by Anne Stuart
Nothing. They were simply her breasts, they’d been there forever and existed to be crushed by a corset or displayed by a low-cut dress. She’d never realized what a source of intense pleasure they could be.
But not from her. She squirmed on the bed, remembering, feeling him push inside her, his mouth on hers. She’d expected his pleasure, and her own happiness at holding him afterwards. Instead it had been all sky west and crooked—the pleasure he had given her had been astonishing, and in the aftermath he was the one who held her, stroked her hair, comforted her in her tears. This was all wrong.
She sat up, pushing her unbound hair behind her. There had been a comb but no hairpins to fasten the mass of dark hair, and if she’d still retained any when he’d brought her here they’d gotten lost in the bedclothes. Oh, God. She flopped back on the mattress. She wanted him. She wanted them together in this bed, naked again. She wanted to curl up in his lap, she wanted to tease him and talk about the books he read and sail with him to the ends of the earth.
It was obsession, pure and simple, stemming back to that childhood incident when she’d tried to run away with the gypsies. Those three days had been some of the happiest in her memory, though she’d regretted the grief it had given her father. But ever since then, whenever there were gypsies on the family land her father left them alone, in thanks for looking after her. And she would creep down and watch them, sometimes join them, listen to the stories they told at night.
But Luca wasn’t a gypsy, he was a changeling in a staid world. He didn’t belong, and yet he claimed a place there. It was little wonder she was fascinated by him, drawn to him.
She rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in the pillow. It smelled like his skin. She moaned, the feathers muffling the sound, and the ship gave a sudden lurch. She could hear the sound of the sails flapping in the wind, the creak of ropes as they were pulled down. Maybe they would all die in the storm. If they did, she only hoped they broke her out of this damned cabin and she went down in the water with Luca’s arms wrapped around her. Because he was lying to himself just as she was. Last night had been no ordinary night, not even for him.
And if they survived this storm she would damned well tell him so.
The light had grown strange, a sort of greeny gray, as the ship rocked and jerked in the water. She curled up, facing the wall, the blanket wrapped tight around her, and she didn’t even hear him come in.
She seemed so small in the bed, Luca thought, looking at the figure huddled under the covers. Small and fragile, when she was anything but. He closed the door behind him, silently, and moved toward the berth, the ropes in his hands. He had to make sure he didn’t listen to her. She’d argue, she’d fight him, and he had no choice.
“Maddy.”
She froze—he could see her absolute stillness, like a wild animal scenting a wolf. She turned and looked at him, then down at the ropes in his hands. “Are you going to tie me up and throw me overboard to drown?”
He just looked at her. “Now why would I do that?”
She shrugged, trying to look unconcerned, but he could see the vulnerability in her mouth, and he wanted that mouth, so badly. “To get rid of me?” she suggested.
“I don’t want to get rid of you. I want to save your life.”
She gave him the most annoying look, one of deep distrust. “Why should I believe you?”
But he wasn’t going to let her get to him, prod him into saying or doing something that he might regret. They could be dead in the next few hours. The storm was almost upon them, and it was bigger than he’d imagined. Everything was battened down, the sails were furled, and all they could do from now on was pray. And all he could do is come down here and protect Maddy. “I’m not arguing with you,” he said. “I’m tying you down.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “You don’t need to tie me down. Don’t you remember—I didn’t put up any fight at all yesterday. All you have to do is touch me and my brain seems to melt.”
“That’s not why I’m tying you up, though I’d be very interested in playing those games with you once we make it to port. But for the time being the safest place for you is tied to your berth. Otherwise the rocking of the boat will throw you and you might be hurt, even killed.”
She was looking unimpressed. “And what if the ship starts to sink? How am I to have even a fighting chance if I’m down in a cabin with my hands and wrists bound?”
She was wearing one of his shirts—Billy must have found it for her. The sleeves were so long they hung over her fingertips, and he caught her wrist and started to roll the sleeve upward when he was stopped by her involuntary hiss of pain.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said between gritted teeth. “Go right ahead.”
He looked down at her, then at the long white sleeve that flowed over her arm. On impulse he reached for her other wrist, encircling it lightly before giving it a slight squeeze, and she hissed again. “Could you stop pawing me?” she snapped. “Just tie me up and get it over with.”
He began to roll up her sleeve, and that was her signal to fight. It was over fast enough, he had her down on the bed, her arm trapped between their bodies.
“Damn it, Maddy,” he said with an exasperated sigh. “Why do you fight me on everything? Be quiet and move over.”
Her smart mouth was silenced for a brief, blessed moment, but she quickly regained her powers of speech. “Why?”
“Because I’m tying myself down with you, that’s why. If we go down, we go down together.”
She didn’t move, staring at him as if he’d grown two heads, so he simply climbed onto the berth, nudging her out of the way while he tied one end of the rope through the grip on the far side of the bed. She still hadn’t moved, crouched in the corner like a wounded falcon. “Don’t you have to sail the ship?”
It wasn’t a complete rejection, and he supposed he ought to be happy about that. “Billy’s got the helm. There’s no better man in a storm—if anyone can bring us through in one piece that would be Billy. Now lie down.”
She was still looking at him uneasily. “I think I’d rather take my chances…”
He’d had enough. Catching her arms, he dragged her down onto the mattress, shoving up the absurdly long sleeves of the shirt she’d borrowed to wrap the rope around her wrists for extra security, when he froze, staring at the red weals. “Who did that to your wrists?”
“I did.”
He cursed then, in Romany, for some reason sparing her his most profane utterances. Absurd, when she herself cursed like a sailor. “I shouldn’t have tied them so tight,” he said in a thin voice.
“You shouldn’t have tied them so loose,” she corrected him. “It gave me just enough room to try to wriggle out of them but not enough to actually do so. I did this to myself, trying to get free.”
“Are you trying to make me feel better?”
“Oh, heavens no. I want you to feel as guilty as you possibly can,” she said. “I just don’t know why you would.” She started to sit up, but he shoved her back again, muttering under his breath. She really was the most damnably obtuse woman.
He slid down beside her and began to weave the rope back and forth across them, around the frame and up again. He finished, then lay back beside her, breathing heavily.
She smelled wonderful, like soap and skin and sex, and it didn’t matter how damned hard he was, he told himself to leave her alone. He didn’t like the way he felt—obsessive, protective. He didn’t need her complicating his life, even if he thought he wanted it. As for Maddy, she seemed convinced he thought she was nothing more than a problem. For a smart woman she was being an idiot, but it was better that way. He’d lie beside her, not saying a word, riding out the storm, and if by any bizarre chance they foundered he could make sure she’d at least make it to the surface, find her something to hold onto in the unlikely hope of a rescue.
She was lying rigid beside him, staring up at the ceiling as the ship bobbed up and down.
He held still and realized her heart was hammering at twice its normal rate, so loud he could sense it, and he remembered her panic when she first knew she was on board ship. This could put her over the edge.
And there was another unpleasant thought. “Are you feeling seasick? This is the kind of weather that can turn the most experienced sailor green.”
“Yes,” she said promptly. “In fact, I’ll probably throw up in the next few minutes. You really should get out of the room while you can.”
“Cabin,” he corrected absently. She sounded just fine to him. “I’ll take my chances.”
She muttered something uncomplimentary and fell silent. He was tired—he’d barely slept the night before, and even the violent rocking of the ship soothed him. As the presence of the angry woman beside him soothed him. He certainly was a perverse son of a bitch, he thought.
“You know, you don’t have to stay here. I’ll be fine on my own.” She was doing her best to sound reasonable but he knew her too well.
“This is as good a place as any for me to ride out the storm.”
“Maybe I’d rather be alone? I find this storm… unnerving, and I’d rather deal with it without an audience.”
He let out a short bark of laughter. “I’m not your audience, I’m your lover.”
He heard her outraged intake of breath. “You aren’t my lover, you’re my kidnapper.”
“Technically both,” he said. “And the man who saved your life once already, and is in the midst of doing his best to save it again. So be quiet and let me think.”
“Think about what?”
“About what I’m going to do with you,” he said in a cool voice.
“I thought you already made up your mind. You’re going to dump me on the nearest piece of dry land and never see me again.”
“That was the plan,” he said wearily.
“Then what do you need to think about?”
“Whether I can let you go.”
She didn’t say a word. The ship was moving faster now, scudding through the violent waves even without benefit of the sails. The rain, which up till then had merely been a light drizzle, suddenly chose that moment to let loose, beating against the sides of the ship with a deadly ferocity. It was still daylight, but the cabin had grown dark, both from the blackness of the skies and the constant slap of waves against the porthole, and it was beginning to feel as if they were riding some massive, unbroken horse, bucking and kicking and tossing them about.
The rope holding them down was loose, just enough to keep them from being tossed about, and he could feel her beside him, positively vibrating with terror, clutching the mattress with a death grip as they were rocked back and forth. He did his best to lie still beside her—he hadn’t decided whether she needed distraction or to be left the hell alone, when he felt something. It took him half a second to recognize it, because it was the last thing he expected. Her hand had released its grip on the sheet, and was reaching for his.
He immediately caught it, wrapping his fingers around her, careful to avoid the damaged wrists. She’d done it to herself, she was right about that, and yet he felt even worse about those injuries than he did about hitting her. He’d had no choice when he knocked her out—it was the only way to keep her safe, but he should have untied her when he left her in the cabin. She would be well rid of him.
A wave crashed against the side of the ship, slamming so hard the porthole smashed open and water sprayed into the room, and Maddy screamed, turning and tunneling against him. There was enough room to pull her into his arms, placing his back to the sea spray that could just reach the berth, and he stroked her tangled hair, murmuring soft, comforting words as she trembled. They were still all right—Billy was steering a safe course through the storm, slicing into the huge waves instead of letting them hit them broadside, but Luca had no illusions. This was bad, so bad that even Billy might not be able to see them through.
He cupped Maddy’s face, tilting it toward his, and kissed her. The ship jerked, her teeth slammed against his lower lip, and he laughed, wiping the blood away. “How can you think this is funny?” she cried, holding him so tightly he thought the tough fabric of his shirt might shred. “We’re going to die.”
“No, we’re not.” He kissed her again, a little more carefully, then gently wiped his blood from her mouth. “We’re going to get out of here, and then we’re going to…” The loud, cracking noise stopped him, and he knew the only thing that could make that kind of sound, and for a moment his blood ran cold.
“What was that?” she demanded in a terrified voice.
“One of the masts,” he said, carefully prying her hands from his clothes and slipping out from beneath the ropes. “I have to go.”
“No!” she shrieked over the noise of the storm.
“It’s not going to make any difference whether I’m here or not,” he said, tightening the ropes again.
“You could die!”
He leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth, marking her with his blood. “You could only be so lucky. I’ve decided not to give you up, Maddy Rose. So unless I go overboard you’re stuck.”
He was at the door before the words sank home. She tried to sit up but the ropes held her in place. “What did you say?”
“I’ll repeat it once we get through the storm. Stay put or I’ll have to tie your wrists again and I don’t want to do that. You hear me?”
“I hear you,” she said dazedly.
A moment later he was gone.
Rufus couldn’t stay belowdecks any longer. He couldn’t stand the smell of his own sickness, the way his body was being smashed against the crates and the hull of the boat, the scream of the wind, the roar of the rain as it tried to pound the ship into a thousand splinters. The massive cracking sound finished him.
The ship was splitting in half, and he was damned if he was going to be drowned like the rats that were trapped down here, eyeing him out of glowing red eyes. They’d probably feast on his carcass if the ship survived and he didn’t. Could someone die of seasickness?
He heard the pounding of footsteps overhead, up on the deck, and guessed that one of the main masts must have broken, leaving them adrift in the midst of a storm that seemed to have reached biblical proportions. How had he gotten it so wrong? He had finally listened to what his instincts had told him, he’d followed the bitch onto the namesake ship her wretched father had had built, and now he was facing death? It wasn’t possible!
He straightened, brushing at the stinking, stolen clothes as if they were the finest wool. Of course it wasn’t possible. How could he lose faith so easily? He’d been led to the ship—it would have been so easy to have missed it, missed his chance. Nothing worth doing was ever easy, and once he finished with the middle sister he could concentrate on the spoiled baby, back home safe on the grounds of Somerset, their stolen country home. It had been returned to its rightful owners, but that didn’t mean the debt was wiped out.
The passageways were deserted as he made his way up from the bowels of the ship, clinging desperately to the ropes strung along the sides. He was almost at the top, ready to head out into the storm itself, when he realized that Madeleine would be alone. And this time they may have forgotten to take the key.
He fell twice making his way to the captain’s quarters in the bow of the ship. Seawater had poured in through the hatch, and it was sloshing around his ankles, making things even more treacherous. It was dark down there, very little light coming from the portholes, and it wasn’t until he was almost outside the door that he saw the key was gone. His fury was so powerful it temporarily washed away his nausea. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to die by his hand, maybe she was simply going to go down with the ship, and it was up to him to survive. He had to make certain she was still trapped in there before he made his way topside.
He reached out and rattled the doorknob. To his momentary astonishment the door swung open, then slammed shut again as the ship lurched. “Who’
s there?” he heard her voice call out. “Luca? Is that you? Are you all right?”
Rufus chuckled to himself. This was the way it was supposed to be. He pushed the door open again, and waded into the cabin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HELL WAS SUPPOSED TO be flames and heat, but Luca knew better. Hell was howling winds and waves taller than a church spire and rain that lashed as hard as a whip. Hell was noise and pain, blindness, water everywhere, and no knowledge of where the next blow was coming from—the sea or the ship itself.
The mizzenmast was cracked, the crossways spar listing directly over the deck. Sailors were working, lashed safely, and Billy was wrestling with the wheel, a savage grin on his face. Billy had always laughed in the face of death.
So had he. But not today. Today Luca wanted to live with a fierceness he’d never known before. He wanted to make it through this bloody storm and come out the other side, limp his wounded ship to shore for repairs, and go downstairs and bring Maddy up into the sunshine. He’d take her off this blasted ship, to the first hotel or inn he could find, depending on where they washed up, and they wouldn’t emerge for days, damn it.
If they made it through this he was going to marry her. He recognized that fact with a grim certainty. There was nothing like looking into the face of death to realize what mattered. Whether it was bad for her or not, he could no longer worry about that. He needed her. He needed her in his bed, he needed her to fight with, he needed to be around her and know she was safe. If no one had come to hurt her, if she were still pretending to be a maid in his household, he’d have gone in at night and stolen her away like his ancestors had done. She was his, and nobody else’s, and he finally understood that fact with the certainty that impending doom made impossible to deny.