Indiscretions

by Gail Ranstrom

  Hunt paced while he put the pieces together. He was not surprised that Blackpool was acquiring provisions from San Marco, but gunpowder? Why would a small village on the far side of the island need gunpowder? Unless it was for pirate cannons. “How many barrels of gunpowder, Layton?”

  “I could not count them all, but I estimate close to sixty or seventy.”

  “Perhaps we should pay a little visit to the harbormaster.”

  Layton backed up a step. “There’s more. I bought a pint for one of the mates. Asked him who the schooner belonged to.”

  “I am willing to wager you didn’t get an answer.”

  “I was warned off. I was told some high muckworm was behind this and not to think I could get more than I’d already been paid.”

  Cold invaded Hunt’s stomach. Questions like that could get a man killed. Layton knew that. Why had he risked being hit over the head and dumped in the bay? “Good God, Layton. What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking it could be my last chance to find out what is going on. But you have the right of it. The man picked up his pint and went to another table. Today my mates have been giving me a wide berth. I gather I am a marked man.”

  “Collect your things and meet me at the gate of New Albion tomorrow at midnight. I do not want anyone knowing the direction we are taking. We’re going to Blackpool on reconnaissance.”

  “D’you think we’ll find pirates?”

  “I think we could. If some ‘high muckworm’ is involved, then it’s someone in San Marco, and he’s got to be channeling information to Sieyes or Rodrigo some way. I’m betting it is through Blackpool.”

  Layton digested this news and then asked, “What will you tell Prichard and Bascombe?”

  “I’ve already told them I am going to see the coral reefs. They will not miss me for a few days. We should be back before they become suspicious. Layton, you are going home afterward. St. Claire is not safe for you now.”

  Layton rolled his eyes but did not protest. “And you?”

  Hunt sighed as he gathered the reins of his horse and tried not to think of his other unfinished business here. “I’ll be going back, too. It’s become increasingly clear to me that St. Claire is only half the puzzle. There appears to be a chain of contacts. Our muckworm is not likely to be the source of information regarding fleet movements. That would come out of Greenwich, pass to our muckworm, then to Sieyes and Rodrigo through Blackpool.” Yes. From the navy to Bascombe, Bascombe to Blackpool and Blackpool to the pirate fleet.

  “If you suspect all that, why are we going to Blackpool?”

  “To confirm it. And to sever the chain.”

  Daphne could not sleep. Her sheets were twisted and damp from her restlessness. A glass of wine did not help. Nor did three. It was the weather, she told herself. Oppressive. How could anyone sleep when a storm was moving in? She recognized the signs. She could feel it in the still, heavy air. Feel it all the way to her bones.

  She paced barefoot until she loathed the sight of the four walls surrounding her. Before she was conscious of making the decision, she was on the beach and up to her knees in the welcoming sea. Her chemise swirled in the water, then clung to her legs when it receded.

  A little of the tension drained from her shoulders but the odd restlessness had a stranglehold on her chest. What was wrong? What did she want?

  The memory of that night of near insanity rose to her mind. How seductive Lockwood had been, how persuasive. How she’d wanted to surrender with every fiber of her being. The fear that she’d never be whole again—that he would betray her and leave her—had overwhelmed her. But the memory of it clung to her and haunted her nights.

  She glanced west, toward New Albion. Yes. That was what she wanted. Needed. And not just Lockwood’s company. She wanted his arms, his mouth, his hands. She needed him next to her, above her, inside her. Tears filled her eyes. Oh, poor Daphne! Pitiful weak creature that she was, could she trade one night of passion for a lifetime of regret?

  To her shame, she could. She knew that now. He would be gone soon, and she would remain. But she would keep the memory of him. She would not live with what might have been, cursing herself for her cowardice and always feeling empty. She’d have the memory, if not the man.

  And then she was running, her hair whipped back by the wind. She had to hurry, before it was too late. Before she changed her mind.

  “Lockwood!” she called, and the sound of her voice was lost in the wind and the roar of the waves.

  From the sand she could see the dim flicker of a candle from within his cottage. Whether he had heard her call his name aloud or merely sensed it, something summoned him from the darkness. He stepped out to the wide verandah and saw her.

  She took one tentative step forward, then froze. Did he still want her?

  The black sky flashed with a streak of lightning and Lockwood came down the steps toward her. What would she say? How could she tell him why she’d come and what she wanted?

  She needn’t have worried. He cupped her cheek, meeting her gaze and acknowledging her wordless plea with a nod before he pulled her into his arms. His kiss sped her heartbeat. She would not change her mind this time. She would not let her own cowardice cheat her of this.

  Lockwood slipped his hands down her back, over the curve of her buttocks and along the back of her thighs, lifting her to fit against his groin. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he carried her thus to the house.

  When he placed her on her feet beside the bed, he stepped back, waiting for a sign from her. She was unpracticed in seduction, but she knew what she wanted.

  She reached out and fumbled with the fasteners of his breeches. He seemed amused by her awkwardness and steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. Finally she accomplished her task, and she pushed the cloth down until he was exposed to her. She swallowed hard and gathered her courage at the sight of his erection.

  He waited until she lifted her gaze to his. A smile curved his lips. He was so sure of himself, so comfortable in this strange seduction, that she blushed. Her cheeks burned with it and a shiver went through her.

  He lifted her shift over her head and threw it atop his breeches, but he did not embrace her. He stepped back, his lips parted as he examined her. She wanted to yield to modesty and cover herself, yet she knew he deserved this moment for all she had put him through. There’d be no turning back tonight, and she would be somehow changed by morning.

  She prayed that she could live without him.

  Later. She would think about that later.

  Lightning illuminated the room and thunder rattled the windowpanes. There had been a storm the last time she’d been here, and it seemed as if it had waited for them.

  He lifted her and laid her upon the cool sheets before settling beside her. She wasn’t certain what to do. Barrett had never required anything of her. Just that she lay still and receive him. On the rare occasions when she had tried to move, or ease his weight from her chest, he had cursed her and warned her to be still until he was finished. But this man—she could not bear it if he thought her gauche or clumsy.

  When he lifted her leg to ride his hip, a shocking hunger sped through her. She felt open to him, vulnerable yet aroused. She gasped, dizzy with longing.

  Another roll of thunder nearly drowned her words as she whispered, “Will you hurt me?” Oh, Lord! Had that faint quavering voice been hers? How could she have revealed her deepest fears? Thank God he could not have heard it over the thunder.

  His voice was half moan as he whispered, “Easy, Daphne. Breathe. How long since—”

  “Shh,” she said. Questions would only make her think. For once, she wanted just to feel and not think of the consequences. Just once, to follow her instincts and not worry about planning her every step and hiding her real self.

  He nuzzled her ear, nibbling the lobe and running the tip of his tongue along the rim. She shivered with the strange deliciousness of it, and the wonder that such things could brin
g her pleasure.

  He inched lower, resting his mouth against the hollow of her throat, against her wildly beating pulse, and she tangled her fingers through his hair to hold him close. Unsure of herself, she followed his lead. He groaned when she nipped at his earlobe. Then he lowered his head and suddenly she was on fire. He nibbled at her breasts, drawing forth an instant and overwhelming need. She was molten at her core and she strained against him.

  He rolled with her until he was above her, braced on his forearms. Even through the darkness, she could see the exact shade of his eyes, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, the faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth. And she could feel the hard length of his erection between them.

  “Easy,” he urged. “Slowly.”

  The crisp hair of his chest abraded her breasts and made them all the more sensitive as he started moving downward again. Desire and fear, conscience and passion, all whirled in confusing opposition, and she truly didn’t know what would happen next. Barrett had never done any of this.

  She hadn’t thought she could want a man in this way, but she ached for this one, caught in a need so intense that she couldn’t name it, couldn’t even make sense of it or of the urgency that gripped her. “Now,” she demanded as hard pellets of rain began to pound against the windowpanes.

  He stroked her side and bent his head to tease her breasts, bringing them to responsive peaks.

  “Quickly,” she gasped. “Before I change my mind.”

  His voice came as a low growl. “There is more, Daphne.”

  “Now.” She caught her breath on a sigh as a crack of thunder overhead shook the rafters. “Please…”

  He laced his fingers through hers and pressed them against the pillow. Holding her gaze, he lowered his hips the remaining inches between her thighs, easing his shaft downward. She bit her lip as he prodded at her entrance, expecting the old pain. Anxious to have it over with, she tilted her hips up to him and he gained a shallow entry. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for the inevitable intrusion, but yearning for it anyway. He prodded again and then again, each time deepening his penetration. Where was the hard push forward? The mindless assault on her body?

  She burned inside, wanting him there, needing him there, and moaned at the almost magical moment he glided deep inside. Tears trickled down her cheeks into her hair. How odd, that at this exact moment, she felt whole for the first time.

  “Stay with me, Daphne,” he whispered.

  She opened her eyes again and held his gaze as he moved within her, creating a rhythm that compelled her to match him. Joined with him, her passion rising, she was attuned to his needs, bound by his gaze and commanded by his rhythm. She arched toward him, taking him into her, greedy for him. Harder, faster, deeper. And when little frissons of pleasure built into wild rapture, he shuddered with his climax. And, just as suddenly, her world spiraled inward to the point where they were joined, then erupted in a dark brilliance.

  She was panting, gasping, trembling, and long waves of pleasure were washing over her as Lockwood, still deeply rooted within her, smoothed her hair back from her face and whispered soothing phrases in her ear. He called her beautiful. Told her she was Aphrodite and that he’d never known such ecstasy and that he couldn’t get enough of her.

  Sometime later—hours or days, she did not know—he sighed against her temple. Sleep, he urged as he eased from her for the third—or was it the fourth?—time. Rest, sweet Daphne.

  Ah, but how could she rest? She’d just done the most irrational thing of her life. She’d just bared her deepest passions to a man who could ferret out her secrets, who was a member of the ton—a man who, by careless boasting or idle curiosity, could cause her ruin or even death.

  Oh, Daphne, you little fool. Was it worth it? she asked herself. And answered, Yes. A thousand times yes.

  Chapter Ten

  Hunt sat on the steps of the verandah watching the sun rise. He hadn’t been surprised to wake and find Daphne gone, though she could only have been gone for a matter of minutes. She was the sort of woman he’d have to marry if he wanted to wake with her. And that idea was becoming more appealing by the hour.

  When he’d seen her standing on the beach last night, he’d feared he was dreaming. Daphne had been frozen, almost as if she could not move unless he urged her. He’d gone to her, half afraid she’d bolt if he spoke and broke the spell.

  He stood and plucked several stems of wild orchid near his door, then stretched, savoring the aches of arduous lovemaking. He’d gone slowly with her, fearing she’d bolt again if he gave her the slightest reason. Her question—would he hurt her—had been spoken so softly that he’d barely heard her, and it warned him she had not been treated as she deserved. Was this the key to her past?

  But then, by the shy and almost desperate way she responded, he knew everything he needed to know about her. He’d stake his life that she had never done anything like that before. If she had taken lovers, she had done so only after long and patient wooing. And they’d been clumsy idiots. He recognized the first taste of rapture when he saw it.

  Amazingly, he’d meant every honeyed word he’d murmured in the midst of the storm. Daphne had become everything to him. He was not a green youth, caught up in the throes of his first love affair. He was experienced enough to know the difference between infatuation and love, and worldly enough to know that he’d begun to love Daphne long before she’d come to him in the storm. Her quiet courage, her strength and determination, were the foundation. Her throaty laugh, the expression on her face when she looked into his eyes, the way she arched her neck and moaned when she reached her climax—those were the added advantages.

  He wanted to take care of her, ease her way, lie down and get up with her and, if she were willing, get his sons and daughters on her. To hell with his friends and family if they could not accept Daphne as Lady Lockwood. He would make her his, and no one would stand in his way.

  He tickled his nose with one of the wild orchids. The scent, uniquely Daphne’s now, seduced him utterly. He would give her time to rest, and then he would go to her tonight before he left for Blackpool.

  She should be exhausted, Daphne realized. She should be barely able to move. But logic had no place in her current condition. She smiled and pulled the chain that tipped the bucket over her head. The fresh cold water rinsed away the salt and the sand, reviving her as effectively as a sound sleep.

  She wrapped her dressing robe around her and went into the cottage. The smell of eggs and ham reminded her that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. In the kitchen, Olivia turned to her, a hard expression on her face.

  “I was…up early.” That much was true.

  “Do not lie to me, querida. I have been here for hours. I know where you were.”

  Daphne considered an evasion and then discarded the idea. She was an adult, after all, and a widow. She could do as she pleased. She went to the worktable and poured herself a cup of tea from the chipped china pot.

  “Well?” Olivia insisted.

  “I will not excuse myself, Olivia. And I have no need to apologize to you.”

  Olivia raised her eyebrows. She was not accustomed to such frankness from Daphne.

  “Oh, what does it matter?” Daphne asked, half to herself. “He will be gone within a week. I just…” She shrugged.

  “He is handsome,” Olivia allowed. “And he has the look of a man who could bring your blood to a boil. But, querida, he is not a man to trifle with.”

  “There is nothing trifling about what we are doing.”

  Olivia shrugged and turned back to her cooking. “He will leave you with his seed in your belly. Then what, querida? Will you ask me for the name of the old Gullah woman in Blackpool who takes care of such matters?”

  Daphne looked down at her flat stomach and placed her hand over it in a protective gesture. The thought of bearing Lockwood’s baby bloomed in her, filling her with wonder. Could such a thing be? “I hadn’t thought of that, Olivia.
But no. I would not get rid of it.”

  “Querida, I have always known you are cut from fine cloth. I do not know what has brought you to St. Claire, but I know you are not the sort to give birth to a bastard. And what would you tell little William?” Olivia clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Sometimes you are so innocent. Think, querida. How would such a thing change your life? Your position on St. Claire? The good citizens would soon put the pieces together and know who had fathered your baby.”

  Her hand trembled and she splashed her tea into the saucer. She would have to move to a new island. Perhaps take refuge on San Juan or a Dutch holding. Olivia was right. She could not have a child. Such a thing could be disastrous, especially if Lockwood found out and decided to claim it.

  “I was not thinking,” she admitted.

  Olivia nodded. “The madness will pass, querida. You will only miss him for a little while, and then you will forget him. Send for William to come for the holiday. He will cheer you. He misses you so.”

  She sat at the table and looked up at her friend. “Yes. He does, does he not?”

  “So many letters lately, eh? A certain sign he wants to come home. There is another so soon.”

  “Another?” she repeated. “Letter?”

  “Si. I have put it on your desk.”

  Daphne rushed into the parlor. There, on the polished surface of the escritoire, was a letter stained from travel and passage from hand to hand. Its origin was Charleston, but the envelope did not bear William’s childish handwriting. She broke the seal and unfolded the page.

  My dear Mrs. Hobbs,

  It is with mixed emotions that I take pen in hand to inform you of a rather startling event.

  Several months ago our modest school became the focus of flattering attention from abroad. We received visitors who, under the guise of evaluators, were engaged in interviewing our staff and students. They were, they said, gathering data for a British catalogue of foreign schools of merit to assist wealthy families in finding suitable education for their sons. They were granted access to all facets of Bridgerton Academy.