He went on to prove that he could do so while Leigh sputtered away vigorously until she realized she was wasting her breath. Then she hung limply, gathering strength for the moment when he would have to set her down.
They were out of the channel by the time he finally did, miles from shore. Leigh clamped her lips on a threat that she could swim. Dusk was falling and the shimmering lights on the horizon, blending together in the distance, informed her clearly that she would be a fool to attempt such dramatic bravado as a dive overboard.
Derek was watching her, a smile twitching on the grim set of his lips as he read her thoughts like a large lettered book. Drawing a deep breath for a rush of abuse, Leigh exhaled instead. “Why?” she demanded simply. Lifting helpless hands, she repeated, “Why? Why the dramatics?”
“Because,” Derek informed her, his hand on the helm and his eyes scanning the ocean, “I have my faults, and I’ve been wrong—we’ll go into that later—but you have a very major problem. You think running away solves everything. I want you in a spot where you can’t get mad and take off.”
“I didn’t just run away! I warned you—”
“What about last night? You get mad so you hop out of bed and go running out stark naked!”
“I came back.”
“You had to,” Derek acknowledged bitterly. Cutting the engine with a flick of his wrist, he nimbly brushed past her to the aft of the Storm Haven and cast the anchor overboard with a whistling swing. If the situation were not so tense, Leigh would have laughed. Henry VIII balancing perfectly by the jinny mast of a twentieth-century yacht.
He turned to stare at her, his form tall and proud against the violet-streaked sky of the dying day. “Get into the cabin and sit,” he ordered her curtly. “You wanted to talk—we’ll talk. But you’re going to get to hear why I didn’t want to listen to your version of anything that happened.”
“My version!” Leigh exclaimed.
“Go on down!” Derek demanded. “I’ll be right there. Oh—and make yourself useful. There’s wine in the refrigerator; you should find it easily. It’s a small galley.”
Squaring her jaw and clutching her long skirts around her, Leigh carefully climbed the wooden ladder down to the cabin. It was dark, but by groping along the wall she found a switch that gently illuminated the galley and adjoining dining room-den. The sailboat, Leigh decided, fitted her captain well. The galley was compact but complete down to a dishwasher; the den area simple but tastefully elegant, pleasingly paneled in a dark wood and decorated with silver gray drapes and matching seat covers. Stooping to reach into the waist-high refrigerator, Leigh found that it had been stocked with more than wine. Carefully shelved were rows of meats, cheeses, fruits, and various other staples. Derek, it seemed, was prepared for a long voyage.
The sound of his feet upon the ladder informed her that he had joined her just as she finished pouring the wine into the chilled glasses she had found beside it. Ignoring her, he drew the drapes to allow a cooling sea breeze to waft into the cabin while he impatiently began to jerk pieces of the Henry VIII costume from his body until he was down to the tight form-fitting pants and the knee-high boots. As he strode back to Leigh, she could read the tension in his face and sense the extent of his anger from the tautness of the muscles that bunched across his back.
“What the hell are you mad about?” she demanded crossly. “I’m the one who has been abducted!”
Derek picked up both wineglasses and set them at the mahogany table that flanked the starboard side. Reaching into a cabinet, he extracted an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes. Sliding into the seat, he motioned her next to him. “Sit down. Start talking. I’m listening.”
Nervously, Leigh took the seat he indicated. She took a swallow of her wine and accepted a light for a cigarette, growing increasingly uneasy beneath the relentless intensity of his dark glower. “Go on,” he prompted.
“Tell me why you are angry, first,” Leigh suggested hesitantly. She felt totally tongue-tied, at a loss. How could she carry on an intimate conversation when he was acting like a hangman?
“You’ll understand in a few minutes,” he sighed, seeming unwillingly touched by her confusion. “Start talking—I’ll try to help.”
Lamely, with broken words, Leigh tried to explain her relationship with Richard: how entranced she had been at first, then how shattered she had become when she realized that Richard had a woman waiting in every city and that she was simply supposed to accept the situation because he was Richard Tremayne. She told him about the constant temper tantrums toward the end, the mental cruelty he would purposely inflict. “I tried to talk to you about Richard then,” Leigh said, watching the smoke curl into the air from the glowing tip of her cigarette. “I told Richard a month before I filed the papers that I intended to do so. But Richard had your ear, and he didn’t believe I would divorce him. Not until he was served the papers.” Forcing herself to meet Derek’s eyes squarely, Leigh turned to him and said, “But not once, Derek, not once, no matter what was happening, did I ever see anyone else. I was too hurt and bewildered to chance an involvement. Richard had shattered all my beliefs in what marriage and love meant.”
It was Derek who shuttered his gaze and turned away. A lock of reddish-gold hair fell over his forehead, hiding his lowered head completely. Leigh sat tensely watching him, surprised by his silent reaction. Suddenly the hand that held his wineglass rose and slammed back to the table, splintering the fine crystal into minuscule pieces and splaying wine in every direction. His focus turned to Leigh and there was rage and pain in the depths of his eyes, which had turned as dark as the mahogany table. “Why?” he exploded. “Why do you insist upon lying to me? I told you I didn’t care—that I just didn’t want to hear!”
“I’m not lying!” Leigh cried, frightened by his vehemence but more bewildered than ever and determined to cross the gulf between them. “Damn, Derek!” she pleaded, resisting the temptation to touch him by clenching her nails into her palms. “You tell me that you love me, but you won’t even give me the benefit of doubt! You tell me why! Why are you so convinced that Richard’s lies about me were the truth?”
“Because I have it in black and white,” Derek said, his voice low and strained.
“What?” Leigh’s whisper was a breath of utter disbelief.
“The letter, Leigh. The rest of Richard’s letter. It’s a damn deathbed confession! He wouldn’t have lied to me in that; he wanted me to watch out for you.” Shreds of glass covered Derek’s hands but he didn’t notice. A pool of wine lay over the table, but neither suggested they mop it up.
“I don’t believe that either, Derek,” Leigh choked sickly. “He wouldn’t purposely have lied … then.”
“God, Leigh,” Derek groaned, “don’t you see that I do believe in you? I understand how rotten things were for you—Richard did like to play the ‘star.’ I don’t condemn you for anything. But I don’t want to start our life with lies, either. We just drop it—whatever was was.”
Feeling like a broken record Leigh dropped her forehead into the palm of her hand and repeated, “But I’m not lying!” Lifting her head with sudden inspiration, she asked, “Do you have the letter?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because I may find something in it you didn’t!”
Derek shrugged as if the effort was useless, but he rose and disappeared into the forward cabin. Leigh picked up the broken glass while he was gone and searched the cabinets for another. When Derek returned, she had cleaned the table and set the new glass at his place. The little task had kept her from climbing the sailboat’s walls.
The letter had been in his wallet, and as Derek pulled it out and handed it to Leigh, she could see the crease marks. He must have read it and replaced and reread it a hundred times.
Leigh glanced at his heavy countenance once, then turned her full attention to the words before her in Richard’s sprawling script. The sight of his handwriting alone caused a constriction of sadness to form in her thro
at, but she had to read the letter. Knowing the fullness of his concern for her at the end, she couldn’t believe that he would purposely malign her.
The letter was short, just two paragraphs and a line. The first dealt with his knowledge of his disease and his decision to end it all his own way, which Derek had already told her. Everything Derek had said was true; without going into detail, Richard admitted sadly that he had hurt her. His written word begged that she be spared as much further grief as possible.
It was the second paragraph that unwittingly condemned her:
I don’t think Leigh realizes the depth of her own feelings, but she has been in love with a great guy for a long time. I’ve seen it; I knew it from the very start I suppose, but, well, being me, I just couldn’t let her go. A real noble man. Ha-ha. Sorry—you know my bloody sense of humor. Maybe I am a little bitter. Seems like I’m the one that has to go. It was life, and I lived it. My only regret is Leigh. She deserved him in the first place. I hope that she gets more than stolen moments now. See to it, long-time friend and brother, will you?
Good luck, health, and long life to you both.
Leigh read the paragraph and parting line three times; she choked, sobbed, then began to laugh. It was a sad laugh, one that verged on hysteria. Looking from the paper with tear-bright eyes, she met Derek’s pained and incredulous stare. It was obvious that he thought she had plummeted over the brink and become totally demented.
“Oh, don’t you see? You mammoth idiot! To the music world, Derek, you may be a genius, but you can be as dense as a forest full of trees!” Leigh exclaimed, smiling ruefully through her tears. “Richard is talking about you. He understood our feelings before either of us did—before either of us could ever admit such a thing!”
Derek was still staring at her stunned. “‘A noble man,’” Leigh quoted. “Nobleman—dear future Lord Mallory. Richard was far more perceptive than I ever would have imagined. ‘Good luck, health, and long life to you both.’ This letter does more than ask you to look out for me, it’s Richard’s blessing. He wanted us to be happy together!”
Derek grabbed the sheet from her hand and his eyes scanned the paper. After a moment he dropped the worn sheet and unraveled his length to walk tiredly to the ladder and lean against it, his face pressed to the cold wood. Oh, God! Leigh thought desperately, he still doesn’t believe!
She sat staring at him, in a trance of fear. The world and time stood still; she didn’t dare think or even breathe. Lord, why didn’t he say something? Didn’t he know that she couldn’t bear his terrible withdrawal one second longer?
“Derek!” she cried, her calling of his name ripped from her throat in a pathetic screech of agony. It was a beseechment from the soul that would have shattered a heart of stone.
He came back to her then and knelt at her feet, his hands and the tremendously long and powerful fingers that were music themselves locked more tenderly over hers than ever they had graced a keyboard. Tentatively, Leigh withdrew one hand and gently set her own delicate fingers upon the crisp reddish-gold hair of the head bowed over her lap.
“Oh, Lord, Leigh! I couldn’t see what was right before my own bloody eyes! I was so afraid …” His voice was broken and cracking; his explanation trailed into a groan. “Can you ever forgive me, my dearest love?”
“Forgive you?” Leigh gasped, still trying to assimilate the fact that he was on his knees before her and that their ghosts had finally been laid to rest. For a brief moment she thought of Richard, and she thanked his fading spirit with a silent tear. Then she freed her other hand to clutch it too into the golden curls before her and lift Derek’s head so that she could meet his golden eyes. All shadow of doubt was gone. In his gaze she found a wealth of unspoken eloquence, and she knew he offered her everything she had ever desired—not only undying love and devotion, but the complete belief and trust that would allow that love to grow to endless bounds for all the days of their lives. A smile of sheer relief and happiness stretched its way into her eyes, adding the beauty of radiance to the loveliness of her finely chiseled features.
“Forgive you?” she repeated incredulously. “My dear, dear Lord Mallory. I forgive you with all my heart! And I will love you with all my soul and being well into eternity!”
She planted a kiss of infinite tenderness upon his brow, then a spark of mischief lit her eyes and she began to chuckle softly. “Now get off your knees, Lord Mallory!” she commanded. “Your female fan club wouldn’t like this one bit!”
“My female fan club can go hang!” Derek declared, slowly grinning. “I seek the approval of only one female in the entire world.” He started to rise, but lowered himself back down, a definitely roguish expression settling into his rugged profile. Her chuckle became a knowing laugh; she had never expected her arrogant lover to remain humble for long.
“Hush, woman!” he ordered. “I decided to say one more thing while I’m down here. It’s highly unlikely you’ll ever get me into this position again!” Leigh raised impudent brows. “Speak, my lord!”
“This is a proper proposal. Will you marry me?”
“You’ll never get out of it!” Leigh vowed. “When?”
“As soon as we can get a license. I’d like to fly to Georgia and spend my wedding night and honeymoon in a certain house on a hill near Atlanta. I was seduced there once by a fantasy witch, a woman from a dream.” Derek pounced gracefully to his feet and pulled Leigh up beside him as he whispered on in her ear. “She was a real vixen, but I fell in love with her then and there and I would have spent my life searching for her.” Running his tongue over her earlobe and tracing a pattern of erotic little kisses along her throat, he murmured, “I wonder if she likes to make love on boats. It’s a delightful experience beneath the stars …”
“I’m sure she’d adore it,” Leigh panted, gasping for the breath he was robbing from her lungs. “She is, you know …”
“My lady,” Derek murmured. “Always.”
Somehow, Derek managed to keep his mouth tantalizing her skin while he slid the draping “Boleyn” sleeves from her arms. Then he found himself stumped. “Where’s the zipper on this damn thing?” he quizzed, annoyed and impatient.
Leigh smiled seductively and very slowly started to work apart the tiny hooks that held the costume together. “They didn’t have zippers in the sixteenth century,” she told him innocently. “You rented from an authentic costume shop.” Shimmying from the dress seductively, Leigh gave him a wicked smile and bolted up the ladder. Beneath the moon she cast aside the remainder of her flimsy undergarments, knowing that he watched her, knowing his eyes were glittering gold with desire …
Derek reached for her and she turned impishly to throw herself into his arms, only to slide down his length and help him out of the high boots. She watched him with frank feminine approval as he slid out of the tight pants, then waited as he came for her. Their bed was a spot beneath the proud mainmast; their ceiling the star-blanketed sky. The harmony of their voices was that of their bodies and souls as they came together, satisfied for a timeless moment to touch, arms wrapped tenderly around one another, her breasts crushed against the crisp hair of his chest, her hips pressed to his, her long, slender legs interwoven with his longer, more powerful ones.
And yet that moment, beautiful in itself and meant to be cherished, could not, of its own making, last. Still, it was a portent of things to come. Simultaneously, they sank to their knees together, and Derek reverently kissed the palm of her hand and each finger before claiming the sweetness of her mouth.
Tonight was new again, tonight the bonds of their love would be irrevocably sealed beneath the heavens.
Leigh shivered as the intensity of his kiss brought them down together and the easy roll of the Storm Haven abetted the rising desire between them. Their tongues did not duel, but sought deeper in demand, until Derek’s muffled cry brought them apart, only so that his lips could taste more of her. Tenderly, feverishly, then tenderly again, his lips traveled her flesh, savorin
g her throat, her breasts turned hard with longing, her stomach, which constricted at his touch, her quivering thighs, her knees, her toes … everything; he was compelled to know every inch of her …
And Leigh trembled with the burning sensations of his loving desire, certain that they had become one with the stars as she was consumed bit by bit, as if little flames licked at her, until she could no longer endure the exquisite torture. Crying out for him, she threw her arms out in beseechment, then drew him back to her. Even as he began the culmination of her deliciously agonized longing, she was tasting the salt sea mist of his lips again, grazing her teeth over the satin-smooth tightness of his shoulders, allowing her hands the possessive appeasement of following the sturdy line of his powerful back, her fingers the return enticement of curling into the mat of his chest, of teasing along his ribs …
The mounting cloud of desire that only they could elicit in one another raged until it became a passionate storm that swept away all else. The world itself was eradicated; there were only the two of them, one body, one soul. A beautiful, synchronized harmony that was a love song soaring ever higher with each rhythmic, combustible beat …
And a crescendo of sweet, sweet, exquisite ecstasy. One that left them both satiated to the brim with awe and quaking contentment, loathe to break their entwinement in any way.
Leigh sighed happily and half opened sensuously lazy eyes to the sky. It was with wonder that she realized her fantasy had finally become real, unquestionable and complete. She moved finally to touch the damp tendrils of hair that lay upon her chest. She would always need to touch him.
And he her.
He shifted as she moved, but only to look at her with a knowing smile, and rearrange their positions to place protectively his heavier form against the deck and pull her into the comfort of his shoulder. Neither was really ready to stir yet; they were basking in the blissful, semiconscious state of euphoria that followed such a bout of fully committed and hungrily passionate lovemaking.
When Next We Love Page 18