John brushed down his knees and rose, choosing to ignore her statement. After all, she’d had a shock, perhaps she simply needed some time to adjust. He considered himself a kindly fellow. He hoped his wife would settle down and accept her fate.
“I shall return the tray to the galley. We dine with the captain at six o’clock, which is eight bells, and your clothing for the voyage is in the trunk on the left. Please be ready at ten minutes to the hour, I shall return for you then.”
He collected the tea things then, turning at the doorway, he spoke quietly. “I think it would be wise for you to ponder the outcome of our disagreement before our marriage, young lady, and try to achieve a more biddable nature from now onward,”
He gently pulled the door shut behind him and left the cabin.
Linnet sank back down upon the chair and stuck out her tongue at the closed door. She was livid. How dare he threaten her, the pompous oaf! He is your husband now, pointed out a little voice of reason. Yes, but not by my choice! she countered. He was so smug! Linnet thought of him earlier, lying on the floor, wet and dishevelled. She giggled. That had dented his damn American pride all right. Then she remembered his instructions to be ready at ten to six. Very well, she mused, I shall be ready, but perhaps Mr. Foster may not be!
She skipped over to the wooden trunks and lifted the lid of the chest. It was full of his clothing and all made from fine cloth, she noted as she fingered the rich, soft materials. It did seem a pity to mar such beautiful clothes. She for pondered a moment, chewing her bottom lip indecisively, finally concluding that he deserved retribution for the way he’d treated her.
She fetched her small nail scissors. Returning to the trunk, she knelt and lifted out a shirt. Holding the garment by the sleeve, she hesitated but a second before she cut. From every shirt in the trunk, Linnet took off one shirt sleeve. She then stuffed all the loose shirt sleeves down at the bottom of the trunk before folding the other clothing neatly on top in order to hide the destruction she’d wrought. A small shiver of misgiving trickled down her spine as she wondered what John’s reaction might be. However, the deed was done, and what could he possibly do about it?
A brief memory of their encounter in the coach came to mind but she hastily dismissed that episode—she’d bitten him on that occasion. John had not reacted over the water incident earlier that day, had he? She was a married woman now; her husband was required to cherish her and show her due respect, he’d even said as much earlier. Anyway, by the time he discovered the deed, she would be safely at dinner sat amongst the captain and his officers. Linnet then opened her own trunk and pulled out a couple of gowns, finally deciding on a pretty blue silk with front lacing and a pale bronze under skirt. This dress had always drawn compliments; the soft golden bronze of the underskirt matched her hair colour perfectly.
When John returned, it was already a quarter before six. He’d spent the afternoon on deck watching the crew as they handled the ship, taking her far out to sea. John had become reacquainted with the first officer, Duncan Snow, a fresh-faced young man with fair hair and freckles. John had liked him immediately on his voyage over from Boston. Duncan had been with Captain Pettigrew since he was a lad, and looked upon the jovial captain as a father figure.
Duncan was not as young as he looked; he was thirty, married with a wife and two young daughters, who resided in Plymouth England. Duncan accompanied John back to the cabin to make Linnet’s acquaintance. If she was surprised by his arrival, she did not show it, inclining her head graciously upon John’s introduction, holding out her hand to Duncan, who gallantly took it and raised it to his lips. “Your servant, ma’am. If there is anything at all you need, please do not hesitate to ask. Tomorrow, I shall bring the cabin boy, Pat, to meet you. He will be your servant for the voyage and will happily carry out chores for you, run messages and any errands that you care to set him,” Duncan assured her.
“I thank you, Mr. Snow, how very thoughtful of you. My husband seemed to forget my need of a maid on this voyage. It is so refreshing to meet a man who thinks of these things.”
John cocked his brow, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, most kind of you, Snow. Perhaps you would like to accompany my wife in to dinner? I need to change but will follow on directly.”
Duncan offered his arm to Linnet and they left the cabin. John untied his cravat and began to change.
Linnet made polite conversation with Duncan Snow as they made their way to the captain’s quarters, where they discovered two other officers conversing with Captain Pettigrew. The conversation stopped as she and Duncan Snow entered. The captain stepped forward. “My dear, welcome! How lovely you look. Come in and meet my officers, Mr. Dexter and Mr. Edward. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Mistress John Foster.” He gestured to Linnet and the officers gazed at her with open admiration. Both wore the same uniform of dark blue frock coats and white breeches.
They bowed low.
“Ma’am,” they chorused.
“Gentlemen,” Linnet replied coyly, sketching a curtsy.
The captain looked beyond them towards the open door. “Mr. Foster is not accompanying you into dinner, madam?”
“Why yes, he shall join us shortly, Captain,” Linnet reassured him.
She was starting to have doubts about the wisdom of her revenge. What if John should burst into the room in a rage? Surely he wouldn’t create a scene in front of the captain and his officers? Linnet had a particularly nasty vision of being turned across John’s knee—and in front of all these gentlemen. She blanched. Oh, why had she been so rash? John wouldn’t treat his wife thus, surely? Nervously, she waited for John to arrive. She sat, twisting her lace handkerchief whilst trying to make polite conversation with the captain and his men, her thoughts in turmoil elsewhere.
Linnet started when John placed his hands upon his wife’s shoulders. “So sorry, captain, gentlemen, to keep you waiting,” he apologised.
John bent forward and kissed the nape of her neck. She shivered as his hot breath caressed her skin.
“You look ravishing, darling,” he said clearly before lowering his voice so that only she could hear, “I shall need your help sorting through my clothing on the morrow, especially my shirts. You have a better dress sense than I.”
She tittered nervously. “Oh, do you really think so?” Linnet could not be sure whether John knew about his damaged shirts and his comment was telling her so. But would he be this calm if that were the case?
Captain Pettigrew picked up a wine glass and tapped it with a spoon, attracting everyone’s attention. “Gentlemen, I should like to make a toast to the newly wedded Mr and Mrs John Foster, who are now the proud owners of our lovely ship, The Tempest!”
Dinner was plain but delicious; tender chicken served with herbs and root vegetables, followed by fresh fruit and cheese. Linnet, however, could have been eating sawdust, she was so nervous. She would have perhaps enjoyed her meal more if she had known how the ship’s food would decline as the long voyage continued, but all she could think about was the fact that John was wearing the same shirt that he had worn all day. He had simply changed his waistcoat for dinner, and she could see the white stock at his neck was a fresh one. Did this mean he had found the mutilated shirts? She had to know; she had to get back to their cabin to take a peek and check.
John surreptitiously watched his new wife’s discomfiture. When he had discovered the vandalised shirts, he had wanted to find the vindictive little witch, turn up her skirts and tan her backside. Instead, he had made himself calm down. He’d poured a whisky and sat a while, sipping thoughtfully while he decided how best to react to this blatant challenge to his authority. John reasoned that since Linnet had still not experienced the full potential of her womanhood, after all, the two of them were still strangers, unbound as yet by the physical act of love. Last night had been pleasurable for him but he’d hurt her and now she was wounded and angry. If he alienated her, he may never gain her trust, particularly in the bedchamber.
That would mean the perfect partnership he knew them capable of would possibly never flourish. After all, Linnet was still shocked at leaving her home and her beloved father behind.
He’d come to a decision. He would pretend, at least for the time being, that he had not discovered the results of her malicious deed. Tonight, he would teach her about the act of love. Afterwards, he hoped that she might confess all to him, in which case he would magnanimously forgive her. If not, well then, he would make sure she received a lesson that would ensure that she would never again repeat her underhanded act of petty vengeance.
Linnet had been placed opposite John at the dinner table. The talk was all of politics, and Captain Pettigrew sought John’s views on the reaction of the Colonies to the taxes imposed by Lord North, the prime minister. “My own view,” the captain explained, “is that the new cabinet changes will be seen in a positive light.”
John shook his head. “I would have to disagree with you sir; Lord North is not known to be sympathetic to the Colonies’ plight. Providing he can be persuaded that the taxes should be reduced, I can see mutual co-operation and a return of the free trade, such as we enjoyed before England’s war with France. Now that Lord North has introduced the Tea Levy, things could become substantially worse.”
The conversation wore on, until Linnet tired of dull discussion and turned to the captain with a bright smile. “Do tell me, Captain, what do you make of these salacious rumours that Lord North is the king’s bastard brother? The resemblance between the two is said to be almost uncanny. One wonders which of his parents was guilty of such indiscretion.” An uncomfortable silence fell as one by one, the officers seated around the table turned to stare at Linnet. John shook his head, deeply annoyed with her.
“I must apologise for my wife’s indelicacy, gentlemen. She has the typical female nose for a scandal!” The captain gave a polite laugh. “Mr Foster, your pretty wife seems quite worn out by the day. Escort her to your cabin, sir, why don’t you?”
John looked thoughtfully at Linnet. Did she not realise the offence she had caused these good, loyal English men with her silly, flippant remark? It had been rumoured, certainly, that due to a strong physical likeness, the king and Lord North may be in some way be related. But loyal subjects of King George did not tend to repeat such libellous slander. The captain would hopefully put Linnet’s tactless comments down to her youth and the female propensity for gossip. John thought it best to remove his naive wife from an embarrassing situation.
He pushed back his chair and, dipping his head to the captain, he became the picture of a concerned husband. “My dear, you are tired,” John told her solicitously. Linnet was eager to get back to the cabin and check upon the status of John’s ruined shirts, so she willingly acquiesced.
“Actually, yes, but I should like to retire to my room alone. Please stay here, my dear, and enjoy the gentlemen’s company.” It was killing her not knowing whether or not he had discovered the shirts. Surely not, he had been so lovingly attentive toward her all evening.
“Cabin, my love,” John corrected her. “The rooms on board a ship are called cabins. I insist on accompanying you.”
Linnet gritted her teeth but said with a saccharine smile, “I quite forgot they were called cabins, how kind of you to remind me, my dear!”
John pulled out her chair and helped her to her feet but Linnet shook his hand away and flounced to the door, furious that he had not only shown her up by correcting her in public, but that he intended to escort her. Amidst an amused chorus of good wishes, they took their leave.
On the way to their cabin, John pointed out to his sulky wife the inadvisability of spreading drawing-room gossip while aboard the ship. Linnet simply shrugged disinterestedly; she had only been trying to liven up what, to her, had been an otherwise tedious evening.
John decided to drop the subject for now. He had no wish to upset their tenuous relationship just before they were due to retire. After all, they were on their honeymoon. When they reached the cabin door, Linnet turned to John. “I shall be quite all right now, John, thank you. Please return and join the men in their brandy with the captain.” She wanted to sound airy, as if it were of no consequence to her either way. John hid a smile, not fooled for one moment—he knew that she wanted him gone.
“No, my darling, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone on our first night aboard ship.”
He opened the door and went over to seat himself on the bed. Linnet, realising that she was not going to be able to check on the torn shirts that night, resignedly gave up and decided she would wait until the morning. She bustled behind the screen to use the chamber pot and wash. When she had finished, she called out, requesting that John fetch her night-gown for her. John walked over to the screen, and reaching behind it, took a gentle hold of her arm, drawing her out into the room.
“Come, my dear,” he said, “I will help you disrobe. As you so rightly pointed out earlier this evening, it was I who was remiss in leaving you to cope without a maid’s assistance.”
Linnet reluctantly allowed him to lead her towards the bed. He turned her to face him and started to undo all the front lacing on the dress. She had chosen the front-faced opening deliberately so she could manage without assistance. She kept her eyes downcast and watched as his strong fingers deftly loosened the laces. He then pushed the robe off each of her shoulders in turn so that her bosom lay enticingly exposed. John bent his head and kissed the soft white swell of her breasts. He tilted her head back, and his mouth closed over hers possessively. He kissed her lips apart and flicked his tongue teasingly against hers.
Linnet tried to pull back. She had no wish for a repeat performance of the previous night but John slipped his arms around her, holding her closely pressed up against his muscled body, leaving her no room for manoeuvre.
As the kiss progressed, she relaxed into his arms and, somewhere in the centre of her being, warmth expanded. Mounting heat flooded through her veins. He traced his hand down her back in slow sensual strokes until he cupped her lovely, womanly buttocks; gently kneading them, he pulled her against the hard length of his body. He gazed into her eyes, which had flown open as he broke the kiss. His eyes held hers, mesmerised. His compelling stare darkened with desire as he traced the shape of her parted lips with his finger. “You are so lovely. Your body is made for love, Linnet. Do not fear, tonight will be very different from last night, I promise you.”
She attempted to pull out of his embrace but he held her fast. With a backward step, he sat upon the bed, cradling her on his lap. Tugging open the front of her dress, he undid her corset, loosening her chemise until her breasts spilled free. His hands caught them as the filmy material parted. Weighing them in his hands, he moved his thumbs over her nipples, making them perk in rosy peaks. She drew in her breath sharply, feeling strange warmth spread through her limbs, making her languid. She was nervously aware that she had nowhere to escape to aboard a ship, and submitted to his attentions anxiously.
Lowering his head, John kissed her lingeringly. His hands gently caressed the erect buds of her nipples. Her arms crept up and wound around his neck as he moved one of his hands down to her lap and pulled her skirt upwards. She watched, breathless, as his hand snaked beneath the white lace of her petticoat then, sliding up her parted inner thigh, he stroked the velvet skin above her stocking, his fingers tantalisingly brushing against her womanly mound. She felt immobilised by the sensations he aroused.
Then John deftly lifted the silken dress over her head and removed it, throwing it aside. She gasped as he resumed his intimate attentions. He nipped her neck, soothing the sting with his tongue. She gasped, not ready for his next move, which was to roll her over so that she lay sprawled back upon the bed with her legs flung up over his hip. John bent his head to her nipples, skilfully tweaking and sucking the turgid peaks. His hand slipped from her knee and up her leg until he touched the skin of her inner thighs. Heat curled through her centre core, unsettling her so that she snapped her thi
ghs together. John tutted and parted her with a knowing hand, exploring her, arousing her with gentle, questing fingers, until she was slick and wet with desire, lost in a fathomless delight as his kisses peppered her, moving down her body. He held her as she writhed, lowering his head between her thighs. His tongue probed the hot pulsing heart of her passion, finding and teasing the small nub of her desire. His searching tongue tantalised her senses, sending her spiralling into a vortex of ecstasy such as she could never have imagined. Her back arched as wave after wave of delicious pulsing pleasure washed over her. She cried out his name with a sweet surrender. Afterwards, as she lay bathed in a gleam of perspiration, her white shift screwed up around her waist, legs thrown apart, head flung to one side, he kissed her neck, murmuring his love for her.
He admired her gorgeous hair, a pool of gleaming copper. Soft silken tendrils trailed like fire over the creamy mounds of her breasts, nipples taut, exposed to his carnal gaze. He ached with the need to mate her; she was irresistible, ravishing. Standing, he peeled off his clothes, turning to face her, his manhood pulsing stiffly from his groin.
“Look at me, wife,” he commanded. She gazed at him. Never having seen a man naked before, she was fascinated. Her eyes devoured the sight of his tumescent hardness that testified his desire for her. How proudly it jutted, long and thick. Were all men made so, she wondered. Her eyes travelled down his long powerful legs, covered in whorls of dark curling hair, the plane of his flat stomach, the wide, well-muscled chest, coated in the same dark hair. Her gaze took in his broad shoulders and strong biceps before finally settling on his dark, lean face.
Disconcertingly, he watched her with those hooded inscrutable grey eyes, his stare unwavering. As he moved purposefully towards the bed she shyly, nervously, shifted over to accommodate him. He gathered her into his embrace, kissing and caressing her. He began to stir her passion once more. His deft fingers worked their magic, her furrow quivering, slickly plump with desire. He slowly moved above her and this time, she parted her legs, unconsciously welcoming as he guided himself to her waiting cleft.
Her Match, Her Mate, Her Master Page 8