Brazen Temptress (9 page)

At this Maureen nodded. She hadn't promised not to go ashore alone with Julien, and in a flash she clambered down a line to join him.

In a few quiet strokes, he took them out from under the shadow of the
Forgotten Lady
and closer to shore.

"Why aren't you wearing the dress I gave you?" he teased.

" 'Tis too fine."

He'd taken them down shore from where the two boats were moored, just out of sight of the watch. The rowboat bumped up against the sand, and she jumped out automatically and grabbed the line to pull the boat in farther.

"Perhaps that dress is too fine," he said with a small laugh.

She stopped herself and realized that most ladies did not leap from the boat until it was safely ashore. Hardly the action of the type of woman he was probably used to.

Maureen was glad for the darkness, for she knew she was blushing. She was a fool to think a man of breeding like Julien de Ryes would ever want anything from her that he couldn't get for a few gold coins at any dockside.

Hell, being such a handsome devil, coins were probably unnecessary.

They walked along the sandy beach for a few feet, Maureen stalking ahead and Julien following with a blanket in hand.

"Maureen, look at me," he said to her. "I like it that you can handle a boat, that you don't go into vapors at the sight of maggots, that you can climb rigging and trim sails better than any man aboard your father's ship or mine."

"But I'm not a lady," she whispered.

"Oh, but you are. That dress may not seem right now, but one day you'll wear it and put every other woman to shame. I would bet if you arrived in London, you would be dubbed the newest Original. Not a debutante in town could hold a candle to you. You have a fire in your soul that makes you more of a woman than any amount of finishing school or silk gowns can add."

"I doubt that. I was in London for a time, and no one seemed to notice me."

"I would have."

Even in the darkness she could see the intensity of his gaze. It burned over her, and for a moment she saw that to him it mattered not that she was a sunburned, rough-edged lass in breeches, not a lady, manor-born and dressed in pale muslin. He didn't care that her hair smelled of salt water, not roses, or that her hands and feet were rough with calluses and black with tar, instead of soft and smooth as satin.

He loved her. Loved her for who she was.

As if he sensed the conclusions she'd come to, he pulled her into his arms. "I didn't risk going against your father's wishes to bring you here just for some lark. I can't stop thinking about you," he whispered breathlessly into her ear. "You are unlike any woman I have ever known. I want you, Maureen. You, not some simpering society miss. I want you now, tonight, always. I would have you next to my side for the rest of our lives."

His words pushed away all her insecurities, all her doubts.

Always. I want you always.

She didn't care that it wasn't a proposal of marriage; she'd never expected one from any man. But to know that he wanted her, wanted to share his life with her, was enough.

She pressed her lips to his eagerly, sighing as his mouth closed over hers. They sank to their knees in the sand, and for a time all they did was kiss.

She opened her mouth to him, as he had opened his heart. His tongue caressed hers, loved her, just as his words had, and she felt the rising heat of desire coil within her heart and burn through her veins.

His hands, just as rough-hewn as hers, caressed her as if she were made of porcelain, first pulling at the cord that held her braid, then gently separating the bound strands until they flowed freely through his fingers.

She pulled away from his mouth, her head tilting back. She wanted what she'd dreamed of — his mouth touching her. And he seemed to sense her needs, for his lips plied and teased her neck, while his hands pushed her shirt away from her shoulders, exposing them to the cool night air.

The heat of his lips burned her skin. If her dreams had nearly driven her to madness, then the reality of his touch pushed her over the brink.

Without shame or care she pulled at the ties on her shirt and opened it further. "Kiss me. Kiss me here," she whispered breathlessly.

At first she thought she'd gone too far, been too brazen, for all he did was stare at her exposed breasts. Then, slowly, he reached out and cradled one in the palm of his hand, his fingers winding around the softness until they touched the hardened peak of her nipple.

She sucked in a deep breath. His touch sent hot currents coursing through her blood. His fingers teased and stroked her fevered flesh. If that weren't enough, he unleashed a new fire by placing his lips on her.

As he began to suckle, she arched her back and moaned softly. Her dreams had only hinted at such ecstasy, at such hot, driving passion. His other arm wrapped around her back and drew her closer. The wet heat of his mouth washed over her, and when he pulled back for a moment, she realized just how hot it was, for the cool air sent a shiver over her fiery flesh.

He tipped his head over the other breast and loved it the same way, lapping at the nipple, suckling and teasing it until it rose again to a hardened peak.

Beneath him, she writhed and twisted, not wanting him to stop but wondering how he would ever put out the inferno raging within her.

He rose with a grin. Gone were any of the boyish features she'd fallen in love with, for the man staring at her held only desire and need in his eyes.

Need for her.

She wanted to make him feel the same torture he had inflicted on her. She pulled at his shirt, nearly tearing it from his back. In the same frenzy, she found hers being pulled over her head and tossed beside his.

For a moment she paused, not sure what to do next. Carefully, she reached out and touched his face, her hands grazing over the smoothly shaved ridge of his jaw, dropping to run over the thick muscles in his neck and shoulders.

How could a man feel so much like iron and yet touch her with such a gentleness?

His eyes were closed as she continued her explorations. She nearly stopped as she came to the top of his breeches. Like her, that was all he had on. And once those garments were gone, Maureen knew there would be nothing to stop the natural desire between them.

Not that she could even think of stopping now.

She opened the breeches slowly, one button at a time. Each a chance for him to end this madness, to tell her he'd made a mistake. But the telltale hardness beneath, straining as much to be free of the buttons as she was to see them opened, told her that she'd never hear him utter a word to halt her.

Finally, the last button opened, and without even stopping, she pushed his breeches down, and then pulled them free from his body.

She glanced shyly back in wonder at his legs, long and lean, and then upward, farther, to where his hard, thick manhood awaited her.

How she wanted to touch him, to love him, as he had loved her, but she didn't know how. Just then Julien reached for her and pulled her down into the sand with him, closing his mouth over hers and kissing away her doubts.

His fingers once again found the hardness of her nipple, teasing it again, stroking the flesh around it, and rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb.

She followed his example and reached for him, allowing her fingers to close around him. It was his turn to moan, deep and full of an unearthly longing — one she understood. She stroked and caressed him, growing more bold with each movement as she watched his reaction, felt the arch of his hips and the sway of his body moving in concert with her touch.

"Not so fast, Reenie," he whispered raggedly. "You'll unman me before ..." His voice, husky and deep trailed off leaving her raging imagination to finish his declaration.

He pulled back, and then he reached for her own breeches. Unlike her, he didn't hesitate to undo them, and they were gone before she had a chance to reconsider.

In that moment it seemed everything around them stilled. The whisper of breeze, the rise and fall of the gentle waves. He stared at her, his face masked in the darkness so she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Slowly, on his knees beside her, he whispered, "You look like some fey beautiful creature, lost from her watery cove, come to steal my heart, Reenie." Beside her now, he brushed back a wayward lock of her hair. He continued to touch her, here and there, until his fingers wound over the gentle mound below her stomach. He touched her lightly, opening her to his explorations.

Suddenly, the sensations she'd felt before faded as the intensity of his touch focused on her very need. He stroked her slowly, his fingers drawing lazy circles over her. Her hips rose under his spell, dancing to catch the cadence of his touch.

She opened her mouth to cry out when he found the very center of her need, but he'd covered her mouth with his, stealing her cry in a breathless kiss.

His finger moved deeper toward her center, tentatively dipping inside her. She felt her body open and close around him, and then his hand slipped away. He moved so he now lay over her, his manhood rubbing insistently at the spot where his fingers had been moments before.

"I want you so bad, Reenie, but I have to know this is what you want," he said. "I want to make you mine, but I have to know you trust me."

Maureen opened her eyes. "I trust you, Julien. Please, make love to me. Make me yours forever."

It was the first time she'd ever called him by name.

"It might hurt a bit," he whispered. "At least at first."

She heard his warning, but she didn't care. What was a bit of pain amidst so much pleasure? She reached for his hips and pulled him closer.

Slowly, he entered her, and though for a moment it did hurt, the pain was as he said only just for that moment. Used as she was to the hardships of the sea, Julien's gentle breaching of her virginity hardly seemed more than a minor bump.

Especially once he began to move within her.

She sighed softly as the rapturous longing returned. Like the waves lapping at their feet, Julien stroked her with the same rhythmic tide. It started like the first winds of a gale, then moved over her like the rush of a September hurricane.

She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think, letting her hips rise and fall, matching his movements. She climbed higher in the storm, as if caught by the wind and carried up into the very heart of the tempest, tossing with the wild wind until she reached the very top of the clouds. There, her breath caught in her throat, the cry on her lips frozen as she could only wonder at the sensations breaking over her.

Julien, too, seemed to share in her awe, for his movements suddenly became frenzied. His mouth closed over hers, claiming her again, closing off his own ragged cry of release.

The beach grew still except for the never-ending rise and fall of the waves and the hammering of Maureen's heart. She looked up at the star-trimmed sky, Julien's arms wound tightly around her, and wondered how she ever thought she'd lived before this very moment.

From this day forth, she just knew, with the supreme confidence of youth, the life before her would be filled with nights such as this and days of unending excitement, sailing the seas at Julien's side.

He stirred, nuzzling her neck and planting gentle kisses on her brow and lips. Then she murmured into his ear the words that sealed her fate, laid out her destiny.

"Julien, I love you."

London
1813

By the time Maureen arose and made her way downstairs, shaking off the unsettling dreams of Julien, she found the Johnstons' little morning room transformed into a bower of spring roses and lilies.

Lady Mary's prediction of Maureen's social success hadn't been off the mark. The cards and notes had begun arriving early, and the steady stream of footmen and messengers had continued ever since, her beaming "godmother" announced.

Along with the invitations came flowers and boxes of confections from dandies and swains who hadn't even been at Almack's. All it had taken were a few words around White's that Julien D'Artiers had uncovered a new sensation, and the fortune hunters and romantics followed like sheep.

Stationed at her desk, Lady Mary was going through the arduous task of opening and sorting the mountain of invitations, but from the smile on the woman's face, it hardly looked as if she found the task anything but a delight.

"There you are, my dear. Come look! Didn't I tell you?" Lady Mary sighed.

Before Maureen could respond, Lucy, the housemaid, came bustling into the parlor, an armload of flowers balanced on one hip, while teetering in her hand was a tray loaded with envelopes and cards.

"I'll never be getting the dusting done, milady, with all this racket. Why, that bell is driving me mad." Lucy dumped the flowers in Maureen's arms and the notes in front of her mistress. "And don't even think about seeing a shine on the silver before next Thursday."

"Do your best, Lucy. These are trying times for all of us," Lady Mary told her.

Maureen looked around for a place to put the flowers but discovered there wasn't an open spot to be had, what with all the other bouquets and prettily wrapped boxes. So she perched herself on the corner of the sofa next to Lady Mary's desk and sniffed at the sweet-scented blossoms.

The fresh, innocent fragrance of the violets did nothing to dispel her dour mood. She had a promise to keep this morning.

Even after a restless night of tossing and turning, she told herself it was no more than what anyone else would go through — it wasn't every day she sent a man to his death.

But in the early-morning hours, when she'd finally drifted off to sleep, she dreamed of the last time she'd seen Julien, the last moment she'd heard his voice betray her, betray her father, and when she awakened it had been with a certain, clear vision of what needed to be done.

Lady Mary held out an open box of confections to her. "They are from a shop my father used to visit. He would bring us a box every time he came home from London. I haven't had them in years. Try the ones with the almonds on top."