Tides of Passion

by Sara Orwig

  She stepped forward. Aware of his lean, hard body, she stood on tiptoe to place a light kiss against his cheek. Beneath her lips his cheek was warm and rough with stubble. The clean smell of soap and fresh linen assailed her, and her heart pounded. When she stepped away, he made no move, but merely arched an eyebrow.

  His voice lowered to a husky tone that caused a ripple of heat to go through her. “I believe your instruction in kissing has been far superior to such bland touches.”

  He smiled lazily and waited. Then, wanting to destroy his image of her as bland, she reached up, caught the back of his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers.

  Her lashes lowered as she placed her mouth over his and pressed his lips, teasing them with her tongue. When shyness gripped her, she stopped.

  For an instant he did nothing; then he pulled back a fraction. “If that’s the best you can do…”

  Exhilarated by the irresistible challenge in his voice, she stood on tiptoe to place her mouth firmly upon his, her tongue thrusting between his lips in a scorching demand. Instantly his arm encircled her waist to crush her softness to him.

  His tongue took up the dance, meeting hers, sending her heartbeat into a frenzy. She could not stop what she had started. She couldn’t halt the response he stirred, the kiss that lengthened as it became more passionate, her wildly throbbing pulse that ignited like dry logs on the hearth. Nor could she halt an agony of need that grew with alarming swiftness. Through layers of clothing she felt his hard thighs press against her. She felt his warm flesh and a heart that thumped as rapidly as her own. When she became aware of his male arousal, panic gripped her. She pushed lightly, and he released her, raising his head a fraction. His fiery gaze made her tremble and cling to him.

  Watching his hungry expression, she drew a sharp breath. His voice was hoarse as he asked, “If you’d known fully, would you have refused the exchange?”

  It was a question she neither wanted to answer nor could, for her mouth became dry.

  “I like being with you, Lianna.” Each word was a scalding touch, and longing was transformed into a deeper emotion—one she didn’t welcome because it frightened her.

  “Have I earned my excursion now?” she whispered, shaken because she hungered for more kisses.

  “A promise is a promise, love,” he said in a mocking tone. “Sometimes I’m tempted to kiss you until you swoon,” he said softly. “What would it take to make you swoon, Lianna?”

  His question was filled with amusement, yet beneath it, she suspected a curious note. She thought of retorting, “Only Edwin!” but restrained herself easily. Edwin Stafford was beginning to seem very far away.

  Josh knelt slightly so his eyes would be level with hers, and stared at her with curiosity. “You’re thinking of the Englishman,” he said flatly.

  “Yes,” she said, wondering how he had guessed. “Edwin seems like a part of my past.” She was barely aware of Josh’s quick frown, the stare that was unwavering as he straightened. “We promised to always wait for each other, to find each other someday again, but I wonder…” She looked up at Josh Raven, who had changed her life. “I’ve changed. I wonder if he has.”

  “No doubt, he has, Lianna,” Josh said gently. “Life is full of changes. We seldom remain the same as time passes, and you were an innocent child when your father packed you up to send you away.”

  Josh stroked her cheek with his fingers while he talked, and Lianna tried to make sense of her own feelings. She realized she wanted to kiss Josh, to feel his lips on hers, and that Edwin was becoming a blurred memory. But she had promised to wait forever. Perhaps the time would come when they would both want freedom from their youthful vow.

  He caught her face in his hands. ‘“How old is Edwin?”

  “Nineteen. Two years older than I am.”

  “A country groom—Lianna, I was so sheltered until I left home. Edwin will change just as you have. Follow your heart.”

  “Edwin loves me. He is the only person who has always loved me.”

  As Josh listened to her, he wanted to blurt out that he also loved her, yet he’d never said the words to a woman before and didn’t want Lianna to fling them back in his face. Instead, he lowered his head, looking into her wide blue eyes. “I’ll make you forget him. You were both children, Lianna.” He kissed her passionately, his hands stroking her shoulders, his fingers drifting to her breast to lightly touch the soft blue wool and feel the warmth of her flesh beneath it. She gasped as his fingers barely grazed her breasts and he knew he must stop or he couldn’t keep the promise he had made to her.

  “Ready to go above?” Josh asked in a breathless voice, seeing the dazed look in her eyes and knowing how swiftly her body surrendered to him. Now that she wondered about her feelings for the Englishman at home, Josh felt a swift rush of pleasure. She was changing. Her resolve to reserve her heart for a childhood love was weakening. Soon…so soon, she would be his legally.

  She nodded and took his arm. As they entered the passageway, curiosity tugged at her. How much did Josh care for her? Logic told her he couldn’t care a whit whom she had known, other than his wanting to possess everything on board his ship, yet there had been no mistaking the intensity in his voice when he’d said, “I’ll make you forget him.” Thrusting aside the questions, she sighed and walked beside him.

  When they reached the afterdeck, the brisk wind was cool and welcome after the cramped dank cabin. Lianna looked out at the expanse of gray sea and sky. Captain Raven dropped an arm lightly around her shoulders and pulled her close. Her eyes adjusted to the night, and she saw clouds boiling over the horizon far in the distance. “Is a storm approaching?” she asked.

  “It’s blowing north while we run south. We’ll miss it. By dawn we’ll reach La Coruña and deliver our survivors safely home.” As he spoke in a throaty voice, his breath wafted lightly on her ear.

  “La Coruña! Quita’s destination. And it was to have been mine. If I hadn’t persuaded her to exchange with me, she would be here now.”

  “And you would be on your way to wed a monster,” he said quietly. “At least I haven’t been cruel.”

  “There are many degrees of cruelty,” she retorted, regretting it immediately when she saw a fleeting look of pain surface in his eyes, then vanish in their depths. “But then, captain,” she added shyly, “perhaps I did make the better exchange.”

  “M’lady, how grateful I am that you consider the possibility I might rank a notch above a barbarian! Your flattery overwhelms me!”

  His cynical tone hurt. “I hope the Count of Marcheno isn’t cruel to his wife.”

  “Probably he’s not, but it’s difficult for me to imagine him being kind to anyone.”

  “Why do you treat the Spaniards on board El Feroz as your friends?”

  “I have no reason to quarrel with these men. I shall have revenge in my own way,” he said so coldly that Lianna shuddered.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to confess her lineage, to tell him that he had a Spanish mistress, but she remained silent, fearing what he might do. He had his tender moments, but his voice rang with hatred when he spoke of the Marchenos.

  He leaned against a bulwark and watched her.

  “You take to the sea as if you were born to it,” she observed. “Don’t you grow weary of it?”

  “No. I can’t remain in one place, settled in one house…”

  Her mouth curved as she finished for him, “…or love one woman.”

  He laughed softly. “I think I could love one quite easily.”

  Flustered by his answer, she asked quickly, “Will this be a rough voyage to the New World?”

  “Aye, the worst waters in the world are at the Horn. We’ll sail through the straits if possible.”

  “You risk your life in a cause for people you don’t know. How did you meet Miranda?”

  “Miranda has enlisted aid from many—he has even contacted the czarina of Russia and our prime minister.” As he spoke, he traced circles on her hand
. “I’ve sailed here once before and have seen the plight of these people. The Spanish have divided the land. They have great estates, estancias, with thousands of Indians who serve in wretched conditions. The system is called the inquilino and it is comparable to the serfs under a feudal system. It is unjust, Lianna.”

  As he propped his elbow on the rail, his voice developed a distant quality, as if his thoughts were far removed from the present. “Workers on these estancias are free, but by an unwritten agreement among the wealthy landowners, if a worker leaves one estancia, he is refused work elsewhere.”

  While he talked, the wind tumbled locks of his brown hair over his forehead. Curbing the impulse to brush them away, she drew closer to him. “In Chile, do you intend to pose as a Spaniard?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he answered, relaxing his shoulders slightly. “I shall pose as a Spanish nobleman, a marqués, with an estate awaiting my arrival.”

  “You mean you already have a home in Chile? How did this come about?”

  “It was arranged.”

  “Was there actually a marqués who owned this estate?”

  He saw the accusation in her wide blue eyes. How innocent she was! And how lovely! He felt a kindling of desire for her. “There was a marqués—Don Cristóbal Esteban, Marqués de Aveiro.” He added coldly, “The marqués is dead.”

  “So you’re a murderer as well!”

  “No. Others have laid plans. I merely stepped in at a time when I was needed. Remember, Lianna, this is a revolution—an overthrow of tyrannical rulers, not an afternoon tea. The marqués’ life was part of the battle.” He thought how sheltered her life had been, and a protective longing rose in him. Startled at the reactions she produced, he studied her. He did wish to shelter her, to keep her from harm, but first he had to wipe the angry look from her eyes. There were moments when she smiled and her eyes heated with desire. How he yearned to see something deeper in them! He thought about his plans for her, and his pulse jumped. He knew she had no inkling what La Coruña held for her. If she did, she wouldn’t be standing quietly beside him.

  Forcing his thoughts to their conversation, he asked, “Have you ever seen families with young children subsisting on a diet of weevil-infested bread? Or watched men die like insects in wretched mines to satisfy the endless Spanish greed for gold?”

  Her brows drew together in a scowl, but in his need to make her understand, he continued relentlessly. “Have you ever seen children living in dirt hovels while Spanish ladies dress in fine silks, spend their time in idle amusements? Or have you seen children who are forced to carry bricks and work like beasts of burden?”

  “It can’t be so dismal!”

  “Ah, but it is,” he said. “It is vile in England for many. Surely your sheltered life hasn’t hidden that fact. This is much worse. The Spanish word is absolute; they do as they please, and in areas where the men in charge have lost all sense of fairness—you have a situation like Santiago.”

  At that moment the ship’s bell clanged, marking the half-hour. “What time does that indicate?” Lianna asked.

  “The even numbers mark the hours, the odd numbers are struck on the half-hour, up to eight bells, which is four o’clock, then the sequence begins again. At the moment it’s one-thirty.” Unable to restrain himself from touching her, he lifted a thick strand of hair from her face, his fingers brushing lightly across the warm flesh of her throat. He saw her lashes flutter and suspected she had more reaction to his touch than she cared to show. His breathing quickened as he longed to pull her to him.

  “What kind of country is Chile?” she asked.

  He wondered if it were his imagination that she sounded breathless. Did she feel as tense as he? Beneath her innocent demeanor was a sensual woman, for whom he ached, yet he answered her question as if it were the only thing on his mind. “Chile is magnificent—and it is terrible. It’s a land of mountains, deserts, volcanoes, snow, and glaciers. There are ancient Indian civilizations and many ruins from tribes which have disappeared from the earth. Others still exist such as the Araucanians, a fierce people who have never been conquered.”

  “Unconquered,” she said bitterly, and for an instant he wanted to remind her that the Count of Marcheno might not have shown kindness or patience. Instead, he reached to stroke her cheek. His fingers slipped lower to her throat, resting quietly while he discovered her pulse skittered like a butterfly. She did feel something for him!

  Gazing into the distance, she said in a level voice, “I’ve read of the Spanish explorers Vasco de Balboa and Hernán Cortés.”

  If he hadn’t had his hand on her throat, his fingers over the vein that beat so frantically, he wouldn’t have known she was aware of his existence. He smiled as he said, “A Spaniard named Francisco Pizarro came with Balboa. Pizarro conquered much of Peru and sent Pedro de Valdivia into Chile. He founded the largest city, Santiago, so named for Saint James.”

  “Will we go to Santiago?” she asked. “It sounds exotic, and I’ve never been far from Wiltshire.”

  “You’ll go far from home now. As I understand it, Valdivia’s mistress led the fight to defend Santiago against the Spanish, as Valdivia was gone at the time. Where would I find you, Lianna, if I had to leave in such circumstances?”

  “How can I answer that question?”

  He laughed, his clear baritone voice floating on the wind. “What do you fear? I have a feeling it would not be a military battle.”

  “Do you expect an answer?”

  He laughed again, enjoying the pink that rose in her cheeks. She was brave; she had faced him when she expected a beating; she stood still without tears when he knew she had been terrified. As he continued talking, his fingers trailed to her ears. Although she paid him no heed, he knew she was as aware of each touch as he. “The natives didn’t like their Spanish conquerors,” he went on. “Valdivia forced a young Indian to be his groom. The boy escaped and organized a band of followers. They raided Spanish settlements until Valdivia was taken prisoner and tortured to death. According to the tales I’ve been told, Valdivia was forced to drink melted gold.”

  “How dreadful!”

  His fingers followed the rim of her ear. He caught up a dark curl and twisted it in his hand, relishing its silkiness. He moved closer to her, and loosely slipped his arms about her waist, trying to keep the heat she inspired out of his voice.

  “Chile is a country of many different people. Spanish, Creoles—people of Spanish blood who were born in the colonies. There are the mestizos, those of mixed blood.” His voice lowered a notch and he couldn’t prevent the raspiness brought on by passion. “The conquistadores brought few women with them to such a remote place, so they took natives as wives.”

  She started to move away, but he tightened his arms. “Do you want to go below?”

  “Not yet,” she answered. “This is the first fresh air I’ve had today, and the water is so beautiful at night, so dark and mysterious, except where the moon dances across it with silvery streamers.”

  Josh wondered what lay ahead for both of them. Then his attention shifted to her features, and his mouth felt dry.

  “You’ll see Wiltshire again,” he promised. “How old were you when your mother died?”

  “I was three. My father was a merchant and met her in his travels, married her, and brought her to England to live.”

  Barely hearing her words, he watched her. Her mouth was raised, her full soft lips parted. Drawn by an invisible force, he started to lean down to taste her sweetness, to commence the tempest that was as stormy as the most violent wind, when beyond them he glimpsed one of the Spaniards emerge from below. Standing beside the mainmast, the sailor stopped with his back to them. Josh swept Lianna into his arms and started down the companionway.

  Misinterpreting his motives, she gasped, “Put me down!”

  “Shh! A Spaniard came on deck.” Rushing to her cabin, he stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind them.

  “Were we seen?” she whispered as h
e set her on her feet, far more aware of Josh than of danger. As his hands lingered on her shoulders, she raised her chin with determination. “When we dock at La Coruña, you could set me free.”

  “Is that what you want?” he asked.

  The question danced between them and caused her emotions to swirl, changing as swiftly as quicksilver. Silence lengthened and his brows arched while his fingers tightened slightly on her shoulders.

  Was that what she truly wanted? She looked at the tall, hard man who watched her. She wanted to be loved—and Edwin Stafford was the one man who loved her. Josh Raven desired her, but no words of love had ever passed his lips. Yet…suppose Edwin had changed? And suppose it mattered to him that Josh Raven had possessed her? The thought of leaving Josh made her hurt in a manner she wouldn’t have believed possible. Yet, she was nothing more than his mistress. She could be tossed aside in any port at any time.

  “Lianna?” he coaxed, his eyes now knives, cutting to her heart. Her breath caught at the manner in which he watched her.

  “I don’t know…Everything has changed.”

  “Do you want to go home?” he persisted.

  “Yes,” she said, thinking it was the only future she really had. Disappointment seemed to flare in his eyes, but it fled so swiftly she wondered if she had mistaken it, if she had seen it because she had wanted to see it. His voice was harsh as he said, “You can’t go home. You can’t stay in Spain. No, Lianna. I need you at my side.”

  “You don’t need me—you want me!” His hands drifted higher, to her throat, and his thumbs caressed her to distraction. The feelings he stirred drove her to plead with him, and while she talked, a silent battle waged within her. “I beg you to release me from this bargain before I’m with child! Have you stopped to think if I have a child, it will be your bastard! You talk about freedom and high ideals, then you risk a child’s life in this world as a bastard!”