Chapter 19
“Lady Tarley!”
Jessica altered the angle of her parasol and caught sight of the short, portly gentleman waving madly at her from the end of the gangplank.
“Your steward,” Alistair explained as he steadied her with a hand at her elbow. “Mr. Reginald Smythe.”
“What is your impression of him?” She lifted one gloved hand in a slight wave that acknowledged the man’s vigorous efforts to attract her attention amid the noise and activity of the quayside. The smells of tar and coffee blended, teasing her nostrils, and raucous cries of seagulls competed with the calls and shouts of able-bodied sailors loading crates and barrels onto fat-bellied ships.
“A decent fellow. Certainly competent. Calypso has nearly two hundred slaves and they are content enough to be highly productive. However, he could stand to be less antiquated in his views of women in trade.”
“You are more progressive than most gentlemen, I suspect.”
“In my experience, women can be shrewd and ruthless in financial matters. It pays to do business with them.”
“And I would wager they make concessions to you that they would for few other men.”
He looked at her, his blue eyes brilliant even when shadowed by the brim of his hat. “Perhaps.”
She smiled. Alistair’s presence only added to her swelling happiness at returning to the lush, verdant island she remembered so fondly. Her memories had painted the landscape in jeweled tones, and she was delighted to see she hadn’t embroidered her recollections. Behind her, the ocean was the pale blue of an aquamarine. In front of her, the emerald hills and mountains rolled across the landscape. Benedict had once told her that at no point on the island was the ocean more than a score of miles away.
Paradise, she’d called it. A lucrative one, he’d agreed.
“Mr. Caulfield.” Mr. Smythe touched the brim of his brown hat in greeting.
“Mr. Smythe.”
The steward looked at Jess. “I trust you had a safe and enjoyable journey, my lady.”
“It could not have been more pleasurable,” she said, thinking of Alistair and how different she felt now from when she’d boarded his ship. She’d started the journey as a widow, certain she would be alone for the rest of her life. She ended with a lover, a man to whom she’d bared her body and soul, revealing memories of a past she had previously shared only with Hester.
Alistair’s fingers stoked the bend of her elbow.
Mr. Smythe nodded, then turned to gesture at the landau waiting nearby. “We’ll have your trunks brought along after you, Lady Tarley. Good day, Mr. Caulfield. I shall be making an appointment to meet with you later this week.”
She looked at Alistair. After six weeks at sea, during which their relationship had sprouted and blossomed, they were finally faced with separation. This was the point where they parted ways, she to her residence and he to his.
He met her gaze; his own sharply focused as he waited.
Jess could see the question in his eyes—how would she react now that they were once again faced with the rules of Society?
Her reaction was fiercer than she could reasonably share. She wanted him beside her, always. In public and in private. Across their personal dining table for the morning meal and next to one another in a box at the theater. She wanted that, and she would have it if he agreed.
She spoke with feeling. “I know you must have a great deal to attend to, Mr. Caulfield, but would you be able to join us for supper? It would save you from making an appointment, Mr. Smythe, and having to report to me after the fact.”
Smythe blinked, clearly startled.
Alistair grinned at her first salvo in the battle for control of the plantation. He tilted his head in a regal acknowledgment. “It would be my pleasure, my lady.”
Raising her skirts, Jess climbed up the side of the hill. Her boots slipped occasionally in the rain-soaked soil, but Alistair was behind her and she knew he would grab hold of her if she fell. He was always catching her, always urging her to take great leaps with the security of knowing he waited with arms outstretched.
“There,” he said, drawing her attention to a gazebo set in a clearing to the left of where they ascended. The structure was immediately recognizable—it was a miniature replica of the one on the Pennington estate, with the addition of netting around the back and sides. In the center, a low dais supported a wealth of blankets and pillows.
She turned, facing Alistair as he joined her. From this vantage, they had impressive views of the sugarcane fields below and the ocean in the distance.
He drew abreast of her. “Have you seen the cane fields burning?”
“No.”
“We’ll remedy that when the time comes. I will take you to a vantage downwind of the smoke and stench. For all the danger and destruction, it is a sight not to be missed.”
“I can’t wait to see it with you.” She looked at him, admiring his proud profile. “I want to see everything with you.”
His returning look was fierce and heated.
She moved toward the gazebo. “This is what has been occupying you during the day?”
He’d started coming to her at night with small cuts on his hands and the occasional darkening of a faint bruise on his forearms. No matter how she tried to wheedle the cause out of him, he resisted—although he did encourage her to use every means at her disposal to convince him to be forthcoming . . .
“Do you like it?” he asked, studying her reaction.
“I’m flattered to have such effort expended to seduce me.” Her mouth curved on one side. “I also see that whenever my courses run, you burn with restless energy. I do believe you require sex more than food and water.”
“Only with you.” He moved under the roof and set down the basket he’d carried up with them. “And you know why. When I’m inside you I know you won’t be getting away. I know you don’t want to.”
She turned her back to the view and faced him, the most wonderful view of all. “What if you could claim the outside of me as well? With your name as my own and your ring on my finger. Would that calm you?”
Alistair grew painfully still. He did not even blink. “Beg your pardon?”
“Are you frightened now?” she asked softly.
“Afraid I’m dreaming.” He broke his stillness to move toward her.
“I’ve already told you I love you. Many, many times. Every day, actually.” She exhaled in a rush, fighting for courage. She couldn’t restrain her affection; it was too big to contain, swelling her chest and making it hard to catch her breath. “I love you enough to walk away if there is any possibility you might desire to be a father someday.”
His throat worked on a hard swallow. “There are a great many foundlings, if we want children to spoil.”
Her heartbeat quickened with hope.
He held out his hand. She placed hers within his and allowed him to lead her to the dais. He urged her to sit and she did. Then, he sank to one knee in front of her.
Understanding dawned. “Alistair.”
“You weren’t supposed to beat me to it, Jess,” he said with tender gruffness, reaching into the tiny pocket of his waistcoat. He wore no coat, no cravat. Scandalous and completely unacceptable, but who would see them up here? That had been the most difficult part of the past week—acting as if they were no more than acquaintances in public when they were searingly intimate in private.
It was the worst sort of torture watching the local debutantes, widows, and even some of the married women paying him elaborate, fawning attention. She’d had to suffer through watching those who claimed him as a dance partner or an escort into dining rooms. She had watched pretty young girls flirt with him, girls capable of giving him the family he’d never truly had and that she could never give him.
Alistair encouraged none of them, his gaze finding her in quiet moments and revealing his ferocious hunger. She tried not to seek him out, knowing her face would betray how smitten and besotted she was. How desperately in love she’d fallen. How bleak and lifeless her existence would be without him.
The truth of it was that he managed the public side of their relationship much better than she did. As proprietary as he felt about her private self, he wasn’t possessive of her public face. Instead, he seemed to relish watching her swim the social waters, admiring the ease with which she managed the necessary interactions—the discourse, the dancing, and all the rest. He was proud of her, content to watch her shine in her element, which made all the pain and sorrow she’d experienced to become so consummate seem worthwhile.
He withdrew a ring. A thick gold circlet topped with an ostentatious ruby as big as her knuckle. The brilliant blood-red stone was a pillowed square surrounded by diamonds, boldly proclaiming the worth of the man who’d purchased it. The gem was almost vulgar in its size and purity of clarity, which made her smile. If her marriage to Alistair wasn’t enough to show the world she’d changed, the ring would certainly manage the task.
“Yes,” he murmured, sliding the ruby onto her finger. “I will marry you. As soon as possible. By the end of the week if we can manage it.”
“No.” She cupped his face in her hands, her fingers brushing his inky hair back from his forehead. “We’ll do this properly. In England. With the banns read and endless celebrations and our families in attendance. I want the world—and most especially you—to know that I do this after a great deal of thought and careful consideration. I know what I do, Alistair. I know what I want.”
“I would prefer to be wed before we return.”
“I won’t leave you,” she vowed, knowing his concern.
“You can’t. I won’t let you.” He caught her wrists with a gentle, yet unyielding grip. “But there will be women who . . . at routs and luncheons . . . they’ll know—”
“—Lucius,” she interjected. “They do not know you, not as I do. And they never will.”
Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss to his furrowed brow. “My darling. You haven’t faith that anyone can love you unconditionally, because no one ever has. But I do. How could I help myself? And over time, you’ll see that the changes you wrought in me are not reversible. I am who I am at this moment because of you, and without you I would cease to exist. I have no notion how I’ll survive the next few months until you can join me in—”
“Join you?” he asked sharply. “Where?”
“A letter from Hester arrived this afternoon. She must have sent it directly after we left, perhaps even the same day, which tells me she knew she was increasing before I departed and didn’t want the news to stay me.”
“Your sister is with child?”
“I cannot believe she could ever think I wouldn’t return to her posthaste. As I told you, she hasn’t been well for some time. She will need looking after. I must be with her now.”
“I’ll return with you, of course. With luck, I can arrange for us to sail within a fortnight.”
“I cannot ask that of you. You came to the island for a reason.”
“Yes. You. The same reason I returned to England. I traveled with you because there was no reason to stay there while you were here, and the same is true in reverse.”
Jess’s thoughts froze with surprise, remembering the night they’d spoken on the deck of the Acheron and she had wondered if he was going home for a woman. To learn she was that woman was slightly overwhelming. And deeply moving.
He must have seen the realization on her face. His jaw tensed. “My lust was fierce, you know that. I won’t say it was love, but it was deeper than flesh. My desire for you gave me hope that I could find joy in sex again, that I could approach the act with something beyond detachment and a need for base physical release. I had to have you, Jess, whatever the cost or effort.”
She stared at him, wondering why he wouldn’t say he loved her. Perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps what they had was all she would ever claim from him.
After a moment’s contemplation, she decided that whatever he could give of himself was enough. She loved him enough for the two of them.
Releasing him, she pulled away and reclined. She stretched out on the pillows, reaching her arms above her head and arching her back in blatant invitation. If his need was the only part of himself he had to give her, she would take it all.
Alistair crawled onto the dais. He straddled her, his hands pressing into the pillows on either side of her shoulders. Lowering his head, he took her mouth, his lips sealing to hers.
A warm, humid breeze blew over them. In the distance, she heard the shouts of men and the distant screeching of gulls. They were outside, where anyone could see, and that increased her excitement. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hummed her pleasure into his kiss.
“I thought,” he murmured against her parted lips, “that I might have to convince you to wed me. That it might take some time. Weeks. Months. Maybe years. I built this place to make it hard for you to run while I presented my arguments.”
She smiled. “A captive audience. How would you have stopped me from leaving?”
“Perhaps hiding your clothes and keeping you pinned with my cock. I also brought a few bottles of your favorite claret with me. I remember your being much more agreeable after a glass or two.”
“Wicked man.” Her gaze lowered to his throat and the strong pulse beating there. “Do your worst. I rescind my acceptance.”
“Ah, but you didn’t accept. You asked; I accepted.” He nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers. “And I cannot tell you what it means to me that you did.”
“You can show me.” Her fingers stroked his nape in just the way he loved.
Alistair slid to the side of her. “Roll over.”
She did as he bade, her spine tingling as she faced away from him. He released the tie at the small of her back, then deftly unfastened the buttons that secured her pale lavender gown. As the pressure of his fingers worked downward, her anticipation grew. For all her teasing about his sexual appetite, hers for him was equally fierce. After a week without him while her courses ran, her hunger for his touch and attention was ravenous.
“I want you to buy a trousseau,” he said. “Spare no expense. I do not begrudge your mourning for Tarley—I know he was good to you—but I don’t want to see you dressed in tribute to your grief whilst wed to me.”
Looking over her shoulder, she nodded, loving him all the more.
He stroked his tongue between her shoulder blades. “I should like to see you in red. And gold. Also a vivid blue.”
“To match your eyes. I would like that. Perhaps you should come with me to the modiste’s.”
“Yes.” His strong hands reached into the parted halves of her gown and gripped her waist. “You’ll be half-dressed while they measure you. I would enjoy the view.”
“At the moment, I would enjoy being undressed.”
He squeezed her gently, then rolled to his back. “As you desire.”
Jess slid off the end of the dais and stood.
Tucking a pillow behind his head, Alistair settled more comfortably. He bent one knee and set one wrist atop it, presenting a relaxed and somewhat insolent pose. The multitude of colorful pillows and the netting between the posts reminded Jess of the story she’d told about a desert adventure and a lusty sheik.
She lowered her head deliberately, affecting a meek and submissive posture. Lifting her hand, she caught the neckline of her gown and tugged it over her shoulder. First one side, then the other. The bodice caught on her breasts and she stilled.
“You could ransom me, Your Highness,” she whispered. “The price you could fetch for me, in addition to the spoils from the caravan, would certainly outweigh whatever pleasure you might have from me in your bed.”
The surprise Alistair felt was tangible. For a moment, he held his silence, his chest lifting and falling with studiously steady breaths. Then, “But you are the reason I raided that caravan, my lady. Why expend the effort if I only intended to give you back?”
“For the fortune you will gain upon my return.”
“The only treasure that interests me is between your thighs.”
A rush of heat swept over her skin.
He jerked his chin imperiously. “Take it off. Let me see you.”
Jess licked her dry lips and took a heartbeat longer to obey. Catching her skirts in her hands, she tugged downward gently, as if she was shy about revealing the body he knew better than she did. The dress slipped from her arms and torso, and pooled on the planked floor.
“Now,” he said gruffly, “the rest.”
“Please . . .”
“Don’t be frightened. In a few moments, I will give you pleasure such as you’ve never known.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “Nor will you again after me.”
Jess shifted from foot to foot, glancing at him furtively. He reached between his legs, brazenly stroking the thick length of his erection. A voluptuary to his bones. Skilled . . . far more experienced than she would ever be. Unless he remedied that lack of knowledge, which she doubted he would unless she pushed him. She suspected he feared corrupting her any more than he believed he already had, while she feared his boredom in her bed.
“I cannot say the same,” she said softly.
Alistair rose gracefully to his feet, moving with a sleek and predatory fluidity. “Yes, you can.”
He rounded her, as if examining her charms. Then he drew to a halt at her back, sliding his arms under hers and embracing her from behind. In a swift possessive grasp, he filled his hands with her breasts, startling a gasp from her.
Her head fell back onto his shoulder. “But you’ve had so many concubines who are more adventurous than I know how to be. What will become of me once the novelty wears thin?”
“You underestimate my desire for you.” His lips moved against the shell of her ear. He pulled her against him, making her feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal. “Feel how hard I am for you? I’ve wanted you too badly, for too long. I’ll never have enough of you.”
“Before the raid, did you imagine having me? Did you dream of how you would have me?”
“Every night,” he growled, his fingers clasping around her taut nipples.
Turning her head, she pressed her cheek to his. “Show me how you dreamed of me. Teach me all the ways I can please you. I want to learn.”
One hand slid down her stomach, then between her legs. “You no longer wish to be ransomed?”
Jess gasped as his fingers slipped into the slit of her pantalettes and parted her. With fingertips roughened by the woodworking required to build her this place of seduction, he stroked over her clitoris, knowing just how to touch her to make her writhe. “If you do, who will quench this fire in my blood?”
“No one else.” Alistair’s teeth nipped at her earlobe. “I’d castrate any man who tried.”
Maddened by the rolling of her nipple and the sudden slide of a long finger into her grasping sex, Jess rolled her hips and whimpered. A second finger joined the first, thrusting slow and easy. She sucked in a deep breath, intoxicated by his sun-warmed scent. “Please . . .”
“Bend over.” He punctuated the order by pushing her down.
Jess tumbled forward, stemming her fall by extending her arms. Alistair straightened, allowing the breeze to blow over her back. He pushed down the stockinette of her pantalettes. Perspiration misted her skin.
“So pretty,” he praised, running his hands over her derriere. Cupping her sex, he massaged her with his palm. “So swollen and slick. Do you need a cock to fill you, my lovely captive? Do you ache with emptiness?”
She was so vulnerable like this, unable to watch his face or movements. “Always.”
There was a faint rustle of displaced clothing, then the wide head of his cock notched against her. It was the only warning she had. Gripping her hips, he yanked her back as he thrust, piercing deep with a single lunge of his hips.
Crying out, she fought to keep her arms steady and extended.
“Christ.” He rolled his hips, nudging against the end of her. “I’m so deep in you, Jess. Do you feel how deep I am?”
Her eyes closed on a shaky exhalation. She felt the doeskin of his breeches against the backs of her thighs and the cuffs of his shirtsleeves against her hips. When she looked down, she saw his muddy boots. He was fully dressed, shielded from exposure, whereas she was mostly nude and mounted. The lascivious image in her mind of how they would look to a bystander spurred her desire. Aroused beyond bearing, she rippled along his length. Alistair’s answering groan carried on the breeze, but she didn’t care if anyone heard them. Her focus had narrowed to the point where they joined and the tender flesh that quivered around his thick penetration.
He began to move. Not with the rough, pounding tempo she’d expected in such a primitive position, but at a leisurely pace. Deliberate. Taking her with long, sinuous glides of his thick penis into her clenching depths. He devastated her when he took her like this. He was unhurried. Rhythmic and graceful. Wickedly practiced. He worked her hips in time to his thrusting, circling, rubbing, and stroking over every tender spot.
Her legs gave out. She fell to her knees on the dais, and he slipped out to the tip, then rammed deep as he followed her down. She cried out . . . conquered. He kneed her legs wider, quickening his rhythm. His heavy sac smacked against her wet flesh again and again, the cadenced erotic slapping against her clitoris adding an entirely new level of sensation. Her arms lost their strength and her shoulders sank into the pillows, angling her hips even higher. Nothing impeded Alistair’s possession of her now, but still he kept that controlled and steady pace that had her clawing at the silk around her.
“God, you’re tight like this,” he said hoarsely. “And so wet. I want to come in you now . . .”
“Yes!”
“Not yet. I’m going to fuck you until I can no longer stand.”
His crudity surged through her in a violent shiver. She climaxed in a heated rush, her body vibrating with the force of it. He cursed as she milked him with ecstatic pulses. He held still and ground against her, staving off his own pleasure. His fingers dug into her thighs with bruising force. And she loved it. Loved that she could break his steely control just by taking whatever he needed her to take.
Jess surrendered, letting the orgasm flow through her unchallenged. Alistair’s grip lightened as she relaxed, his hands soothing her with gentle caresses and soft murmurs. She was so lost in the languid afterglow of her climax, it took her long moments before she realized he was too still. Opening her eyes, she turned her head and found him looking down at her with a clenched jaw having nothing to do with desire.
“What is it?” Her pleasured haze receded in the face of the darkness sweeping over his features.
His voice came clipped and furious. “What are these marks on your skin?”
Jess winced, hating that he’d seen the thin silvery scars marring her derriere and upper thighs. If they hadn’t been outside in the unforgiving sunlight, he might never have seen them. Although she detested the truth, she gave it to him. “Surely you recognize the marks of a switch?”
“Bloody hell.” He curled over her, mantling her body with his own, his grip around her torso like iron bands. Fiercely protective and obstinately comforting. “Do you bear other scars?”
“Not on the outside. But, regardless, they no longer signify.”
“The hell they don’t. Where else?”
She hesitated, wanting nothing more than to leave their painful pasts behind them.
“Where, Jessica?”
“I cannot hear in my left ear,” she said softly, “as you know.”
“Hadley is responsible for that?” He pressed his hot face into her back. “Jesus . . .”
“I don’t want to think about it now,” she complained. “Not here. Not while you’re inside me.”
Alistair’s open mouth rubbed against her spine, his breathing rough. “I’ll make you forget.”
She moaned her relief as he cupped her breasts, her thoughts scattering with the ocean breeze.
“But I won’t,” he growled. “I’ll never forget.”