Desired (20 page)

Sea Witch
was a trim little craft. Even Tess, who knew nothing about ships and cared less, could see that.

“How do we get aboard?” she asked.

“Like this.” Owen picked her up in his arms and strode up the gangplank, which was at a vertiginous angle. He placed her, breathless and shocked, on the deck.

“My apologies,” he said, smiling into her eyes. He
was still holding her lightly by the elbows. Her whole body tingled from the suddenness of the experience and the contact with the hard lines and muscles of his. He stood back, allowing her to find her feet. “It’s easier that way,” he said. “Avoids discussion.”

Feeling mildly disturbed, Tess followed him through a small doorway and into a narrow passageway. Instantly the wooden walls of the ship closed about them and her consciousness of Owen’s physical presence became very strong. A stifling feeling of awareness rose in her throat.

“Down here.” Owen had disappeared down a set of steps that seemed to descend into darkness. Tess looked down the hatch and saw him grinning up at her.

“How on earth am I supposed to get down there?” she asked.

“Turn around and come down backwards,” Owen instructed.

When she was halfway down the steps she was mightily relieved to feel his hands close about her waist and swing her to the floor. She had been concentrating so hard on her footing that it was only several minutes later that she realised that he would have been able to see up her skirts as she descended, just as he had when she had climbed out of the window at the brothel. She glared at his back. His shoulders looked very knowing. He was enjoying this, damn him.

But so was she. There was a little flutter in her stom
ach when she thought about what might happen between them, the uncertainty and the possibilities.

“Nothing will happen that you do not want,”
Owen had said, and she shivered to think of all the things she
might
want. There would be nothing to frighten or hurt her. He had promised. So it might be quite safe to kiss him…?.

“The captain’s cabin,” Owen said, throwing open a door, breaking into her thoughts.

“It’s tiny!” Tess said. “How did you find room—” She stopped, realising the way her thoughts were tending. Suddenly, from never thinking about sex it seemed to be the only thing she was thinking about. “To move,” she finished quickly.

He gave her a wicked smile. “One becomes accustomed to making the best use of the space.” He was already moving away down the corridor. His steps were quick and light. Tess sensed the pleasure it gave him to be back on his ship, even here, at anchor. She felt a sudden fierce desire to see him sailing
Sea Witch
out on the open ocean. She tried to imagine all the expeditions he had been on and felt hopelessly parochial. Her travels had all been within England. Even Scotland had seemed impossibly distant and too barbaric to visit. But Owen was an explorer and explorers changed the world. She felt humbled. She also had a glimmer of the sense of entrapment he must feel to be tied now to a landed estate, a responsibility he would not shirk, because he was not a man to evade his duty.

“The mess room.” Owen threw wide another door.

The room smelled of dust and tar. It was very sparsely furnished, containing only a round wooden table in the center and a few chairs. There were some battered books on a shelf cut into the panelling and a chess set carved from what looked like ivory.

“Whalebone,” Owen said briefly. He was rummaging in some cupboards. “Your sister was remarkably good at chess. She beat Alex every time.”

“Our uncle taught us to play chess,” Tess said. She ran her fingers over the pieces, feeling the worn smoothness of the bone. “My game was always vingt-et-un, though.”

“We must play sometime,” Owen said, and something in his eyes made her catch her breath.

“I hear you never lose.”

“I hear the same thing of you,” Owen said. “They say that you must cheat because no one could be so lucky.”

Tess replaced the Queen gently on the dusty chessboard. “I don’t cheat,” she said. “It’s simply that I can picture all the cards and so…” She shrugged. “I count them.”

Owen looked taken aback. Then he laughed. “So that’s how you do it,” he said. “Counting cards. Some do call that cheating.”

“I have a good memory,” Tess objected.

“And a huge fortune as a result.” Owen straightened up, two glasses in one hand and a bottle in the other.

“I’m glad this is still here,” he said. “It should have matured nicely by now.”

“That,” Tess said, eyeing the bottle mistrustfully, “looks disgusting, whatever it is.”

“It’s called bumbo,” Owen said. He polished the glasses on his jacket and filled them. “Rum, water, lime, sugar and nutmeg. A favourite tipple of pirates.” He raised his glass and saluted her.

“To you, madam gamester.”

Tess took a mouthful of the bumbo and almost choked. It tasted as vile as it looked, sweet and yet unpleasantly sharp in flavour and wickedly strong. She groped for one of the wooden chairs and sank into it, her legs already feeling a little weak from the spirit. “So you
were
a pirate,” she said slowly.

Owen shook his head. She saw the flicker of something in his eyes. “I was never a pirate,” he said. There was a harsh edge to his voice. “I always sailed under the rule of law. Where there is no law there can only be chaos.”

“You do look more like a Navy captain than a privateer,” Tess said. “You’re not flashy like Devlin, all pearl earrings and gold-embroidered waistcoats. He looks like one expects a pirate to look.” She took another absentminded mouthful of the bumbo. It tasted less unpleasant this time, the spice stronger, the rum less of a fierce burn in her throat. She thought about Owen making his fortune, buying his own ship, an adventurer, an explorer, a man who took what he wanted
with such quiet ruthlessness that one would only notice once it was taken.

“But that’s what is dangerous about you,” she said slowly.

“What is?” Owen said. He was sitting very still and his lazy gaze on her made her feel hot all over.

“That you are so controlled,” Tess said. “You are relentless and determined and—” She swallowed. “You have the patience to wait for what you want.”

Owen smiled. The expression in his eyes was vivid and watchful. “How well you know me already,” he said.

Tess drained her glass. She was starting to feel very odd. The winter sun was low over the water, dazzlingly bright. The ship rocked gently on the current. She felt a little dizzy, her senses adrift.

“Why did you marry me?” she said suddenly. She knew it was the drink talking but she could not seem to help it. “Was it only for the money?”

Owen did not answer immediately but he did not take his eyes from her face either.

“I married you because I wanted you,” he said.

His words hit her straight in the solar plexus and she almost gasped aloud. Well, she had wanted to know—and now she did. He was making no pretence of his desire for her. It was something she had to face. She reached for the bumbo and splashed a little more into her glass, drinking it down almost recklessly.

“You should not,” she said, not looking at him.

“Want you?” His words were very quiet. Tess looked up and was almost scorched by the look in his eyes.

“I can’t promise…” Her mouth dried. All the excitement, all the anticipation she had felt earlier drained away in an instant when confronted by the stark reality. Owen wanted her but she was so damaged she did not know if she would be able to bear his touch or if she would run away in despair.

“I can wait.” He sounded philosophical even though his expression belied the words.

“You should not wait for me.” She wanted him to understand. “I may never be able to be the wife you need.” She swallowed what felt like a sharp wedge trapped in her throat. “Sometimes I think that Brokeby damaged me beyond mending.”

Owen stood up very slowly. He took her hands and drew her to stand also. “The question,” he said softly, “is do you want to try to mend?”

In that moment all Tess knew was that he felt very strong and sure, holding her, and that her head was spinning from the bumbo and that she thought her knees might give way at any moment.

“I think I do,” she murmured, and he smiled, the dazzling smile that always made her feel warm through and through.

“This morning you trusted me,” he said. “I am glad that you have not changed your mind.”

“I’m scared,” Tess said. Her tongue really was run
ning away with her now. “I want to try but it terrifies me.”

He shook his head slightly and she fell silent.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said. “I’d never hurt you.” His expression changed. “I’d like to kiss you,” he said. “One kiss. That’s all. May I?”

Excitement laced with fear coursed through Tess again, as sharp and fierce as the kick of the drink.

“Always so polite,” she managed to say. “You do not simply take what you want.”

Owen’s eyes went so dark with lust that she knew exactly what he wanted. Knew, too, that she should not play dangerous games with him when she could not follow through.

“No.” He sounded constrained. “I ask first.”

Tess felt another shiver of anticipation. Could it really be so easy to forget the past? A ripple of apprehension shook her, chasing away the excitement. No, of course it was not. She could play these games because she felt safe with Owen, but once it became serious, once it became real, the fear would return and swamp her and drive away all pleasure.

“Trust me.” His fingers swept across her cheek, a feather-light touch. There was a smile in his voice. “Close your eyes.”

She obeyed. Her heart was beating light and fast now, with nervousness, not anticipation. She waited for the touch of his lips on hers. He would be gentle. She
was sure of it. She was also sure she would feel nothing at best and would run screaming from him at worst.

The pad of his thumb brushed the fullness of her bottom lip and she gave a little gasp of surprise, then his lips were covering hers.

Tess waited, stiff in his arms, her back rigid, feeling nothing at all. Despair welled in her.

Owen was kissing her softly, persuasively, with such tenderness that it made her want to weep. That was not, she was sure, the reaction he would want, nor the one he was accustomed to from the woman in his arms.

Nothing. She felt Owen pause, and knew he was about to withdraw. She felt hollow and cold, distressed to have lost all the lovely warm promise. Owen’s lips moved on hers again and then—she did not know how it happened—she felt something shift deep within her, something instinctive that she barely understood. She felt herself tremble and heard a tiny sound that she realised was hers. Her lips softened and parted, she found she was pressing closer to Owen rather than drawing away, and then he was kissing her again and this time it was not gentle at all but hot and fierce. He tasted of rum and spice and something else delicious, and Tess’s head swam and the floor most definitely shifted beneath her feet in a way that had nothing to do with the tide.

In a second it was all over. Owen released her so fast that she had to grab the edge of the table to steady herself.

“I’m sorry.” He was breathing as though he had been
in combat. He rubbed his forehead, looking dazed. “I was expecting a rejection.”

“And you could not deal with a response instead?” Tess arched her brows. There was a new emotion stealing through her, wicked and powerful. It shocked her to recognise it as triumph. Extraordinary. But she could not deny that the confusion in Owen’s face made her feel very good indeed.

His gaze came back and focussed on her intently. Desire flared in his eyes. He took a step towards her.

It was then Tess felt the fear. It was swift, visceral and it ambushed her with ruthless intensity. She caught her breath on a gasp and took a hasty step back, bumping into the wood-panelled cupboard, setting the glasses clinking. Owen caught her arm to steady her but then released her immediately.

He leaned the palms of both hands on the table. His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t look like that. I have no intention of pouncing on you like an untried youth.”

Tess put a tentative hand on his arm. “I didn’t intend to tease,” she said uncertainly.

Owen’s expression lightened. He covered her hand with his, brief and reassuring. “I know, sweetheart.”

The endearment filled her with sweetness. “It’s new to me,” she said. “And…” She hesitated, wanting to be honest, not provocative. “I did like it very much when you kissed me.”

She saw the light leap in Owen’s eyes “We could try it again,” he said, a little huskily, “if you would like.”

“May we?” Tess said.

This next kiss was better, almost startlingly so, so good it shocked her. It was as though she had learned so much already and had a hunger for more. Her body responded instantly this time, with no hesitation or fear. Owen kept the kiss frustratingly light, his lips a mere whisper against hers, but even so when he released her the cold day felt hot and Tess shivered a little with emotion.

Owen took her hand in his. “Come along,” he said. “I am minded to show you the Blackheath Caverns before we have dinner and return home.” He looked around the dusty mess room. “I would not consummate our marriage here anyway. There are almost certainly ship’s lice. And weevils.”

“I thought that weevils lived in biscuits,” Tess said.

“You are remarkably well-informed on the habits of maritime parasites,” Owen said. “I knew you were a bluestocking all along.”

“So are you going to keep her?” Tess asked, as Owen helped her down onto the quay. “She could do with a lick of paint, poor creature, but she’s a beautiful ship and she deserves all the love you can give her.”

Owen looked at her quizzically. “Do you think so?”

“Oh, yes,” Tess said. She ran her hand along the shabby peeling paint of
Sea Witch’
s side and tried to imagine her crashing through the Atlantic breakers, the
wind whipping through her sails and the sun beating down, or nosing her way through the Arctic ice under a frozen blue sky. The thought excited her. She was not sure why. She had never been interested in travel before but now she was hungry for it. She wanted to sail beside Owen and see what the world had to offer.