Ryan's Bride

by James, Maggie

  “What exactly is wrong with her leg?” Angele tried not to sound too concerned, although she was.

  His glance told her he was annoyed she had asked so specific a question. “She has a sore, and it isn’t something to be discussed while we’re eating.”

  “But she doesn’t know that,” Corbett said, lips twitching. “And she likes horses. Don’t you, Angele?”

  Ryan glowered at him.

  “Sorry,” Corbett murmured, although he wasn’t. He had made his point as to her lack of manners, and Ryan knew it.

  The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Angele forgot her hunger as she worried about the mare. If no one on board knew what to do for her, there might be serious consequences.

  The captain stopped by the table to tell them they would be docking in Cherbourg in a few hours, explaining, “We’re way off schedule because of the squall. It blew us a bit off course.”

  “Then why stop there at all?” someone asked.

  “We have to take on passengers and some cargo.”

  Annette gave a haughty sniff “More steerage passengers? From the sounds of their revelry last night, there’s too many of them already.”

  “No,” the captain said. “Haven’t you noticed an empty cabin in your class? But don’t worry. It shouldn’t take long, and then we’ll be on our way. If you’re asleep by the time we get there, you won’t even know we’re stopping.” He gave them a little salute and moved on to the next table.

  Angele had decided she had to do something about the horse. Pressing her fingertips to her temples, she swayed a teeny bit, as though she felt dizzy.

  Corbett, seated directly across from her, was the first to notice. “Is anything wrong?”

  Everyone at the table turned to look at her as she answered, “Yes. I’m afraid I still feel a bit weak, and if I may be excused, I’d like to go back to my cabin.”

  Annette made ducking noises of sympathy. “You poor dear. I do hope you’re better by tomorrow.”

  Angele managed a smile. “I should be all right by then. I just need some more rest.”

  She made to get up, pushing back her chair, but Ryan quickly moved to assist her. “I’ll walk you back.”

  The other men rose politely once again, despite her telling them it wasn’t necessary.

  Ryan took her arm and led her out. “Maybe you ate too much. Do you want me to stay with you?”

  “No, no, of course not. I’ll be fine. I just overdid it a bit. A good night’s sleep is all I need.”

  He saw her to the door and said he would be back after a brandy and cigar with the men. She told him not to hurry.

  She waited till she thought he would be back in the dining room. Then she left the cabin, hurrying toward the stairs at the end of the hall she had seen the steward and some of the crew use. It was dark, and she didn’t have much time. Ryan might be worried about her and not tarry in the men’s salon over a half hour or so, and in that scant amount of time she had to find the area where the horses were and try to help the mare with the injured leg.

  Her gown caught on a splintered step. She wished she’d had time to change into something less fragile. Maybe it was good she would be sewing with the ladies. She could get her hands on a needle and thread and try to repair the tear before Ryan noticed and asked how it happened.

  Two decks down she heard the sound of music and singing and knew she had reached steerage. The cargo and horses had to be at the opposite end of that level.

  At the bottom of the steps, there were two doors. She opened the one opposite the noise and knew at once from the damp, loamy smell that she was in the right place.

  Several lanterns were burning, and she saw a boy, not yet twenty, lazily tossing hay over one of the railings.

  “Excuse me, but are these Monsieur Tremayne’s horses?”

  He jumped, startled, for he’d not heard her approach and was surprised to see a woman. “They…they are,” he said uncertainly. “He…he’s the only one who brought horses on board this time. They’re all his.”

  “And which one has the injured leg? I’d like to see her.”

  He looked at her uncertainly.

  “Please,” she begged. “I don’t have much time.”

  “But you aren’t supposed to be here. I mean, ladies don’t come here, and I’ll get in trouble.”

  “No one will know if you hurry.”

  It was obvious she meant to have her way, so he reached for a lantern and motioned her to follow him to a nearby stall. “It’s some kind of sore. It keeps getting bigger. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. She hasn’t put her weight on it since yesterday, so it must be hurting worse.”

  Angele stepped up on the bottom rung of the stall. “Hold the lantern up so I can see her.”

  The mare was favoring her right foreleg. It barely touched the floor.

  “I’m going in there. Keep holding the lantern up.”

  He moved to block her. “You can’t. If you get hurt, they’ll throw me to the sharks.”

  Angele stepped around him. “Nonsense. I told you—no one will know, and if they do find out, I’ll say you tried to stop me.”

  Unlatching the gate, she stepped inside, careful to move slowly. Her father had taught her that even the most gentle horses could be spooked and become dangerous.

  She had coiffed her hair in ringlets which were held back from her face with a comb. But when her head scraped a low beam, the comb tore free and her hair tumbled down around her face.

  “Easy, girl.” She made her voice soft. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to take a look at that leg of yours.”

  The mare tossed her head and stomped back a few paces.

  “Lady, be careful,” the boy shouted.

  “Please be quiet,” she hissed. “We don’t want anyone to know I’m here, remember?”

  She reached out and began to rub the mare’s neck, and she didn’t move away anymore. “See? I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. Now let me see…”

  She motioned to the boy to lower the lantern. He was hanging over the railing. Because she still couldn’t see well, she took it from him and set it on the floor.

  “No.” He scrambled over the railing. “You can’t do that. If she prances around and knocks it over, the whole place will go up in flames.”

  “Then hold it,” Angele said, picking it up and handing it to him. “I can’t understand why you’re so scared.”

  “It’s not my job to take care of these animals. But there was nobody else, and they made me do it, and I got kicked by a horse once and nearly broke my leg, and I’m not getting any closer than I have to.”

  “Just stand there and don’t get in my way, and everything will be fine.” She knelt and heard the boy suck in his breath as she gingerly lifted the mare’s hoof. She could see the swelling and oozing. “I was afraid of this—it’s beginning to get infected, and if something isn’t done, gangrene will set in and kill her.”

  “Monsieur Tremayne looked at it this afternoon and said it’s just a sore—that there’s no injury he can see.”

  “It isn’t a sore.” Angele had probed with her finger and found what she had suspected—something hard and sharp embedded in the flesh. “Do you have a needle?”

  “No. What do you want one for?”

  “She’s been stung by one of those huge bees that Blois is known to have, thanks to all the vineyards in the area. The stinger is still in there, and that’s what is causing the sore and infection. I have to get it out.”

  “That horse will never let you dig into her with a needle.”

  “She let me find the bee’s stinger. I think she knows I’m trying to help her.”

  As if to confirm it, the mare dropped her head and nuzzled Angele’s hair. Laughing, she said, “All right, we understand each other, don’t we, girl?”

  Straightening, she told the boy she was going to find a needle. “And you go to the kitchen—galley—whatever it’s called, and find some vinegar. I’ll be back as soon a
s I can.”

  Giving the mare another pat, Angele made her way back upstairs.

  After the men left the dining room for their brandy and cigars, the women usually lingered over dessert and coffee or tea. Tucking her hair back up as best she could, and pausing to wash her hands, Angele was relieved to find them still there.

  As she crossed to Annette, their stares told her she hadn’t succeeded in making herself completely presentable.

  “Angele, my dear,” Annette murmured. “I thought you had gone to bed.”

  “I’m feeling much better, and I thought if you’d loan me a needle and thread, I’d practice some stitching tonight.”

  “A good idea. I have both, I’m sure. A lady must always be prepared, you know.” She opened her purse, fished about, and brought out a needle wrapped in a piece of cloth. “And here’s some thread, too.” Her gaze dropped to Angele’s torn hem. “I suppose you’re going to practice on yourself?”

  The other women exchanged amused glances.

  “Yes, yes, I am. Thank you.” Angele all but snatched the items from her hand. “I’ll see you all in the morning. Good night.” She flashed a smile and forced herself to walk away slowly.

  The boy had vinegar waiting. “What do you want it for?”

  “I’ll show you in a minute.” She told him how to hold the lantern again, then sat down next to the mare, who watched with trusting eyes.

  Angele rubbed her leg. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could be my horse when we get to BelleRose? I think we’d get along well, you and me. Now be very still, and I’ll try not to hurt you and get this over with as quickly as I can.”

  After a few tense moments, she announced in triumph, “I’ve got it. Now, hand me the vinegar so I can pour it into the wound to draw out the poison left by the bee. Then I’ll wrap a clean rag around it to keep it moist. In a day or two, she should be as good as new.”

  The boy watched with interest, but when Angele asked for the rag, he said he didn’t have one. “Just the shirt I’m wearing, and since it’s the only one I’ve got, you’ll forgive me for not giving it to you.”

  She knew there was only one thing to do and reached to tear off a strip of silk from her hem. It was no trouble. It was practically in tatters, anyway, and, no doubt, Annette and the ladies had noticed and that’s what they thought was so funny. She wondered if her face was smudged. She hadn’t thought to look in a mirror.

  “There,” she said finally. “All done. See?” She patted the mare. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  Then she turned on the boy and warned, “Don’t say anything about this, understand? No one is to know.”

  He looked at her as though he thought she was out of her mind. “And what do I tell the monsieur when he comes down here tomorrow and wants to know who wrapped a piece of silk around his horse’s leg?”

  “You will find something else by morning and change it. Soak it again in vinegar, if he asked who did it, fib and say a passenger from steerage wandered through who knew something about horses, saw her, and wanted to help. You are not, under any circumstances, to say it was a woman, understand?”

  “You don’t have to worry,” he assured her. “I’m only too happy to pretend you were never here.”

  Back in the cabin, Angele leaned against the dosed door and only then breathed a sigh of relief. No one had seen her coming upstairs. No one but the boy would ever know she’d taken care of the horse, and he wouldn’t tell. Her secret was safe.

  She took off her dress and held it out to see how much damage was done—and groaned. There were dark smudges, and the hem was ragged and raw. She would never be able to mend it or clean it. There were even bloodstains she’d not noticed before. It was ruined.

  There was only one thing to do—ball it up and throw it out the porthole. If Ryan were to see it, she’d be hard-pressed to come up with a plausible explanation.

  In her hurry to get rid of the gown, she didn’t bother putting on her nightdress.

  Naked, she stood on tiptoe and tried to reach the porthole but couldn’t quite do so. Dragging the chair over, she climbed up, and, after much struggling, succeeded in opening the round window and pushed it open.

  She tried to shove the gown through, and her heart tripped when part of it caught on something. She couldn’t just let it hang there for someone to see when they got to Cherbourg. It would be traced to her cabin—and her.

  The porthole was not very wide but big enough that she could poke her head through, along with one arm. Gripping the bottom of it, she hoisted herself up and leaned out as far as possible.

  The gown was caught on a splinter. She stretched farther. Then, just as she had it and gave a yank to send it floating away into the night, she heard a loud noise as the chair tipped over and hit the floor with a bang.

  She grimaced to think how she was going to have to drop to the floor, and hoped she wouldn’t sprain her ankle—or worse.

  Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and prepared to push backward.

  Suddenly firm hands clamped her buttocks at the same instant she heard Ryan’s angry voice.

  “Angele, would you mind telling me just what the hell you’re doing hanging out the porthole naked?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Now, will you please explain yourself?”

  Ryan had pulled Angele down from the porthole and set her on her feet.

  She groped for a believable answer. “I…I needed fresh air.”

  “Then why didn’t you put your clothes on and go outside?” He couldn’t hold back a grin. “Even though I must say your hanging there naked was quite a sight.”

  Naked.

  Angele stared down at herself in horror. Then, peering up at him through lowered lashes, she saw the look in his eyes and knew she had broken one of Miss Appleton’s most important rules.

  She yanked the sheet from the bed.

  Ryan snatched it from her and playfully said, “I’ve never seen you naked.”

  And you aren’t likely to again, Angele thought as she tried to cover herself with her arms.

  He pulled them away. “Don’t. You’re beautiful. Why don’t you want me to see you? It’d suit me if you walked around naked in here all the time.”

  “That…that would be rather cold, don’t you think?”

  She made to step backward, but he put his hands on her waist and pulled her to him. “Why are you scared of me, Angele? Haven’t you realized by now I’m not going to hurt you?”

  Sliding his fingers into her hair, he tilted her head back, then lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her long and hard.

  Angele didn’t respond. She was perfectly still, her neck stiff, spine rigid.

  He used the technique Jessamine Darcy had taught him and sensuously made love to her mouth. Slowly he dipped his tongue in, then withdrew it. He repeated it, again and again, teasing, tantalizing, all the while running his hands up and down her bare arms as he continued to hold her.

  She raised her hands and made tiny fists and shook them as he continued his honeyed assault, but still she didn’t react.

  He could feel her heat against him.

  He moved to cup her head in his hands and tilted her farther back, sliding his lips from hers to nuzzle her throat then trailed to her ear.

  “No, please, don’t…” she whimpered as his tongue began to circle inside her ear. “I…I don’t want you to do this…”

  “Yes, you do. You like it. Say it, Angele—say you want more…”

  She tried to shake her head but his long fingers held her in a viselike grip.

  He returned to her mouth and kissed her again and felt his own lust rising, deepening to a churning urgency. His moan of desire came from deep in his throat. He wanted her, but this was one time he would make her want him so desperately she would toss aside her fear and inhibitions.

  He dropped a hand to her bottom and pulled her against him so that his erection burrowed into her cleft. Gently, he pushed to and fro, rubbing her pe
arly nub, and she whimpered but still remained rigid.

  His other hand went to her full, firm breast. Flicking his thumb over her nipple, he was pleased to find it already hard. He knew then despite how she was fighting against it, she was aroused. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue across it, then, lips fastened to her breast, grasped her waist to lift her and lower her to the bed.

  He was still suckling at her breast as he laid her down.

  And she was still not moving.

  He raised his head to see that her eyes were tightly closed, her fists still clenched. “Tell me you want me, Angele.”

  “I…I don’t,” she lied.

  “I’ll make you,” he growled, although he wasn’t angry. Actually, though his loins threatened to burst with need, he was enjoying the torment.

  He spread her legs and began to massage between them. She bit down on her lip and arched her back. He plunged his finger inside and worked it around, and, uncontrollably, her hips began to undulate.

  “Say it,” he commanded.

  “Say it,” he repeated, louder, almost harshly.

  “Never…”

  He parted her, trailing a fingertip up and down to torture, tease, then lowered his face.

  She tried to rise from the bed, her fingers diving into his hair to grasp and try to pull him from her. “No, please…”

  “Yes, please,” he murmured, his breath hot against the heart of her. “Yes, I do please…”

  He began to circle her hot little bud with his tongue, then nibbled between his teeth, ever so gently, licking back and forth. Then he plunged deep inside, grasping her hips and holding her firm. In and out, around and around, and he felt her shuddering, knew her climax was near.

  Abruptly, he withdrew.

  Her lashes flickered, and then she was looking at him with glazed eyes of wonder. Her hips continued to move, ever so slightly, and he slipped his finger inside her again to feel the gentle squeezing in signal that she was about to explode.