The Captain's Lady

by Robecca Austin

  “Give me what is mine, Isabella.”

  She swallowed.

  Slowly her hands resumed their place.

  She opened to his hunger.

  Her hunger.

  Her head tilted back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut. “No,” she cried when he stilled.

  “Then look at me, lass.”

  She did. Watching him make love to her this way was the most erotic sight. She was bearing more than herself. She was bearing her soul.

  There was no retreating from their love making. She didn’t know it could be this delicious.

  Had she ever known such colors, and bright sparks of light dancing before her eyes? No. Only Nicholas could give her that.

  Familiar warmth started deep, spreading outwards until the only feeling that mattered was his touch. Isabella’s eyelids grew heavy until they were slits. Her legs shook. The warmth shaking her body was hot and all consuming.

  This… This was what she’d needed, what her body had demanded for weeks. Release.

  Nothing else mattered. Not that he’d forced her hand in marriage. That she’d sent him away. That she’d lied that night. It didn’t matter that they didn’t love the same.

  Her toes dug into the bed as wave after wave rocked her body. “Nicholas,” Isabella screamed as she fell over the edge.

  Kissing his way up her body, his lips pressed against hers. She tasted herself and gasped.

  As his tongue brushed the walls of her mouth, he thrust deep, entering her with one long stroke. They both moaned at the sensation of him filling her.

  It was spreading again. That consuming heat. Starting from where their bodies joined. He held still, paying dearly by the looks of his clenched jaw.

  She needed him to move. Needed to feel the power of his deep strokes.

  Feeling bold, Isabella flexed her hips.

  Nicholas’s fingers dug into her thighs, holding her still. Eyes closed, he panted. “Please, I don’t want to hurt ye.”

  “You won’t.”

  He searched her face, and she saw the doubt in his eyes. He also feared she’d come to regret their lovemaking.

  “It’s been too long…do you understand? Let me gather my…”

  It must have been the devil, Isabella thought as her hips gyrated again, this time grinding firmly against his.

  “Damn it, Isabella,” he gasped, no longer afraid of hurting her. He surged forward, strokes growing longer and harder as they moved together. This was her Nicholas, free and wild as he let go of all control in her arms, demanding no less of her. The ruthless captain she fell in love with.

  He’d showed her a glimpse of passion that first night, but that paled compared to what he showed her now. Fingers clenched in his thick hair, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he took them to the edge and over.

  She wanted them to stay as they were. Tangled limbs.

  Easing himself on his elbows, Nicholas stared at her. The back of his fingers brushed her cheek before he placed a gentle kiss against her lips.

  Nicholas rolled onto his back. They didn’t speak, the silence only interrupted by their breathing. Neither did they touch. There was none of the romantic notions she’d imagined in the aftermath of their passion. Suddenly she felt cold and bereft. Sighing at the turn of her thoughts, she rolled on her side, away from Nicholas.

  Seeing the discarded nightgown on the floor, she moved towards the end of the bed. Whatever fueled her wanton behavior had fled. Before her feet touched the cold floor, Isabella found herself flat against Nicholas’s chest.

  “No, you don’t. I like this new wife that comes to me willingly.”

  Isabella blushed and was sure he felt the warmth against his skin.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Was that all he wanted to know? Did he feel guilty? Well she didn’t want his guilt. She didn’t want to taint what they’d just shared.

  “Isabella?” he asked again.

  His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her chin up.

  “No.” She shook her head. “You didn’t hurt me.”

  He sighed. Hugging her closer against him, he said, “Good, because that was—Jesu, Isabella, you’ll drive me to an early grave.”

  “Is it always like that?”

  His arms tightened. “No, love.”

  She looked at him, brows arched.

  “Never with anyone else has it been like that for me.”

  Oh, Nicholas.

  “I was afraid you hadn’t changed yer mind about keeping our marriage one of convenience. That you’d again come to regret my touch.”

  “I never wanted a convenient arrangement. Growing up, I had grand ideas of what I wanted, what I imagined my prince to be.”

  “I know.” He swallowed. “You didn’t want to marry me. I’m sorry, Isabella.”

  Such hurt. Virginia was right. Nicholas’s eyes hid much from the world.

  “No, Nicholas.” She looked into his eyes, willing him to believe. To see that, while his held secrets, hers told him the truth. And the truth was that she chose him. “What I didn’t want was a loveless marriage. A husband who could easily be sated in other vises destroyed my mother.” A tear slid past her lashes.

  “I’m not your father.”

  “I know,” she whispered, and turned her cheek into his calloused hand, stroking the side of her face. She planted a kiss on his palm.

  “I cursed every day we were aboard that bloody ship.”

  Isabella laughed, knowing she’d cursed him a time or two, too.

  “I rode the men hard to make better time. Then there you were. I remember feeling whole for the first time in my life. I belonged.” Nicholas squeezed his eyes closed. When he finally opened them again they were coal. “He was with you, holding your hand. That should have been me.”

  Gasping with understanding, she sought to quickly reassure him. “There is nothing other than friendship between Daniel and me.”

  “I know.” Taking her face in both his hands, he smiled. “Virginia tried to tell me, but that didn’t stop me from being good and vexed. I thought, if I gave you space, maybe you could hate me a little less. Maybe I would grow to tolerate your affections for Daniel.”

  “I don’t hate you, Nicholas.”

  “I love you, Lady Isabella Ferguson.”

  Tears filled her eyes and she couldn’t stop them from spilling over the corners. Her heart swelled at the wonder of his words. He loved her. “Oh, Nicholas. I love you, too.”

  Isabella rained kisses on his chest, his cheek, before she claimed his mouth. He loved her. Didn’t he know she loved him, would always hold true to her vows? Well it was time he did.

  “I want a true marriage, Nicholas—family, a home with you and Cassie,” she paused, knowing this house was filled with people she’d grown to love.

  “Do you, Isabella?”

  “Oh yes! And children, I want lots of little brats, like their father.” He’d be an excellent father, of that she had no doubt. Hadn’t he proved that with Cassie?

  “Impertinent wench.” He swatted her bottom and they both laughed. Lying on their sides, he adjusted their positions until they were chest to chest. He brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead before tracing the outline of her face, her ear, and when his idle fingers reached the back of her ear, she began laughing. “Ye are ticklish.”

  “I am not!” she said with all the dignity being naked could afford.

  To prove his point, he did it again and was delighted when she snuggled deeper against his chest, her laughter rumbling against his chest.

  “Nicholas?”

  “My love.”

  “It’s just that…the hairs on your chest.” Isabella bit her lip.

  “What of it?”

  How did one tell their husband that the rough hairs on his chest rubbing against her sensitive nipples were doing delightful things between her thighs? She blushed, not sure how to proceed.

  “I see.” He took one hardened nipple between his thumb and forefing
er, then began massaging the bud until she nearly went mad.

  She squirmed in his hold and they both gasped. “Do you think? I mean, could we…”

  Groaning, he rolled them until she was firmly beneath him. “I belong to you, Isabella. Never forget that.”

  No, she wouldn’t. Never again.

  “Guide me, Isabella. Take me home.”

  Twenty Eight

  “Welcome back, gentlemen.” Lord Eaton rose from his seat, taking first Nicholas’s hand, then Harold’s in a firm grip. “When word reached London of your troubles, I thought surely we’d be fishing you and my whiskey from the bottom of the sea.”

  Nicholas laughed, as did everyone in the room. Eaton valued liquor and friendships. In that order.

  “Looks like you fellows started without us,” Harold said, noting the tossed cards on the table as he made his rounds, greeting the four gentlemen in the back room of Baker’s.

  “Nothing too serious, only a friendly game of twenty-card poker,” Lord Richard assured.

  Nicholas, too, circled the poker table, shaking each outstretched hand, and though Emsley nodded as they passed, Harold noticed the firm line of his lips and the cold set of his eyes.

  Harold took a seat as the waiter added two more chairs to the table.

  “I think you know most of the gentlemen here.” Eaton nodded to the one man in the room they had not met. He also sat protectively close to the half-full bottle of alcohol. “Sir James Trudell has taken a liking to your rum. Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Duncan are to be members at Baker’s. I trust we can all be friends?”

  There was a stillness in the room, as if waiting for Emsley to object to their membership.

  But it was Lord Richard who raised his glass and spoke. “To friendship.”

  “Not if my wife has anything to say on the matter.” Nicholas smiled. “She considers you to be family.”

  “And what does she consider you, Nicholas?” Richard asked.

  “She has nay decided,” Harold teased.

  “Smart woman!” Eaton said.

  “So she insists on reminding me.”

  Richard laughed.

  “A fresh deck, will you?” When the waiter placed a deck of cards into Lord Eaton’s hand, he broke the seal before them. Each time he passed the cards, the crisp shuffle of a new deck echoed around them. “Since there are now six of us, the game is 52-card draw poker.” Looking at Nicholas and Harold, he asked, “Any questions?”

  Over the next hour the tension grew with each new round, and the size of the wagers kept increasing. It was what Harold wanted. Nicholas had lost most of his coin, adding to Harold’s chips. Emsley grew bold, losing a great deal of his chips, but Harold could tell Emsley did not notice so long as Nicholas lost as well.

  With all of Nicholas’s chips in, it was Emsley’s turn to call his bet. He raised the stakes, adding three more chips to the pile.

  Nicholas kicked his chair back and stood. “That’s it for me, gentlemen. I’m all out.”

  While the others bid good eve, Harold watched Emsley’s eyes widen in surprise and anger as Nicholas picked his coat from the wall, leaving them to finish their game.

  Sir James folded next, abandoning his cards on the smooth surface of the table.

  Lord Richard called, adding to the coin.

  Lord Eaton shook his head, signaling he was out. That left three players.

  Emsley flipped his hand. “Two pair, Aces and Queens!”

  Richard groaned, tossing his cards onto the center of the table.

  “Not so fast. Three of a kind.” Harold revealed his hand.

  Emsley’s lips pinched as Harold started racking the chips. Harold was certain the man would accuse him of something outrageous, perhaps even cheating. What no one expected was Emsley’s cold demand.

  “Another round!”

  They stared at the man. A sore loser if they ever saw one, coupled with the fact that no more of his chips remained.

  “You owe me that much,” Emsley said.

  “I don’t owe ye anything. I played a good hand and won. Yer out of chips, Emsley.”

  “I agree. Let’s call it a night.” Eaton pulled on the end of his cigar. “We are all members and can plan a rematch.”

  “One more game,” Emsley insisted between clenched teeth.

  Richard twisted in his seat.

  Eaton released a slow breath of smoke. “Lord Emsley. You’ve already increased your debt to Baker’s once. Maybe you should stop now.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Lord Eaton paused, then said, “One more game, if you agree to my rules, and if Harold does not object, of course.”

  Harold nodded. So far, he’d known Lord Eaton to be a reasonable mon. “I agree, on one condition. Should ye lose, you will put to right the rumors of Lady Isabella’s reputation.”

  Emsley’s face grew red with anger.

  After a lengthy pause, Emsley nodded. Lord Eaton dealt, giving a hand to each man. Whether he knew it or not, Emsley had already showed his hand. He was desperate. Desperate men made foolish mistakes.

  With each new shuffle and deal, the pot grew and the wages increased.

  The lines around Emsley’s mouth deepened with the smallest curving of his lips.

  “I didn’t figure the captain the type to send another to do his bidding,” Emsley taunted.

  Harold chuckled. “The mon is newly married and spent weeks away from his bonnie wife. He is bound to seek her favors over yours.”

  Emsley bristled. His lips thinned. When he did manage to part his lips with a laugh, the sound was raspy and lacked humor. “She’s an enchanting wife whose favors have kept better men up at night.” He raised his glass.

  Judging from the man’s air of jealousy and clipped tones, Harold doubted Lady Isabella shared her favors with anyone, and least of all with Emsley. In fact, he was beginning to believe Emsley started the rumors of her adventurous spirit to keep her at his side. It had nearly worked. Isolated from her peers, and with other suitors driven away by rumors, he had only to wait for the right moment.

  Men like Emsley were dangerous, he reminded himself before drawing a new card.

  “I’m out,” Lord Richard said, allowing Sir Trudell to refill his glass.

  Emsley’s eyes rounded.

  Two more rounds came and went. Cigar smoke hovered just out of reach. On another occasion, in a game where Isabella’s reputation was not at stake, Harold would have enjoyed a game in such a grand establishment. The room boasted privacy, secluded at the end of a short hallway and far from the patrons that only desired casual drink and chatter. Yet it was not spared elegance. The lush carpeting, upholstered furnishings, every stitch made to foster comfort. Easing further into the cushion of his chair, he braced himself for the end of his little game.

  Emsley smirked, then laid his hand on the soft red surface of the table. “A straight.”

  Harold’s eyes moved to the cards. His chest tightened. “Not good enough,” he said, laying his hand in plain view. “Full house, Kings and Sevens.” From where he sat, he felt the other man’s rage.

  “I thought you were having beginner’s luck.” Emsley’s face twisted.

  “So ye planned on easy pickings?” He collected his chips, stacking them with new grace borne from outwitting the now-angry Lord Emsley. “At sea, we have nothing but time to hone our skills. 52-card poker is a merchant’s game.”

  Lord Richard chuckled.

  Lord Emsley’s frosty eyes narrowed on a blessedly foxed Lord Richard before focusing on him again. “How is it you’re related to the captain?”

  Harold shrugged. So the man sought to embarrass him before his peers. As pieced together as they may be, he was proud of his family. “Cousins,” he said as way of explanation. “Our mothers, God rest their souls, were sisters.”

  “Yes, but—” Emsley began.

  “That reminds me.” Lord Eaton took a sip of his drink. “Nicholas must pay a visit so I can thank him for the case of scotch.
It is truly the best I’ve had in years.”

  Thanking the men for an entertaining evening, Harold stood to leave. When Emsley did the same, Harold stilled.

  Eaton cleared his throat. “Emsley, if I may have a word regarding your debt to Baker’s.” Not waiting for a response, he turned to Harold. “We must do this again.”

  Harold nodded his thanks before taking his coat. At the door, he paused, holding Emsley’s gaze. “On your honor, Lord Emsley, I expect the gossip ye’ve started to be put to bed.”

  Emsley paled.

  Signaling the hack parked along the curb, Harold directed the driver home.

  He chuckled. By the time Emsley realized he’d been lured into the card game, the man had already lost more than he could afford. Nicholas had pegged the man perfectly, and now they had gained far more than what Isabella’s father had lost. Her father’s judgment and wounded pride, however, could only be fixed between father and daughter.

  Harold handed over his coat and hat to the weary-eyed butler before running his fingers through smoke-filled hair. He hadn’t expected to be greeted at the door, especially at such an hour.

  “Shall I see to a late supper, sir?”

  Thoughts of food reminded him of the brandy burning in his stomach. “Don’t trouble yourself. A bath is all I want.”

  “Very well, sir. The master said you’d be wanting to wash, so I’ve taken the liberty of drawing a hot bath in the kitchen.”

  Remembering that Nicholas had left the club hours ago, he said. “I’ll see to warming it.”

  “No need, sir,” the butler said. “It sits on heated bricks.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man nodded. “After you, sir.”

  “To bed with you,” Harold scowled. “I can wash my own back.”

  “But…”

  “Off with you.”

  Harold smirked when the man turned on his heels and fled the room with all the air of an earl. The Berths’ presence, especially Pashkin, had turned Winston’s demeanor far more proper than they were accustomed.

  After eight rounds of brandy, a night of cards proved a greater success than he could have hoped. Weeks of luring Emsley into a game at Baker’s, and weeks of planning to regain Isabella’s inheritance, had finally paid off. He’d even managed to win a few hands for himself.