A Touch of Passion (9 page)

“Of course I have feelings for you. I have known you since I was five and ten years old. We grew up in the same household. I know neither of us finds the situation acceptable, but is our friendship not a good basis for marriage?”

“I’d hardly call us friends—you barely tolerate me.” She turned to him, her eyes pleading. “You may be happy to give up your chance for love, but I am not. I want to feel driving passion, and desire, and need for that one special person.” She looked away. “I want more from my life,” she went on, her voice flat. “I refuse to settle for a companionable marriage. I want what Mamma and Papa shared. Life is too short—you of all people should understand that.”

He did—and that was why, after Waterloo, he’d decided that he wanted to have children and build a family, but without the heartache. That required a marriage of companionship, not a grand love affair. And that was why he’d never once let himself contemplate Portia Flagstaff as a future bride, given she had the ability to make him feel far too much of everything. Except here he was, about to ask for her hand in marriage.

He stood next to her and looked out to sea, his feet spread to steady him on the rocking ship, his hands clasped behind his back. “I was never going to marry at all, actually. Losing my family … I never wanted to feel that pain again. What if I had children or a wife and I lost them or they lost me?”

“I assume Waterloo changed your mind. Philip told me you were seriously looking for a wife.”

He nodded. “Yes. I didn’t want all the loss and sacrifice to be for nothing. I fought for my home and country. I now feel obligated to my heritage, to ensure an heir.”

“At sixteen I almost died, and it made me dream of living a full life. What is more rewarding than love—love for another and for your children?”

“Until I saw the suffering at Waterloo I would not have agreed. Duty, honor, and sacrifice take precedence over affairs of the heart, or so my father used to say.” He remained silent for a while before finally admitting, “When we fought for our country, for those we love, I suddenly realized that I had a duty also to myself. A duty to find happiness in such a cold, bleak world, or else what was it all for?”

He glanced at her, and she smiled. “I feel the same. You see? We do have something in common. I even made a list. It’s my everything-I-must-experience list.”

He nodded, suddenly understanding how her near-death experience must have shaped her journey to adulthood. “What is on your list?”

“It’s very extensive. I plan to live for a long time and I don’t want to miss a minute of it. The main one was to make a difference, and I think I have attained that by setting up my cider business and supporting my orphans’ school. It might not make a difference the world values, but the children I educate certainly know I’ve helped.”

“It would be more admirable to society if you simply offered patronage and didn’t insist on being involved in the day-to-day running of the company. Leave it to your brothers.”

“Why should I? It was my idea, and it is a success.” She ignored his raised eyebrow. “Also on my list is sailing to another country and experiencing a new culture. I suppose I could cross that one off my list now,” she added dryly. “I’m afraid they get more scandalous from there.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

She ignored his sarcasm. “I want to drink a glass of whiskey and smoke a cigar. I want to try riding a horse astride while wearing trousers. I want to visit a gentlemen’s club and learn what scandalous and salacious activities go on there, and I want to take a lover who can teach me all there is to know about lovemaking.”

He didn’t even bother to mention that what was missing on her list was a husband. Instead he said, “I’ve learned the hard way that we cannot always get what we want. I too have a list. A list of things I am looking for in my bride.” He turned to face her. “Shall I tell you what they are?”

She merely nodded.

“I want a woman who is as virtuous as she is beautiful. I require a woman who understands how to be an asset to the Blackwood name. A woman who will honor and obey me above all others, and provide me with children I know to be mine. Most of all, I want a woman who knows that we will have a fine arrangement—I will give her my name and my money, but she will never own my heart.”

“I feel sorry for you. The giving and receiving of love is the most precious gift any person can bestow on another.” She watched him silently for a moment. “I never thought you’d be scared of a little word like ‘love,’ but I guess I can understand it after all the losses you’ve suffered. However, you and I have different views on love. I believe that dying without ever experiencing true love would be unforgivable. I’m willing to risk anything if I could experience my heart’s desire.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to be a little wary of love. When it comes to my home life, stable, sedate, and ordered is all I require.”

She scoffed, twirling a stray curl around her finger. “I suspect that like most men, you’d then find your excitement outside of the matrimonial home and bed. If men would marry women more suited to their needs, mistresses would cease to exist.”

Grayson choked back a cough. He had indeed decided that a mistress or two on the side would keep his life from being too staid. “Men have certain needs that a wife—”

“Don’t you dare preach ‘needs’ to me. Papa never kept a mistress because he had everything he desired at home.” She turned away from him and hunched her shoulders. “I don’t think that I meet any of the criteria on your list.”

His voice softened. “Yes, you do. You’re beautiful beyond words, but
my
list is now irrelevant, much the way your list will be if we are to have a cordial marriage.”

“I can’t accept that. I can’t marry a man who will stifle me and suffocate me with rules and obligations, especially he if doesn’t love me.”

“I’m in complete agreement that our situation is not what either of us desires.”

“If that is the case, then surely you must see that there is no need to fall on your sword for me. When I find a man who loves me, he will not care that I was kidnapped and lived for a few days in an Arab harem.”

He brushed an errant curl blowing in the breeze from her cheek. “I would not call marrying you falling on my sword. It would be my honor to marry you. Don’t expect me to walk away, I’m not that kind of man.”

Blast him to Hades.
Indeed, he wasn’t that kind of man. It was one of the reasons she loved him … and it was also why she would not trap him in a marriage he did not want, just because she’d behaved recklessly.

That fateful night in Vauxhall Gardens, Portia had indeed been suspicious of the note he’d purportedly sent. Her head had rung with warning bells, but her heart refused to listen. Logically she knew Grayson would not have invited her to the gardens. If he’d wanted to court her, he would have approached Philip for permission first. But hope is the eternal flame. She’d hoped that one day he’d see her as a woman with passion, a woman who would challenge him and make their lives interesting and fun. Clearly, though, he did not want that in his wife—in his mistress maybe, but not his wife.

He seemed to take her silence as affirmation of his plan. “Your family will not stand by and see you become the target of malicious gossip. You know they will look to me to fix things. Philip and I talked before we even set off on this rescue, and I agreed to a betrothal.. We will wed, but we will talk no more about it until we reach England.”

Portia’s mind was telling her naughty things. What if she could make Grayson see her as more? Make him realize the life he imagined with an obedient but boring wife was not what he really wanted? She couldn’t believe the vibrant rake that he was, or had been before the war, would settle for a life of mediocre dullness.

She had several days on this ship in which to seduce him. It couldn’t be that difficult. He had quite the reputation as the ladies’ man, a lovable rake who seemed to remain friends with all his paramours. Even Rose said that if Portia hadn’t been in love with him, she’d have been tempted to seek a liaison with the sexy devil. The rumors of Grayson’s bed skills were legendary, as was his weakness for a voluptuous bosom and a pretty face, both of which she possessed.

She had until they reached England to make him see her as a woman who could add to his enjoyment of life, not ruin it. A vibrant, desirable woman who would bring back his joy for living, make his existence fun and interesting. The Grayson from before the war was a man she knew could come to love her. The war and the horrors he experienced had sucked all the joy from his life. He’d become so staid and sensible.

Unless she could make him grow to admire her spontaneity and passion for life, they could never marry. A lifetime of enduring an empty marriage was too long. She hadn’t fought off death at sixteen to end her days a bored and neglected wife. She would not be a wife in name while mistresses shared his bed.

She needed time to think and plan her first move. If only Rose were here—she would have known how to proceed. Rose would simply grab the bull by the horns … or by another body part.

With sudden inspiration, she decided there was no time like the present. She stepped closer and rose up on her toes. With a deep breath she pressed her lips confidently to his, her hands seeking the lapels of his jacket. She probed his lips with her tongue until she gained access to his hot mouth. Her tongue explored provocatively.

She heard his low groan, and her hands spread over the hard muscles of his chest, feeling his heart pound while she registered, absorbed, and explored the sensuality of his mouth. The way he tasted was addictive.

To her disappointment, he didn’t return the kiss, but he did respond—his groan had been audible and she could sense him holding back. She could all but feel the battle he waged to keep his emotions in check. He kept a distance between their bodies, and his fists were clenched at his sides as if he was trying not to pull her into his arms.

With a heavy heart she realized one kiss was not going to do it. With a sigh she drew back and forced her breathing to become even.

“What on earth was that for?”

She raised a haughty eyebrow. “I would have thought it obvious. If you can’t even kiss me, you’re hardly likely to be able to bed me. I cannot speak for you, but if and when I marry, I’d at least want my husband to want to bed me.”

He frowned down at her as her eyes searched his. “We are not married yet. And never fear—I will bed you.” At her slow curving smile he added, “I want children,” and her smile disappeared.

“Ooohh, you, you …” With that she spun on her heel. With a sway to her hips and head held high, she walked down the companionway.

Grayson watched her disappear down the steep stairs, leaving him with her taste on his lips. He ran a finger over them, trying to stop the tingling. He’d wanted to wrap his arms around her and deepen the kiss, but that would have led to disaster. If he was to marry Portia, he had to maintain control. Give her an inch and she would see to it that their married life was an emotional whirlwind. He was determined to maintain the upper hand in this relationship, and giving in to Portia Flagstaff, no matter how his body yearned for her, was not an option.

Grayson spent the afternoon with the captain, going over the route they would take. He needed to get them back to England as fast as they could, while staying safe from further attack. He had no idea what to expect next, and he was determined to be ready for any eventuality. He hoped the scheduled stop at Gibraltar in a few days was not a mistake. It could be a great place to attack the ship.

Grayson pulled his pocket watch out and checked the time. He was late for dinner, having spent far too long trying without success to figure out who would bear him such a grudge that he would be willing to ruin many lives. When he entered the captain’s stateroom for the meal, he stopped dead. The room had been transformed. Elegant cloth graced the table, topped by a velvet runner, with glinting gold candelabras gracing the table at each end. Only two places had been set, and seated at one end was Portia, looking like a goddess.

Her fiery auburn curls were piled high on her head, and the candlelight sprinkled gold highlights in her hair, almost as if she wore a crown. Her eyes sparkled with wickedness. Excitement fired within him. Her lips broke into what could only be called a sensual smile, and to add fuel to the flame, she ran her little pink tongue over her bottom lip. His groin instantly tightened.

As his gaze drifted down her body, his tongue almost lolled out of his mouth at the amount of pale, plump bosom on display. Her low-cut gown of sheer silk, a cool, invigorating turquoise that reminded him of the sea they sailed, barely covered her nipples, and the tiny sleeves hung off her shoulders, leaving her décolletage bare and as inviting as newly fallen snow.

He stood there like an imbecile, drinking her in and yet willing his body to ignore the vision of pure temptation before him.

“I explained to the captain that, due to circumstances, you feel duty-bound to marry me. When I suggested that I’d like time to get to know if I’m happy with your honorable solution, the captain was kind enough to swap cabins with me”—she indicated the door behind her—“and has given us his stateroom to spend time together.
Private
time together.” She gave him a victorious smile. “Is that not wonderfully kind of him?”

The next few days were torturous. Grayson was constantly aware of Portia’s presence. She plagued his every move, thinking up ridiculous scenarios to get his attention, coming upon him as if by accident when he was alone, or concocting reasons she needed to see him.

Of course he had to spend at least a degree of time with her. He was planning to marry her, and it would be inadvisable to earn her displeasure. It would only make the marriage more volatile, and he didn’t want that. He simply wanted her to know what he expected of her in the role of his wife.

She would have to agree to honor and obey him. He grimaced at that, for he doubted he’d have any greater luck obtaining her obedience than Philip had. If he didn’t maintain a semblance of control and make her understand that becoming his wife would require her to change her ways, then they would soon be living very separate lives.