The port of Bristol was a hive of activity, dozens of tall ships were docked in their berths, and hundreds of sailors and tars milled around the cobblestoned pier, all watched over by the towering spires of St. Mary Radcliffe. Liv watched from the window of the carriage as labourers unloaded cargo from their vessels, whilst urchin children ran underfoot, seeking to collect anything that was dropped in the process.
"We're here," the Duke said, pointlessly Liv felt, for she had eyes in her head and she could see that they had arrived.
"Have you ever sailed before?" he asked again, waiting for a response. Her husband had a remarkably thick skull, Liv thought with a scowl, for patently she did not wish to speak with him, and yet he kept directing questions her way.
"I spent my childhood summers with my mother's family, on the coast of Devon," she offered, struggling to keep her face blank as memories of those glorious, hot days when she was safe and loved, resurfaced. "I have sailed in small boats, your Grace, and I am a capable swimmer, but I have never been aboard a ship."
"Ruan," he frowned at her, his gaze dark and forbidding, "I told you to call me Ruan."
"You did."
His face was awash with annoyance, apparently the Duke expected her to feel an innate familiarity with him now that they were married. Which was preposterous, because at her count, she had known him all of five hours. Soon she would know him in the Biblical sense, she thought with a slight jolt of fear. She knew little of what went on in the marital bedroom but, she glanced at the Duke from the corner of her eyes, she automatically knew that he would not be a dispassionate lover. She felt her face begin to flush at the wanton thoughts that stole over her, and was grateful when the liveried footman opened the door of the carriage for the newlyweds.
"The captain is here to meet you, your Grace," the handsome young man said, with a bow of deference to the Duke.
Indeed, the second her foot touched the slimy stones of the docks, a roguishly handsome man, dressed in clothes immaculate but stiff from sea salt, stepped forward.
"My sincerest congratulations, your Grace," the captain said with a smile. It took Liv a moment to understand that it was she he was addressing. She was a Duchess now; the thought gave her no joy.
"Thank you, Captain -?"
"Black," the man helpfully supplied.
"My biggest fear in life, was that I would marry a man called Black," Liv confessed with a smile, for the handsome rogue had a most charming disposition, that invited secrets. "For then I would have gone from Olive Greene to Olive Black, and I would never have lived it down."
"Have no fear, your Grace," Captain Black said, with an amused glance at the Duke who was glaring at him angrily, a simmering mountain of jealous rage, "His Grace would never give you over to another man, now that you are his."
"Is the cargo loaded?" Ruan interjected, tired, it seemed, of all the niceties, and wishing to break the two apart.
The Duke and the Captain descended into conversation about the load in the cargo hold, the currents in the Avon Gorge, and the weather expected once they were at sea. Liv trailed behind them along the dock, feeling quite at sea herself. She had never visited this part of Bristol, it being reserved for sailors and the working classes, not gently born ladies. She gazed about in awe, at the plethora of activities going on around her. Men moved about, not caring if they jostled or knocked into her, which some did. There were so many of them, all brown, freckled or alarmingly red from the strong sun, and a lot of them appeared to be missing half their teeth, she noted with alarm. And then her eyes fell upon The Seven Stars Inn, and she knew why so many sailors were making their way in that direction. For in the building next door to the pub, disreputable ladies leaned out the windows waving silken scarves, trying to entice the men inside.
A brothel.
Liv flushed, and stole a glance at her husband, wondering if he had ever sought pleasure there. As though feeling her gaze upon his broad back, the Duke stopped and turned to look at her.
"This is ours," he nodded to the huge vessel, docked at the berth, a proud expression on his face.
"It's rather large," Liv answered, wondering what on earth she was supposed to say about his ship. Was it like a carriage or a phaeton? Did men seek endless compliments on its form and structure, as though it was an extension of their own self? Liv had been bored to tears, during her short season, by men obsessed with their vehicles --she hoped her husband was not of the same ilk.
"Of course, it's large," the Duke's sensuous mouth quirked with amusement. "It's a ship. Come."
To her surprise, and Captain Black's delight, the Duke walked over to her purposefully and hauled her up into his arms.
"W-what are you doing?" Liv asked, as cat calls sounded out around them. The feeling of being pressed so close against his chest was most disconcerting, and for a minute she was glad that he held her in his arms, for her legs would have given out beneath her at the dizzy sensation that had overtaken her.
"I'm carrying you over the threshold," Ruan said, glancing down at her with blue eyes that sparkled with amusement. He knew that she was uncomfortable, and the wretch found it entertaining.
"It's not necessary, your Grace," Liv protested, to no avail. "I can walk."
"I've told you, wife dearest," Ruan dropped his head to whisper in her ear, his voice menacing and soft, his breath tickling her sensitive skin. "You must call me Ruan."
"Ruan," Liv echoed faintly.
He carried her up the gangplank, as though she weighed no more than a sack of coal. The crew of The Elizabeth, being too well trained to wolf whistle, saluted as he strode across the deck and kicked the door open to the small hallway which led to the cabins.
"Here we are."
Ruan let her down gently, his hand reaching out to steady her as Liv stumbled. The floor was solid, but it rocked from the lapping waves that jostled the boat; a queer, unsteady feeling she had never experienced. The cabin was large enough, and scrupulously clean. There were no decorative items, just a bed, a small chest of drawers, as well as a table and chair.
"It's lovely," she offered, idly wondering where her portmanteau had got to. The battered, leather bag was the only thing she had left of home, and in it she had stuffed the few items of clothing she possessed alongside a miniature of her mother. A sad collection of belongings for a woman of three and twenty.
"It's not lovely," Ruan growled, waving a dismissive hand at the cabin. "But it's clean, and it will get you safely to France, where you shall have any luxury your heart desires."
Liv wondered when her new husband would notice that her heart did not desire luxuries, diamonds, or dresses. He had taken her home from her, ripped her away from the village she had grown up in and utterly destroyed any tenuous shred of love she had left for her father. He had ruined her, as surely as he had ruined every other life he decided to play with, and now he was expecting her to be pleased that her miserable days would be spent in luxurious surroundings.
"Thank you, your Grace," she said, through gritted teeth, turning to inspect the cabin further.
"I've told you," he came up behind her, spinning her around so that she faced him, "To call me Ruan."
He was huge, the tip of her head just reached his chest, and she had to lean back so that she could look him in the eyes.
"It's an apt name," she whispered, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and desire. She had never found a man to be so compellingly attractive as the Duke of Everleigh. His features were perfection, ice blue eyes, framed by thick black lashes, a straight aristocratic nose and a mouth so beautiful it was almost cruel.
He is cruel, she reminded herself sternly, though her body had melted at just one brief touch.
"Aye," the Duke whispered softly, his hand snaking around her waist, and pulling her against his chest. "It is an apt name, for a man such as I. But I mean it when I say, I will do you no harm. Not now, not ever."
He didn't give her a chance to respond, instead his lips crashed against hers, hungrily demanding her acquiescence. His mouth was soft, but his kisses were hard and rough, and despite herself Olive found that she was rising to his challenge. His tongue probed her soft mouth, and she allowed him to do so, not willing to betray how unprepared she was for this moment. Her body, despite her brain's protests, reacted in ways she had never felt. Her bosom ached as it pressed against his chest, and when he reached around to cup her bottom with a low, guttural growl, her insides melted. He could conquer her completely, and she would readily give in to the onslaught of pleasure.
"Enough," with what seemed like a huge force of effort, the Duke broke away from her, his breath heavy, panting. Olive remained rigid, standing still on the spot. Her cheeks were flushed with a combination of shame and desire – some fight she had put up against her new husband. One kiss and she melted like butter in the sun.
"I'll not take you on a boat," Ruan muttered, looking distressed. His face was a picture of agony, and from his breeches, Olive could spot the exact source of his pain.
"I'll not take you on a boat," he said again, in tones more decisive. He walked over to her and cupped her face with his large, rough hands. His eyes held hers for a moment, before he kissed her again, this time softly and slowly, as though he sought to savour the moment. He pressed against her lightly, and lifted his lips from her own, tracing hot kisses along her neck.
"When we couple Olive," he whispered promisingly in her ear, "We'll not leave our bed for a month. You have my word."
Olive ached with longing, her body totally ensnared by him. His strong arms held her tight, whilst his lips explored the virgin skin of her sensitive neck.
"Make sail!"
A roar from on deck wrenched them both from each other, and Ruan ran a distracted hand through his thick hair. He looked most disconcerted – perhaps he hadn't planned on kissing her at all.
"I'll send someone down with tea and salt cakes," he said, straightening his coat, which had become slightly rumpled in their frantic tussle. "They're plain, but they'll keep you from casting up your accounts, if the feeling arises."
"Wonderful," Liv whispered, unable to look him in the eye. She was ashamed that she had responded to him with such wanton need. Where were her reserves of strength and courage? They had fled like frightened sheep in the face of one silly kiss. Well, two, two silly kisses, but that was little consolation.
"If you need anything," the Duke stood at the open door, watching her carefully. "Just call for me."
"I will," Liv removed her pelisse from her shoulders and sat down on the bed, testing the springs with a rather unladylike bounce.
"Don't do that."
The Duke's face looked strained.
"Do what?" perplexed, Liv finally met his eye.
"Bounce around on the bed like that," he growled, "Or I'll renege on my vow to leave you alone 'till we reach Paris."
Liv stopped bouncing immediately, at pains to stay stock still. The Duke laughed at the look of contrition on her face, his own face amused yet yearning.
"If you need anything," he said again, before he closed the door, "Just call for me. I'll be down to check on you later, try and get some rest."
With that he was gone, leaving Liv feeling a little bereft. A cabin boy, awed at serving a woman of such high rank, as she now was, left her in a jug of water and some stale looking biscuits.
"We're casting off now, your Grace," he said with a deferential bow as he left the room. "If you feel sick at all, just pace. It helps you find your sea legs and settles your stomach."
Everything was so new, being referred to as "Your Grace", the sudden, persistent rocking of the ship which made her stomach heave, and Ruan. Her new husband.
He seemed so sincere, in his promise to protect her, yet he did not seem to see that it was he who had kidnapped her from the safety of her home, and set her on this path where his protection was required. And who would save her from him?
Liv had never experienced the aching, yearning, hungry desire that the Duke had inspired with just a kiss, and it frightened her. What she longed for, what her heart sought, was to be free of him - for he was dangerous. She was trapped, true in a gold cage, gilded with the promise of unknown pleasure, but trapped none the less with the Duke of Ruin.
The ship lurched as it entered the free waves, and Liv's stomach hurled with a feeling of nausea. She did not like this new life at all, she decided, stuffing a salt biscuit into her mouth and finding that the Duke had been right. It did soothe her.