She worried her lower lip and looked into the darkness for a long time. He was afraid she would cry or refuse to answer.
“I’m not here to throw stones,” he said. “You can trust me.”
“I’m afraid I haven’t trusted anyone for a long time.”
“But can you trust me?”
She faced him, her eyes glossed with unshed tears. “It’s of no great importance, is it. One more person knowing will not change my fate. This time there is no one to blame. Tonight had been a foolish idea. I had hoped…” Her lashes lowered before she turned away. “If you must know, sir, he told his friends I was a cold fish. I only heard whispers, of course.” Her fingers gripped the rail. “It would explain why no other suiter showed interest. The only way to know I’m not affectionate—rigid was the word he used—is to ‘sample the goods,’ you might say.”
He stiffened, resisting the urge to ask if there was any truth behind the words. Isabella was correct, it no longer mattered, he realized, standing behind her. He did not dare move any closer to the scent of her perfume or her pinned hair that revealed the slender curve of her neck.
“You see, Captain, not only am I soiled, I misjudged his character by miles.”
Knowing someone else had touched her, tasted her, hurt her, didn’t sit well. He did not intend to add threads of gossip to her life, but there was little choice. Tom had not mentioned that piece of gossip, and he had an unsettling feeling the man knew. “Do you mind that I make my trade at sea?”
She faced him, her forehead wrinkling. “I don’t see what that has to do with me… But if you make an honest living and earn an honest pay?”
“I do.”
“Then what does it matter?”
It mattered to him. “I hope you remember that.” He covered her hand that gripped the rail with his as the balcony doors pushed open and bathed them in light. Isabella stilled. Her eyes went cold. Nicholas saw fear and embarrassment flash across her face, little shudders running the length of her. His grip on her hand tightened. Her eyes locked with his in a silent plea. For what, his protection? If she hoped to compose her emotions, he did not intend to give her any time. Tom insisted he attend the ball to seek potential clients. His cousin urged him to think of his daughter’s future. What Nicholas found was a solution to both his plights.
His mouth dried. Mine. That was the thought that went through him when she had danced earlier.
“Lady Isabella, have you been taken advantage of?” Emsley asked.
Nicholas shifted to face the man that blocked the balcony, with the duchess’s nephew hard on his heels. He was not one for spectacles, but this once, Nicholas wanted to announce his intent, see their shocked faces when they discovered he had bested them. More than that, he wanted all of London to know that Lady Isabella would no longer cower. Not with him behind her.
“Come along, Lady Isabella,” Emsley said.
The man’s gaze was cold when it met Nicholas’s eyes. He expected jealousy, embarrassment, or even rage, but not the void of emotion he found staring back at him.
“Another one,” someone whispered. “Her poor mother must be rolling in her grave.”
“Hush, Margret.”
“Her father, Lord Carolus, will have no choice but to completely disown her now,” another said.
Nicholas squeezed Isabella’s hand as she stepped beside him. She stood brave, but he felt her anger in the fist that clenched his fingers. He did not think she realized she still touched him.
“What do you want, Emsley?” Isabella asked.
“Did he force himself on you?”
“Don’t worry. He shall not have to marry me. He will not save you from guilt.”
The crowd tightened. Lord Daniel pushed his way to the front, putting another barrier between Isabella and Emsley.
Emsley’s eyes narrowed. “Not because I turned from marriage… You’ve made a spectacle with this gentleman.” His lips pinched when he saw their joined hands. “You don’t have to… I am sure with time you’ll find a suitable match.”
The man all but called her a whore, then declared himself out of her reach. Before Nicholas realized, his fist snapped forward. The crowd gasped. Emsley staggered backward, his right hand reaching to cover his jaw. Nicholas saw a glimpse of disbelief shadow his eyes before it was replaced by that seething rage he had sensed earlier. “Lady Isabella is my betrothed. It would do you well to remember that the next time you are in her presence.”
He turned toward Isabella, offered his hand and willed her to take hold of it. When she did, he guided them through the ballroom. For a brief moment, he wondered if she understood the implications of his statement. Her eyes widened as she read each face they passed, and his callus fingers tightened around slender ones until she met his gaze. At that moment, it did not matter if his announcement shocked her, because his every muscle said she was his.
Six
Betrothed.
That word, it whispered past her lips when she exhaled. It was a noose around her neck, choking all rational thought.
Hands clutched in her lap, she sat across from Captain Nicholas in his private carriage. The vehicle was light, smart, and built for comfort rather than mere elegance. She glanced up from under thick lashes and their eyes locked.
Except for asking directions to her home, he had said few words, and those were clipped as he relayed them to his driver. She sensed the reason for his foul mood. Served him right. Once again, he’d acted out of turn.
He looked at her as if sensing the direction of her thoughts. His lips thinned—no doubt to keep his outrage at bay—and his eyes were dark, not from their earlier lust, but anger. He’d already regretted his impulsive decision, she imagined, as well he should.
Any wicked notion Isabella had to let him stew until she reached the safety of her home quickly vanished. He had saved her further embarrassment, now it was her turn. She would release him from his commitment. It was only fair. She had nothing to offer. No dowry, not her father’s backing or name, heavens, not even the dignity of an unsoiled reputation. Isabella remembered the eyes and ears that had gathered around the balcony and could not resist rubbing the gooseflesh that rose along her exposed arms.
Tipping her chin, she prepared to set him free. She had been in this position once before and would face the ton a second time. She had discovered she was stronger and far more capable than most believed. “You should not have gone to such lengths to defend me.” A nervous smile curved her lips. “But I must say, seeing Emsley’s shock was worth the entire fiasco.”
His jaw flexed.
“Thank you,” she said. When he did not respond or move, other than the clenching and unclenching of his fist, she waved towards the door. “You may stop the carriage, sir—”
“Call me Nicholas.”
“Mr. Ferguson, there is no need to go any further. We are well away from the prying eyes at the party, and a brisk walk—”
“I’ll take you home.”
Her confidence wavered at his conviction. “But there’s no need.”
“I don’t break my oaths.” He continued as if she had not spoken. “And I’ve promised to marry you.”
Isabella gasped. She had anticipated that he would be stubborn, but for him to insist on standing by a rash decision was beyond her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“A man is nothing without his word,” he said.
“So, you’ll marry me out of some silly notion of honor?” she asked. “Don’t you see, I’m giving you reprieve.”
His eyes drifted from her face to her neckline, then to her bodice, narrowing when her breasts rose and fell. A splash of heat tingled along her skin, pooling in the exact spot where his eyes lingered. What was he doing?
“I’m marrying you because I damn well choose to.”
“Well, I won’t marry you. We don’t love each other, and—”
In a swift move, he pulled her to the edge of her seat, surrounding her legs between his open ones. Heat hummed,
settled where their thighs touched. Her breath hitched.
“Nay. I’ll have you, in every way a man can have a woman.” Beneath her chin, his forefinger tilted her head until she looked into his eyes. “A husband and his wife.”
It took sheer will for Nicholas not to loosen the pins to her hair and let those deep waves tumble free, to bury his hands and nose until he had his fill. Instead, he sat back until his shoulders braced the carriage wall. Isabella. The name suited her. She was all bells, from her thick wavy hair to her lush mouth. He could have done worse, and shuddered at the thought of an unresponsive woman. No, Lady Isabella would do fine.
The wheels of the carriage landed in a hole, jolting her forward. His hands shot out, taking her shoulders into his grip, steadying her.
“Are you alright?”
Isabella’s eyes lifted. “Thank you,” she said, and pushed back into her seat.
His fingers itched to be back on those warm shoulders, and he curled them into fists to resist the urge. He thumped his balled hand against the framing, once, twice, in quick succession. “Watch the pots, man!”
“Can’t we come to an arrangement, Captain?”
His brows rose.
“I don’t think you want to marry. In fact, I think your words were a surprise to both of us.”
He did not answer.
“You’re an outsider. Let me teach you of polite society.” Her astute perception stunned him.
“You think I wish to mingle with your peers?” he asked to conceal the fact that she’d assessed him correctly. And in a mere matter of a carriage ride.
“Why else would the captain of a cargo ship attend a ball, if not for wealthy clients?”
Intrigued, he asked, “And what does the wee lass want for her lessons?” When she bit her lower lip, his eyes narrowed. “You would risk further embarrassment than marry?”
“In time, people will forget, move on.”
“You don’t believe that.”
She flushed, turned away.
For the remainder of their journey, he did little else but think on his words. He had never reacted to any woman so strongly.
He brushed aside the small pinch of guilt knotting his chest, remembering his need for a wife before his next voyage. Their marriage would be a mutually beneficial arrangement—he needed a mother for his daughter, and Isabella needed a husband for the security of marriage.
When the carriage stopped, he swung the door open, looking at the houses hidden behind thick shadows before hopping onto the street. He offered Isabella his hand.
“Five minutes,” he said to his driver.
When Chambers nodded, he led Isabella up the path to the front of her small townhome. The night blanketed the faded paint and chipped stones that threatened to careen down onto him. “How long have you lived here?” Nicholas’s fingers pried a loose brick from the wall before tossing it onto a patch of dried grass. “Doesn’t the landlord make repairs?”
Her gaze lingered where the stone landed. “It’s not so old.”
“Practically rustic.” He dusted his fingers on his pant leg.
When the door opened, she stood at the entrance like a shield. He almost laughed. If she had intended to change his mind about marriage a few moments ago with talk of teaching him about the ways of polite society, she had strengthened his resolve instead when he took note of the state of her home. The fact that she attended her door told him she lived alone and without the protection due her station. Every instinct warned to hire a guard at once, but he knew she would not appreciate his highhandedness, least not this night. Not until she had time to think about his proposal of marriage. Taking a step, Nicholas leaned forward, bracing his palms against the aging door frame. He never backed down from a challenge. Jesu, may he roast in hell if he started now. His head dipped until their faces were mere inches apart. “Don’t you ken, lass. Nothing will keep me from you now.”
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered, backing further into the room.
He grinned. He would give her time, as much as this night provided. Halfway down the narrow path he stopped. “Chambers will pick you up at ten.”
“I have appointments.”
“Ten,” he repeated, then entered his carriage. The townhouse door slammed. Rattled. He looked out the quarter lights, expecting the wee house to crumble around her ears.
Seven
Harold Duncan glanced up from his drink as Virginia snuck into Nicholas’s library. Her heavy robe was pulled tight, hiding what he knew was the black silk nightgown he’d gifted her the last time he was on land. He admired the slender curve of her waist and rounded bottom. A long thick braid held golden hair together. He stared at the braid over the rim of his glass, making note to set it free before the night ended.
Hours after they had docked, he wandered to the library, poured himself a brandy, and thought of his future. A life he hoped would include Virginia. In fact, Harold had done little else except think of her from the time they had started home. He woke many nights from vivid dreams of her writhing beneath him, and, by the saints, he was going to see each of those dreams come true.
With Nicholas determined to find a mother for young Cassie, the question of his own future and the life he wanted for himself nipped at his heels.
The door closed. The distinctive click of a turning key reached his ears. They were sealed in. He didn’t speak as she took her sweet time turning to face him. Her shoulders were rigid when she finally looked at him. It occurred to Harold that she was never truly relaxed around him, except in moments of passion. Well it was high time he asked for more, he decided. If he was going to make a decision regarding Virginia, he wanted a hell of a lot more than a warm woman in his bed. He also needed one out of it.
Not taking his eyes from Virginia, he leaned forward, rubbing his left leg, just above the knee.
“You haven’t used the healing oils, I see.”
“The pain is an old reminder why I can’t return to the Highlands.”
“It will get worse, you know.”
“Not if you nurse it.”
Her lashes fanned, her eyes meeting his. “The doctor—”
“That quack wants to reset the fracture, a break that happened when I was six years old at the hands of greedy uncles.”
Virginia’s fingers knotted together. She took small steps forward. They went through a moment’s awkwardness each time he returned from long trips. Did she consider fleeing or would she brave his arms around her, wee kisses, and whispered words of endearment?
“You’re a grown man now, have you thought of returning to the Highlands and taking control of the lands and clan your father ruled?”
“To what end? My father is dead, and my mother died not long after we fled.”
He read wariness in the depths of her eyes and knew the reason she asked these questions. She anticipated both his rejection and departure. He also knew the reasons for her caution with men, deep-seated reasons. His finger circled the rim of his empty glass, and he wondered how long her reasons would be enough, how long would he be willing to stay at bay.
“In England, the lands could be acquired in the courts, without bloodshed, my claim to them proven with the papers of my birth. But it wasn’t the same when my mother left the Highlands.” He closed his eyes. “I believe my uncles had my father killed, and my mother realized it and fled.” He looked at Virginia. “They will try again the moment I set foot in Scotland.”
She nodded, then walked closer, a subtle shifting of her expression telling him that she accepted his reasoning. “I didn’t think you’d come home this soon.”
“Nor I.”
“Was your trip a success?”
“For the most part.” Harold relaxed further into his chair, stretching his legs. “We had already departed the coast of Africa with our cargo when Nicholas decided to return home without delay.” He refilled his glass from the bottle of liquor on the small side table. “We came upon six-year-old Cassie asking two cabin la
ds why boys itched and decided it was time to end her voyage days.” He chuckled, recalling the memory. “I don’t think Nicholas paid heed to her gender or her curious nature until that moment, though I’ve told him, from the time she was able to walk, living aboard was nay place to raise a bairn.”
“Oh…”
Harold chuckled. “You could imagine Nicholas’s anger when the lads answered Cassie’s wee question before we could stop their discussion. The lads told her, they didn’t ken, only that ‘men itched on occasion.’
“‘All pirates?’ Cassie had asked, her nose wrinkling.
“‘Especially pirates,’ the lads had said.”
Virginia’s eyes widened, then she threw back her head and laughed.
Something shifted in Harold, a barrier perhaps, as the sound fluttered over his skin, settling deep. Now, he wanted nothing more than to have those lips on him.
“Nicholas has come to the conclusion it’s time to find the child a mother.” He took another sip of his drink, eyes focused on her reaction. She sobered, and if it were not for the lack of lighting in the room, Harold would swear she paled slightly. “He is bent on the notion it is time Cassie learned to be a proper lady.” He made no attempt to mask his opinion on the matter. It was much more than sea being in the blood, Harold thought. Cassie was a sailor in the making. God help them when she found her sea legs chopped and given a mother to boot.
“The party—”
“Aye.”
“You didn’t mention a wife, only a mother.”
He wasn’t convinced Nicholas accepted the notion of a wife and the duties that came along with the title of husband.
“He doesn’t see it as a true marriage,” she said.
It was a statement. That was what he suspected Virginia wanted: the security of marriage without the obligations of one. Harold shrugged, not trusting himself to words. Anger slowly licking along his spine.
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