Andrea Kane (27 page)

“A man who chooses bitterness over joy could be considered a fool.”

“Or merely a man who has learned that there is no joy that does not end in bitterness.”

“Bitterness that was caused by another woman to another man; not your wife or yourself.”

Drake shot Smitty a look of smoldering anger and raw pain. “My mother was hardly unique in her indiscretions. The majority of the
ton’s
simpering females are cuckolding their husbands and have been doing so for years. Both you and I know that.”

“Lady Alexandria is different. You and I both know
that
as well.”

Drake slammed his hand down on the wheel. “All right, damn it, yes! Alexandria is different! She is beautiful and innocent and giving.”

“And?”

“And how long do you think she will remain that way once we return to Allonshire?”

“The world of the nobility is not new to her, Captain.”

“But deceit and the betrayal are. She has been sheltered, a child growing up on the fringes of reality. Hell, Smitty, she wants a loving home filled with warmth and caring.” He raised a sardonic brow. “Now, does that sound like Allonshire to you, my friend?”

“It sounds like something you could easily give to her, if you choose to, my lord.”

“I don’t know what I choose anymore, Smitty. But I will not forfeit my life or my pride for any woman.”

“The giving of warmth and love does not require the relinquishing of self or pride.”

“Why are you intent on pursuing this distasteful, unresolvable topic?” Drake demanded.

“Because you are behaving like a scoundrel,” Smitty shot back, an uncharacteristic flush of anger reddening his weathered face. “And because I care about you, Captain,” he added softly, gently. “Whether you know it or not, you are in love with your wife.”

Absolute silence followed Smitty’s quietly spoken words. Then Drake drew a slow breath.

“I do not believe in love and therefore cannot respond to your statement.” He stepped away from the wheel. “I am going below to rest. I will return to relieve you when I awaken.” He turned to go. “We will not speak of this again, Smitty. Ever. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, Captain.”

“Fine.”

He left Smitty, and the conversation, behind. But, all the way to his cabin Smitty’s words kept resounding in his mind. And he was terrified that they were true.

The messenger paused at the foot of the steep stone steps to gape up at the immense Gothic mansion that sprawled endlessly over acres of flawless land. It was not an unusual reaction from a first time visitor to Allonshire. Few country homes in England could boast its size or brilliant architectural design.

Minutes passed before the thoroughly intimidated messenger remembered his missive and hurried up the steps to deliver it. With great relief he left it in the hands of the stiff-faced butler who answered the door. His job was done.

Within the cavernous marble hallways of Allonshire the butler’s footsteps echoed eerily as he marched to the dining room and approached one of the uniformed footmen who stood before it. Wordlessly he placed the message in his hands, then turned and disappeared.

The footman moved quickly through the arched doorway, past the antique statues, and over to the head of the intricately carved walnut table.

Sebastian Barrett looked up impatiently from his dinner.

“Yes? What is it?”

“Excuse me, my lord. A message has arrived for you.”

“Oh?” Calmly he lifted his napkin to his lips, then dropped it carelessly onto the table. He took the note, dismissing the servant with a curt nod of his head.

Sebastian read the contents three times. He was being regretfully informed that
La Belle Illusion
had been destroyed by an American military ship. There was no evidence of survivors.

Upstairs in his bed, Grayson Barrett lay ill, possibly dying. Sebastian was aware that he would have to tell his father of Drake’s demise. A most unpleasant task.

Replacing his napkin on his lap, Sebastian continued with his quite delicious meal. The news could wait until after dinner.

Unlike Drake, Alex had no doubt as to what she was feeling. She was totally and irrevocably in love with her husband. Her fears lay elsewhere.

She tossed onto her back in the cabin’s narrow berth, trying to come to grips with her trepidation. Drake had still not proclaimed his love for her, despite his tenderness and his passion, and that worried her. Now that he was back at sea where he belonged, Alex feared that the tenuous thread of their relationship would be broken.

And she had one other fear, one that she hated to admit, even to herself.

Was she strong enough to endure the censure she would receive when she returned to England married … to a sea captain? The gossip would be rampant, the snubs constant and cruel. She did not like those people, and yet they were all that she knew.

Alex felt like a hypocrite, denouncing the
ton
and their values, yet unable to withstand their scorn. And Drake was so proud, their relationship so fragile; she could never confide her fears to him. He already despised women, especially noblewomen. She had finally made some small progress in convincing him that she was different. She did not intend to undo all that she had done.

If only he loved her; if only he had said the words. That would have made all the difference in the world.

She closed her eyes, tired, drained, but not sleepy. Every roll of the ship bothered her; even the bed felt odd beneath her after weeks of sleeping on the ground. She felt so out of sorts.

The door swung open, and Drake entered the cabin, closing the door behind him. His thoughts were still in a turmoil from the conversation with Smitty. How he longed for the peace that had temporarily been his and now seemed lost and unattainable.

“Drake?” Alex met his troubled gaze.

Perhaps peace could be had … for a brief interval.

Drake tossed his clothing aside, climbed into bed, and seized his wife in his arms.

“Don’t ask me any questions,” he whispered. “For I have no answers to give.” He stared into her concerned face and was gripped with a sudden irrational need to lose himself in her. “Don’t talk at all,” he growled, silencing her reply with his mouth. “No words, none. Just the feeling of your body next to mine, my body inside yours.” He parted her lips with his, possessed the sweetness of her mouth with his tongue. “I need you. Alex …”

He never finished the thought. Nor was it necessary. For Alex, hearing the raw emotion in her husband’s voice, wrapped her arms around him and helplessly gave him everything he wanted and needed from her. And he took it all, greedily, desperately, tearing the shirt from her body and plunging into her softness with every ounce of strength and passion he possessed. Alex cried out, but he didn’t slow, couldn’t stop. And it didn’t matter. At this moment all that mattered to Alex was that she loved him and that he needed her.

The ache inside Drake built to excruciating proportions, and still he battered her with his frantic thrusts. The craving was bottomless, endless, consuming him in a white-hot blaze that raged on and on, built higher and higher. He was lost in a red haze of sensation, unaware of anything but his rampant need to find relief from the throbbing ache in his loins, in his heart. He caught his breath, poised on the edge of a feeling so stark, so intense, that it was unbearable. And then he erupted wildly inside her, calling out to her hoarsely again and again, burying himself so deep inside her that he could touch her soul.

Drake collapsed against Alex’s small, soft body, reality filtering, back to him in gradual stages of awareness. His first coherent thought was that he had all but raped his wife, and his heart contracted with fear.

“Alex?” He raised himself up on his elbows, searching her flushed, damp face. Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen from his brutal kisses, and scratches caused by his beard’s abrasive contact stood out against the golden tan of her cheeks and her chin. His gaze dropped lower. Red marks of his passion marred the honeyed perfection of her shoulders and her throat.

He had never felt like such a bastard in all his life.

“Sweetheart …” His voice was hoarse, his hand shaking as he raised it to touch her face. “Alex?”

Alex opened her eyes slowly, barely able to focus. Her body was still awash with the wondrous aftershocks of her climax. She had never imagined such a fiercely tender union, never dreamed she could merge so completely with another person. Awed by what had transpired between them, she stared up at her husband’s handsome face in wonder.

“Princess, are you all right?” As his words penetrated her sensual haze, Alex became aware of the concern in his voice, the harsh regret on his face. Why did he look so remorseful when she felt so utterly blissful?

“All right?” she repeated in a whisper, totally at sea.

“Did I hurt you?” He traced his fingers over the scratches on her face, then leaned down to kiss each one of them. “I didn’t mean to. I would never …” His voice broke, and he rolled off her, because he knew if he stayed inside her he would make love to her again. Make love? Hah! He had brutalized her. And still she looked up at him with innocent adoration in her eyes.

For the first time Drake felt ashamed. Ashamed and unworthy.

“You didn’t hurt me.” Her soft voice interrupted his self-chastisement. “It was beautiful.”

He turned toward her, seeking the truth in her eyes. She smiled, snuggled into his arms. “Actually, I feel wonderful. Quite a bit better than I was feeling before you arrived.”

He cradled her against him, relief flooding through him like a great tide. “I never intended to take you so violently. I don’t know what came over me.”

She kissed one powerful bronzed bicep, wisely remaining silent.

He grinned, still heady with relief. “I must say that it was a welcome change to make love to you on a
real
bed, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I rather liked our crude bed of grass on the island.” She laughed. “It made everything feel rather … primitive and exciting.”

“Princess,” he wound her hair around his fingers, “I don’t think it can
get
more primitive than it just did.”

He could actually feel her blush against his chest, and he chuckled, all the fear and confusion temporarily forgotten. But he knew that they remained, held at bay by emotions that superseded them.

He lifted her face, cupped it tenderly between his strong hands. There was so much he needed to tell her before they docked in London, so much she would have to absorb.

So much she would be unable to accept.

Gently he drew her mouth to his. “Let me love you again,” he murmured, his voice husky, seductive. “Slowly this time, the way you were meant to be loved.”

She paused, inches from his mouth. “Drake … we have much to discuss. You have to know what lies ahead of us when we arrive in England. We’ll have to go to Sudsbury, and my mother—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, enfolding her in his arms. “We have time … weeks before we reach England. Surely it can wait”—his eyes caressed her face—“an hour or two?”

Alex surrendered, letting him weave his magnetic sensual spell around her. And for the hours that followed the only words they exchanged were those of passion and of pleasure.

Much later, they talked.

“My mother is a snob.” Alex said it without anger or censure, a mere statement of fact. “She is not going to be happy with my father’s decision to see us wed. She had … different plans for my future.”

To Alex’s surprise, instead of becoming enraged, Drake seemed to be amused. “In other words I am not to expect her to welcome me into your family with open arms?”

Alex twisted around to look up at him. “Exactly. This was to be my first London Season, and I ran off with no warning and only a note in the way of explanation. She had arranged for me to meet countless eligible men.”

“By ‘eligible’ I assume you mean titled and wealthy?”

“Yes.” She waited for the explosion that did not come.

“Alex,” he said softly, “all will be well; you’ll see. I am certain that once your mother knows—”

She didn’t let him finish. His tenderness caused her more pain than his anger. “Don’t excuse her, Drake!” she said, her eyes flashing. “I do not. I only want you to know that, no matter what reaction we receive, I am delighted not to have married a nobleman! They are all shallow and cold like my father, acting only in their own interests.” She grew calmer. “I say all this because I want you to know what to expect. In spite of all else, there has always been kindness and truth between us. That is more than many can boast, is it not?”

Alex’s words cut through Drake like a knife. He would have given his soul right then to be merely the sea captain she believed him to be, to be worthy of the words she had spoken.

But he wasn’t. And he knew he had to tell her the truth, to make her understand.

“Alex …” he began.

She laughed, tossing back the covers and stretching. “I know. You’ve been down here for hours, and you must go topside to relieve Smitty at the helm.” She gave him a coy smile over her shoulder. “Very well, Captain, I give you leave to go to your post. But later tonight I shall again demand that you do your husbandly duty, and I warn you now that I intend to give you no quarter.”

Drake was stunned, then delighted, thoughts of his confession disintegrating immediately. “I consider myself duly warned, wife. I shall expect to be completely at your mercy.” He pushed his feeling of guilt aside. Later, he promised himself, he would tell her later.

But later never seemed to come.

T
HE DOCKS WERE HUMMING
with activity as the schooner sailed up the Thames and into London. Alex gazed out the porthole, staring at the familiar scene with a peculiar sense of unreality.

She was home. It seemed an eternity since she had left this city, a mere child. She was returning now, a woman grown. A married woman.

She wished that she and Drake had talked more about what lay ahead. Where would they live? Would he captain another ship right away? Would they remain in England for a time or return at once to sea?