Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  Not once did she resist, not even as he stroked his hand down the side of her, awed by the softness of her flesh. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her. He could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her body pressed into his hand, touch it in the wetness of her desire. And though Nathan sensed there was something deeper to her need than just desire, he didn't dwell on the matter. He was past the point of wanting. He needed only to take.

  "Nathan," she whispered his name again.

  He closed his eyes, the husky sound of her voice the essence of everything he craved. At that moment he wondered if she was a virgin, for she seemed a woman of the world, one who knew what she wanted in a man and wasn't afraid to take it.

  But if a man had been there before him, did he really care?

  For an instant sanity returned. And then she reached up and touched his face. A simple gesture, really, but the feel of her fingers stroking the side of his jaw, the way her eyes burned into his own, the way, God, the way she lifted her head off the pillow and captured his lips with her own, it was all his undoing. And he realized he didn't care. There was no going back, there was only going forward now.

  He returned her kiss gently and then, as he realized she didn't want it gently, with more pressure, the pleasure in his own body building to a point that beckoned him like her amber eyes. His hand stroked her breasts, then moved lower, dipping to a silky-smooth belly that jerked against him in response to his touch. He moved lower, felt her arch into his hand as he palmed her again. Bloody hell, but she was wet for him. He groaned, stroking her, dipping his fingers deeper and deeper. She moaned, her hands lifting to cup the back of his head. He felt her work the leather that tied his hair back, felt the first locks of it fall forward around his face. Her eyes seemed to grow even more gold as she stared up at him.

  It became a kind of pain to hold back. And yet he was determined to do so.

  "Please," she begged.

  He knew what she wanted, so he stroked her deeper. He could feel her climax begin to build in the way she clenched around him. It was then that he covered her. At last. There was a moment, a brief one, when he weighed what he was about to do against what he knew he should do. Stop. But his body's craving for her, his need for her wouldn't allow him to hold back. He held himself steady at her entrance, his manhood replacing the hand he pulled away.

  Still, he found himself saying, "Ariel," in a husky groan that was part question, part plea.

  "Shh," she soothed, reaching up to touch his face, telling him without words that she wanted this as much as he. She spread her legs wider. He groaned at the feel of her doing so.

  "Ariel, we can't go back once this is done. Do you understand?"

  She swallowed, nodded, her eyes languid with desire. "Do it to me, Nathan, please." She lifted her hips.

  His restraint broke. He pushed himself into her slowly, oh, so slowly, for she was a virgin, and he didn't want to hurt her. She was slick for him, so slick it was hell to keep from thrusting all the way. He began to pant, began to tremble.

  "No," she said, as he started to back out.

  "Wait, love," he soothed. He moved into her again, only deeper this time. He wanted to kiss her, knew to do so would break his control.

  "Yes," she whispered. "Oh, Nathan, yes." She closed her eyes, tilting her head against the pillow.

  He pulled out again, then slowly moved into her again, deeper still.

  "Hold me tight, Ariel," he instructed her. "Hold me."

  She did, crossing her legs behind his own. He moved out of her again, teaching her how to move, how to use him so that he didn't have to move. And she learned quickly, her hips rising and falling, rising and falling, faster and faster. And then, to his amazement, he felt the barrier of her maidenhead break. The realization drove him over the edge. He heard her gasp once, knew he'd broken through, then began to move deeper, the possessiveness he felt on realizing he was the first filling him with raging desire.

  "Nathan," she cried. "Oh, Nathan."

  Their movements grew more frantic. Nathan plunging in and out of her, Ariel moving with him. Their mouths found each other. They sucked, Nathan moving, moving, moving until he felt himself began to give, felt her answering moan. Yes. Yes, he thought. Come with me. Come now.

  And then she cried out, her body clutching his own, then releasing in sweet abandon, throbbing around him, milking him of the seed he gave her.

  "Ariel," he sighed against her lips, pouring himself into her, feeling the heat of his seed within her. "My sweet Ariel."

  "Nathan," she whispered back into his ear. "My darling Nathan."

  20

  If Ariel loved Nathan before, the act they'd committed made her love him all the more. Ariel's body still hummed from the last time they'd made love. Embers from the fire glowed, casting muted light on his form. He slept. Yet even in sleep he still looked the hardened warrior, for he still carried the scars of his past. The one on his face. The one on his back. And the one on his chest. She wanted to kiss all of them. But most of all, she wished she could heal the only scar that mattered.

  Wess Trevain.

  She closed her eyes, trying to think of a way to find him. But the only solution she came up with, the only chance they might have was through her father.

  The thought filled her with dread.

  Dealing with her father on a normal basis was difficult enough. Asking him to help made Ariel cringe. She'd rather set her toes afire.

  Yet what choice did she have? She loved the man beside her. And his life would not be complete without his brother by his side. So she needed to get that brother back. If he was alive.

  Nay, she would not think about Wess Trevain being dead and the obstacles to her and Nathan's relationship if Wess'd been killed. Nathan would never blame her. To do so would be like blaming her for the war between their two countries.

  Still her thoughts made her restless. She got up from the bed, careful not to disturb Nathan. It was dark outside and foggy, the kind of night when mist seems to creep through doors and permeate your clothes. It felt dank and cold, so much so that she longed for a bath to make her warmer. Bother that, she would take a bath, although in her own room so as not to disturb him.

  Dressing quickly and quietly, she went across the hall, ringing for a servant when she got there. She'd donned her gray cloak. Her face was in shadow as she waited for her call to be answered.

  "Lady Ariel D'Archer?" a masculine voice asked when she opened the door.

  She started, but not because of the use of her name. No. It was his attire.

  An officer stood there, his gold tassels and shiny gold buttons proclaiming him a high-ranking one. He looked young, perhaps not much older than herself. His face and hair were powdered, blue eyes slightly wrinkled at the corners from time spent aboard a ship.

  "I have orders to bring you with me, my lady."

  "Orders? From whom?" And more importantly, how had he discovered she was here?

  "I was told to say nothing more than that, my lady. Will you come?"

  Ariel almost told him no. She looked across the hall at Nathan's door, but as she stared at him she realized the only person who knew she was in Portsmouth was Lord Gordon. Had the man decided to help her further?

  It could be. "Did Gordon send you?"

  "Yes."

  She closed her eyes in relief. Oh, thank goodness. "Then, yes, I will come with you."

  Hastily she followed the officer, for he had already turned and left. Only once did she think to go back for Nathan. But what if they did not know he was here? Nay, better to keep his presence a secret.

  Outside the air felt heavy with moisture, little droplets clinging to her face and eyes. He helped her into a hired hack, then settled on the seat opposite.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the docks."

  Her heart sped up. Had Gordon found Wess Trevain? Would this man take her to Nathan's brother? She clenched her hands in the folds of her cloak, wanting to find Nathan's bro
ther so badly she could barely breathe.

  They arrived at the docks quickly. Unfortunately, they smelled just as she remembered them. Fishy. The sounds of the ocean were just as she remembered, too. The booming roll of breakers offshore. The sound of nearby waves as they broke upon the legs of the pier. She clutched her cloak tighter, for the fog seemed thicker here, the chill increasing as the officer helped her into a shore boat crowded with rowers. He sat down next to her, his body affording little protection against the cold ocean air. The boat tilted as they both settled down.

  Nervous energy made it hard to sit still, and as they rowed across the bay, that energy grew harder to bear. The fog and the darkness made it impossible to see the ship they headed toward, until suddenly they were next to its hulking mass. The thing was huge. Like a ghostly building it rose from the water, at least four stories high. A first-rate warship, no doubt, Ariel thought, the kind her father served on.

  Her father.

  She stiffened, her heart suddenly stopping in her chest before kicking back into action, if possible, at twice the speed.

  It couldn't be.

  "We're not here because of Gordon, are we?"

  She could barely see the man as he glanced her way. "We are here because of Admiral Gordon, but 'tis not him you are going to see."

  She closed her eyes. Oh, dear God, no. Not her father. But she was afraid to ask.

  Still, did she need to? A court-martial had been convened. Only the highest-ranking officers were allowed to preside over courts-martial. If her father was near shore, he would have had to attend. And what if Lord Gordon had known that? What if he'd sent word to her father of her expected arrival last eve? What if this was Gordon's way of getting rid of her?

  Her mouth turned dry, her body grew clammy. In vain she tried to make out the name of the ship, but it was too dark and too foggy to see anything but the shape of the vessel.

  "Ship ahoy," called the watch on board deck as they pulled alongside, the boat rolling even closer on the crest of a small wave. They bumped into the side.

  "Let me give you a hand, my lady," the officer said.

  Ariel nodded. She had climbed aboard a ship before, though not in boys' clothes. Breeches and boots would make it much easier to move, no doubt. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. If she wanted to turn back, now would be the time. But if it was her father who was aboard, she had a feeling these men had their orders to bring her to him.

  Bring her to him.

  As if she were one of his crew, not his own flesh and blood.

  Now, Ariel, you don't know 'tis your father aboard.

  But she knew. It had to be. The officer treated her with too much respect for it to be anyone else. A lady in boys' clothes did not as a rule lend a man to behave with good manners.

  "Are you ready?" he asked.

  She nodded. He put his hands around her waist, lifting her, then holding the ladder steady. 'Twas one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, and not because of the physical effort. No, 'twas difficult because she knew if her father had ordered her presence, it could only bode ill. That meant he'd heard about her attempt to help Nathan Trevain. It meant, too, that he might suspect that she had become his lover.

  The memory of the lovemaking acted as ballast. It steadied her, gave her courage, as a crew member helped her on board. Lantern light spread a muted, foggy glow over curious faces. She searched those faces anxiously.

  "So Gordon was right. You have turned traitor."

  She spun.

  And there he was. Her father. She stiffened, telling herself she had nothing to be afraid of. She'd done the worst possible thing a daughter could do, ruin herself, and he hadn't beaten her or threatened her or sent her away.

  No, he just stopped caring for you.

  But she refused to think about that. "Father," she acknowledged him with a nod.

  "Where'd you find her?" he asked the officer who'd just climbed up behind her.

  "At the Boat and Anchor Inn."

  "Was she alone?"

  He nodded. "But Trevain was across the hall."

  So they knew. They knew he was here. She felt her hands clench in sudden fear.

  Her father nodded, his eyes shards of ice as he stared at her.

  "Bring her here."

  "I can follow on my own," she told her father, but he'd already turned. The officer took her elbow. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her. The men on deck stared, then looked away. Ariel wondered how much her father had told them. But did she care?

  No, she admitted. She did not.

  They followed in her father's wake, the smell of hemp and salt water filling her nostrils. Tall masts rose up on her left. The sails were furled now that the ship was in port. Cannon squatted in specially carved holders along the rail. The gun ports were closed. She thought of the battles this ship had fought, of the men who'd lost their lives because of it.

  Opening a door beneath the poop deck, her father ducked inside. She knew his cabin would be at the back of the ship down a narrow gangway with smaller cabins on both sides. By the light spilled by small lanterns, she could see his stiff back. He wore no wig, like most of the officers when aboard a ship, including the one who had escorted her with such aplomb.

  Without looking back, her father opened the door. The officer paused before the same door, holding it open for her as she passed.

  "That will be all, Phillips."

  The officer nodded, shooting Ariel a look of sympathy before closing the door. The look surprised her, helped to steady her. Not for nothing had she faced her father before. She gave Phillips a small smile before turning to face her father with her body held straight, her eyes level, her hands relaxed at her sides.

  Inside she trembled.

  Slowly, so slowly she knew it was a calculated move, he turned to face her. His right hand rested upon a small desk, the papers that rested there moving a bit as his fingers caught the edges of them. She knew beyond the door behind him lay his personal quarters. She also knew that he would never let her into that private world, and though the notion did not wound her—not after all this time—she would still have given much to know why.

  "Gordon sent me word that you are helping the traitor Nathan Trevain find his brother. Is this true?"

  His voice was low, yet booming all the same. A trick of having to yell over the sound of wind and surf. And in his blue and gold admiral's attire, he looked every inch the commander.

  "Aye, Father, it is true."

  He merely stared. And as always Ariel wondered how she could possibly be his daughter. He was so unlike her in so many ways. His hair was silver, but it'd been blond before that. His face was long, his nose autocratic, his jaw hard and unyielding. A portly body stood upon short legs. That her mother's traits had been passed on to her there could be no doubt. That she looked nothing like her father there could also be no doubt.

  Finally he gathered himself. She could see it in the way his hands flexed by his sides. The way his jaw tightened a bit. The way his eyes narrowed. "You are a deep disappointment to me, Daughter."

  She tried not to react to his words, tried not to let him see how much they hurt her despite the fact that they were expected.

  "Only a deep disappointment, Father? I'm sorry to hear that, for I've always struggled to be a huge disappointment. I see I have failed in my aim."

  His eyes glittered. Ariel wondered why she always felt the need to bait him in situations like these. They were like two weather systems, warring with each other until thunder and lightning stuck. She knew it would be that way tonight.

  "I should have married you off," he snapped.

  "What? And missed out on the fun of ignoring me my entire life? Of making me feel less worthy than one of your officers? Or going away so often I feel as if I was born an orphan?"

  He stiffened his stance. "I have a job to do at the Admiralty."

  "Most admirals stay in town, father, do not try to bamboozle me. I know the truth. You want to a
void me." She stepped further into the room, her boots tapping on the wood floor. His eyes swept down, obviously noticing her boys' attire for the first time. His gaze turned even more disgusted. "And what I want to know, now, tonight, is why that is." Lord help her, she didn't want to cry, but suddenly she felt tears come to her eyes. Ridiculous tears, for she'd realized long ago that her father didn't love her, she'd just never had the courage to ask why.

  "I don't wish to discuss our relationship, Ariel. We're here tonight to discuss Mr. Nathan Trevain."

  "What have you done with him?" she asked, for suddenly she knew he had done something. There was a look on his face, one of smug satisfaction.

  "Nothing. . .yet."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Surely you realize that as the daughter of a First Lord, I cannot have you associating with the man? He has been taken into custody, again. But I will release him if you promise to never see him again."

  "Impossible," she cried. "Father, I—" She struggled to find the right words, settled on the simplest ones. "I love him." She opened her mouth, couldn't speak for a second through the clog of emotions, swallowed again and said, "I know it sounds improbable, but I truly do. He is a good man, one who fought for his country as proudly as any of your men. If you would but meet with him—"

  "Never," he slashed her with his voice. "To do so would be political suicide. My position is appointed, or have your forgotten that?"

  "Is your career so important, then, that you would sacrifice your only daughter's happiness?"

  "Are you such a poor daughter that you would sacrifice your father's career? Again? Already I have weathered one storm for you. . .barely. But this, this promises to be worse. What am I to say to Howell and Parker and the lot of them? Sorry, sirs, but my daughter seems to have fallen in love with a bloody patriot?"

  "Would that be so difficult?"

  "Not difficult, impossible. They will wonder if a man who cannot control his daughter is fit to run the navy."