Saving Marina

by Lauri Robinson

* * *

  He’d relaxed but kept his weight off her by bracing himself on his forearms. “I don’t want to crush you,” he whispered and then kissed her forehead.

  “You won’t crush me,” she assured him.

  He slid out of her and then rolled onto the mattress beside her. She needed no encouragement to snuggle up against him, laying one leg over his.

  Richard grasped her knee in order to keep it across his thighs. He’d imagined loving Marina would be unbelievable, but he’d been helpless, unable to hold anything back during their union. He’d never seen anything more beautiful than her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her body fully ravaged with passion. He wanted to drown himself in her right there and then and practically had. All of his hardened edges had completely come unraveled, leaving him as bare as the day he was born.

  Just as she’d been given a second chance at life, he was, too, because of her. A rebirth of sort, and this time around, he’d made the right choice. Life with Marina would be far more exciting and challenging and prosperous than sailing had ever been.

  Exhausted and happy, he let out a satisfied sigh. “So, where do you want to live?”

  She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before kissing it. “Live?”

  “Yes. I’ll build you a house twice this big, wherever you want.”

  Her lids looked heavy as she pulled them open. “Why would I want a house twice as big as this one? That would be a lot of extra cleaning.”

  He chuckled at her rationality. “I’ll hire servants to help you.”

  A frown formed. “Where will you be?”

  “Wherever you want that house built.”

  The single fingertip she used to twist the hair on his chest was enough to tell him he’d never get enough of her. His heart had barely stopped thundering in his chest and echoing in his ears, yet the desire to satisfy his feverish hunger all over again was already rebuilding.

  “When you aren’t at sea?” she asked.

  He tilted his head enough to rub his nose in the softness of her hair. “I forgot to mention that I’m no longer a sea captain. At least not of the Concord.” In truth, he hadn’t forgotten, simply avoided it. A part of him had been afraid to say the words, wondering how his own ears would react. No regret arose within him, but he was wise enough to know the day might come when he’d miss his ship, miss being her captain.

  Marina shifted and propped her head on her hand to look down upon him. “What happened?”

  “Governor Phillips confiscated the ship. However, a good friend of mine reclaimed it with his letter of marque.”

  “A pirate has your ship?”

  “A privateer, but he’s a friend. He offered to sell her back to me.”

  “Sell her back?” She pulled her leg off his and sat up. “It’s your ship.”

  “I told him to keep her. My sailing days are over.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll be a husband and a father.” He took her hand. “Don’t worry. We have plenty of money, and other ships that will keep sailing, keep making money for us.”

  “But you told Gracie you’d take her sailing. Show her colorful birds and monkeys hanging by their tails in the trees. And what about Uncle William?”

  Her cheeks were flushed, not from passion but anger. He’d seen it before. “I thought you’d be happy.”

  “You thought wrong,” she snapped.

  Examining her face, he saw the truth. “You wanted to see those birds and monkeys, didn’t you?”

  She sighed heavily. “Yes... As long as I’m not going to be hanged for being a witch, I want to live. I want adventures and fun.”

  He ran his fingers through the long blond curls cascading over her shoulders, hiding her pert and perfect breasts. “Is that why you agreed to marry me? To go sailing? Have adventures and fun?”

  “No.” Her gaze was serious and soft. “I agreed because I love you. And I’ll agree to live in any seaside port you choose, and wait for you to return from the sea for as long as I have to. I was just hoping I could convince you to take me with you once in a while.”

  He pushed the hair over her shoulders, improving his view. “How were you planning on convincing me?”

  She shrugged, but as her gaze roamed his chest and lower, her lips formed a sly and teasingly wicked grin. “I figured I would think of something.”

  Trailing a finger over one breast, he said, “I’m open to some convincing.”

  Epilogue

  Nebraska, 2015

  Ashley Tarr sat at the breakfast bar in her kitchen, clicking through and rereading certain parts of the lengthy document on her computer screen. It had been fascinating, but the beginning was her favorite.

  The rumble of the garage door made her smile and her heart skip a beat, which it always did at the thought of her husband. She’d never have guessed how empowering loving the right man could be.

  A moment later, Ryan walked through the door connected to the garage. “I got your pickles,” he said, holding up the bag he carried.

  “Thank you.”

  Setting the bag on the counter, he added, “And ice cream.”

  “Ice cream?”

  He lifted one dark brow above his ever-glistening brown eyes. “Yes. I thought the two went hand in hand for expecting mothers.”

  Ashley rubbed the baby bump her jeans no longer fit around. She was going shopping for maternity clothes tomorrow with her mother-in-law and looking forward to it. Even more after reading the document she’d been emailed this morning.

  “You need to read this,” she told Ryan as he put the ice cream in the freezer.

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Your family history.”

  He rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Resting his chin on her shoulder while his hands rubbed her stomach, he sighed. “My mother?”

  She nodded and giggled. “But it’s your father’s family history. Your mom had Aunt Jenny email it to me.”

  His groan was exaggerated.

  “Seriously,” she said. “It’s fascinating.” Using the finger pad, she scrolled to the beginning of the document, where a family tree had been embedded. “See this name? Richard Tarr?”

  “Yes.”

  “He was a sea captain. Owned a whole fleet of ships.”

  “Aw, that’s where I get my love of water.”

  She laughed. Although they lived in Nebraska, Ryan owned four boats, all of which he insisted he needed for different purposes. Lake fishing, river fishing, duck hunting and whatever else. “Could be,” she said. “See here, where Richard married Marina Lindqvist?”

  “Yes.”

  She clicked on Marina’s name. “She was your ninth great-grandmother and was imprisoned as a witch during the Salem witch trials.”

  “Spooky,” he said teasingly. He was also kissing her neck.

  She scrunched her shoulder into her cheek to make him stop. “It’s not spooky. It’s sad, really. Over twenty people were killed. Nineteen hanged and one crushed to death. Others were tortured, withheld food and water, kept in dank dungeons. Some died and some, even after their release, were insane from what they’d been put through.” She shook against a shiver that tickled her spine.

  Ryan rubbed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “But not my however-many-times great-grandmother?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Richard, your ninth great-grandfather, rescued her.”

  “How?”

  Shrugging, she admitted, “It doesn’t say exactly. I looked it up online but didn’t learn anything more. The few records still around from that time list her name but not a lot else. Your aunt Jenny has researched it all and put together this family history. It covers all the generations, right back to Richard and Marina.”

  “Your favorites.”

  She grinned. He knew her so well. “Yes, they are by far the most interesting. They married shortly after Richard put up the bail to get her out of the Sa
lem jail. Her release happened the same time that the governor of Massachusetts declared that spectral and intangible evidence could no longer be used against the witches and he prohibited any further arrests. Others agreed with him.”

  Scrolling through the document, Ashley couldn’t find the exact page. “Somewhere it says a council member stated that it would be better if ten suspected witches be set free than one more innocent person be condemned, or something along those lines. The governor wrote letters to the king and queen about how the estates and property of the accused had been seized and disposed of without his consent, and requested authority to restore the innocent of their property.”

  “So it ended then?”

  “Not immediately. The trials continued, but the accused were found innocent, probably because no one admitted guilt, not as they had before. It wasn’t until the governor’s wife was accused, supposedly by a Puritan minister, that a lot of evidence points to as the instigator of the entire debacle, that the trials came to an end.”

  “A minister was doing the accusing?”

  “Yes. He’d been profiting from the trials and was ousted shortly thereafter, but your great-great—” she waved a hand for the rest of the greats “—grandparents, after they got married, sailed together for years. All over the world. Marina gave birth to three children on their ships. Before the fourth was born—they had a total of eight—they bought land in Maine and your grandfather started a shipbuilding company.”

  “How did Aunt Jenny learn that?”

  “Mainly from family diaries. Offshoots of the family still live in Maine.”

  “Probably still building ships while I’m stuck on a Nebraska farm,” Ryan said.

  Ashley twisted to kiss his cheek, knowing he loved what he did, and she was proud of him. “I hear the winters there are brutal.”

  He spun her chair around. “So was Marina a witch or wasn’t she?”

  “That’s the interesting part. Some from the past generations say she was. That if she said something would happen, it did.”

  Ryan laughed. “That’s not being a witch. That’s just being a woman.”

  She slapped him playfully on the chest. “Are you saying that all women are witches?”

  He shrugged before catching her behind the knees and lifting her off the bar stool. “I’m saying my nine times great-grandfather was a very smart man—most likely where I get my brains from. He must have understood he’d been bewitched by his wife the minute he met her, just like I did. And was willing to do anything to make all her dreams come true.”

  “Are you attempting to seduce me with sweet talk?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.

  “No, I’m going to seduce you with much more than words. I probably got that from good old Richard, too.”

  More than willing to go along with his plan, Ashley kissed his neck. “You probably got your good looks from him, too.”

  As cocky as ever, Ryan said, “Wait until I drop my pants. You’ll see what else I inherited.”

  She laughed. “I’ve seen it before.” Leaving out the nine greats, she whispered in his ear, “Your grandfather would be proud. Mighty proud.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from REDEMPTION OF THE RAKE by Elizabeth Beacon.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Historical.

  You dream of wicked rakes, gorgeous Highlanders, muscled Viking warriors and rugged Wild West cowboys from another era. Harlequin Historical has them all! Emotionally intense stories set across many time periods.

  Enjoy six new stories from Harlequin Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Redemption of the Rake

  by Elizabeth Beacon

  Chapter One

  ‘Mr Winterley is very handsome, isn’t he?’ Mary Carlinge said with a wistful sigh.

  ‘If you ask me, he’d be more at home in London and the haut ton must be flocking back there for the Little Season by now,’ Rowena replied warily.

  ‘Don’t try and change the subject, Rowena Westhope. You’re four and twenty and in full possession of your senses, so how can you not be intrigued by a young, rich and well-looking gentleman like that one? I don’t know how Callie Laughraine managed to drag to him to church again this morning, but I’m grateful to her even if you’re not.’

  Rowena eyed the tall, dark and, yes, very handsome gentleman and felt a shiver of something she didn’t want to think about run down her spine. ‘He’ll certainly need to be rich, as he’s bought the old Saltash place and it’s almost a ruin. I suppose he is good looking, but he’s far too vain and haughty for me to admire him because he was born that way.’

  ‘Either you’re a saint and belong in a nunnery, or you’re a liar, my friend,’ Mary murmured as Mr Winterley glanced in their direction, then let his gaze flit past as if they weren’t worthy of it.

  ‘And you’re a wife and mother, Mary Carlinge, and should know better.’

  ‘I may have wed Carlinge when I was hardly out of the schoolroom,’ Mary said blithely, sparing her husband of six years a fond but dismissive glance, ‘but your Mr Winterley is still worth a second look, then a third and fourth for good measure.’

  ‘He isn’t mine and he knows he’s attractive and well-bred and a fine prize on the marriage mart a little too well for my taste,’ Rowena replied as coolly as she could when the wretched man’s unusual green eyes flicked back to eye her speculatively.

  She had thought herself all but invisible in the shadow of an ancient yew tree, until Mary tracked her down and insisted on asking impossible questions. Now he was watching them as if Rowena might put a toad down his back if he didn’t keep an eye on her. A decade and a half ago she certainly would have, but it was unthinkable for a sober widow to do anything of the kind.

  ‘Now I like a man who knows his own worth. I’d wager my best bonnet that one is a fine and considerate lover as well,’ Mary insisted on telling her, although Rowena didn’t want to know her friend’s innermost secrets. ‘When I finally manage to give Carlinge another son I do hope I’m still young and attractive enough to find out for myself, as long as some discerning female hasn’t snapped him up in the meantime.’

  ‘Oh, Mary, no; that’s an awful thing to say. We were only confessing our sins before God a matter of minutes ago. You can’t possibly mean it.’

  ‘Shush,’ Mary Carlinge replied and took a look round to make sure nobody was close enough to hear the vicar’s eldest daughter being shocked by things she really shouldn’t admit out loud. ‘It’s as well you lurk in dark corners nowadays and do your best not to be taken notice of. Is that a habit you learnt at your mama-in-law’s knee, by the way? If so, it’s a good thing she’s taken it into her head to go and live with her sister and abandon you to your fate, because you would have stayed with her otherwise and become a boring little widow who breeds small dogs and keeps weavers of iron grey worsted in luxuries.’

  ‘This particular shade is called dove grey, I will have you know, and it was kind of Mama Westhope to take me in when I came back from Portugal with little more than the clothes I stood up in. I stayed longer than either of us intended because she was so prostrate with grief I couldn’t bring myself to leave, but it was only until we felt more able to cope with Nate’s death,’ Rowena defended herself and her late husband’s mother, but she had a feeling Mary was right this time all the same.

  ‘Kind my foot, she made use of you, Row.’ Her old friend put aside her sophisticated woman-of-the-world manner for a moment to lecture. ‘You were little more than her unpaid skivvy and I doubt she’s let a single day of the last two years go by without reproaching you for being alive when her darling is dead. No, you have been
cried at and belittled for quite long enough, my friend. It’s high time you learnt to live again and there’s the very man you should begin doing it with,’ she concluded with a triumphant wave of the hand to where Mr Winterley was standing with a less-distinguished gentleman doing his best not to know he was all but forgotten at his fellow guest’s side.

  ‘Who is the gentleman in the brown coat, Mary? You’ve become such a fount of information since you persuaded Mr Carlinge to live in his great-uncle’s house instead of selling it when he inherited and staying in Bristol.’

  ‘It’s healthier for the children, but are you calling me a gossip?’ Mary asked sharply. She seemed to consider the idea for a moment, then shrugged and grinned impishly, as if the truth of that silent accusation was undeniable, and Rowena remembered why she loved her old friend, despite her forthright tongue and interfering ways. ‘You’re quite right, of course. What else is there to do in the country but take an interest in your neighbours and watch grass grow? The man in that rather dull coat is the Honourable Mr Bowood and his father must be Lord Grisbeigh, who is the sort of mysterious grandee the government pretend not to have. He would have to admit to working if they did and we all know gentlemen don’t do that.’

  Since Mr Carlinge was an attorney and Mary sounded a little bitter about the social distinctions that fed into, Rowena turned the subject to Mary’s little son and baby daughter and tried to listen to their doting mother’s description of their latest sayings and doings with all her attention and wipe Mr Winterley from her thoughts. For all her talk of taking lovers and the dullness of her life, she was almost certain Mary loved her workaday Mr Carlinge and their lively children far too much to take a risk with fashionably bored Mr Winterley. Or at least Rowena hoped so for her friend’s sake, not because the man was tall and broad shouldered and rather fascinating and stirred something in her she’d rather leave unstirred.

  ‘So this is where you’re hiding today, is it, Rowena Finch?’ the clear tones of her other friend from the old days interrupted Mary’s tale of teething and breeching and now she had two pairs of acute female eyes on her instead of one. Rowena shifted under Calliope, Lady Laughraine’s dark gaze and flushed ridiculously as Callie’s words drew the attention of the very man she’d been trying to avoid.