Sapphire

by Rosemary Rogers

  Sapphire hesitated and then slowly scooted toward him, taking care with her ankle. A truce. At least for tonight.

  Much later, after a meal of fresh fish, rice with Caribbean spices just the way Sapphire liked it, and a bowl of fresh fruit, she and Blake stood at the ship’s rail, looking out onto the dark ocean.

  They talked about nothing in particular; he had been curious about Martinique and she found herself telling him things about the island, about Armand and her mother—things that she had never discussed with anyone aside from her immediate family. She asked him about Boston and America and he painted a picture that she found most intriguing. She discovered that Blake was not only a businessman but also a bit of a philanthropist, though he tried hard to hide it. He spoke excitedly of the changes taking place in the shipping and manufacturing industries due to the steam engine, and also of his concern over the treatment of the laborers. He was an interesting man. Indeed, she was learning she had to peel away the layers to find what was inside.

  As they stood at the rail, she balanced on her good leg while he rested his hand on her waist to steady her. She watched the dark ocean that was outlined by white-caps, the cool, salty breeze tugging at her hair and loosening it from the ribbon that tied it back off her face.

  “My mother’s God…” she said quietly.

  “Pardon?” He looked at her.

  “You said earlier that you swore by your mother’s God.” She turned to look at him. “Why is He your mother’s God?”

  “It’s just a phrase.”

  He shrugged as if it meant nothing, but the tone of his voice told her differently.

  “Your mother is a religious woman?”

  “Was. I didn’t know her. She died when I was a child and I was raised by a stepmother. But those who knew her…” Again, he shrugged. “They say she was a good woman whose faith ran very deep.”

  “And your faith does not?”

  He laughed.

  “You don’t believe in God?”

  He thought about this. “I believe in hard work. In convictions. In honesty.”

  “But not God?” she mused. “But how can you look at this ocean—” she gazed up into the dark sky “—these stars and not believe in a Creator? How can you see an old woman and an old man, walking arm in arm, or see a baby in a carriage and not believe in a God?”

  The oil lamp on the table behind them cast a faint light on the profile of his face.

  Blake took his time to answer her. “Sapphire, from the things you’ve told me tonight, you grew up in a house where children were treasured. Your stepfather cared deeply for your mother. My life growing up was not so…idyllic.”

  She didn’t know about his childhood or what kind of life he’d had, so instead of speaking the first thoughts that ran through her head as she usually did, she stayed quiet. Something in Blake’s voice made her sad for him. Every child deserves to feel loved, and while she sensed that much had been provided for him, love might not have been one of them.

  “Do you think that love changes things?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  He tightened his arm around her waist. “I think that making love can change things.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissed it and then drew it along his cheek.

  Sapphire could feel her face growing warm, her breasts beginning to tingle. As much as she would have liked to deny her desire for Blake, she could not. She felt as if she were teetering on a precipice. “So are you saying you’ve loved many women?”

  “You could say that.”

  “But isn’t that hard? To love and let them move on, back to their husbands, to other men?” she asked, truly wanting to understand.

  “Not really.” He kissed her hand again, then pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and began to plant light, fleeting kisses across the delicate skin of her forearm. “If you expect nothing from anyone, it’s easy to walk away. No one gets hurt that way.”

  So what did Blake mean, Sapphire wondered as he tipped her chin and brushed his lips against hers. Was he saying that as long as she expected nothing from him, he wouldn’t hurt her? That they could have this time together and then she could walk away, unharmed?

  Was Blake saying that he could never love her?

  It was a sad thought, but perhaps one she needed to consider.

  18

  After the first night on ship, Sapphire and Blake settled into a routine that she might have found utterly enjoyable under different circumstances. The early August weather was excellent each day and they took most of their meals on the deck at the small table Blake had transported for just that purpose. On the stern, it was breezy but not overly so, and the warmth of the sun was splendid. Sapphire spent much of her day reading from Blake’s eclectic collection of books, playing chess or cards with him, or simply enjoying the fresh air. While used to being more active, after a few days of adjustment she was able to relax and accept her time here with Blake as it was, while allowing her ankle to heal. Ten days into their journey and more than halfway there, she was able to walk on her own and it only pained her slightly.

  Except for the cabin boy, Ralphie, who served the meals and saw to any of their personal needs, Sapphire rarely saw the sailors on board, except from afar. Blake had left strict instructions not to be disturbed and the crew respected this request, probably out of fear of him, she guessed, for he could truly be an intimidating man.

  The captain, a Bostonian named Jeremy Pottle, would make his daily report to Blake, telling of the expected weather, the number of miles they had covered the previous day and the number they hoped to cover that day. Sometimes he and Blake discussed the workings of the steam engine, but he never dallied. He spoke clearly and quickly and never stayed a moment longer in Blake’s presence than absolutely required.

  This morning as Sapphire watched Captain Pottle make his retreat from their table on the aft deck, dressed in a navy wool coat with shiny buttons and a cap, she nodded in his direction. “What did you do to him?” she asked Blake.

  “Pardon?” Blake glanced over the top of the book he’d been reading—something he had acquired in England about the latest developments in the different types of fuel used to run engines similar to the one powering the ship they were on. He sat facing the sun, one boot propped on the table, his shirt half-open, and she found herself having to control her thoughts.

  They had already made love this morning before coming up for breakfast. What kind of a wanton woman would Blake think she was, desiring him again? She was no better than her beloved Angel, whom she missed very much. That thought made her laugh. It was pretty obvious what kind of wanton woman she was and she had no wish to repent of her sins. Not today, at least.

  “I don’t understand the question,” Blake said, interrupting her mischievous thoughts.

  “Captain Pottle—he acts as if he’s scared to death of you. Why?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He reached for a stoneware mug filled with fresh coffee. They might have been traveling on a transport ship, but Blake liked his amenities: fresh fruit, fresh vegetables, daily baked bread and Caribbean coffee, strong and black.

  “You don’t see the way he acts around you, as if he’s afraid you might lash out at him at any moment?”

  Blake frowned. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you would.” Blake was a strange man, so arrogant, so egotistical in so many ways and yet in others, he was clearly unpretentious.

  She rose.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To the cabin to get the chess set—the waters are still calm enough to play on deck. You may have beaten me yesterday, but it was only a fluke.” She walked past him in her bare feet, drawing her fingers along the back of his neck as she went by.

  Below deck, in the cabin, Sapphire sat down on the floor in front of the bed she shared with Blake and pulled out the drawer built beneath it. As she retrieved the carved ivory and onyx chess set in its wooden storage box, she
thought about another box under another bed so far from her, the casket that had been her mother’s.

  Tears filled Sapphire’s eyes as she thought of the box left under the bed in the apartments her aunt Lucia had rented. Heavens, but she missed that box. And her family.

  Feeling foolish, she wiped her eyes.

  She was so confused by her emotions. How could she sit there on the deck with Blake and laugh and share breakfast with him, when he had taken her from her aunt who had no idea what had become of her? And worse, how could she make love with him when he still maintained she was a fortune hunter, still refusing to believe she might really be the late Lord Wessex’s daughter?

  Perhaps that was why she yearned for her mother’s box. The precious casket was her proof—if not to him, then to herself—that she was Edward’s daughter, and that her mother had been married to him, that she was someone. She was not the daughter of a whore, but of a wealthy, titled man and his beloved wife. She was no fortune hunter, but a woman of title and lineage, one who deserved to be loved, could be loved by a man like Blake Thixton…

  Loved by Blake Thixton? Where had that thought come from?

  Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t want Blake’s love! He had made it plain to her that he was interested in nothing more than a tryst. She was only making love to him because…because…

  The tears fell harder on her cheeks. Just because she had given herself to him did not mean she was his mistress. She would never be that. She deserved more.

  What Blake Thixton didn’t realize was that she was only biding her time until they reached America. Once they were there, she would set him straight. She would flatly refuse to be his mistress and demand he put her on the next ship to England. He hadn’t even allowed her to address the subject of who she really was, and with each passing day she became even more determined to prove her claim to him. Blake was right too often. When he had kidnapped her he’d said that it was time someone taught her a lesson. In time, Sapphire intended to be the one teaching him a lesson.

  “Sapphire? Are you all right?”

  The sound of Blake’s alarmed voice out in the passageway startled her, and she pushed herself up to her knees, reaching blindly through her tears for the box containing the chess set. “Y-yes. Coming!”

  But he was already in the doorway behind her. “I was afraid you had fallen or twisted your ankle again when you didn’t come back.”

  When she heard the cabin door close, she released the wooden box and wiped her eyes with both hands. “No, I’m fine, I just—” Her lower lip trembled and she let her hands fall to her lap.

  “Sapphire, what is it?” In an instant he was at her side, on his knees, grasping her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Some emotion passed across his face when he saw her tears, one that Sapphire had never seen before. “You fell again, didn’t you.”

  She shook her head and turned away from him, ashamed of herself for crying over a silly box of old letters.

  “Let me see,” he insisted.

  “No!”

  “Sapphire, if you’re hurt—”

  “I’m not hurt,” she said, but it wasn’t true. Her heart ached.

  Blake grabbed her around the waist and made her sit back, but she refused to look at him. He wrapped his hand around her right calf, just above the injured ankle. “The swelling is completely gone. Can you stand?”

  “It’s not my ankle,” she said, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s…my aunt Lucia.” It was only a half lie. “She must be so worried about me. She might think I’m dead.”

  Blake looked away, his tone suddenly distant. “She won’t think you’re dead.”

  “No, you don’t understand.” Sapphire kept shaking her head. “When my mother died, Aunt Lucia—”

  “Sapphire, this is foolishness.” He turned her by her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “I sent a letter to Jessup before we left England. We’ll be in Boston in another three days. You can send a letter to Lucia and tell her you’re fine.” He paused. “That you’re with me.”

  “But it will take so long to get to them. I should write to Armand, as well, in case Aunt Lucia has sent him a letter. He would be so worried.”

  “It won’t take as long for the letters to cross as you think. Look how quickly we’ve crossed the sea with this fancy steam engine.” He drew close to her, his mouth almost brushing her cheek, his tone gentle again. “I’ll put your letters on the fastest ship leaving the Boston harbor the day we set anchor.”

  Sapphire felt overwhelmed—by her emotions, by his proximity, the feel of his hand on her bare ankle, his warm breath on her cheek. He did care for her. She could hear it in his voice. He did care.

  “Would you like to do that?” Blake asked. He caught her chin with his fingertip and forced her to look into his eyes.

  She nodded.

  “We’ll do that, then.” He kissed her. “We’ll send the letters and then I will show you the finest things in Boston, the finest buildings, the finest ships, I’ll introduce you to the finest men…and women.” He kissed her again. “Would you like that?”

  She was mesmerized by the sound of his deep voice, the feel of his lips against hers. “I’d like that,” she whispered, raising her hands to rest them on his shoulders.

  “I’ll buy you the most beautiful gowns in Boston, jewels if you like.” He kissed her again, harder this time, and she found herself kissing him back. Her anguish, her fears were all slipping away. Once again, nothing seemed to matter but her pounding heart and how Blake made her feel when he touched her.

  “You’ll dress in the most fashionable gowns and we’ll attend all the best parties. You’ll be the toast of the town.” He drew her into his arms, brushing her hair off her face so that he could gaze into her eyes. “You’ll forget London and Charles in no time.”

  “What if I don’t like Boston?” she asked.

  “Then I’ll send you back to London to your aunt Lucia.”

  She nodded, but she almost wished he had said he would not let her go. Could not. “No more talk,” she whispered, covering his mouth with her fingertip, then replacing it with her mouth.

  “Ah, Sapphire,” Blake groaned, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into his lap. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  He thrust his tongue into her mouth and Sapphire closed her eyes as the kiss deepened. When she drew back, breathless, her mood had changed. She was light-headed, lighthearted. “You’re not afraid of me?” she teased.

  He leaned over, taking her with him, and then they were lying on the hard floor. “Afraid of you?” He laughed as his fingers found the buttons of the cabin boy’s shirt she wore.

  She nodded, lifting her arms, allowing him to remove the shirt. “In the village near my home, there were men and women who were afraid of me.” She gazed into his eyes.

  She had once read that the eyes were the windows to a person’s soul and she found herself wishing that she could see something in Blake’s. But as always, his eyes were cloudy, swirling flecks of brown as unreadable as the stormy sea.

  “Afraid of you?” he crooned, cradling her in his arms again. He tugged on the ribbon that held her waist-length red hair back, and watched as her hair fell over her shoulders like a curtain.

  “One blue, one green,” she managed to say as a ripple of pleasure radiated through her body. “A sign of evil spirits.” She opened her eyes wide as if to frighten him.

  He laughed and lowered his head to kiss the valley between her breasts before dragging his warm mouth to her nipple. “I think your eyes are beautiful—they make you seem mysterious. Unpredictable.”

  He touched the tip of his tongue to her nipple and she gasped. “Unpredictable?”

  He nodded. “It’s why I like you. What first caught my eye…besides the red hair.” He teased her nipple into a hard nub, taking his time before speaking again. “I never know what to expect from you. What you will say. What you will do. I’m tired of predictable women.”

&nbs
p; She laughed. “You’ll be pleased to know that I find my own actions and thoughts unpredictable, as well, these days.”

  With a sigh, Sapphire relaxed as he drew a path of hot, wet kisses over her belly and then lower. She put up no protest when he unlaced the boy’s pants she wore and slipped them off. And as he slid his hand between her thighs and found the soft folds, she parted her legs, her breath catching in her throat again and again as he moved his mouth lower. In a moment’s time she surrendered to his hand, to his mouth, letting his fingers do what they would, lifting her higher and higher.

  Blake knew her too well, what made her laugh, what made her moan, and he used every bit of his talent each time they made love. He teased her to the very edge and then let her drift back until she found herself arching her back, raising her hips to meet his hand.

  “Blake, please,” she begged. She was so close…

  “Come sit on my lap,” he whispered, rolling onto his back to remove his trousers.

  She shook her head, feeling her cheeks flush. “I wouldn’t know how to…I don’t know what to do,” she panted.

  “Ah, I think you do. I think you were born knowing how to please a man.” He kissed her earlobe, her cheek, and she turned to meet his mouth, accepting it hungrily.

  “I think you were born knowing how to please me,” he muttered hungrily.

  Before she could protest, Blake lifted her up and onto his lap and she found herself seated astride him, her knees on the floor. Her boldness matching her need to find fulfillment, she lifted up and settled over him, finding a certain pleasure in his groan.

  “What were you saying about not knowing what to do?” he teased, his eyes heavy-lidded with passion.

  “Hush,” she told him as she leaned over to kiss him, her hair falling around them.

  Again he groaned, her movement further arousing him. “To think you were almost wasted on that dandy—”

  “Did you hear me?” she commanded, pushing the heels of her hands into the floor on either side of his head and then lifting and lowering herself again.

  His response was just what she had hoped for.