TOUCH ME

by Lucy Monroe

  One, two, three more thrusts and then she felt the incredible sensation of him spilling his seed into her. His body went completely rigid as he found his release. His life had just joined with her own. She could never be whole without him again. She pushed the thought away, even as it formed in her mind. He thrust twice more, groaning against her mouth as he shuddered each time.

  Finally, he collapsed on top of her and they lay like that, panting together as their heartbeats slowed.

  He lifted his head and kissed her temple. "Did I hurt you?"

  "Yes, a little."

  He touched her face, his finger gently following the line of her jaw. "I'm sorry."

  She smiled. "I'm not. I had never imagined that there could be such beauty between a man and a woman."

  Or that it could alter her so completely. She still feared marriage, but could not help wishing her life could be as linked with his as her spirit was in the joining of their bodies. She wanted more than this stolen time with him. But it was impossible. She did not even know if he planned to go to London from Liverpool. Perhaps she would never see him again. The thought brought unaccustomed tears to her eyes.

  He looked at her with grave concern. "What is it?"

  She did not know if she could put it into words. She started to cry in earnest. "I was just thinking that once we are in port, I may never see you again." Her words came out stuttered between sobs.

  He smiled. The insensitive lout. "That would be most inconvenient. I believe that in the general course of things, husbands are required to see their wives, at least upon occasion."

  Her heart nearly stopped at his words. "What do you mean?"

  He rolled off her and pulled her into a sitting position on the edge of the bunk. She let out an involuntary gasp. She felt very tender between her legs. He kneeled before her and took her hand. "Thea, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"

  Panic overwhelmed her. Marriage? An image of her mother, wasted from fever and dying, swam before Thea's vision. The words Anna had spoken echoed in Thea's mind even as her body still pulsed from Drake's possession.

  She spoke as if to the image in her mind. "I can't."

  "No?" He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Surely he had misheard.

  She looked shocked, almost haunted. "Thank you for the offer, but I am not interested in marriage." The words came out in a toneless whisper.

  "Why the bloody hell not?"

  She recoiled away from him. "Do not swear at me. I do not feel that I have misrepresented myself in any way. I never once promised marriage."

  He stared at her, his anger building as quickly as his passion had. He didn't want to believe that he could have been such a fool. He had been used.

  Again.

  He had not seen it coming this time any more than the first. Damn it to hell. He would have thought that in ten years, he would have learned something about women. Hadn't she told him her reason for traveling to England was to participate in the Season? A Season meant marriage, preferably to someone both titled and wealthy. Not the bastard son of a father who had not even acknowledged his existence.

  He had not been good enough for Deirdre; why had he believed he would be good enough for Thea? Deirdre had also been interested in Drake only as a paramour. Gullible youth that he had been, he had believed she loved him. And he had loved her back with all the wild, uncontrolled emotion of youth. Still, he'd been less of a fool at twenty than he was at thirty. At least then, he'd had the foresight to ask for Deirdre's hand before taking her to his bed. She had made it clear that she expected much more from a husband than a bastard with neither title nor fortune.

  Three weeks after turning him down, she had announced her engagement to an aging peer. Drake had felt no satisfaction rejecting her less than subtle hints at a liaison. Nor when she had made it clear that she regretted her choice after he made his fortune. He had merely felt sickened at the lack of honor in a woman he had once believed he loved.

  Grabbing Thea's clothes from the floor, he swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He hated how successfully she had manipulated him. He threw her gown and chemise at her. "Get dressed."

  She let out a startled yelp and batted the cloth away from her face. She stared at him, her face suddenly colorless. "You're very angry with me."

  "I'm angrier with myself." And he was. He chafed against the fact that he had been so easily duped by her innocent sensuality.

  She made no move to get dressed, just sat there crushing the bright yellow muslin against her. "Why?"

  "I let you use me."

  Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

  "Don't play the naive gentlewoman with me. You bloody well know what I mean." Deirdre's betrayal had wounded his pride, but Thea's had shattered something deep inside him. He had to get out of the cabin before he disgraced himself and begged her to reconsider. He yanked his clothes on, trying not to notice that he still carried her scent. A few hours on deck would take care of that. Perhaps hard labor would also dull the ache inside. He reached for the door.

  "Where are you going?"

  Even in a blind rage, he still reacted to the panic in her voice. He turned back, trying to mask his pain with a facade of anger.

  "On deck."

  "But… I thought…"

  "You thought what? That we'd have time for another tumble before you returned to your cabin and your preparations for leaving? Sorry to disappoint you, but I have things to do."

  She flinched and her eyes filled with tears.

  Before he gave in to the insane urge to take her in his arms and comfort her, he turned and stalked out of the cabin.

  Thea stared at the recently slammed door of Drake's stateroom. What had just happened? She had experienced the most beautiful experience of her life and then been dismissed like the contents of a day-old chamber pot. Just because she had said no to his marriage proposal. Surely he must realize that after what happened to her mother, Thea was not eager to repeat the same mistake.

  Two tears burned their way down her cheeks. Drake was just as hard and autocratic as her father. She had refused to fall in with his plans and so he had rejected her and all that they shared. Sacre bleu. Was she an idiot?

  She stood up and winced at the pain between her legs and the sticky wetness. She must do something about that, or Melly would know all. She went over to Drake's washstand and made what repairs she could to her person. She dressed and then brushed her hair with Drake's brush.

  She stopped midstroke and brought the brush to her nose. Inhaling the scent that had so recently filled her senses, she felt more tears cascade down her cheeks. Resolutely, she pulled the brush through her hair until she had rid herself of most of the tangles. She then pulled it into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Securing it with pins, she surveyed her image in Drake's shaving mirror.

  She looked not a whit different than she had before. But inside, she felt different. She ached, but she rejoiced, too. All of Drake's anger and rejection could not erase the joy she had experienced in his arms. Nor would she ever forget the picture of him kneeling naked before her and asking for her hand in marriage. Not if she lived to be ancient.

  She had been tempted. So very tempted to say yes, but his subsequent behavior had proven her caution well founded. Or had it? She knew so little of men and what motivated their hearts. Her father's example overwhelmed all other experiences. She never forgot the pain of her mother's grief, nor watching Anna die of a fever she would not have contracted had she not been forced to flee England.

  What would happen if Thea did marry Drake and then disagreed with something he wanted? Would he turn cold and hard as he had after their lovemaking? Worse, would he one day revile her as her father had done to her mother?

  But even if she did not marry him, she would never be completely separate from him again. She wondered how mistresses did it—this sharing of their bodies with first one man and then another. Thea felt as if part of her would never be hers again, a
s if it now belonged to Drake. Perhaps women who sold their bodies lost so much of themselves that it ceased to matter any longer.

  Shaking off the depressing thought, she opened Drake's cabin door a small crack and peeked through it. The deck appeared empty, so she opened the door completely and stepped out. She was not ready to return to her cabin, but she had promised Drake not to go anywhere unescorted and he had trusted her to keep that promise. Regardless of what had transpired between them, she would do so.

  She had made it to the corridor outside of her room when she heard footfalls behind her. She turned, expecting to see the steward, and caught a whiff of the horrible body odor she had smelled the night of her attack. Without further thought, she screamed long and loud. The sailor coming toward her stopped in midstride. He stared at her as if she'd gone mad, but she didn't care. She would know that foul odor anywhere.

  She kept screaming and a stateroom door to her left flew open. A wizened visage peered out. "Eh, what's going on out here? What's all that racket?"

  The sailor turned and ran toward the other end of the corridor. The old woman muttered something about the thoughtlessness of the young and slammed her door. Thea had started toward the open door, but changed her tactic and ran after the sailor. He mustn't get away.

  She rushed out of the corridor and ran straight into a solid male form. It took Thea only a second to realize that the man holding her arms and glaring at her was Drake.

  "The sailor, he's getting away. I saw him." For a moment, her relief at putting a face to her attacker made her forget her anger at Drake and she grinned. "I saw him. It was a sailor, too."

  "What are you babbling about, Thea?" His harsh voice made it clear that his anger still simmered just below the surface.

  She sobered at the realization. "He followed me into the corridor, but I heard someone behind me. When I turned, I smelled him." She tried to pull her arms from Drake's grip. She looked past him, but saw no one. Where had the man gone? "He's getting away. We've got to go after him."

  His grip on her tightened. "A sailor was in the corridor with you? Did he try to harm you?"

  "No. No. He was just there. But it was him, Drake. I know it was him. He ran away when the old lady opened her door after I screamed."

  "You screamed?"

  "Yes. Sacre bleu. Do something. Do not just stand there." She tried to shake him, but he was an immovable object.

  "I didn't see anyone on deck when I came up."

  She frowned over that statement. "I can't explain it. He must have run very quickly. I didn't follow him at first. I tried to go to the lady in the cabin, but she shut her door and I decided to follow him. He had a short head start."

  She couldn't seem to control her mouth as words tumbled out willy-nilly.

  Finally Drake moved. It was to turn her toward the staterooms. He pushed her through the door, into the corridor. "Go to your cabin. Lock yourself in. Open the door to no one. I will get the captain."

  She craned her neck around to see his face. "Don't be ridiculous. How will you know who to look for without me?"

  He continued to propel her toward the cabin. "You can describe him to the captain and myself."

  She stopped and strained against his hold. "I want to go with you to search. I must ask him some questions." She had to find out who he worked for in order to protect Uncle Ashby.

  Drake grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward her cabin again. "You aren't going with me."

  His tone of voice suggested she shouldn't argue.

  She tried to yank her arm from his. "I am going with you. I have a bigger stake in this than you do. We are talking about my safety."

  "Aboard my ship, you will obey me."

  He stopped in front of her room and pulled a key from his pocket. The arrogant man had gotten one for himself. She wondered what his aunt would think about that. He shoved her through the door quite rudely and turned to go.

  She felt fury rise in her. "Is this what marriage to you would be like? You would demand my obedience like a well-trained dog, and when I disagreed, you would manhandle me?"

  He stopped and turned to face her. He looked haunted. She felt instant contrition at her words. Which was foolish, indeed. She should be angry with him, but she could not stand the hurt she saw in his eyes.

  "We'll never know, will we?"

  She shook her head, unable to speak under his pain-filled scrutiny. She extended her hand to touch him and he jerked away as if burned. She sighed.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

  His face became an emotionless mask. "I will get the captain. He knows every sailor on this ship as well as he knows the rigging."

  His cold demeanor unnerved her. How could he talk of her attacker with such calm detachment? Flicking her a glance empty of feeling, he turned again to go.

  "Pierson, wait. Please."

  He stopped, but did not face her.

  She didn't know what to say, but she could not leave things as they were. "I need to explain."

  He turned slowly and she saw that his mask had slipped. His face wore a savage scowl. "On the contrary. Your actions speak for themselves. A bastard is good enough for a lover, but not good enough for a husband. Unfortunately, it is not a new idea for me. You will pardon me if I do not wish you luck in your hunt for a more suitable parti this Season."

  She stared at him. "That is what you think? That I would take you to bed, take you into my body, and then search for another gentleman to marry?"

  He glared at her. "What would you have me believe? You refused my offer of marriage."

  "But not because I believe that I can do better." She twisted her hands together. "It is essential that you believe that."

  He grabbed her by the upper arms and pulled her to within inches of his body. She felt his heat emanate toward her, and she longed to burrow against him, to recapture a small measure of the intimacy they had experienced earlier.

  "Then. Tell. Me. Why."

  She might have been able to refuse if he had not sounded so tortured.

  She would not allow him to believe that his father's actions colored her view of him. "I don't want to marry, Drake. Not ever. After what happened to my mother, I will not allow a man to have the power to hurt me like that."

  "I would never treat you as your father did your mother."

  "How can you be sure? You're used to getting your own way." She pointedly looked around the cabin where he had dragged her.

  He glared. "You cannot compare my concern for your safety with your father's baseless suspicions."

  She sighed. "You don't understand. You never knew my mother, but losing my … me and then my father tore her apart. She grieved always. It was in her eyes, a sadness that tinged every smile. I won't risk losing part of myself that way."

  "Not all marriages end like your parents'."

  She knew that; she had lived with Uncle Ashby and Aunt Ruth all her life, after all. "Marriage gives men too much power over women. Even so-called good marriages. Aunt Ruth is happy in her own way, but she left all that she knew for Uncle Ashby's sake. The worst part is that he expected her to. She never had a choice. I won't put myself in that position."

  "Does she complain about living on the island?"

  Thea frowned. "No, but that's not the point."

  "Do you think she regrets letting her husband take her from England? Does she want to move back?"

  "No, but you are ignoring the real issue here."

  "If her happiness is not the issue, what is?"

  Confused frustration welled up in Thea. "You're twisting things."

  He laid his hand on her cheek. "I'm trying to make you see reason. Marriage is not bondage. I'm sure Merewether would have willingly made the same sacrifice for his wife."

  "Society would never expect it."

  "Who cares? Society's expectations have nothing to do with marriage between us."

  She wished she could believe him, but even if society's expectations did not rule th
em, the laws of England would. And once she became his wife, he could treat her almost any way he wished with impunity.

  Her mind felt muddled with the events of the afternoon and his reasoning.

  "We do not have time to discuss this now. My attacker could be getting away as we speak."

  Leaning forward, he kissed her firmly on the lips. Then he stepped back. "You're right. The closer we get to port, the more chance he will jump ship and swim for safety rather than risk being caught."

  She gave in to the inevitable. "I'll wait here."

  He nodded and then stopped at the door and turned. "We will discuss it, though. I will not let you go."

  * * *

  Chapter 9

  « ^ »

  There are more English on the island than I expected, both businessmen and plantation owners. However, Ruth and I find the latter unpleasant. We cannot reconcile ourselves to the institution of slavery and I regret that perhaps I have become too vocal in my disapproval. Ashby warns me for my own sake not to go too far, but has never asked me to be quiet for the sake of him and Ruth. So, I am not.

  December 3, 1799

  Journal of Anna Selwyn, Countess of Langley

  The captain looked more like Lady Upworth's description of a dandy than a ship's officer. He wore a carnelian waistcoat, the bright red fabric embroidered with multicolored parrots, and his shirt was an immaculate white lawn topped by a collar much too tall to be comfortable for a man in his position. Even his golden windswept hair looked purposefully casual, rather than unkempt.

  He smiled in a most charming manner when Drake introduced him to Thea, and she could not help smiling back. "Miss Selwyn, are you certain the man you saw in your corridor was the same man who attacked you?"

  "Absolutely certain." She nodded for emphasis.

  "She recognized his smell." Drake moved to stand between her and the ship's officer when he made the comment.

  The man gave his charming smile again. "Unfortunately many of my crew do not avail themselves of the opportunity to bathe, miss. I find it hard to believe you could distinguish one from the other based on such a consideration."