Tess clutched the railing and stared into the churning waters of the angry Atlantic. A thundering mountain swept over the bow, knocking her aside once again. Beyond fear, she closed her eyes and waited for the ocean to claim her.
A strong arm clasped her around the waist, pulling her to the safety of the companionway. Tess lifted her head to the dark, rain-wet face of the duke of Langley. She had never seen him so unrestrained, so completely devoid of his natural reserve.
"Another minute and you would have been washed overboard," he said, holding her tightly against him. "Why haven't you gone below?"
She stared at him, her lips numb. The mute appeal in her eyes was answer enough. With a muffled oath, he took her hand and pulled her after him, down the ladder to the lower deck.
Moments later, she was standing on her feet in a small, well-appointed cabin, allowing Devereaux to remove her sodden cloak and gown.
"Please," she whispered, clutching at his hands, "don't do this."
He looked up from the button he was unfastening. "Don't be absurd. Surely, you know me better than to think I would ravish a thin, pale-faced woman who can't stand the sight of me."
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Propping his head against the cushions, he pulled her tightly against him. The heaving waves seemed less violent somehow, and the warmth of his body penetrated the thick blanket, sedating her into a restful doze.
"James," she said sleepily.
"Yes."
"I thought you preferred slim women."
"I do." He smiled into her hair. "But, not emaciated ones."
"Perhaps I am rather pale," she admitted.
"More so than I like to see." He held his breath waiting for her to continue.
The steady sound of her breathing told him their conversation was at an end.
Much later, in the early hours of dawn, a weary Thomas Waverly opened the door of his cabin and stepped inside. His eyes widened as he stared at the duke holding Daniel Bradford's wife in his arms. The warning look on Devereaux's face stopped the question in his throat. With a thoughtful look, he backed out of the cabin and quietly closed the door.
He hadn't missed the sight of Tess's arms wound tightly around her protector's neck or the tiny smile on her sleeping face. So, that was the way of it. He whistled softly under his breath. He didn't envy young Mr. Bradford. It was an unfair competition. The duke of Langley was no ordinary man. Waverly frowned in sympathy. The boy from Maryland didn't stand a chance, and the tragedy was, he was intelligent enough to realize it.
* * *
Grey light filtered through the porthole and settled on Tess's face. She stirred and opened her eyes. For a moment she forgot where she was. A comforting warmth surrounded her. Suddenly, she remembered. James was holding her against him. Sometime during the night he must have put her to bed and climbed under the blankets beside her. With exploring fingers she reached behind her. Her palm met the solid wall of his bare chest.
Instantly, she was wide awake. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She could no more prevent the descent of her hand than she could stop the storm-lashed sea from heaving past the windows. Gently, so as not to wake him, her fingers moved in a circular motion down to his tightly muscled stomach and across the lean, flat hipbone. She felt him shudder as her arms moved around his waist and her nails lightly raked his thighs.
Tess closed her eyes and breathed in the familiar, clean scent of him. With a sigh of regret, she tried to pull away. Arms, like bands of steel, held her against him. She looked up. Her breath caught in her throat. The scorching flames in his eyes held her spellbound, as his lips took hers in a searing kiss.
For the count of a heartbeat she stiffened in protest and tried to pull away. He released her mouth. The hand that was on her neck moved to her back, turned her around and pulled her hard against him, seeking her mouth. As his kiss deepened, her lips parted, her body relaxed and melted into his. His kiss became gentle, slower and more deliberate. She moaned, a low desperate sound in the back of her throat and moved her arms to encircle his neck.
"Tess," he muttered hoarsely. She was bent back in his arms, and his lips moved to the exposed line of her throat. "I've missed you so."
She did not protest when he slipped off her shift and bent his head to her breast. The rough edge of his tongue laved the ripe peak and when his lips closed over her, she cried out at the shooting stab of desire coursing through her. Cupping her other breast, he kissed and caressed the full mounds until they stood fully erect, like twin peaks in the dim light of the cabin. The tension deep inside her was almost an ache. Her eyes were dilated, her mouth swollen from his kisses and slightly parted, the tip of her tongue barely visible against her upper lip.
James could feel the dampness of her skin against his thighs. Raising himself on his hands, he looked down at her. Her face was flushed, her breathing ragged. She stared back at him, her eyes like lake water, cool and shining and fathomless.
The blood pounded in his ears. He could feel the heat of his arousal demanding that he take her now, at once. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated, straining to prolong the moment.
Her hand closed over the turgid length of him and he lost control. Waiting no longer, he plunged into her tight warmth.
"Tess," he murmured over and over, moving against her, holding himself back, until at last, he felt her shuddering climax. Lifting her against him, he drove deeply, allowing the full force of his passion to explode inside her. Winding his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and kissed her.
"You're mine," he muttered against her lips. "Nothing will take you from me. Not Daniel Bradford, not this ridiculous war, or the entire American government." His arms tightened possessively around her."Do you understand me, Tess? I'll come back for you. You must believe that."
Her eyes widened in dismay. "Nothing has changed, James," she said quietly. "You're an American prisoner of war and I'm married to Daniel."
His eyes were a brilliant, intense blue. "The marriage was in name only. It can be annulled."
"What of the pain and humiliation I've caused him? Can that be annulled as well?"
"Christ, Tess." His hands were hard on her shoulders. "What about our pain? How can you live with a man you don't love?"
"I've loved Daniel Bradford all my life," she protested. "Not in the way it is with us, but it is love all the same. Don't you see, I can't shame him this way? How can you even think it of me?"
The controlled rage in his voice terrified her. "Apparently, I mistook you. Only a whore would respond the way you did to me, and then return to another man's bed."
She whitened as if she'd been struck, her eyes huge and despairing in her face. Making no attempt to defend herself, she watched him leave the bed and pull on his clothing.
Without looking at her, he opened the door and walked out of the cabin.
* * *
The schooner reached Annapolis on a foggy morning in late May. The seaport town was shrouded in a blanket of grey mist and the enclosed harbor where they docked was filled with ivory-colored sails and tall masts. Although she couldn't yet see them from her position by the railing, Tess knew, beyond the fog would be quiet streets lined with magnolia and boxwood trees, and brick houses, graceful and weathered with age. The sky was overcast and gloomy, but already, vendors shouted greetings to friends and hawked their wares to early morning shoppers.
Tess thought wistfully of other visits to Annapolis, when she'd been on fire with the excitement of a day away from her chores and Harrington House, when her only thought was to purchase a new bonnet or acquire a novel from the lending library.
Now, the brilliant colors of the wharf held no appeal for her. Neither did the baskets of fish and shanks of smoked ham, despite the fact that she'd been without fresh meat and vegetables for weeks.
Her only thought was of home. She missed her father and sisters with an ache that was almost physical. She longed for the comfort of Cla
ra's scolding tongue and rib-crushing embrace, and to be wrapped in the cocoon of childhood where her problems would miraculously be taken over by those far more equipped to handle them than she.
A hand on her shoulder startled her. She looked up into the serious face of Captain Waverly.
"You're home at last," he said. "Does it seem different to you?"
Tess shook her head. "No."
He looked down at her as if to say something and then stared straight ahead once again. The silence stretched out between them.
"I'll say good-bye now, captain." Tess held out her hand.
There was sympathy and more than a little kindness in the dark eyes that looked down at her.
"There is someone else you should bid farewell to, lass," he said gently. "Surely, you owe His Lordship that."
She gave him a direct, curious glance. "I thought you meant to imprison him?"
He smiled at her. "Did you?!"
"Why didn't you keep him in the hold with the others?" she asked.
"His mission was to report to Wellington, not to make war on America," Waverly answered. "Besides, I enjoy his conversation. I think you do as well."
Tess stared at him in disbelief.
Waverly grinned. "I'm not so bigoted that I can't recognize a good man when I see one."
She smiled, the first he had seen since she boarded his schooner in Portsmouth. Thomas Waverly caught his breath. Tess Bradford, with her mournful eyes and serious face, was uncommonly lovely. But when she smiled, he understood for the first time the murderous look on Langley's face as he watched her enter the cabin she shared with her husband.
"I don't think he would want to see me," Tess replied. "We aren't exactly on the best of terms."
"You're mistaken, but I think I'll allow him his own apologies." He tipped his hat. "God speed, lass."
She turned to wish him well, but the words wouldn't come. James Devereaux crossed the deck to stand beside her. His face was remote, the blue eyes shuttered. Tess was reminded of the first time she had seen him in the American minister's residence. The first thing she had noticed was his height and the arrogant pride stamped on his handsome features. Never had he appeared so unapproachable. Her eyes were dry, her pain too deep for tears.
"Please don't hate me, James," she whispered. "I couldn't bear it."
He turned swiftly, capturing her hands in his own. "I could never hate you, Tess."
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried once again, to explain. "If it were only a question of following my heart, the choice would be simple." She clutched at his hands. "If only we had met before."
His smile was bitter. "Before what, Tess? Before the war or before Daniel? It's more complicated than that. Perhaps it would have been the same between us, but I doubt it. It isn't Teresa Harrington of Annapolis that I fell in love with. It is a woman with the spirit and courage to cross an ocean alone to rescue her husband. Women like that don't exist in my world." He caressed her cheek. "Don't look like that. Choices are never simple."
"What are you going to do?" The pain in her eyes tore at his heart.
"My foolish love," he chided her. "When will you learn to trust me?"
"Don't harm Daniel," she pleaded. "I couldn't go through that again."
Savage jealously wrenched his heart. Did she know what she did to him with her misplaced loyalty? The thought of the risk he took in allowing her to return with Bradford nearly undid him. He knew Tess well enough to believe no intimacy had been exchanged between her and the angry young man who was her husband. But time and forgiveness could change that. The image of her slim body locked in a lover's embrace with another man was a torture too heinous to contemplate. He refused to consider it. Besides, there was nothing he could change at the moment. Wellington couldn't wait and Tess needed the solace of her father and sisters.
He searched her face, committing to memory her delicate, high-boned cheeks, the smoky eyes, small straight nose and determined chin. She stood quietly under his gaze, holding herself with that unusual dignity he had noticed the first time he saw her. How could he let her go?
Swearing under his breath, he damned the captain, her husband, and the curious crowd gathering on the busy waterfront. Pulling her into his arms he bent his head and kissed her with the desperate need of a man swallowing his last available breath of air.
Tess's cry drowned in her throat. Sliding her arms around his waist, she responded to his angry, seeking mouth with a wanton abandon. Melting against him, the world slipped away. Time ceased to exist. She knew nothing but the feel of his lips, his tongue, and the bittersweet fire blazing between them.
"James." A voice shouting from the dock penetrated the fog of their passion. A slim, dark-haired woman laughed and waved her hand in welcome. Two small boys clung to her skirts and stared curiously up at them.
He groaned. "It's Caroline," he said, unnecessarily.
Tess recognized the familiar face immediately. Georgiana's oldest sister had the Devereaux looks and charm. For years, Caroline's home had been as familiar to her as Harrington House. She looked, with dread, at the smiling face of Caroline Devereaux Curtis. It was too soon for her to have heard the news of Daniel's return from the dead. As far as she knew, Tess was her sister-in-law. The sight of James embracing his wife on the deck was unusual, but not inappropriate under the circumstances.
"Don't be alarmed," he reassured her. "I'll explain everything. You need not see her at all if that is your wish."
Tess shook her head. "You don't understand. Annapolis is not London. Caroline is a dear friend to my family. It isn't possible for us to ignore one another." She straightened her shoulders and held out her hand. "Good-bye, James. I'll never forget you."
The words were final, their message unmistakable.
"Have faith, my heart." The blue eyes were filled with tenderness. "You were born to be my duchess."
The tears that for so long had refused to come, blinded her now. "Oh, James," she sobbed, "you won't want me when you know what I've done."
He frowned and would have reached for her, but she pulled away quickly, and ran toward the quarterdeck.
At that moment, Bradford's head appeared at the top of the ladder. Devereaux watched them speak. Tess nodded and followed the younger man down the ladder.
A white line of worry deepened around Devereaux's lips. Her words haunted him. What the devil had she done now?
Chapter 24
Tess didn't recognize anyone on the dock. She hadn't expected to. There had been no time to notify her family that she was returning home. She thought of Adam Bradford and hoped the shock of seeing his son alive, wouldn't cause a relapse in his precarious health.
She stared at the thin, tired face of her husband seated across from her in the carriage. His eyes were closed. Perhaps they could work it out between them. After all, they shared a common history. Surely, such a bond would overcome anything.
Daniel opened his eyes and stared at her. She shrank back, in dismay. The rage in their amber depths was terrifying. Dear God, how could she live with such hate?
"I'm taking you home to your father," he said coldly. "You will stay there until I come for you."
Tess nodded, working to keep her face expressionless, unaware of the staggering relief reflected in her eyes.
Daniel smiled bitterly. If he hadn't wanted to see his father first, and break the news gently, he would have demanded that she come with him. He hungered for revenge. Tess and the duke would suffer as he had.
It was early afternoon when they reached the familiar drive leading to the steps of Harrington House. Tess closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of honeysuckle and gardenia. The droning of the bees lulled her into a false sense of well-being so that when Clara stepped out on the veranda, she was able to greet her with a genuine smile.
Leaping from the carriage she threw herself at the plump, apple-cheeked woman, and after a startled moment, was gathered into a floury embrace. Clara smelled of yeast and molasses
and peaches, the comforting smells of spring and home and the Chesapeake.
To her horror, tears flooded her eyes and poured down her cheeks, wetting the broadcloth-covered shoulder of the older woman.
"There, there, child," she crooned comfortingly. "What a surprise. Why didn't you tell us you were coming, and where is your husband?"
The tears flowed even harder accompanied now by racking sobs. Clara's mouth dropped open when she saw the solitary figure inside the carriage reach out to close the door.
Clutching Tess to her ample bosom, she stared as the travel coach turned back up the lane toward Bradford House.
Keeping one arm around Tess, she half-carried, half-dragged her up the stairs to the room she had once shared with her younger sister, Abigail. Easing her on to the bed, she filled a basin with water and wrung out a towel. Laying it on Tess's forehead, she spoke softly, the slow comforting drawl of the tidewater evident in her speech.
"Rest, love. I can tell you've had a time of it. Don't think of it now. There's time enough to figure out what to do. Your father will know. He's at the shipyard now, but he'll be home soon." She brushed back the silky hair, her lips tightening at the thin hollow cheeks.
Although she loved all of Nathanial Harrington's daughters, Tess was Clara's favorite. She had come to work for the family when the late Mrs. Harrington had given birth for the last time. Everyone had made much of Abigail, the baby, and small blond Tess had been forgotten. Only Clara had seen how lonely and neglected the child felt. Reaching out to the girl with the warmth and affection typical of her nature, they had formed a bond between them, unmatched by her love for any of the other Harrington sisters.
Her eyes deepened with anger as they rested on the thin, white face lying on the pillow. Tess's bones protruded, mercilessly clear, through her transparent skin, and her figure was so slight it was painful to see. With fierce resolve, she tightened her hold on Tess's hand. Whatever she had gone through would not happen again.
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