It took every ounce of restraint to remain where he was. Her skin looked soft and as creamy as fresh milk. Nicholas imagined the feel of his hands against the back of her knees, kneading the flesh there as he moved higher still, until he cupped the fullness of her bottom. Would she let him have his way? His erection throbbed painfully against his breeches.
When she stepped out of the bathwater and wrapped herself in the robe, only then did he allow himself to breathe.
The air was charged with current. Was she as aware as he? Did she feel the untapped energy between them?
She faced him suddenly, eyes wide. Her hands clutched the front of the damp robe. “How long have you stood there?”
“Long enough. You smell very nice.”
“Nicholas…”
If she meant the name as protest, with her whispered groan, it only served to fan the flames of his desire. He felt her roused alertness as keenly as he felt his own.
Nicholas did not want her hidden from his gaze. He wanted her free. She was so damn bonnie. Never had he longed to make love to a woman as he did Isabella. Cherish every shared touch. He had never made love to another woman. He’d bedded them, but he’d never savored. He’d touched without feeling.
He stepped closer. His eyes narrowed as she took a step back, then another. Still he followed.
With each step, he painted the image of tussled damp hair, wet dressing robe and flushed skin to memory. They would be his refuge during the many nights at sea.
Isabella shivered, the bed firmly at her back.
“No more running.”
She was fighting her attraction to him, he realized, had been fighting for a long time. The knowledge was a dull ache in the pit of his stomach. He wanted one night of freedom. One night of trust in her arms. But he knew, even before closing the distance, one night would never be enough.
Her pink lips pursed. “You don’t mean to consummate our marriage here? The walls are thin… The entire establishment would know.” Isabella flushed.
Nicholas grinned, once again struck by her cocktail of naiveté and recklessness.
Fingers gentle, his hand brushed the back of her nape, working its way into her hair until it spilled from his fist. He tugged gently, causing her to gasp until her head tilted, eyes holding his. “Aye, lass.”
Against the palm of his hand, her hair was soft silk. The short strands wrapped around his fingers as if to keep him there. He had no intention of leaving.
Isabella’s head fell back as he slowly started freeing the robe from her grasp. “Don’t call me that—lass.”
“The first night we met, do ye remember that?”
She didn’t answer as he unwrapped a delicate shoulder. Her neck stretched and he saw what her words denied: the quickening of her pulse. The creamy top of her breasts taunted him. So smooth. So soft.
“I told you I would have you in every way a mon can have a woman, a wife her husband. My bonnie fire-cat.” He lowered his lips to the treasure he’d unwrapped.
“Don’t call me that either.”
Nicholas smiled against her shoulder. Fire. She was heat and he wanted to be engulfed by it, until there was no way out but to go deeper.
“Only the bargain,” she whispered, as if to reassure herself.
She wanted to steel herself against him. Before he answered, his lips moved to the base of her neck. Finding her life’s pulse, he licked the spot and groaned when the drumming quickened under his tongue.
“Forget the arrangement, lass. Let me love you.”
He slipped the garment completely off, letting it pool at their feet. He needed this; she had possessed him for so long, Nicholas thought he’d go mad. Tonight he wanted to love her, possess her and claim her as his, even if for a short while. He wanted her to love him, not because he was her husband or because of their bargain or because she pitied his past, but for the man he was by his own right.
Her small hands clutched his shoulders.
Again he kissed the curve of her neck, the base of her ear, until he took her earlobe between his teeth. She arched into him, burying her face into the curve of his neck.
Nicholas squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for mercy when her warm breath fanned his neck. But the Gods were otherwise occupied. She pressed against him. Nicholas cursed. He felt the swollen tips of her breasts against his chest. Jesu, what sweet torture. When he thought he could not possibly burn any hotter, she mimicked his actions and licked the flesh at the base of his neck. He sucked in a sharp breath.
“Let me love ye.”
She nodded, her arms closing around his neck. It was the permission he sought. As much as he desired her, had she refused, he would have walked away.
A thrill of excitement ran along his spine. Nicholas took her into his arms, molding her against him. His lips descended, covering hers. He was a starved man. Her lips parted under the pressure of his, and this time when he claimed her mouth, his kisses were hard and demanding. Her hands moved to the back of his neck, holding his head closer. It was all the motivation he needed. Lifting her off the floor, he placed Isabella on the bed, breaking their kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head and kick off his boots using the toe-to-heel method.
Blushing, she averted her eyes.
“Look at me, lass.”
She did, with heat that matched his.
Nicholas moved onto the bed, taking her to the center with him. She was soft and lush. “Jesu, Isabella.” He kissed her again. Slow this time. Savoring her flavor. He licked along the seam of her mouth, pulling her trembling lower lip between his teeth. “Ye are bonnie.” Their tongues met and he shivered, the sensation taking root in his soul. Torn between prolonging their fevered loving and fulfillment, he wanted to give her as much pleasure as he could, but he could not last much longer.
He silently promised to taste her everywhere before the night was through. His mouth moved across her chest, taking one hardened peak into his mouth. His hand cupped the weight of her breasts as his tongue flicked and teased the sensitive bud. Isabella arched, driving more of herself into him and he welcomed her, giving more of himself over to her hunger.
Frantically he untied the front of his breeches, lowering them enough to free his shaft. He brought himself more fully between her thighs, spreading her with his knees until they were hip to hip. His hand moved between their bodies to test her readiness.
Slick. Warm. His fingers parted her folds until he found the source of her desire. He circled the engorged bud and her hips tilted off the bed. Her head fell back with a strangled cry.
“Nicholas, I’m on fire.” Her back arched again and she rubbed wantonly against his fingers.
“Aye, love, so am I.”
He adjusted his position and, with one determined thrust, he buried himself.
Isabella cried out, pushing frantically at his chest.
Nicholas froze. If the fearful woman beneath him were anything to go by, Isabella was a virgin, or had been until a moment ago. He was convinced she’d been intimate with Emsley. Her palm lifted as if to strike him. He took her wrists and pinned them above her head.
“I’m truly sorry, Isabella.” He kissed away the tears from her eyes. Goddamn, he was sorry for not being gentler, for taking her so recklessly, but those feelings warred with the joy of knowing no other man had had her. He remembered the moment her maidenhead gave way to his intrusion, and he could not help the small thrill that crumbled another wall around his heart.
He shuddered, every muscle aching to move.
“Is it over?”
Nicholas did not answer with words. Instead, he took her breasts between his lips, loving them until both dark nipples hardened.
“Please…” Her eyes closed.
He kissed her cheek. “There’s nay more pain, lass.”
Her head shook.
“Look at me.” His hand reached between their bodies, determined to give her as much pleasure as he had received. He smiled when her eyes flew open. She was liquid fi
re. White hot in his arms. Her hips shifted upwards and Nicholas groaned from the weight of his restraint. Still he did not move. His mouth descended in a long kiss that would leave her mouth swollen for hours. His tongue breached the walls of her mouth. She was as eager as he, and Nicholas found delight in her dual play. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, this time pulling him closer.
“Wrap your legs around me.”
Slowly, her legs cradled his hips, then his waist. Her eyes widened with uncertainty. “I… I can’t take anymore.”
He groaned. “My wee lass, ye were made for me.” She was. She was made for lovemaking and long kisses in the moonlight.
As their eyes locked, he thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt. They both gasped. She fit him perfectly. Sweet agony. Jesu, but he had to move. His jaw clenched, a slow rhythm starting.
She answered his call thrust for thrust, her back bowing. She took everything he gave, growing brazen. Her hips tilted and her inner walls fluttered, holding his cock hostage. She cried out her pleasure. Small hands clutched his buttocks. Her heated touch was his undoing. He thrust once, twice, with powerful strokes, savoring his own release.
They were both panting. Nicholas braced himself on his elbows and gave her a slow kiss before rolling onto his back. He wanted to stay inside of her warmth forever, until he was once again taking them over the edge.
This day was not going as expected. Isabella had surprised him at every turn. When he thought they played on even ground, he was deprived of even that. She was a virgin. Nicholas pushed off the bed and headed for the washbasin. Dipping the cloth into warm water, he dampened it then wiped himself, cursing as the proof of her innocence covered the towel. Rinsing the cloth again, he took it to Isabella, surprised she had not hidden her nudity. He shook his head. Nicholas had mistaken her boldness for experience. Though she had rejected the idea of marriage, each time he had taken liberties, she had welcomed him. No, he remembered, she had participated.
Using his free hand, he spread her thighs, and then gently cleaned her. He flipped the towel over, repeating the act. She was silent as he attended her, unusually quiet. His eyes sought hers, and what stared back was a mixture of heat and reprimand.
“You apologized during… You apologized.”
“For hurting you…”
Her head shook in denial. “It was more than that.”
“Isabella.”
“You were surprised I was not… That I was a virgin.”
Nicholas raked a hand through his tussled hair. “Aye.”
“You didn’t think you were bedding a virgin?” She sprang to her knees. Watery eyes gave way to her true feelings.
“Nay.” He tossed the towel on the side table.
She moved back further onto the bed, distancing herself. “A whore then?”
Cursing, Nicholas’s hand gripped her ankle just as she moved to leap off the bed and tugged her back to him.
She squeaked. “Let go, you…you…”
“Now listen. I never said ye were a whore—”
“No. You only thought I was free with my affections.”
“You’re wrong.”
She jerked her foot.
Nicholas held fast to her leg, fingers tightening around her ankle. “Aye, I thought you were intimate with Emsley, mayhap with Daniel,” he admitted. “To that extent.”
“Two lovers?” Isabella stiffened.
He did not answer.
Isabella hugged herself. It scared her to think that Emsley’s gossip had reached into her marriage. That he still held power over her. It may not have mattered to Nicholas whether Emsley had bedded her, but it mattered to her. “The gossip.” She looked at him, feeling hurt that he thought so little of her. “You believed them and did not care if you married a loose wife, as long as I shared my favors with you.”
“Nay, Isabella, don’t say such things.” Nicholas’s heart squeezed. He was losing her and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do.
“I hate you.”
He breathed deep. She was out to draw blood and he was sure she would get her fill before the night was through.
“I’ll fulfill my end of the agreement and care for Cassie if you’ll honor yours and provide financial support.”
They were back to that damnable bargain. “Is my touch so repulsive?”
“Yes,” she hissed.
Nicholas thought for the first time tonight that she had lied.
Something deep inside of him shifted, a part long forgotten. A part of him, Nicholas now realized, he had saved for his wife. A woman as brave and bold as Isabella. He masked his hurt at her rejection. After all, he knew what he was and had accepted it long ago.
He studied his wife. Isabella, so full of pride, her tilted chin reminding him she was out of his reach. No longer did he wish to fight or spend his days hoping she would see reason.
They shared unmatched passion, yet she denied it.
He had to set her free, though every fiber of his being screamed against what he was about to do.
His jaw hardened as he stripped off the remainder of his clothing, then tossed the breeches aside. “If that’s what ye wish, Isabella. But I’ve bargained for an entire night, and the evening is far from over, lass.” He climbed into bed. “I’ll leave you alone to do your bidding and hope in time you’ll grow up.”
She gasped, but he ignored the sound.
“Heed me in this,” he whispered in her ear. “I won’t meddle in your affairs, whatever they be. But harm your reputation any more, or that of Cassie’s, and ye will truly not like the man ye’ve married.” He tugged her under his chest.
“Wh-What are you doing?” Her breath quickened.
“Feasting in our bargain.” He claimed her mouth in a long ravishing kiss for the second time that evening and shuddered when her fingers tangled into the strands of his hair.
Twenty Two
“On ye signal, Captain,” Harold said.
“Raise the flag!” Nicholas said.
Nicholas stood on the docks of London. He loved and hated this part of the voyage. The waiting, the anticipation. Overlooking any small detail risked lives.
The crates used for storing the goods they would purchase were secure below deck, and all the men were accounted for. The last of their supplies were loaded. Soon they’d be on their way with London to their backs. The salt air and wide-open sea was a seductive lure. There, he’d be free from his past and the weight of society. In the middle of the ocean, he could breathe.
Every time he had set sail in the past, it had felt like freedom. A chance to claim things for himself that he could not find on land. Even when he had left his mother behind, he had always felt a rush as he looked out at the large expanse of unconquerable sea in front of him.
But not this time. This time, sailing felt like running. Running from Isabella and the feelings she stirred. In his haste to find a mother for Cassie, he had married a woman he could never truly possess. The muscles along his back clenched. He would not think of his wife now. His men needed him. He needed to sail.
Harold stood beside him. “The men are restless.”
They were caged birds with no room to fly. “They feel it, the call of the sea.”
He’d promised his wife distance. Her parting words were a stinging reminder of her contempt. He’d been correct in his assumption about her anger. She’d bled him dry that night.
He had asked forgiveness, no, begged for it, to no avail.
Repeatedly they’d made love, finding pleasure together, yet still she did not relent. In the end, he’d gained no more than their agreement.
Isabella hadn’t known of his past, yet her words were true, curling themselves around a part of his heart he had thought long dead. It was time to stop wanting what Isabella so easily denied. He had no one to blame except himself for trusting his wife with a piece of him.
Swallowing the last of his pride, he shook the forbidding thoughts aside as Harold released a string of curses under his br
eath.
To their right, another ship prepared to sail. Amrason’s vessel. It was no secret the other captain planned to return to London first. Nicholas clenched his jaw. “I’ve counted two men that are in their cups,” Nicholas said angrily.
“Amrason should be warned.”
“The fool is determined.” Nicholas grunted. It was only luck that the man and crew hadn’t died at sea with some of their riskier stunts. Gripping the rail, Nicholas peered over the edge.
Harold’s gaze moved from the departing ship to Nicholas. “You’re not going to alert him, are ye?”
“A captain has no business at sea if he disnae know his men.” Nicholas turned away, leaving the task of warning Amrason to Harold.
His eyes locked on his own men, men he trusted. He had to if they were to survive each journey. They watched each other’s backs, and more times than not, they returned home with no less men than they sailed with.
He stepped on deck, felt the ship sway in tune with the waves, and for the first time it did not feel like home. The thought made his breath catch. He had anticipated more than a mere rush, had expected genuine excitement. He wanted to forget, feel the wholeness he had come to appreciate with each journey.
The rightness of it was still there, along with the anticipation of adventure, but there was something missing…
His fingers clenched around the wheel. Harold nodded to the crew. Shouts echoed around him. Men bustled, adding to the noise. He closed his eyes and savored it all. He did not need to see. The wind, the water, and the planks beneath his feet were all part of his soul. He knew the calls of each man before they were voiced. The drums of his heart beat with the crew.
His soul shifted. They were free. The anchor rose. The ropes freed.
The winds were in their favor. The morning was warm despite the light mist covering the shoreline. The fog would take them away, down the Thames to the sea. And for a short time, he’d forget London.
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