Vision in Blue

by Nicole Byrd

  “So, all will be well,” Gemma agreed, smiling down at Clarissa. “My dear, are you hungry? Would you like a cup of tea?”

  The younger girl nodded. “I’m always hungry,” she said simply. She had a petite figure, barely coming up to her brother’s shoulder, and she was very thin. Gemma wondered if his mother had been slight of build, too, or if the poor meals at the foundling home had slowed his sister’s growth.

  Matthew frowned for a moment, then when Clarissa looked hesitant, smiled at her instead. “Then come along. We will see about tea and something to go with it.”

  “We won’t see Mr. Nebbleston, will we?” his sister asked, glancing at the door that led into the ship. “He’ll yell and he might wallop me.”

  “It doesn’t matter if we see him,” Matthew promised her. “I will be with you. No one is going to hurt you, ever again.”

  So Clarissa took his hand and followed him inside.

  Now that Clarissa was safe, the trip across the Channel seemed more like a pleasure jaunt. It was Gemma’s first time afloat, too, and she could enjoy the novelty of the boat’s deck rising and falling beneath her feet, the touch of the moist salt air against her face, and the wide and scenic vistas.

  They marveled at the snowy chalk cliffs that dropped behind them as England faded into the distance. And if Matthew watched his sister as if she might vanish in a whiff of smoke before his eyes, and if Clarissa jumped at every sound, Gemma told herself again that it would take time for both, each wounded by the girl’s abduction, to recover. She herself was still smarting from the hurried horseback ride to the coast, but her pains were nothing compared to Clarissa’s emotional scars.

  They spent part of the day outside, watching the gulls flit over the waves and dip occasionally into the water to snatch a fish. Gemma found it more comfortable to stand than to sit, and Clarissa waved at passing fishing boats and larger ships wending their way through the Channel. The air was mild, and the breeze smelled of brine and fish. Later, they went inside and enjoyed an ample dinner. When the ship docked at Calais and made ready for its return voyage, they were able to move to the larger cabin, with a small sitting room and a bedroom on either side, one for the ladies and one for Matthew.

  Gemma helped Clarissa get ready for bed. A steward brought them warm water and soap, so that the ladies could wash up, although they had no nightgowns to change into. Clarissa went to bed in her threadbare shift, and Gemma sat beside her for a time after Clarissa climbed into the bunk.

  “He’s not angry at me, is he?” Clarissa asked, yawning. She had eaten a large dinner, and after her bath, Gemma had asked for warm milk to help the girl sleep. It had been a tumultuous and emotional day.

  “Matthew? Of course not, why should he be angry at you?” Gemma asked.

  “I—I don’t know. Just because. I tried to write to him, you know, but I had no money to post a letter with, and I think Matron threw my notes away.”

  Gemma felt a jolt of anger, but she kept her tone serene. “He’s your brother and he loves you,” she assured the other girl. “He was greatly troubled by your disappearance, but he does not blame you. If anyone, he blames himself. But truly, it was no one’s fault except the solicitor, Temming, and he is already in prison.”

  “Is he?” Clarissa brightened. “He took me to the foundling home, you know, after Mama died. I never liked the blighter!”

  Gemma bit her lip so that she would not laugh. No, she thought Clarissa would recover. She sat with her until Clarissa drifted into sleep, then Gemma went out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Matthew sat alone in the sitting room, and his brooding expression made her heart contract. She hurried across to him.

  “She’s sleeping soundly. She seems well, Matthew. Although I must tell you, she has bruises all over her arms and legs.”

  His face darkening, Matthew looked up. “Nebbleston? I will have him horsewhipped! If I had not thought it would further distress Clarissa, I would have done it today.”

  Gemma sighed. “I think many of them are from the boy. Clarissa says he has a terrible temper and was very difficult to deal with, pinching or kicking her if he didn’t get every whim instantly fulfilled. His clubfoot makes him somewhat clumsy, but it’s more that he has been shamelessly indulged. His father could not keep governesses or even nursery maids. That’s one reason he may have bought Clarissa’s services. She could not quit; she had nowhere to go back to.”

  Matthew groaned, and she reached out to him to touch his shoulder. “I don’t mean to distress you further.”

  “No, better to have the truth out. Do you think she will be able to heal?”

  “Of course,” Gemma told him. “It will take time, but I am sure her spirit is still whole. With your love and patience—”

  “She will have that,” he promised.

  “She will mend, in her body and her mind,” Gemma assured him. “She can be happy again.” Just as she herself would be, Gemma thought, and a few words from a sermon heard long ago drifted into her mind. The lost children had been found; there would be no more weeping in the wilderness.

  “Gemma, you are a marvel. And to think I tried to persuade you not to come. How can I thank you?” Matthew took her hand and gripped it tightly. “Without your sharp eyes, I could very well have missed finding Clarissa, despite my rush to the port.”

  She smiled at him. “I did very little, and I thank God for the happy outcome.” His fingers felt warm against her own, and she made no move to break the contact.

  “I will do all I can to prevent gossip,” he told her. “I do not wish you to suffer for this journey.”

  She shrugged. “The groom was with us through most of the ride down. And now your sister will share the journey back.” After wrestling with life or death issues, she could not be concerned with a few unchaperoned hours. Anyhow—

  A knock at the door interrupted her thought, and to her disappointment, the captain dropped her hand.

  “Come in.”

  A servant opened the door and brought in a large tray with a teapot and other dishes.

  “I thought you might like some tea before bed,” Matthew told her, motioning her to a chair.

  The steward put down the tray and departed. Gemma sat down carefully, trying not to wince, and watched as the captain poured two cups of tea. She added sugar and cream and sipped her tea, pausing to watch as he poured hot water from another pot into an empty cup. To her mystification, he took a small vial from his pocket and placed it in the water.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “It’s oil of bitter almond,” he told her. “I bought it from a merchant’s sample case.”

  “Why?”

  He smiled, and suddenly his gray eyes sparkled. “My dear, you have been limping all day. I suspect that Clarissa is not the only person here with bruises.”

  Gemma blushed. “It was a long ride,” she muttered.

  “And for someone not accustomed to hours in the saddle, an ordeal. You must be aching all over.”

  “Ah, in some spots more than others,” she admitted.

  “I have a friend, a fellow seaman who has sailed several times to the Orient,” Matthew told her. “He informed me of a trick that ladies in the Far East use to soothe aching muscles. It seems the least I can do.”

  Still not sure of his meaning, Gemma nodded. She sipped her tea and waited. Then, after she rose carefully and went to check once more on Clarissa, finding the girl deeply asleep, she came back to the main cabin and saw him bending over the tea tray. The captain took the vial out of the warm water and uncorked it. She smelled a pleasant nutty scent.

  “You will have to lie down upon your berth,” he told her. “You will need to rub the oil into your, ah, afflicted areas.”

  “I don’t wish to risk disturbing Clarissa.”

  “Then use my cabin,” he said. “I have no need to retire just yet.”

  She followed him into his room and leaned against the berth as he pulled off
her borrowed riding boots, then he said, “If you put the oil on your palms and—”

  “Matthew,” she said, “I don’t think I can reach the sore spots.”

  “Ah.” He considered. “We really should have your lady’s maid perform the task, but unless we wait until we return to London—”

  “No,” she said, aware of her body’s soreness and the stiffness with which she moved. It seemed to be growing worse. Every step hurt her. And when she rose or sat—She drew a deep breath. “I don’t suppose that you could do it?”

  His expression was hard to read. “It would be extremely improper for a man to do to a lady.”

  “Yes, but it hurts,” she told him, giving up the last pretense. “I’ve already broken almost every law in the social canon, why stop now?”

  He seemed to struggle with himself, then said a little abruptly, “Lie facedown upon the mattress.”

  Gemma did as she was told, and looking over her shoulder, saw that he still hesitated. “I will have to lift your skirts and rub the oil into your legs. Perhaps this is indeed too far for us to stray past the bounds of propriety.”

  “If it will ease the pain, I don’t care,” she told him. “Pretend you are my physician. This cannot be more unpleasant for you or me than bloodletting.”

  He lifted his brows. “I should hope not!”

  Gemma lifted her skirts herself, and then lay with her head to the side so that she could see him from the corner of her vision. She watched as he rubbed the oil onto his hands.

  Then, very gently, he touched her right foot. Gemma jumped, then lay still. He ran his hand over her foot, stroking the top of it, careful not to tickle, flexing the toes, then allowing his strong fingers to slip up to the ankle, massaging it, too, and then her calf. He touched the sore muscles, kneading out the knots and soothing her aches, his oiled fingers caressing her with a touch as smooth as warm butter.

  Gemma shivered. It was an amazingly sensual sensation, his strong hands moving across her skin, and the feel of the warm oil only enhanced his touch. She smelled the nutty scent over the slightly briny smell that invaded even the inside of the cabin, just as did the faint sound of waves hitting the side of the ship. But all her thoughts were here, with Matthew so close, his hands upon her limbs.

  “Higher,” she urged.

  He pushed her heavy riding skirt up farther and groaned. “Oh, Gemma.”

  Sighing, she nodded. When she had bathed earlier, she’d seen the enormous purple bruises that marked her thighs, the result of her hours on horseback. She could not see her buttocks, but she suspected the bruises there were even darker. It was no wonder she was hurting.

  Matthew poured more oil onto his hands and then rubbed lightly along the outside of her thigh.

  It hurt, for a moment, then the gentleness of his touch soothed the deep ache inside her legs. He stroked and eased his way along her thigh, first one, then the other, and the knotted muscles began to unkink. Gemma sighed in pleasure.

  He rubbed again, ran his strong hands up and down her leg, smoothing and pushing against the muscles, caressing the skin, gentle over the bruises, his fingers always in motion. She felt her body respond to his touch, and more than her ankles and calves were tingling.

  This was indeed a wonderful combination, she told herself. Warm oil and Matthew’s strong hands . . . She did not think a maid’s ministrations would begin to compare to it.

  But he had stopped. Looking over her shoulder, Gemma saw that Matthew had straightened and backed away from the bed.

  “What is it?” she asked. “Don’t stop. Are your arms tired?”

  He turned away from her and seemed to stare out the porthole into the darkness, where the sea crashed against the boat.

  “My dear—” His voice seemed husky. “I fear I cannot be as impersonal in this as I should, as a physician might.”

  Gemma wanted to urge him back, but she bit her lip. “I’m sorry. If you find this unpleasant—”

  He laughed, but his laughter, too, seemed hoarse. “No, no, that is the last word I would use. But although my self-control has been tested before, every man has his limits. And you are so—you are—”

  Still she waited, and when he turned back to face her, she saw a glint of perspiration on his forehead, even though the cabin was not overly warm.

  “Gemma, you have been so courageous, so selfless in your attempts to help me find my sister. And even if that were not true, I have discovered I have such feelings for you—”

  Gemma felt joy leap inside her. Of course, now she understood. She was not the only one of them affected by his touch on her body.

  “I could not consider myself and my own feelings, not until I knew my sister was safe. Even now, I know it will take time for her to recover. But if you can have patience, if you are willing to wait, then at the earliest possible moment I will court you properly, grant you every attention, and shout my honorable intentions from the rooftops of London, if need be. I adore you, Gemma Sm—that is, Lady Gemma Sinclair.”

  Gemma bit her lip. He watched her, his expression anxious. “Can you wait, my dearest heart?”

  “No,” she told him.

  His face darkened in disappointment and chagrin. “My dear—I cannot deny that you deserve more, but, my sister, I must—”

  Gemma gave up trying to keep a straight face; she smiled at him. “Matthew, I know your sister will require time to heal. Of course I would not rush her. But I am not waiting any longer. There is no need for an extended courtship. I don’t want bouquets of flowers or theater visits or fancy balls. I wish to be at your side, dearest, and I will help you with your sister. I’m sure I can be of assistance to you both. I know more about what she has been through than most gentlewomen would. But I am not going to wait any longer.” She gritted her teeth and rolled over to sit up, holding out her arms.

  He leaned closer, and she put her arms about his neck. “Matthew, can’t ship captains perform marriages? Can we be married tonight?”

  He lowered his face and kissed her, a long, deep, hard kiss that sent a thrill of response all the way to her toes. But when he lifted his face, he shook his head. “They can, in deep waters, but I rather doubt that the English Channel would qualify.”

  “Then as soon as we get back to London,” she suggested.

  “After all this, your brother may insist on just such an action,” Matthew told her, his tone grim for an instant. “But I don’t wish you to be rushed into—”

  “Matthew, I am not a pampered society lady who needs a drawn-out courtship,” she told him again. “I know now who I am and what I want—and I am proposing, drat you. Will you not marry me now, or at least as soon as possible?”

  “You cannot propose. I have already told you of my intentions,” he argued, his brows lifting and his eyes lightening, as they sometimes did with inner laughter. “I’ll not have you telling our children one day, or grandchildren, that I was such a sluggard that you had to urge me to the altar!”

  “I am not your midshipman, Matthew,” she said, tossing her head.

  He glanced down at her tucked-up skirts and exposed legs. “You do not look anything like my midshipman, dearest.”

  “Just remember that when you start giving orders,” she directed. “However, if we cannot have the ceremony immediately, we can start the honeymoon tonight, at least. And first of all, you will finish my massage. I’m still aching.” And now from more than her abused muscles, but it seemed unladylike to say that aloud.

  Perhaps he knew.

  Matthew kissed her again. “Very well,” he said. “Then we shall do this right.”

  He unbuttoned the back of her bodice and helped her out of the riding outfit, removing the bodice and heavy skirt and the rest. When presently she wore only her thin linen shift, Gemma lay back down, face to one side, her chest against the bed.

  Matthew leaned over and kissed the back of her neck, then her cheek, then found her lips. Gemma kissed him back, relishing the firm touch of his lips, even e
njoying the slightly scratchy feel of his unshaven cheeks. He had had no razor with which to shave today, and much of his face was now covered by a blond stubble, which rasped against her skin when he nuzzled her neck.

  “Oh,” she said, but it was such an exciting touch that she hardly minded the slight discomfort.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, but remember the massage, if you please.”

  Chuckling, he poured more oil into his palms. He sat beside her and again rubbed her feet, circling her ankles, going lightly up her calves and now onto her thighs.

  Gemma tried not to shiver. It was a delicious feeling, his hands warm against her skin. Her soreness began to fade as he traced the muscles and tendons up toward her buttocks, rubbing gently, then hard and then softly, until the soreness eased beneath the silky touch of his fingers, and a different kind of ache arose, deep inside her. The light touch of oil that ran up and down her legs seemed to be trails of heat, pulsing against her skin, calling up an even deeper warmth from inside the center of her being.

  Now he pushed the shift farther up and put his palms upon the cheeks of her buttocks. Gemma bit back a gasp. He held her rounded cheeks, kneading the soft curves, rubbing the sore spots, the bruises that discolored her body here, too, and again, the ache seemed less, but the delicious shivers that his hands induced ran up and through her, leaving her breathing quickly.

  She tried to turn, but he pushed her gently back. “We’re not done,” he told her. “Patience, madam.”

  She was not a “madam” yet, but she soon would be, Gemma thought happily. She had not expected to trade her new surname in so quickly, but she would always have the Sinclair in her heart, even when she became a Fallon.

  But she couldn’t think of that now, couldn’t think of anything except Matthew’s touch as he ran his hands up along her hips, curving around her bottom, stroking her thighs until heat seemed to follow every motion, and this time, it was not the warmth of the oil she felt, but an inner fire that only his touch could stoke.

  Now he pulled the linen shift up and over her head and tossed it aside. And his sleek oiled hands touched her back, tracing the line of her spine, easing the soreness in the small of her back from the jolting ride. Again, his hands left a trace of fire behind. When he reached her shoulders, she sighed, feeling the ease of his touch, feeling light enough so that she might almost float out of his arms. And at the same time, she knew how much she wanted his hands on the rest of her body.