by Susan Ward
He struck a match to candle and then a soft glow lit the cabin. The delicate ceramic jar of powder had crashed into the red oak door, sending a wash of white over him and the cabin floor. His thorough, efficient stare did a fast sweep over her. No response. He tugged on his shirt to remove the powder there. Both gestures were a deliberate pause, a suspended moment in the middle of battle, he used so effectively.
Then he said blandly, “Tom warned me you were in a foul mood.” He leaned down to retrieve bits and pieces of broken glass.
His calmness enraged her. She was on her feet in an instant, screaming the words so loudly he was sure it was heard all through the decks. “Don’t you ever treat me that way again.”
“I treated you no way at all.” He put the broken pieces of the jar on the table and turned toward her. Varian stared at her. “You need to learn to control your temper, Little One. I can’t have you throwing things at me every time you are unhappy. It would benefit us both well if you would learn caution and how to behave reasonably.”
It had been the wrong thing to say. Merry’s eyes anxiously searched his face, didn’t find what she wanted to see, and then instantly clouded with dismay. Now on top of her temper, there were tears. “You treated me like a whore. I will not be treated that way, in a manner dismissive, as though I am nothing here.”
He stood as he was, his expression unreadable. “I did no such thing.”
“That is exactly what you did,” she accused. “Tossing my bag to Tom Craven. Locking me in here. Walking away from me, with a curt warning to grab the dog. I will not be treated like a whore. Not for any man. Not even for you.”
The circumstances were so much harder for her, he thought, closing his eyes against the bitter pain of her anguish and fury.
“Merry, it would serve neither of us well if the crew knew how much you mean to me. A captain cannot have weakness or vulnerability. It would be dangerous to you if I paraded my feelings before the crew. As distasteful as it is for you, it is necessity. Surely you see that, Little One.”
“Morgan can’t have weakness. That’s what you mean.” She bellowed this time. “Morgan can go to the devil, for all I care. If all I am to you is a weakness, then I will go. I will not stay with you here.”
It amused him Merry still thought she could leave him. The act of leaving him would change nothing. Married or not, she was tied to him as though their union had been blessed by every church in England. And it was past time for her to accept that. He could not always be only what she wished him to be. Even he was not free to be only what he wished to be.
An arched brow and a calm voice. “You may leave my ship whenever you wish,” he told her. “I gave you my word. It is so.”
He was tired or he would have never said that. It was cruel and turned Merry into a madwoman. She tried to kick him. To bite him. He grabbed her gently, managing to stay clear of her flailing limbs, and picked her up. He laid her across the bed, keeping careful hold of her fighting limbs. He was beside her, at an angle, and they were both breathing heavily.
Merry slowly stopped her struggle, her temper and tears bit by bit draining from her. “Then the next port we reach, I will leave and you had best not try to stop me or I’ll...” She could not finish. Panting beneath him, she tried to steady her unsteady heart and emotions.
He gave her a moment to quiet, as he wiped her face with gentle swipes of his fingers, but her tears started again. “I cannot be only what you wish me to be, Merry,” he told her. “What did you think? That dangers of being on ship would magically disappear? That Morgan would magically disappear?”
Of course, now that he had said it, it sounded foolish. Stubbornly, she countered, “No, but I did not expect it to be so awful. You are a different man when you are Morgan. I do not like him, not at all.”
Varian half laughed. He made a tender look of sympathy for her. “There is only one man here, Merry. Me. You, better than anyone, should know that.” He kissed her lightly on the nose. That she let him was a good sign. “What is it you want, Merry? Do you really wish to leave me?”
Her breaths were harsh little spurts, and reluctantly she admitted, “No, but I will not suffer Morgan a moment more than necessary. I want your word when you are with me, there is no Morgan, there is no ship. Only Varian. If you can’t manage that, then I will not stay.”
He sat up, leaning on his elbows to stare at her. “That’s all that there had ever been, Little One.” His lips touched gently on her neck. “Only the man who wanted you.” His kisses moved to soft flesh of her collar bone. “Only the man who waited for you.” His mouth dipped lower, over the rosy tip of her lace covered breast. “Only the man who adores you.”
She stared at him, lips parted. Varian felt the change in her that came swiftly. Her temper was a wonderful aphrodisiac. A wonderful stirring of passion that chased at the heels of her fury. Her voice was mostly air. “Tell me again.”
“There is no other man,” he whispered, into her fragrant hair. His mouth moved to her neck, placing kisses there. “There is only Varian.”
“When you step through that door, you will not be Morgan. Not with me. Not ever. You will only be my lover here.” She opened her arms for him. “And since you are Varian lay with me.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
A week later, Merry learned the Corinthian was on its way back to Bermuda. This she had learned from eavesdropping on a conversation between Indy and Mr. Craven. When she made a passing inquiry to Varian as to why they were making port in the headquarters of the British Admiralty again, he’d simply ignored the question and changed the subject.
A strange feeling something significant was happening aboard ship surrounded her in the passing days. There was a tension on the decks she had not felt since back when the crew had wanted a vote on her. Varian was meeting more regularly with his senior officers. His inner circle had increased to include Mr. Colerain, and a strange, bookish looking man she hadn’t noticed before, Mr. Alcott. The meetings were frequent, never in the Captain’s cabin, and often went into the dead of night. There was definitely something going on he was not share with her.
More convinced than ever that Varian was involved in some intrigue beyond Rensdale, she watched every move he made with alert eyes and wondered if the reason he kept so many things secret from her was he did not trust her completely. She had offered to become his wife on Barataria, if he would answer her questions. He had chosen his secrets over her.
Deeply hurt he did not share with her the truth, the passing days made her more certain than ever his intrigue was far more dangerous than she ever suspected. The tension brought to memory his words and behavior on her birthday, his dark seriousness, as though he more than half suspected this journey one he would not survive.
Forgotten for long hours of the day, her anxious mind frantically tried to assemble the pieces she knew into a clear picture. There was much one could catch if one remained vigilant, and she often caught bits and pieces of their intrigue, now that she knew when and where to listen. A particularly alarming discussion she heard, by chance, days later.
She’d been on her way to Mr. Colerain’s cabin to return a book, when voices from Mr. Craven’s quarters had stopped her. Names she knew shot at her from the voices in the room. Lord Montrose, Lord Atterby, Lord Crandall, and Lord Branneth. The list went on and on, no less than two dozen of them. Powerful peers, holding top authority in various areas of the British Government, recited as though one were reciting a baker’s lists. Hearing sounds from the passageway, she’d been about to move quickly away when Mr. Seton’s voice had stopped her.
“If our business with the Hampstead is successful, we have positioned all the pieces well,” he announced. “No part of the conspiracy and no part of the Government has not been locked upon the board. The pieces have been well set and should serve our purpose with sure result. There is only one weak flank as far as I can see. Weak and very dangerous.”
It was Craven who spoke. “Dorset.”
Her frantic thoughts were cut short when Varian’s quiet voice replaced the silence in the cabin.
“Dorset is an honest man. He does not need to be managed in the coming days. He will follow the truth, and remain faithful to his honor and his duty.”
Mr. Boniface laughed. “I would feel better if we’d established some control or compromise of him. Lucien Merrick is a ruthless man.”
Varian replied, “He does not need to be in the web. I have left him deliberately untouched by this. He is an honest man. That is the only assurance we require. And he is the man who will hold the government together should it all unravel too quickly, and make certain it is not stopped before full justice is delivered. He will follow where the truth leads him. We need nothing more from him.”
Mr. Seton, “What of Castlereagh?”
“No worry there,” Varian said confidently. “Every piece at last assembled. All that remains is our efforts with the Hampstead.”
There was a scraping of chairs as the men rose. Panic brought life back to Merry’s frozen limbs and, on fast running feet, she returned to the Captain’s cabin. Rapidly taking in breaths, she tried to calm herself so she could think. What intrigue could Varian possibly have with the British Government? How was Lucien Merrick a part of their scheming?
The alarm of hearing her father’s name made thought nearly impossible. Thank God, she had not told Varian what she had learned from Jean on Barataria. That their plot involved her father would have made that a dangerous thing. While she could not imagine Varian committing such a dastardly act as to use her as a pawn in his intrigue, she sadly noted she could be a masterful weapon if used against the Duke of Dorset.
More determined than ever that Varian should never learn the truth about her, the fear was an even more monstrous weight since the truth about her would have dangerous meaning to him, and could prove a treacherous weakness against her father. Varian must never, never know. Never, never, never…
She heard Varian’s even footsteps from the passageway. Finding their meal set upon the table, she sank down in her chair and quickly attacked her plate as though she had been in the cabin some while. She looked up when he entered, did not smile, and returned her gaze to her plate.
Think, Merry, think. How could her father fit into a conspiracy against the British Government? They were pirates…or were they? Was piracy the ruse and not the endeavor?
Mr. Boniface claimed they had a full pardon from the American Government. Was Varian a spy, in the employee of President Madison?
She jumped a little when Varian’s chair made a screeching sound against the wood floor. A part of her was desperate to tell him everything and to beg him for no harm to come to her father from his plotting. A part of her wanted to hide beneath the bedcovers, so afraid she was that he would read her thoughts, and she would betray on her own the truth.
She startled when he kissed her atop her head. That brought the slow lift of a brow, but he settled in his chair and bent upon her a smile. “You are in a pensive mood, Little One. I trust all is well with you?”
The casual inquiry did nothing to lessen her panic. Varian could read her like a book. It had not been wise to trust being with him, just yet. She was nowhere near steady enough to carry on in a normal vein. She continued to stare down at her plate as he cut into his meal. After a moment, he stopped. She felt the hard press of his eyes upon her.
“You’re trembling, Merry. What is wrong?”
How to change course in this? How to change course? Speaking very rapidly, Merry said, “I do not appreciate you sauntering in when you please and expecting me to be grateful you are here. If you cannot join me when our meal is set, then I will no longer be at your table when you deem it time to join me.”
He sat back in his chair. A long pause. Then, “I apologize. It won’t happen again, my dear.”
They continued to eat in silence. Praying the meal to end quickly, Merry shifted her gaze from her empty plate to find Varian had but eaten half of his. She decided to leave the table before he finished.
Book in hand, she shooed pug from a chair and settled in a tight curl within it. Read, Merry. Read. Fighting with him was a perilous thing. In temper, there was no telling what thoughts she would betray. She could not control her anger as Varian did.
Varian watched her alertly. Even from his spot across the cabin, he could see how every so often she held her breath. He put down his fork and moved from the table to her.
His gentle fingers came to her chin and tried to turn her face. When she resisted, he asked, “What has happened today to distress you, Merry?”
She stared at her book. He waited.
“I will not leave off until you tell me what is troubling you,” he said firmly.
After a long pause, she looked at him. “The ship is running hard. Hard in the wind. As though giving chase or being chased. Why do we make such haste in this journey to Bermuda?”
“I have business I must attend, I cannot miss. There is nothing more to it, Merry.”
Merry continued to read and turned a page. A carefully worded answer, an artful walk along the line of truth so he would not break his promise never to lie to her. She found it funny she could read him so well now, how quickly Varian’s tricks and patterns had come to make sense to her since becoming his lover. His crafty disclosure did nothing to stem the tide of her worry, or resolve how she should deal with him. He would not lie to her. But he would not tell her the truth either, not even if she probed him directly.
In a fast turn of the tables, she snapped the book shut, tossed it on the floor, and leapt from her chair. She lifted her chin as she stared at him. “Is that all there is to it?”
“That is all there is you need know.”
Varian kissed her cheek, but he broke eye contact first. He went back to the table to finish his meal. Seeing an opportunity to misdirect him from her true worries, she asked, “And will I go ashore with you in Bermuda?”
Varian’s hands stop their motion with his silverware. His efficient gaze gave her a sharp once over, before he said, “No.”
Arching a brow, she probed, “Will you see your French widow while ashore?”
He stared at her, eyes direct, but she could see the slight tightening of his jaw.
“Do you really think so little of me?” he said harshly, returning to his meal.
“Do not answer my questions with questions!” she snapped.
He stared at her, startled. “Then, to be direct. No.” His gaze slowly melted into a caress. “I want no other woman, Merry. I never will. You need never have a fear of that.”
Almost as if by magic, the emotions rose to Varian’s face and his expression unsealed before her. The effect of the subtle altering of the lines of his face, intended, was masterful. She shifted her gaze away from him in hopes of cutting the tugs on her heartstrings. How easy it would be to stop this out of her love for him.
“Then take me ashore with you,” Merry countered fiercely.
“There is much I must attend to. There would be no pleasure for you in joining me ashore. It is better for you to stay on ship.”
Nearly shouting, she announced, “Then you will not sleep here tonight.”
Those black eyes darkened in hue. She met him stare for stare, rapidly taking note of his shifting expression. She’d amused him, and he thought her mood was one of jealousy. Good, very good. It was the perfect pretense, until she could take hold of her spinning thoughts and uncertainties.
She sank back into her chair, grabbed her book, and turned until her back was to him.
The silence that fell between them was an unpleasant thing. Without another word, he finished his meal, undressed for bed, poured a glass of wine, and then settled against a stack of pillows to read. She felt the weight of his ga
ze, but he did not speak and left her to her silence.
It was not until the clock tolled a wee hour of the night did he ask, “Do you plan to sleep in the chair or will you sleep with me in bed, Merry?”
The slumberous warmth of Varian’s voice was a disarming temptation. Searching through her curls, she began to discover and withdraw pins. She dropped them, one by one, on the table beside her. It gave her a reason not to answer and a reason not to look at him.
The sound of a book being set on a table came from behind her. The wood floor creaked as he stood. The sound of walking, and then the candle was extinguished. Very slowly, he leaned into her to drop a kiss upon her curls. The mattress groaned as it received his weight. She was not at all sure what her next move should be.
Much to her dismay, the urge to confront him was nearly overwhelming and it was a hard battle to remain silent in the chair. She wanted to fight with him until she understood all she had heard. But in temper she was never sure in battle and Varian was always sure in battle. Somehow, she would have to find the truth of what his plotting without him.
She rubbed her arms against the chilled night air. Was it safe to join him there yet? Was he asleep? His breathing was calm, but she could not tell for certain.
In the darkness, she undressed and pulled on a nightgown. Carefully, she slipped beneath the blankets. She wished she had never eavesdropped. How would she ever manage to behave normally with Varian again in all that frightened her?
So deep did she enter the world of her thoughts, she did not feel Varian ease into her on the bed or his body curling behind her so his arm could hold her in sleep as he did. The touch of him sent everything she felt for him raging upward to collide with her every worry.
Breathing heavily, she worked free of his arm until she had come to sit on her knees, staring down at him. His black eyes were staring, heavy lids wide, sharply at her. He had not been asleep at all. Merry uttered the first fully formed thought in her head. “I don’t wish to go to Bermuda. I demand that you take me back to Virginia.”