“What happened?” Alex said.
“The exhibition,” Owen said. He was not going to tell them everything but he wanted their help. “Teresa didn’t know,” he said. “Brokeby drugged her and Melton painted her.”
Shock flared in Alex’s eyes. “Christ, Rothbury,” he said faintly.
“I want to find Brokeby’s cronies,” Owen said. The anger surged in him again, bitter, violent, no less sharp with the passage of time. “They were there. I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill them.”
Alex shook his head. There was sympathy in his eyes. “Don’t do it, Rothbury,” he said. “I understand your feelings, but—”
“If you tell me it’s not worth it,” Owen said through his teeth, “I’ll probably punch you.”
“It’s worth it a thousand times over for Tess,” Alex said with a faint smile, “but it will never change the past.” He shifted. “Violence did not serve you so well before, did it, Rothbury? You lost your commission and you damn near lost your everything else.”
Owen came to his feet. “Why, you—”
“Don’t call me out,” Alex said calmly. “You’ve spent fourteen years putting that behind you. Don’t let it master you now.” His gaze was steady and watchful on Owen’s face. Very slowly, Owen sank back into his chair.
“Curse you, Grant,” he said morosely. “Why are you always right?”
“Because I’ve been in the same place,” Alex said. “When you told me what David Ware had done to Joanna I wanted to kill him. If he had not already been dead…” Owen saw him shrug, a little uncomfortably, as though the memory still had the power to hurt him. “But I realised that the only thing that mattered was how Joanna felt, not how I felt. You are the only one who can help Tess and you won’t do that by getting arrested for murder, no matter how tempting it is.”
Owen let out his breath on a long sigh. “You’re damned persuasive.”
“Most of Brokeby’s set are dead anyway,” Garrick put in. “Carver broke his neck on the road to Brighton a few years back. Helmsley was shot by his gamekeeper, and Towton was trampled at the Newmarket races.”
“Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving bunch,” Owen said.
The door opened and Tess came in. She was dressed in a rose-pink morning gown and looked pretty and fresh and very young. Owen felt a rush of pleasure on seeing her and a greater rush of relief that the first thing she had done was to seek him out, not to run away from him. He saw Garrick shoot Alex a look and they both rose from the table with almost indecent haste.
“Did I chase them away?” Tess asked, looking slightly baffled as her brothers-in-law made their bows of greeting and departure at one and the same time. “I did not intend—”
Owen took both her hands in his and she fell silent.
“I think,” he said, smiling, “that that was their attempt to be subtle and leave us alone together.”
“Oh.” Tess’s smile was mischievous. “Subtle.” She nodded. “I see.”
“You are well this morning?” Owen asked softly.
Her eyes searched his face for a moment, wide, wary and very blue. She looked uncertain and very shy. Owen felt the look like a physical punch in the gut. It stole his breath.
“I am very well, thank you, my lord.” She sounded very slightly breathless.
Owen kissed her hand and felt her tremble slightly but not, he thought, from fear. Last night, deep in the horror of all she had to tell him, she had recoiled from his touch, but later she had turned to him with complete trust. He had to try to build on that. He smiled at her and saw an answering smile leap into her eyes and he felt a ridiculous surge of pleasure, as though she had given him a present.
“What do we do now, my lord?” she said.
Owen liked that she was prepared to tackle the matter so bluntly. It was brave of her.
“We are married,” he said, “and we will stay that way.”
A shadow brushed her face. She looked down at their joined hands. “I told you yesterday that if you wish for an heir you would do a great deal better to divorce me,” she said. “I still feel it might be better. For you, I mean.”
“Teresa,” Owen said, “that is a terrible plan. It’s the worst plan since your last bad plan.”
“The one to propose to you because I thought you were impotent?” Unbelievably, there was a little smile playing about her lips now. “Yes, that was a very poor idea.”
“And yet in other ways it was not,” Owen said. He drew her a little closer. “I like being married to you. So we will stay married.” He paused. “And I will demonstrate to you the many benefits of not having an impotent husband.”
He saw the flicker of nervousness in her eyes but behind it, surely, a shade of something else, something that looked like a shy curiosity. His heart leapt.
“You are very sure of yourself,” Tess said slowly, “if you think that you can persuade me.”
“Yes,” Owen said. “I am.”
The smile was back in her eyes now, delicious, irresistible. “You are confident,” she murmured. Her lips curved. “I find I like that though. One of us has to be.”
Her smile was doing all sorts of dangerous things to his self-control. Owen wanted to kiss her. He ruthlessly subdued the impulse.
“Give me leave to persuade you,” he said. He eliminated all urgency from his voice so that she would not know how much he already wanted her and run from that knowledge. “It doesn’t have to be like it was before for you. It would not be like that with me. I swear it.”
Again she smiled a little. “I know.”
“Then take the risk. Give me that chance.”
She still looked uncertain. Owen reined in his galloping lusts and drew her slowly towards him until their bodies were just touching. There was a different sort of awareness in her eyes now but still she did not break away from him. The soft pink muslin of the gown brushed his thigh. Her hand rested against his shirt front, over his heart.
“Teresa,” he said. “Before we wed, when we were starting to get to know one another, you liked me then, didn’t you? Admit it.”
Her gaze flickered warily. Still she did not answer. He could feel the caution in her, as though she was on the edge of fleeing from him.
“All right,” Owen said. He could see he was going to have to be very honest. “I liked you,” he said. “I liked you very much. Why do you think I came to see you every day? It wasn’t only because I wanted to trap you into admitting you were Jupiter. It wasn’t even because I wanted your money. It was because I—” He stopped. Liking seemed so pale a word for the heady mix of emotions he felt for her. “I loved spending time with you,” he said.
“You wanted my money as well,” she corrected him, a hint of laughter in her voice.
“Very well.” Owen bit back an answering smile. “I did. I do. But—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips and he stopped abruptly.
“I liked you very much too,” she whispered, and Owen felt as though the sun had come out.
“And you trusted me,” he said.
Her hand fell. She gave a little nod and Owen felt his whole body jolt with the release of tension.
“Last night,” he went on, “even though you were exhausted and afraid, you turned to me. I would never betray your trust. I promise.”
She nodded again. A shade of colour came into her cheeks. “Last night,” she said. “When I…” She bit her lip. “When I kissed you… You were asleep?”
“No,” Owen said. He did not pretend to misunderstand her. “Not for a moment.” He felt her jump. Shock flared in her eyes. Her colour deepened. “You wanted to explore,” he said. “It’s all right. I thought I would let you do what you wished.”
He watched the emotions chase across her face. “You understand,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Owen said. “You are curious but you are frightened as well. It’s natural.” He gave her fingers a comforting squeeze. “I promise not to do anything you do no
t want,” he said. “One word from you and I will stop.”
Now her eyes were huge as she contemplated all the things he might do to her. Owen watched with interest. Yes, there was apprehension there, but again there was more than a glimmer of interest as well. She moistened her lips and he felt a kick of lust so violent that for a second it stole his breath. Then she looked up and met his eyes.
“Very well,” she said. “When do we start?”
“Right now,” Owen said.
TESS WONDERED IF SHE had been quite mad to go with him. When Owen had thrown down the gauntlet and announced that not only were they to remain married but he would seduce her into liking it, she had not anticipated that the first thing that they would do together was visit Sea Witch. Yet here she stood on the cobbled quay at Greenwich, the pale sun rippling on the water and the river air keen on her face. Her shoes were dirty, there was the scent of fish and rotting seaweed in her nostrils, and she had no notion how she was going to get aboard the ship that lay so gently at anchor before her.
Sea Witch, Owen’s great love. This was her rival for his attention. Tess smiled. She might have known that Owen’s ideas of a romantic courtship would not be the same as anyone else’s.
Courtship. She shivered a little at the word. It sounded extremely gentle, harmless, even. What could be sweeter or more chaste than a courtship? Yet she knew that what Owen wanted from her was not chaste at all. That frightened her, but she had to be honest and admit that it intrigued her too.
In the relative anonymity of the dark the previous night, believing Owen to be sleeping, she had felt safe to explore her desires a little. Now, though, it was bright daylight, and Owen was wide awake and back in control, and she felt more than a little fearful of what lay ahead of her. She did not know if she could be the wife Owen wanted, be his wife in the fullest sense of the word. She knew that not all men were like Brokeby. But she had never wanted an intimate relationship with any man before. It was quite a shock to her to acknowledge she might want one now. She trusted Owen and she knew she could either try to be his wife or she could run away, and perhaps it was time to stop running.
Sea Witch was a trim little craft. Even Tess, who knew nothing about ships and cared less, could see that.
“How do we get aboard?” she asked.
“Like this.” Owen picked her up in his arms and strode up the gangplank, which was at a vertiginous angle. He placed her, breathless and shocked, on the deck.
“My apologies,” he said, smiling into her eyes. He was still holding her lightly by the elbows. Her whole body tingled from the suddenness of the experience and the contact with the hard lines and muscles of his. He stood back, allowing her to find her feet. “It’s easier that way,” he said. “Avoids discussion.”
Feeling mildly disturbed, Tess followed him through a small doorway and into a narrow passageway. Instantly the wooden walls of the ship closed about them and her consciousness of Owen’s physical presence became very strong. A stifling feeling of awareness rose in her throat.
“Down here.” Owen had disappeared down a set of steps that seemed to descend into darkness. Tess looked down the hatch and saw him grinning up at her.
“How on earth am I supposed to get down there?” she asked.
“Turn around and come down backwards,” Owen instructed.
When she was halfway down the steps she was mightily relieved to feel his hands close about her waist and swing her to the floor. She had been concentrating so hard on her footing that it was only several minutes later that she realised that he would have been able to see up her skirts as she descended, just as he had when she had climbed out of the window at the brothel. She glared at his back. His shoulders looked very knowing. He was enjoying this, damn him.
But so was she. There was a little flutter in her stomach when she thought about what might happen between them, the uncertainty and the possibilities.
“Nothing will happen that you do not want,” Owen had said, and she shivered to think of all the things she might want. There would be nothing to frighten or hurt her. He had promised. So it might be quite safe to kiss him…?.
“The captain’s cabin,” Owen said, throwing open a door, breaking into her thoughts.
“It’s tiny!” Tess said. “How did you find room—” She stopped, realising the way her thoughts were tending. Suddenly, from never thinking about sex it seemed to be the only thing she was thinking about. “To move,” she finished quickly.
He gave her a wicked smile. “One becomes accustomed to making the best use of the space.” He was already moving away down the corridor. His steps were quick and light. Tess sensed the pleasure it gave him to be back on his ship, even here, at anchor. She felt a sudden fierce desire to see him sailing Sea Witch out on the open ocean. She tried to imagine all the expeditions he had been on and felt hopelessly parochial. Her travels had all been within England. Even Scotland had seemed impossibly distant and too barbaric to visit. But Owen was an explorer and explorers changed the world. She felt humbled. She also had a glimmer of the sense of entrapment he must feel to be tied now to a landed estate, a responsibility he would not shirk, because he was not a man to evade his duty.
“The mess room.” Owen threw wide another door.
The room smelled of dust and tar. It was very sparsely furnished, containing only a round wooden table in the center and a few chairs. There were some battered books on a shelf cut into the panelling and a chess set carved from what looked like ivory.
“Whalebone,” Owen said briefly. He was rummaging in some cupboards. “Your sister was remarkably good at chess. She beat Alex every time.”
“Our uncle taught us to play chess,” Tess said. She ran her fingers over the pieces, feeling the worn smoothness of the bone. “My game was always vingt-et-un, though.”
“We must play sometime,” Owen said, and something in his eyes made her catch her breath.
“I hear you never lose.”
“I hear the same thing of you,” Owen said. “They say that you must cheat because no one could be so lucky.”
Tess replaced the Queen gently on the dusty chessboard. “I don’t cheat,” she said. “It’s simply that I can picture all the cards and so…” She shrugged. “I count them.”
Owen looked taken aback. Then he laughed. “So that’s how you do it,” he said. “Counting cards. Some do call that cheating.”
“I have a good memory,” Tess objected.
“And a huge fortune as a result.” Owen straightened up, two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.
“I’m glad this is still here,” he said. “It should have matured nicely by now.”
“That,” Tess said, eyeing the bottle mistrustfully, “looks disgusting, whatever it is.”
“It’s called bumbo,” Owen said. He polished the glasses on his jacket and filled them. “Rum, water, lime, sugar and nutmeg. A favourite tipple of pirates.” He raised his glass and saluted her.
“To you, madam gamester.”
Tess took a mouthful of the bumbo and almost choked. It tasted as vile as it looked, sweet and yet unpleasantly sharp in flavour and wickedly strong. She groped for one of the wooden chairs and sank into it, her legs already feeling a little weak from the spirit. “So you were a pirate,” she said slowly.
Owen shook his head. She saw the flicker of something in his eyes. “I was never a pirate,” he said. There was a harsh edge to his voice. “I always sailed under the rule of law. Where there is no law there can only be chaos.”
“You do look more like a Navy captain than a privateer,” Tess said. “You’re not flashy like Devlin, all pearl earrings and gold-embroidered waistcoats. He looks like one expects a pirate to look.” She took another absentminded mouthful of the bumbo. It tasted less unpleasant this time, the spice stronger, the rum less of a fierce burn in her throat. She thought about Owen making his fortune, buying his own ship, an adventurer, an explorer, a man who took what he wanted with such quiet ruthlessness that
one would only notice once it was taken.
“But that’s what is dangerous about you,” she said slowly.
“What is?” Owen said. He was sitting very still and his lazy gaze on her made her feel hot all over.
“That you are so controlled,” Tess said. “You are relentless and determined and—” She swallowed. “You have the patience to wait for what you want.”
Owen smiled. The expression in his eyes was vivid and watchful. “How well you know me already,” he said.
Tess drained her glass. She was starting to feel very odd. The winter sun was low over the water, dazzlingly bright. The ship rocked gently on the current. She felt a little dizzy, her senses adrift.
“Why did you marry me?” she said suddenly. She knew it was the drink talking but she could not seem to help it. “Was it only for the money?”
Owen did not answer immediately but he did not take his eyes from her face either.
“I married you because I wanted you,” he said.
His words hit her straight in the solar plexus and she almost gasped aloud. Well, she had wanted to know—and now she did. He was making no pretence of his desire for her. It was something she had to face. She reached for the bumbo and splashed a little more into her glass, drinking it down almost recklessly.
“You should not,” she said, not looking at him.
“Want you?” His words were very quiet. Tess looked up and was almost scorched by the look in his eyes.
“I can’t promise…” Her mouth dried. All the excitement, all the anticipation she had felt earlier drained away in an instant when confronted by the stark reality. Owen wanted her but she was so damaged she did not know if she would be able to bear his touch or if she would run away in despair.
“I can wait.” He sounded philosophical even though his expression belied the words.
“You should not wait for me.” She wanted him to understand. “I may never be able to be the wife you need.” She swallowed what felt like a sharp wedge trapped in her throat. “Sometimes I think that Brokeby damaged me beyond mending.”
Owen stood up very slowly. He took her hands and drew her to stand also. “The question,” he said softly, “is do you want to try to mend?”
Desired Page 20