The Captain's Lady

by Robecca Austin

  Beside her, Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “All of London knows, sir, you would sooner be at sea than mingle with the ton.”

  Nicholas did not rebuke Daniel’s claim, nor did he release Isabella from his gaze. “Even I, a bastard, recognize the advantages of a gentry wife.”

  When he glanced at Daniel, his jaw hardened, making the bones along his cheek sharper. This was not the same man from the balcony who took life in stride. This man could draw blood.

  “Enough,” she said, rising to her feet, wishing her knees would stop shaking. Married, Nicholas had the power to hurt her more deeply than Emsley ever could. That would not do. She had no yearning to wed a man who saw her as nothing more than an elevated step stool. Nicholas was no gentleman, she reminded herself. Turning towards Daniel, she said, “I must speak with the captain alone.”

  Daniel hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll wait in the parlor.”

  “It will not help matters.” She shook her head. “We must come to an understanding.”

  Daniel ran rigid fingers through his powdered hair. Had he aged in the past hour? Daniel’s eyes moved between the captain and Isabella, as though realizing defeat for the first time. Her heart squeezed. They’d become fast friends in a short time, and she hated how this situation was hurting him.

  “Do not hesitate to send word if…”

  She nodded her gratitude and took a step towards Daniel. Nicholas’s hand reached out, cool fingers enclosing her wrist, halting Isabella at his side.

  Daniel inhaled sharply.

  Isabella followed her friend’s gaze, her flesh prickling at the sight of Nicholas’s dark fingers against her ungloved hand. Such contrast. Was he dark everywhere? Her eyes moved up the length of his arm, and when they rested on his face, she blushed. His grip tightened as if reading her thoughts.

  Daniel cleared his throat. Grateful for the distraction, she turned towards her friend and murmured her thanks, promising to send word if needed.

  The parlor door closed, followed a short time later by the audible opening and closing of the front door. When she faced Nicholas again, he was frowning.

  “Do you love him?”

  “What if I did?” She tilted her head to the side.

  He blinked. “If you love him, I’ll release you.”

  He sat rigid, awaiting her answer, his gaze holding hers. She saw through his bravado. “You’re jealous?”

  He stood and she took a step backwards, her head tipping up to meet his eyes. Wary, guarded eyes.

  “You shall have it then, your freedom.”

  She smiled. “I’ve always had that.”

  “It was never my intention to snuff it out.”

  Her long lashes fanned her cheek. “Why the change of heart?”

  “Because lass, I have no desire to play gentry games, not when others depend on me. I can give you a home, coin to spend as you wish. My kin can be yours, people that will care for you as only family can. Aye, and I can offer bits of passion if you’ll have it, but I can’t give you love.”

  She did not believe him incapable of love. Isabella frowned. Honest in his dealing, yes, but incapable? “I do not love Daniel,” she said after a time.

  “He wants to marry you.”

  “Only to save me from you.”

  “The uncivilized captain.” He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

  “Yes.” She shivered when his fingers brushed the outline of her ear. “Yet, I do nothing except think of you.”

  “Let me care for you, Isabella.” His arms encircled her back, drawing her flush against his chest. He kissed her hair, her right temple, then the left. His lips moved over her forehead, brushing lightly over the lines of distress between her brows until they melted away to softness. To him, she was delicate and innocent to the harshness of the world, everything he was not. She was sunshine. Light that both tempted and beckoned, but always beyond his reach. He kissed the outline of her ear, drawing a gasp against his collar that inflamed his skin.

  Nicholas lowered them onto the velvet sofa. He sat on the edge of the seat, hip brushing the delicate curve of her waist.

  “Mr. Ferguson.” His name was a husky whisper.

  Slowly, he lowered his head to hers, anticipating her rejection, receiving none. Their breaths mingled for an instant before their lips touched. Her lips were softer, sweeter than he remembered.

  He coaxed, and she yielded. He kissed the side of her mouth with a gentleness foreign to him. She trembled, and his lips curved at the small movement. His lips moved to the length of her throat and she angled her head, exposing more of her creamy skin. She sighed, and her sound of pleasure made him hungry. She’d be a generous lover, not withholding her delight from their passions, and the knowledge made him eager to explore all of her delights. He kissed below her ear, taking the soft lobe between his teeth, and groaned when he felt her hand against his chest. He kissed her cheek. Her freckled nose… She was looking at him with eyes the color of rich chestnut. Eyes clouded in desire.

  “My brave lass, you should close your eyes.”

  “Then I wouldn’t see you.”

  Nicholas shivered at the thought of her watching.

  His lovers always closed their eyes, shutting him out, and he had not minded before because the act was no more than a means to slake his lust. Except for their mutual release, no words of passion were spoken. He wanted more with Isabella. He wanted to be part of her lovemaking, and her to share his.

  His tongue moistened her lips. He blew gently. Her eyes widened, and she gasped at the intimacy of warm air against her cool mouth.

  Nicholas chuckled.

  This time when his mouth covered hers, it was hard and demanding. His tongue slid between her parted lips in an exploration of need. Warm and moist. He skimmed the ridges of her teeth, the roof of her mouth.

  Her arms laced around his neck, fingers gripping the thick strands of his hair, holding him close. When he thought she would give no more, Isabella held his tongue captive and sucked. He murmured his approval, letting her have her way, relinquishing control as his mouth twisted this way and that. She nipped at his lips, then licked, mimicking his earlier play before seizing his mouth again.

  His heart drummed in his ear. He wanted her hands to touch him everywhere. Needed to feel her skin against his.

  Bunched above her knees, the laces on the fabric of her dress tickled his arm. His finger made lazy circles at her ankles, caressing the warm flesh under her stockings. She murmured her pleasure into his open mouth, her thighs shifting restlessly in welcome. His hand moved up her leg, caressing the sensitive flesh behind her knees. He swallowed her shallow breaths, greedy for all of her.

  Her thighs squeezed around his hand. Nicholas could not remember wanting anything as badly as he did her pleasure in this moment. His chest tightened, each breath painful with desire. He kissed her ear with open-mouthed eagerness, willing her to trust him. “Jesu, Isabella, let me have this.”

  Silence dragged, until a single word filled the air. “Yes.”

  He wasn’t sure who said it. It no longer mattered.

  Nicholas inhaled sharply when her thighs parted, falling away with his gentle teasing. Beneath layers of material, he felt her moist heat. He murmured words of encouragement when her nails dug into his shoulders, delighted in her excitement and wanton pleading.

  “That’s it,” he coaxed, finding the opening of her pantalets. When his hand brushed the delicate curls, they both gasped.

  Sweet heavens. Nicholas wanted nothing more than to taste her. Burying his face in the curve of her throat, he breathed deep, found her core, and stroked the engorged bud. His other hand tightened around her shoulder as she moaned, writhing beneath him. He too shuddered, panting for every ounce of self-restraint he possessed. Jesu, if he did not end this agony soon, he would take her.

  “Look at me, lass.”

  When she did, Nicholas kissed her. Her back arched. He swallowed her scream. Her hips arched up to meet the demand of his
fingers. He held her, drawing out the last of her climax until she went slack, exhausted.

  “How many servants do you have?” he asked after a time. He was propped up on his elbow, fingers tracing the base of her throat. His gentle touch was doing wicked things along the curves at the top of her breasts. She felt comforted by his warmth and weight pressed against her side. Even fully clothed, she felt his heat and imagined what it would be like to have his lean and naked body pressed against hers. Isabella sighed when his touch left her breasts to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

  “Two.” Her brows drew together. “The Berths: Pashkin and his wife, Edyeth.”

  “No chaperone or lady’s maid.” He looked about the room. “You have no protection here, lass.” He held up his hand to still her objections. “A lady in this part of town will soon draw attention, whether or not they possess trinkets.”

  “Mr. Berths—”

  “Did not escort you yesterday evening,” he said. “Sooner or later someone will seek you out.”

  Isabella sniffed. “I have little of value.”

  Nicholas shook his head. “A lady of wealth living alone always has something of value. No thief will believe your circumstance when you support servants.”

  “In exchange for smaller wages and a home, they fill the roles of cook and butler. I could not afford them otherwise.”

  “There are worse men than me lurking about, lass.” They stared at each other. “Let me protect you.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Her cheeks paled, losing their flush.

  “Come home with me.”

  “Leave…?” Isabella sat up. “You can’t mean for me to leave my home?”

  “Aye, leave.” Nicholas’s chest squeezed. He would be damned if he left her within grasping of Daniel or anyone else wanting to take advantage of her lack of protection. Even now, after he had reassured himself she was his, jealousy gnawed at his bones.

  Cassie, Nicholas reminded himself as his heart tightened in his chest, he was marrying for Cassie. To give her what he could not: a mother, a home away from the constant dangers of sea, and a chance at respectability. He had made a promise. However, sweet Cassie was not the only one in need of protection. Whether she believed it or not, so was Isabella. She pretended to be wild and carefree, not caring what society thought of her and the scandals, but Nicholas saw beyond her walls. Moreover, what lay beneath tugged at his soul. She was vulnerable and in need of a place to fit in, to call her own. That suited him. He would give her a place. In his world.

  He ran tense fingers through his hair. She didn’t care for him, so he’d do the next best thing, he thought. He would tie her to him, make her see only he could really stir her passion. Only he could make her blood run hot, give her what she needed.

  The door opened. Nicholas did not turn and was grateful that the back of the sofa hid their tousled clothing. He squared his shoulders, stormy eyes holding shocked ones, and barked an order to the unfortunate soul that crossed the threshold. “Pack Lady Isabella’s trunks. Have them ready by two.”

  “You’re mad,” Isabella whispered, her eyes widening at his words.

  He felt daft. No woman had ever driven him to such lengths. The first time he laid eyes on her, Nicholas had wanted more—more than a night in her arms or a quick tumble. In that moment, he had desired true affection, maybe even love. He swallowed past the growing tightness in his throat, realizing that before Isabella, he hadn’t the need for such emotions.

  “It’s not proper.” Her fingers smoothed her skirts. “For an unwed lady to be in the home of a bachelor.”

  “Neither is it proper for an unwed lady to be in the company of rogues unchaperoned.”

  Isabella squeezed her eyes shut, color creeping up her neck. “Daniel is no rogue, he’s a friend.”

  He raised a dark brow. “You seem bent on shattering what’s left of your reputation.”

  “At least Daniel had the good sense of a private meeting.”

  Nicholas chuckled. “You were responsive on the balcony, as well. I was content smoking my cigar until you came, in need of rescuing.”

  Isabella flushed. “Rescuing… Why you…”

  “Shall I remind you?” The side of his mouth curved in triumph. She retreated further along the sofa. He let his gaze roam the entire length of her, penetrating the wall she desperately tried to build between them. He may never have her love, but he had her desire. Everywhere his eyes lingered he saw proof of that: her bosom swelled above the low-cut gown, her skin reddened into a heated flush, her lips swollen and moist. His eyes travelled lower still, to the sensuous flare of her hips. At her swift intake of air, his eyes fastened on the subtle trembling of her lower lip.

  “I won’t marry you,” she said, a note of defiance in her voice.

  “Aye, you’ll have me.”

  She blinked at the husky rasp in his voice.

  “And…” He tilted her chin, drawing her close; the fresh smell of woman and the lemons she used in her tea tickling his nose. “There will be no one else.”

  “I’m fully capable of managing my own affairs.”

  He smiled. She would never admit to the advantage of marrying him. He was not of her peerage, and he had put her reputation further at risk. And yet, he needed her, Cassie needed her, and, whether she admitted it or not, his wealth would restore Isabella to the life she was accustomed. She could be as stubborn as she liked, but Nicholas knew she was not foolish, and she would come to see the situation the same way he did.

  “And what a splendid job you’ve done.”

  Her lips thinned.

  “Tell me, Isabella; are you indebted to your servants?”

  She hesitated. It was the only answer he needed. He had no idea how she intended to gain an income, but he knew she was far too delicate to step outside the protection of the ton. He had witnessed men and women reduced to shameless acts for a slice of moldy bread, and he would be damned if he watched her experience the same condition.

  Nicholas narrowed his eyes. There were other ways for a woman of her pedigree to turn a coin, such as paramour to some wealthy rogue or faithless husband. The thought of her lavishing her attention on another gentleman did not sit well, either.

  No, he was correct in his assessment of Isabella: she was an investment, his investment.

  “I’ve always paid them first and make no protest to Edyeth or Pashkin finding other employ.”

  “And the market, how do you plan to pay the vendors?”

  “That’s not fair—” Her hands knotted.

  No, it was not. Life between women and men were not fair no matter how much he wished it so. He should feel like a cad for using the circumstances to his advantage and causing her distress. “And the landlord, Isabella, do you plan to pay him with favors?” Anticipating her outrage, Nicholas caught her wrist easily in his large hand. “Or did you plan to take a lover? Daniel, perhaps?”

  Her lips parted in wordless denial.

  He held her close for as long as he dared. “Go.”

  Isabella jumped to her feet, her hands making quick work righting her skirts. In another circumstance, he would have laughed at her modesty, especially after what they had just shared.

  She paused, her eyes dropping to the evidence of his arousal.

  “Go,” he repeated and smiled tightly. She backed away. “Oh, and lass—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Be ready to leave.”

  “You still mean to…?”

  “Aye,” he said. “Even more now that I know the state of affairs.”

  Eleven

  Isabella gathered her skirt in both hands and took the stairs two at a time, not stopping until she reached her quarters. She braced her back against the solid wooden frame of her door and took a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow. She opened her eyes, looking around the simple room, her gaze touching furnishings she had come to appreciate for their small comfort. There was no solace in them now, only the thun
der of her pulse in her ears and the knowledge that Nicholas waited downstairs, expecting her to do his bidding.

  A gentle breeze blew into the room, the curtains dancing. Isabella thought of climbing out the window as she had done countless times as a child in her father’s home. Her lips trembled at the idea of rebelling. The thought was shattered by the knowledge that Nicholas would be waiting in the garden beneath the window if she dared to flee.

  Two thumps drummed against the wooden door at her back. The vibration, rather than the sudden burst of sound, startled her. She turned, stepped backwards. Did he come to watch her pack?

  “I brought you tea, m’lady.”

  Isabella looked first to Edyeth before her eyes rested on the tray she held. She moved aside when the older woman brushed into the room. “I thought you were… Oh, never mind.”

  “M’lady?”

  “We’re in private, Edyeth. Call me Isabella.”

  “Mr. Ferguson will think me brazen for addressing you by your Christian name.”

  “That doesn’t change the fact that we are friends.” Isabella gave Edyeth’s arm a gentle squeeze. “No one cares that we’re close.”

  Edyeth wrinkled her nose. “We both know that’s a tale. Now, why don’t you have a seat and a sip of tea?” She set the tray on the small round table Isabella often used as a desk. “Then we can get down to the business of packing. Your Mr. Ferguson is insistent on making you his wife.”

  “He’s not my mister anything.” Isabella rubbed her temples.

  The older woman’s brows arched. “You met him at the ball, did you not?”

  Isabella nodded.

  “Agreed to marry him, no?”

  Isabella sat in the chair and said, “The entire event was rather swift.”

  “Then he be yours, alright.” Edyeth chuckled.

  “Oh Edyeth, what have I done?” Isabella brought the steaming cup of tea to her lips.

  “You were hurting. Pains of the heart can make a woman do things with no thought at all.” Edyeth shook her head. “When you came home from that party, you had more life in you than I’d ever seen. I’m guessing Mr. Ferguson had something to do with that.”