The Paper Marriage

by Bronwyn Williams

  She uttered the kind of sound a cornered mouse might make. “Is that a yes?” he queried, not moving from where he stood.

  “Yes?” she squeaked.

  He waited. Yes, what? Yes, he shouldn’t have disturbed her, or yes, she was all right? In the harsh flickering light he could see her hair, freed of its usual restraints, curling around her face like unraveled hemp.

  “Mrs. Littlefield—Rose, are you afraid? It’s only a thunder squall. It’ll move offshore before you know it.”

  No response. Her eyes were wide open, but there was no way of knowing whether or not she saw him, much less heard his reassurances. “Oh, hell,” he muttered. Moving swiftly, silently to her bed, he leaned over and peered directly into her eyes, careful not to touch her.

  He’d seen this same look on the face of a sleep-walking deckhand once. He’d seen it the day Billy had died. They’d all been in shock for days after that. “Rose, listen to me, it’s all right. It’s only a thunder squall, it won’t hurt you.”

  He waited. No response. “Listen, Peg’s got this place wired up with enough lightning rods to ward off an army.”

  He didn’t mention the two waterspouts he’d seen offshore just before dark. No lightning rod ever made was going to protect them if one of those devils twisted its way ashore, but he didn’t think she’d appreciate being told that.

  “Rose, listen to me—” He wasn’t in the habit of calling her by her given name—wasn’t in the habit of calling her anything at all, but this was no time to stand on ceremony. “If Annie wakes up scared, she’s going to need you. Rose? Are you listening?”

  He’d said the magic word. Annie. The woman doted on his baby, and he played on it for all it was worth. “You might have to hold her, maybe rock her a spell if she wakes up scared. Can you do it? Want me to get your wrapper?”

  It broke the spell. She nodded, gulped, then shook her head. Matt became aware that he was staring at the front of her thin cotton gown, where her nipples stood out like twin cartridges.

  Sucking his breath in sharply, he stepped back, but not before he’d caught a whiff of the clean, flowery scent of her skin. Before he knew what was happening, he was hard as a hickory limb. All it took was the sight of her, the scent of her, warm and still half asleep.

  He began backing away before he did something criminally stupid. Safely back at the door, he took one last look and reminded himself that he had no business lusting after a woman not his wife. Not only was his aunt sleeping just down the hall, Annie only a few feet away in the next room, but he was a married man. On paper, at least.

  Closing the door, he told himself he had to get out of here. The sooner and the farther away, the better. He needed his ship, not a woman. If his wife ever showed up, she and Rose could fight it out.

  If not, then Primrose could have the whole works, with his blessing.

  Chapter Six

  As if to reassure himself that last night’s brief interval had been a product of his own fevered imagination, Matt forced himself to linger at the breakfast table until Rose came in with Annie. One quick look was all it took to convince him that she hadn’t turned into a siren overnight. She was still the same starchy, tight-lipped Primrose.

  Although not quite so starchy as she’d been when she’d first arrived. A little more sun-flushed now. A little more windblown. Thank God she’d given up those hideous black dresses.

  Rising, he held her chair and then took one of Annie’s feet in his palm. “Slept through the fireworks, did you, mate? At the rate you’re shaping up, we’ll soon have you climbing the ratlines.”

  Rose stared at him as if she thought he’d lost his mind. Frowning, he said, “I’m not serious. I’m not much of a hand when it comes to talking to babies.”

  “Obviously not,” she said, straining the words through tight lips. But she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes, a clear indication that he wasn’t the only one who’d been affected by all the electricity in the air last night.

  It occurred to him that as a widow, the lady would hardly have remained ignorant of what went on between a man and a woman. Could it be that she missed it? That she would welcome a bit of relief?

  Not from the looks of her now, yet he’d known sluts who could pass as preacher’s wives, seemingly respectable women who weren’t. Having never before met a woman like Rose Littlefield, he didn’t quite know how to size her up. That bothered him.

  “Some blow we had last night.” He addressed the neutral observation to no one in particular.

  “Indeed,” Rose said, spooning sugar into her coffee.

  Three spoons full? “Not much rain, though. Still, I guess lightning makes some folks edgy.”

  “Indeed,” she murmured again, her gaze fixed on the wilted bouquet she’d set on the table just yesterday. He could’ve told her that wild things didn’t do well in captivity. There was always the challenge, though. A man needed a challenge to feel alive. Maybe a woman did, too.

  Bess marched in, looking a bit under the weather. She’d never actually confessed to a hangover, but then, she’d never exactly admitted to putting away a pint of brandy in one sitting, either.

  “’Morning, Bess. Got a headache?” He stood and held her chair.

  Ignoring the gesture, she stared in revulsion at the platters of fried fish, fried potatoes, fried bacon and fried eggs Crank had just set on the table. “I believe I’ll stay in my room and work on my notes today.”

  “If you need Mrs. Littlefield, Luther can look after Annie.”

  “No, no, no, ’t’won’t be necessary. Just send Crank in with a pot of coffee, will you?” She turned and lurched from the room.

  Rose looked after her, obviously concerned, then glanced at Matt. “Do you think I should go after her?”

  He shook his head. “Leave her be, she’ll come around.”

  From Rose’s lap, Annie lunged for a jar of Crank’s pickled peppers. The old cook beamed as if she’d just paid him a great compliment, then watched in satisfaction as Rose mashed up a bit of bluefish and poked it into Annie’s eager mouth.

  With a few words to Peg about checking out any wind damage, he excused himself and left the room. He had better things to do than watch grown men make fools of themselves.

  Some half an hour later, through the open window of his office, he heard the murmur of Rose’s voice as she carried Annie out for her morning airing. He knew the drill by now. Leaving Annie on the porch, out of the direct sun, Rose would spend the morning baling water onto the weeds she’d planted the day before, and digging more holes for those she planned to sacrifice later.

  The woman was stubborn, he’d give her that much. He’d as good as told her not to bother, but she insisted on hauling weeds down from the ridge and burying them in holes around his house. Called it landscaping. Fancy word for littering his neat yard with dead weeds, but he guessed there was no harm in it as long as she looked after Annie. He’d watched her a time or two, her sleeves rolled back, grimy up to her elbows, with patches of sweat on her back and under her arms. Damned if she didn’t look almost pretty with her cheeks all flushed and her hair blowing around her face.

  So he stopped watching her. Stubborn female, he told himself. Another week and she’d have his crew calling her Captain Rose, the way they all hopped to do her bidding.

  A fair and reasonable man, Matt admitted that it was hardly her fault she affected him the way she did. She had never once batted her eyelashes at him the way Gloria had, or placed his hands on her body and called it dancing, or leaned forward, offering him a view of her bosoms.

  With Rose, all he had to do was hear her laughter, see her with her sleeves rolled back and a single button unfastened at her collar, or catch a whiff of that flowery soap she used and he’d be forced to either chop wood or ride the devil out of Jericho. Dammit, he was too old to be ruled by his loins.

  Six brand-new books yet to be read. A desk piled high with correspondence waiting to be answered; shipping reports and commodity prices to be re
viewed. Being in command of a ship took more than seamanship, it required a thorough knowledge of business trends. He needed to be prepared for when he got his ship back.

  Trouble was, he couldn’t concentrate. Not that he blamed his present distraction entirely on unslaked lust, but lust didn’t help. At the rate he was going, he wouldn’t be fit to command a bathtub.

  It was neither lust nor negligence that had driven him to marry a woman and misplace her before he could claim her. That had been an act of sheer stupidity. And even now, he hadn’t learned his lesson.

  Oh, yes, he’d had a lot to answer for, even before Bess had shown up with the Littlefield woman. That, too, had been his fault, for he’d practically begged her to come help out with Annie. Bess was all the family he had left, and while she could drive him wall-climbing, nail-spitting mad, he knew what to expect from her by now. Bess never changed, she only grew more devious with age.

  It was the Littlefield woman who was turning out to be a problem. There was no reason he could fathom why she should get under his skin worse than a sackful of ticks. If Annie didn’t need her so much—

  But Annie did. Which meant that Matt did, too. Because once he got word from Boston, he was going to have to take the next boat out of here, and he could hardly leave Annie alone with only Crank and Peg. Willing or not, neither of them was in the best of health.

  To make matters worse, Bess was showing signs of wanting to get back to Norfolk. She’d already stayed far longer than he’d expected. Not that he couldn’t do without her, but when Bess went, her woman would go with her, which meant that unless his wandering bride turned up in the next few days, he was going to be in one hell of a fix.

  Seated at his untidy desk, he massaged the knotted muscles at the back of his neck. The sound of Rose’s laughter wafting through the open window only served to deepen his scowl.

  “Watch me, Rose! Keep looking!” Luther was out there showing off again. Damned young fool. Probably walking the fence again, telling her all about how he could walk a bowsprit, turn and come back without once looking down or holding on.

  Turning his attention to the letter on top of the stack, Matt took a sheet of clean paper from a drawer and uncapped his ink jar. His pen was poised over the square crystal bottle when he heard the first scream.

  Rose.

  Annie!

  Flinging down the pen, he was at the door before the second scream sounded.

  Annie was in her basket on the porch. A single glance told him she was quietly gnawing on her fist, safe and sound. Not Annie, then. Thank God!

  It took only an instant to absorb the scene before him. The shouts, the snorts, the sound of pounding hooves. The woman standing in front of the porch between Annie and disaster, both arms flung out as if her slender body alone could protect them.

  Luther, off-balance, clinging to Jericho’s mane. The maddened stallion kicking and bucking his way toward the house, doing his damnedest to throw off the dead weight that was flopping like a sack of meal on his bare back.

  Rose shouted something that sounded like “Shoo, shoo!” She waved her apron the way she did when the chickens came pecking at her weeds.

  “Quit flapping,” he commanded quietly. Moving to stand between the woman and the horse, he continued to speak in a calm voice.

  “Easy, boy…steady now, nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  To Luther he said tersely, “Turn loose, jump free and roll under the fence.” Keeping his eye on the horse, he turned, swept Rose up in his arms and tossed her back onto the porch. “Get Annie inside,” he ordered softly.

  Rose landed on her backside and one elbow, then rolled onto her hands and knees. In a shrill voice, she cried, “Help him—he’ll be killed!”

  “Get inside.” Matt repeated the command, his voice quiet, his authority unmistakable. He stood his ground, carefully gauging the situation.

  Luther let out a single yelp, released his precarious hold, and jumped, landing flat on his back. Jericho’s flying hooves barely missed the prostrate form as he corkscrewed his way across the hot sand. The wild-eyed stallion had the bit in his teeth by now, the bridle tangled in his flowing mane.

  “Easy there, boy, no one’s going to hurt you,” Matt crooned.

  He moved slowly away from the porch, his voice a soft drone, his stance non-threatening. His eyes were focused on the horse, yet his arms still felt the impression of the woman he’d held just long enough to throw her out of danger. In no more than the few seconds it had taken, his senses had registered the heat, the feel of her fragile body, the scent of her lilac soap.

  Dammit, she was still there, on her hands and knees at the very edge of the porch. “Don’t scream again. Don’t make a sound,” he warned without turning his head.

  Moving forward at a steady pace, he murmured, “Luther, you dumb son of a bitch, roll under the fence and don’t move. I’ll take care of you later.” The tone was gentle, the threat unmistakable.

  For long moments Matt continued to reassure the horse until Jericho, still skittish, allowed himself to be herded through the open gate of the horse-pen. A few of the mares, kept in a separate section, were uneasy, but most had gone back to grazing on the sparse beach grass.

  Luther quickly rolled out from under the fence, but made no effort to get to his feet. Matt didn’t know if he was hurt or not. At the moment, he didn’t much give a damn. He took time to glance toward the porch where Crank and Peg, drawn no doubt by Rose’s screams, hovered in the doorway. Crank held Annie in his arms.

  Matt turned back to the shuddering stallion. “All right, boy, we’ll walk on the shore directly, have ourselves a long swim. Cool down now, that’s a good fellow,” he droned. Reaching out slowly, he stroked Jericho’s sweaty flank. He was no great hand with horses, but he was learning. Handling an animal wasn’t too different from handling a green crew. Firmness, fairness and consistency. Jericho was the one thing he would miss when he got his ship back. Jericho and Annie.

  Annie and Jericho.

  And Rose.

  “Luther, if I had a whip, I’d flog the hide off your worthless carcass.” He spoke softly, but in a carrying tone as he made his way to where the hapless young mate lay, still winded, on the ground.

  Reaching down, Matt jerked him to his feet and held him there by a fistful of damp, sandy shirt. Both men were shaking, Matt with a combination of rage and relief, Luther with fear.

  “Do you have the least notion what you nearly did? You and your damn-fool showing off, you could’ve killed Rose and Annie!” He kept his voice down so as not to frighten Annie, but rage subdued was twice as potent.

  Releasing his shirt, Matt dug his fingers into Luther’s broad, bony shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled. “What the devil does it take to knock some sense into that thick skull of yours? Just what in hell were you trying to prove?”

  Rose couldn’t have moved away if her life depended on it.

  “You all right, Rosie girl?” Crank spoke from the doorway behind her, and Rose gulped and nodded. Evidently reassured, they took the whimpering baby inside, Peg’s rusty baritone muttering words meant to comfort.

  Her gaze glued to the horrifying tableau before her, she whispered, “Don’t shake him so hard, Matt—oh, God, don’t hit him!

  It was like slipping into a familiar nightmare, only this time the sun was shining brightly. This time there was no rain, no deafening thunder, no jagged bolts of lightning tearing open the sky as there had been that other time.

  Hearing the anger in Matt’s voice, Rose cringed, trying not to hear the words, recognizing only too well the emotion that drove him.

  “—trust you to stay away from that animal?”

  “—trust fund!”

  “—damned killer—!”

  “You damned cheating bitch!”

  “—know better than to risk your fool neck—?”

  “I’ll teach you better than to lie to me, make a fool of me!”

  Her mind still trapped in another
time, another place, she watched, horrified, as Matt shook the younger man one more time, released him and lifted his fist. “No! Please, don’t!” Rose thought she screamed the words, and perhaps she did, because instead of striking him, Matt only shoved him so that he fell back onto the sand. Leaving him there, he turned and strode away, back rigid, hard hands fisted at his sides.

  Utterly drained, Rose crawled farther back in the shelter of the porch and cowered against the wall, knees drawn up protectively, her head buried in her clasped arms. Slowly the bonds of fear eased their hold, but she was still trembling when Crank came and led her into the house. He made her sit at the table, poured her a mug of scalding tea and dosed it with brandy. “Helps with aching bones. Heard tell it’s good for curing the shakes. Can’t say I ever had ’em, myself, though, so I won’t swear to it.”

  She forced a stiff smile. Hot liquid sloshed over her hand. She ignored it.

  Crank pulled out a chair and sat across the scrubbed pine table. “Lute didn’t mean no harm, you know. He was only trying to spark up to you, the way boys’ll do when they fancy a girl.”

  “He doesn’t fancy me,” Rose denied too quickly. But she knew in her heart that the old cook was right. She had selfishly encouraged the admiration in Luther’s eyes, basking in the rare feeling that someone found her attractive even though she was penniless, plain as a stump and both taller and older than he was.

  “Luther’s my friend, just as you’re my friend, Crank. You and Peg.”

  “Aye, and don’t forget the cap’n,” the old man said solemnly.

  Rose sighed and took a cautious sip of the potent tea. Was she that transparent? Did they all know how she felt about Matt? How odd, she thought, when even she didn’t know how she felt. She only knew he frightened her as much as he fascinated her. She knew there were dark currents underlying the thin patina of civility.

  Perhaps like the moth and the flame, she was drawn to dangerous, destructive men.

  Matt poured a dipperful of water from the rain barrel over his head and shoulders. He’d sent Luther into the village to fetch the mail, not because he expected a letter, but because the boy needed a task and Matt needed to put some distance between them until he could work out the best way to handle it.