“Better than anyone.” A little smile coaxed her lips apart, and he kissed them. First sipping gently at her upper lip, then savoring the plumpness of its counterpart below.
“And do you trust me? You can tell me everything. You do believe that?”
“Yes, certainly. And I will tell you everything.” A hint of uncertainty flashed in her eyes, however, and she bit her lip. “In time.”
Her reluctance wounded him, but Gray forced himself to feign patience. Pressing her further might yield answers, but not trust. He wanted to earn both. “Very well. In time.”
She toyed with a lock of his hair. “There’s so much to tell, is all. I’m uncertain where to begin.”
“Well then. Let us begin with essentials. Are you free to marry me?” He exhaled slowly, in a pointed effort not to hold his breath.
“Of course. When I come of age, that is.”
“Tell me your birthday.”
She smiled. “The first of February.”
“It will be our wedding day.” He traced the shape of the birthmark on her hip. “Very convenient for me, for your birthday and our anniversary to coincide. I’ll be more likely to remember both.”
“I wish you would stop touching me there.”
“Do you? Why?”
“Because it is ugly. I hate it.”
He tilted his head, surprised. “I quite adore it. It reminds me that you are imperfectly perfect and entirely mine.” He slid down her body and bent to kiss the mark to prove the point. “There’s a little thrill in knowing no one else has seen it.”
“No other man, you mean.” He kissed her there again, this time tracing the shape with his tongue. She squirmed and laughed. “When I was a child, I would scrub at it in the bath. My nursemaid used to tell me, God gives children birthmarks so they won’t get lost.” Her mouth curled in a bittersweet smile. “Yet here I am, adrift on the ocean on the other side of the world. Don’t they call that irony?”
“I believe they call it Providence.” He tightened his hands over her waist. “You’re here, and I’ve found you. And I take pains not to lose what’s mine.”
He kissed her hip again, then slid his mouth toward her center as he settled between her thighs.
“Gray,” she protested through a sigh of pleasure. “It’s late. We must rise.”
“I assure you, I’ve risen.”
“I’ve work to do.” She writhed in his grip. “The men will be wanting their breakfast.”
“They’ll wait until the captain has finished his.”
“Gray!” She gave a gasp of shock, then one of pleasure. “What a scoundrel you are.”
He came to his knees and lifted her hips, sinking into her with a low groan. “Sweet,” he breathed as she began to move with him, “you would not have me any other way.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Breakfast was late. Quite late, but served with a smile. And because the men were already at their duties, Sophia assumed the task of delivering Mr. Brackett’s meal to the hold.
Bearing a tin plate of biscuits and a small pot of tea, she descended the long, narrow ladder, past the cabins and steerage, into the very belly of the ship.
“Mr. Brackett?” She paused at the bottom of the stair, uncertain in which direction he lay.
“Could that be Miss Turner?” His too-courteous voice scraped out from somewhere to the left. Sophia felt anxiety wing through her, but she did not allow it to build a nest. He was confined, she reminded herself. And he would be a fool to attempt any mischief with her.
“I’ve brought your breakfast.” She walked in the direction of his voice, slowly, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting in the hold. Eventually she found him, shackled and chained to a bilge pump. He looked healthy enough, if rather unwashed. The sharp features of his face appeared even more gaunt, and a growth of beard shadowed his jaw.
“Miss Turner,” he said, clucking his tongue. “You came aboard this boat a respectable governess, and just look at you now. Grayson’s made you his serving wench.” He tilted his head. “And his whore.”
Sophia’s face burned. Her hands shook, and the hard biscuits rattled on the plate. “Don’t you dare speak of him in that manner. You are not fit to scrape the tar from his boots. He is a better man than you could ever aspire to be, and what’s more—he is a better person than I. He has sheltered you and fed you, when for what you did to Quinn and Davy, I would have gleefully thrown you to the sharks. As matters stand now, I shall settle for throwing your breakfast to the rats.” She flung the plate, biscuits and all, into the furthest reaches of the hold. “Good day, Mr. Brackett.”
Shaking, Sophia made her way up the stairs and stumbled wildly onto the deck.
“What is it?” Gray demanded, catching her in his arms. He searched her face and examined her limbs. “What’s happened?”
She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips. “Mr. Brackett is a vile, hateful man.”
“Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him.”
“No, don’t. You’ll make a liar of me.” She smothered a burst of hysterical laughter with her palm.
Gray took her by the elbows and led her to sit down. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, soothed by his presence and strength. “He didn’t hurt me. We just … had words, that’s all.”
“You’re not to go down there again. Do you understand?”
“Believe me, I’d let him starve before I ventured down in that hold again.”
“I’d be tempted to do just that—let him starve. But unfortunately, we won’t be at sea long enough.”
Sophia looked up, sniffing. “Are we so close to Tortola?” It wasn’t the end, she reminded herself. Only the beginning. There would be other voyages, whole seas and continents to explore.
He nodded. “Just a day or two more.” He pulled her to her feet and directed her toward the ship’s rail. “Look.”
A school of fish raced the Kestrel, a flurry of silver darts slicing through the foam. She glimpsed them easily through the unclouded waters. The tropical sea looked blue as sapphires from a distance, but clear as glass up close. To Sophia’s astonishment, a few of the fish leapt from the water and sailed through the air on great wing-like fins, before disappearing once again beneath the waves.
“Flying fish. A sure sign we’re close. And there’s another.” He pointed toward the tip of the foremast, where a large white gull perched serenely.
“A bird. I can’t believe it’s been a whole month since I’ve seen a bird.” She turned to Gray. “And yet, I can’t believe it’s been only a month that I’ve known you. I can’t decide whether it’s been the longest month of my life, or the shortest.”
His eyebrows gathered in an exaggerated frown. “I can’t decide which pays me the fainter compliment.”
“Neither,” she teased, linking her arm in his. “To compliment you, I should tell you it has been the best month of my life. And it has.” Truer words, she’d never spoken.
“Oh, nicely managed. My pride is rescued.” Despite his air of nonchalance, his eyes held genuine emotion. They were fully blue today—a rich, azure blue, clear and inviting and endless. Just like the sea.
Sophia laughed to herself. How had she missed the obvious? All this time, she’d been puzzling out the color of his eyes. They were always shifting and changing, from green to blue to gray. And now she knew why. They always reflected the sea.
“Do you know,” he said, “if you keep gazing at me like that much longer, I shall be forced to pack you off belowdecks.”
“Am I truly gazing?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “I am making a trip to the storeroom soon, you know. But mind—this is the last good frock I’ve got.”
“Siren.” He gave her a surreptitious pinch on the hip. “No, it’s the cabin I have in mind for you, and you’re going there alone. You need to rest.” He walked her toward the hatch.
“You won’t come rest with me?”
“If I come with you, nei
ther of us will rest.”
A current of pleasure shot straight to her center. Then a more practical thought intruded. “But what of the noon meal? It won’t make itself.”
At that instant, a flying fish as long as her arm sailed over the rail of the boat and flopped on the deck at their feet.
Gray looked at the thrashing fish, then raised his eyebrows at her. “Somehow I think we’ll manage.”
Hours later, Sophia woke alone in the dark. Her toes groped the floorboards for her slippers, and she wrapped a light blanket over her shift before heading abovedecks.
Stars greeted her, in divine multitudes. A million lights dancing, winking, shining merrily in the firmament. As though some mischievous seraph were crawling about the floor of Heaven, drilling little holes with an auger to let glory shine through.
She spied him at the helm, his back to her as he looked out over the Kestrel’s stern, elbows propped on the rail. The crewman at the ship’s wheel politely ignored her as Sophia tiptoed past, through the swaying umbra of lamplight and into the shadows that cloaked Gray.
Noiselessly, she pressed her body to his, flattening her cheek against his back. He tensed at the initial contact, then relaxed an instant later. His fingers found hers as she crept one hand around his waist.
“You should be sleeping,” he murmured. His amplified voice sounded delicious, traveling through the solid muscles of his back. She felt him, rather than heard him. Felt him everywhere.
“I was missing you.” And, because she wanted to feel him speak again, she added in a suggestive voice, “Were you missing me?”
“Of course.” He dragged her hand downward to present her with tangible proof of just how much he missed her. Sophia smiled against his back. He missed her greatly, she discovered, her fingers exploring. This was yearning on a grand scale, indeed.
He spoke again, sending pleasant tremors through her. “We’ll make land tomorrow. In the morning, if the wind holds.”
Now Sophia was the one to tense. He pivoted to face her, drawing her tight against his chest. “Nothing between us changes tomorrow.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Except this,” he said, rubbing her palm over his beard. “The first thing I’ll do once we reach terra firma is shave. I’m going mad with itching.”
She laughed, caressing his rough cheek with her thumb. “Then why haven’t you shaved all along?”
“Feel this?” He dragged her fingertips over the narrow scar slanting across his chin. “This is what comes of shaving at sea.”
“Truly?” She pulled back, blinking in the starlight to make out his features. “That’s how you got that scar? You cut yourself shaving?” She could not help but laugh.
“I’m glad my vanity-occasioned injury amuses you so.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at myself. That you cut yourself shaving … it isn’t at all what I’d imagined.”
“Oh, by all means, laugh. It was pure folly.” He looked out over the waters. “Must have happened somewhere near this corner of the ocean, since we were only a day or so out from Tortola. I was coming home from England, after my father had died. I was so worried for my sister, Bel. She was just a child then. We hadn’t seen each other in years, but from the moment she greeted me, I wanted her to feel reassured. I was so anxious to look responsible, capable …” She heard the wry smile in his voice. “Failing that, at least well-groomed. I was shaving when the storm hit. Lost my balance and fell—sliced open my chin, and blackened an eye, too. Instead of well-groomed and responsible, I showed up looking as though I’d been besieged by pirates.”
“She was no less overjoyed to see you, I’m sure.” Sophia rested her chin on his arm. “I look forward to meeting your sister. Will she like me, do you think?”
“She will love you.” The soft murmur warmed her heart. Then he continued in a teasing tone, “Charity is her life’s work. It’s what Bel does best, devoting herself to the most wayward of souls.”
“Well then, she will most certainly attach herself to me.”
“I’m counting on it.” He gathered her closer, then froze. “I’ve just realized something.”
She looked up.
“Your little bundle’s gone,” he whispered, walking his fingers down the valley between her breasts. “You didn’t pitch it overboard?”
She smiled. “It’s beneath the mattress. I didn’t want to feel it between us anymore. But supposing I had pitched it overboard, what then? I do hope you’re not marrying me for my money.”
“No.” He laughed softly. “Six hundred pounds is no paltry sum … but no. It’s not enough to persuade a man of my means. If it were six thousand, then you might have cause for concern.”
And what if it were twenty thousand? Should I be concerned then?
Sophia rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was only joking, that her money had no sway over his affections. He might have married for money years ago, if he’d wished. But still, she hesitated to divulge the remainder of her fortune, considering his angry reaction the first time.
Neither was she eager to tell him about Toby. How could she tell him that she’d just been betrothed to another solicitous, patient man whom she’d callously jilted and deceived? Gray would doubt her anew, she feared, and Sophia did not know how she would bear it. Better to wait until they were married. He could not doubt her love then.
She closed her eyes and let everything fall away. Everything but Gray. His thumb drew small, intimate circles on her back, and desire spiraled through her body. “Did you want to go below?” she asked.
An eager part of him jumped at the invitation, but the rest of him remained still. “In a bit.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to his. “Right now, I want to kiss my sweetheart under the stars.”
She kept her eyes open as he bent his head to hers, taking in the silver-blue glow of his skin and the restless shadows the wind dragged from his hair. So handsome, even in the dark.
His breath caressed her lips first, gentle and warm. Then his lips whispered over hers, just a shade more insistent than breath. He licked lightly at the corner of her mouth, oiling the vulnerable hinge of her lips.
“Sweet,” he murmured. She swallowed the word, felt it slide from her throat to her belly, and lower … making her hungry for the warm press of his tongue against hers.
Oh, but he was a tease. All patient arrogance and devastating care.
Instead of taking her mouth, he slid a hand to the back of her neck, cradling her head and tipping it back to elongate the column of her throat. He scattered kisses there, hot sparks that danced along her exposed skin. She curled her fingers into his shirt and the rippling muscles beneath. Above them, strange constellations whirled through the night.
His mouth settled possessively over her ear, his breath heating the sensitive shell as his tongue traced its contours.
“You are mine,” he whispered into her. “And the world is ours. There is nowhere beneath this sky that we do not belong together.”
His tongue flashed into her ear, and her knees dissolved, leaving her no choice but to fall against him. To depend on him for her strength, her balance, and indeed her next breath, as now—at last—his lips covered hers.
Sophia’s eyes fluttered shut, and now the stars were inside her. Bright constellations of desire—sparking, burning, whirling through the darkest parts of her being. Glorious. His tongue struck a subtle, coaxing rhythm, mating skillfully with hers. Breasts needy and aching, she pressed her body against his. She wriggled into his embrace until that iron-hard ridge of him nestled just where she needed it. Where they belonged together.
He growled, deep in his throat. She relished the feral sound, the lapse in his suave, sensual mastery of her. But she paused only a moment to savor that taste of power before yielding again, eagerly surrendering to the dangerous, unpredictable need she’d unleashed.
He roamed her body, stroking and tweaking her everywhere she yearned for him. Soft caresses, roug
h pinches, sharp bites and gentle licks. He knew just where to place them, and in the precise sequence that rendered her panting and molten.
“Now,” he grunted, clutching at her hips. “Now, we go below.”
Gray delighted in going below. The little jolt of surprise she gave when he first kissed her there, that instinctive buck of her hips that thrust her heat against his mouth. That naughty little book of hers excluded some rather vital lessons in the art of passion, and he took great pleasure in completing her education.
And then he took his own pleasure in her.
Afterward, sweaty and sated, they lay naked atop the linens. Spread out on their backs as if floating, allowing the night air to cool their skin. Blissful exhaustion buoyed him into sleep.
He roused some time later, when she lit a candle.
“I know I’ve seen one here somewhere …”
Gray could barely muster the energy to lift his head. He caught sight of her, dressed in her shift and rummaging through drawers. “What are you looking for?”
“Aha!” She straightened triumphantly, holding a sharply gleaming object in her hand. A razor, he discerned. “There’s a strop and a cake of shaving soap, too. I’ll just fetch some water from the galley.”
Before he could protest, she was out the cabin door, and Gray let his head fall back on the pillow. He must have dozed, because he opened his eyes to find her over him, tugging his head toward the edge of the bed and smoothing her palms over his face.
“Just lie still,” she whispered, guiding him to pivot his body until the crown of his head rested against her chest. “Trust me, I’ve a very steady hand.”
“I don’t doubt it.” She worked sharp-scented lather through the whiskers, and the aroma sliced through the fog of his brain, waking him a bit more.
“This time, you shall greet your sister looking resplendent. The picture of respectability; or at least, of good grooming.”
He sighed as she smoothed the lather down his throat, her touch gliding over his skin. “Good. I shall need all the resplendence I can manage, in order to convince her. Although, I expect your presence will accomplish more in that respect.”
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