With a squeal of alarm, she jumped up and gathered her clothes.
A shaft of moonlight highlighted the torn stays. They looked ordinary now, no longer covered in black ribbons as they had been earlier.
A peculiar thought gripped her. Could Mendal have been right? Could her visions, instead of luring her into danger as her aunt always insisted, have been warning her that the stays were untrustworthy? Deep in thought, she had slipped on her next best shift when the maid returned and told her that the party had ended due to heavy rain.
She also said her mistress had retired. Deeply disappointed at not being able to sing for Mark, Nevara sighed and donned her nightgown.
Mendal grumbled about Ellison, Lord Terrance’s valet as she readied for bed. The maid and the valet, though they had similar apprehensions about this voyage, rarely agreed.
“What is it about him that you dislike?” Nevara asked, climbing onto her hammock.
“He is slow to come when called, and when he does deign to appear, he smells of spirits. One would think his cabin was in the hold with the casks of wine instead of next door.”
“Why does Lord Terrance keep him in his employ?”
“He is a fine dresse
r, miss. One of the best in London.”
“Yet, Ellison seems in a constant state of despondency.”
“He has always been that way, miss.”
Nevara swayed in her hammock, her compassion for the unhappy valet rising. Over the years, she had experienced such emptiness within herself. In fact, she felt rather empty tonight and wish she could be lying within Marks’s arms.
“Ellison does not care to socialize with the servants or the crew,” Mendal said. “He barely speaks except when addressed.” She gave a huff as she slid under her covers. “No amount of alcohol fills the emptiness of his grief.”
What could have caused the manservant to be so forlorn? The source of Nevara’s melancholy was due to her shifting sight. Yet, now that she had begun to see her talent in a new light, it no longer seemed a drain on her soul. These curious thoughts kept her company as Nevara nodded off to sleep.
The next day, too, passed in quiet contemplation. Mark had again refused all Lord Terrance’s invitations to join them, dashing her hopes of seeing him, perhaps even of having him steal another kiss.
The vessel traveled at a fast pace along the coast of Portugal, hardly troubled by any rough swells. She also noticed strange lighted netting that surrounded the ship, but its presence left her with an odd sense of well-being. Instead of instantly assuming that if only she could see those lights, it must be evil, this time, Nevara listened to Mendal’s advice and her inner voice insisted that this pattern of light did not mean her or the others onboard harm. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if the netting might be what kept this vessel sailing so steadily on it course.
Most terrifying of all, she wondered if Mark’s chanting was connected to those lights. Did she dare ask him that question? How would he react?
Later that morning, Nevara was still pondering Mark’s connection to the net of lights hugging the vessel when the captain read prayers in a loud voice for the benefit of the crew and passengers. He then slammed his Bible shut and said, “Mr. Alvaro has missed prayers yet again, I see. If it were not for the favorable wind, I would suspect he was down below, conjuring spells to beleaguer the Magdalena.”
Nevara started because his words uncannily reflected her thoughts, though she was certain that if Mark was involved, it was definitely for a good purpose, not for ill.
Catching Lord Terrance’s frown, the captain quickly retracted his words, saying he had heard his ill-informed crew repeating such things. Of course, he had asked them to cease and desist such superstitious nonsense.
Nevara could not shake off his comments, however. The restlessness among the crew also concerned her. She wished Mark would come out of his cabin and resolve this issue once and for all.
The vessel passed a series of little rocky islands. The Portuguese landscape afforded a magnificent view of high mountain ranges on the north side of the River Tajo. Lord Terrance, who was studying his maps of Spain now that they were closing on their destination, informed the ladies that the Tajo rose around Madrid and emptied, after a long course, into the sea, about four leagues below Lisbon.
On the horizon, the green landscape was set ablaze by a swath of red soil. Lisbon sat on a vast hill with white buildings rising in a steep manner, and in the distance, Nevara could see the ruins of several castles.
The captain strolled by and said they would not anchor here. “I wish to keep our course steady toward Cadiz while the wind remains auspicious. If ill favor does not befall us,” he advised in his mournful fashion, “we should arrive at our destination by nightfall tomorrow.”
Excusing herself, Nevara went below. She was done with waiting for Mark to appear. She rubbed clammy hands on her skirts as she descended the stairs. Her heart pounded with every step that took her closer to his cabin. The moment she stood outside his door, her throat closed up. She listened and again heard his low steady chanting. Taking courage, she raised her hand and then lowered it.
What would she say when he answered? What excuse could she have for coming? Then she had a brilliant idea. With a happy smile she sped toward the galley. Mark always seemed hungry. She would bring him a special treat. He would be hard pressed to refuse that offering.
In the galley, the cook, suspicion clear in his gaze, asked who wanted the food. Afraid he might refuse to help if she admitted she took the food to Mark, she said Lord Terrance had asked her to fetch some sustenance. She returned triumphant with a platter of pilfered cheese and fruit.
At Mark’s door, she knocked and planted an ear against it to discern movement inside. There was no response. Had he heard her knock above his chanting? A shiver went up her neck. No wonder the crew thought him a witch. She suspected as much, herself. That odd walking stick of his could qualify as a staff of power. She shook off her racing imagination. Whether or not he was a witch was immaterial. All that mattered was that he was all right.
She rapped louder.
The chanting died abruptly and was replaced with swearing. Nevara gulped and backed up a step. Would he be very angry that she dared to disturb him? His footsteps stomped toward the door and she took another step back and butted against the other side of the corridor. He flung the door open and glared.
“Mark,” she said, surprised any sound came out of her petrified throat.
He blinked, surprise wiping away his bad mood. “Nevara. Is something the matter?”
She smiled tentatively. “I thought you might be hungry.”
He glanced at the tray and then at her. He swallowed, as if fighting the urge to grab the food and shut the door.
He was starving again, she was sure of it. “Pray, take this.” She pushed the tray into his hands and when he stumbled backward, she followed him inside and shut the door behind her before he thought to close it on her.
MARK’S FINGERS clenched around the tray, his hunger gnawing at his belly as the scent of fresh fruit assaulted him. How had she known that he needed this? Securing the netting around the Magdalena had drained the last ounce of his energy, and he had been on the verge of braving the kitchen and assaulting the cook for a bite to eat.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome. Mark, I was worried.”
Her dark, concerned gaze and tempting lips were as appealing as the cheese that made his mouth water.
“What was that I heard earlier?” she said. “It sounded like Mendal saying her prayers.”
To distract her from that question, he offered her some cheese.
Instead of taking it, she grinned and bit off a piece.
Mark went from being hungry for food to ravenous for her in a second’s leap. Still, though he wanted to say, “I want you in my bed,” he settled for the obvious. “You should not be here alone.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
Vixen. “Why are you here?”
“The captain is unhappy that you have missed every Sunday morning prayer since we left London. The crew, too, seem suspicious of your recent activities.”
“Are you?” He offered her a dripping orange slice.
“Yes.” Her mouth closed around his fingertips.
The tray tipped and fruit rolled to the edge. He righted it in a hurry. That took both hands. Holding a tray was a sad replacement for taking her in his arms. He should probably stop feeding her.
Lady Terrance was likely watching them in her mind’s eye. He expected her husband to barrel open the door any minute, in a bid to rescue their protégé. Then again, Terrance had spurred Mark to declare his love for Nevara. So his lordship might not come to heel at his wife’s command as easily as their wolfhound did.
A smile tugging at his lips at that thought, he asked, “Do you want me to stop feeding you?” The question was many layered.
Her eyes were drenched with longing. “No.” Before he had time to choose another tasty morsel with which to tempt her, she fed
him a slice of orange.
He caught her fingers between his lips as she had earlier, but he refused to let go, holding her captive.
As he slowly released her, she sucked in her breath. “I love you, Mark.”
His heart burst with happiness. He released his stranglehold on the tray and tucked a stray dark curl behind her ears. “My friend John insists that I mangled our courtship.”
She chuckled and inched closer, wrapping him in her scent of roses. “I could not understand why you wished to court me at all.” She sobered, that old sense of doubt seeming to overtake her recent bold overtures. “My aunt said that you probably did not even like me, and that was the reason you left for London.”
His blood boiled at that slander. Nevara was not the cursed demon that her vitriolic, overly religious aunt had labeled her. He was sick to his guts that he had played a part in cementing Nevara’s misconception about herself by staying away. He set the tray aside, his hunger forgotten.
It was time this woman believed that she was lovable and that any man would be proud to be with her. He pulled her to him, and she came willingly. “I liked you too much.”
His hands began to disrobe her as hungrily as he had wanted to devour the food she had brought. He had her out of her clothes and on his bed in minutes, just as he had envisioned every night of this voyage. His thumb circled her navel while his lips paid homage to her best assets. Before long, she was taught with tension, and her pupils spiked with passion.
She untied his cravat, reaching up to kiss his neck. Mark eased her hands away. “First, allow me to show you how well I like you, Nevara.”
He leisurely led her on a voyage of exploration, teaching her about the pleasures possible between a man and a woman as he learned where and how best his touch could please her. Finally, he flung away his cravat, slipped out of his jacket, and stripped off his shirt and breeches.
She leaned back, replete and vastly enjoying his attention. She was Venus, sure of her conquest. This was the real Nevara, in all her glory, strong, confident and powerful. She opened her arms and bid him enter her world. It was an invitation he happily accepted.
A Perfect Curse Page 16