Her Heart's Captain (16 page)

“Why don't you want my gratitude, Captain?” she asked after a long silence. “You've rescued me twice from the assaults of miscreants. I
must
be grateful for that, mustn't I?”

He took a deep, unhappy breath. “I'm sorry you feel you must, my dear. It's difficult, isn't it, to have to be grateful to someone you dislike so much?”

She didn't answer. The silence hung between them like something palpable. When it became insupportable to him, he turned to look at her. She was crying. Large tears were flowing unchecked down her cheeks and mingling with the droplets of icy rain. She was a pitiful sight, staring straight out before her, eyes filled with tears, lips trembling and hair glazed with ice and hanging in pathetic tendrils about her face. Even his greatcoat, which she clutched about her like a cloak, added to the pathos.

He was smitten with self-reproach as if from a blow. He should never have said what he did. She'd already been through a shattering experience and was only trying to thank him for having rescued her from it, and he'd turned on her with his accusation. He'd rejected her sweet and natural wish to express her gratitude and, instead, had flung his own resentments in her face. “Damnation,” he muttered, putting an arm about her and pulling her to him, “I'm a stupid clod.”

She turned her face into his shoulder, sobbing. “N-No … you're n-not …”

“I am! Forgive me, Jenny. I should never have said what I did.”

“You d-don't
understand
,” she wept. “I don't d-dislike you. I only w-wish I
did
.”

He would have sworn he felt his heart take a leap inside his chest. Whatever it was, it was a completely new experience. “Now
that
,” he said cautiously, “is a fascinating, if bewildering, statement. I hope you intend to elaborate on it.”

“Well, I don't,” came the muffled voice from his shoulder. “And I hope you won't p-press me.”

“But you must explain—”

“I
can't
.” Her sobs were more easily felt than heard. “Please …”

He sighed. “Very well, I won't press you. At least not now. I didn't intend to upset you, you know. I'd made up my mind to speak of nothing but trivialities. If only you'll stop crying, I promise to discuss nothing but the weather.”

She gave a hiccoughing little sniff. “I've s-stopped.” Her head came up, and a hand emerged from the folds of the greatcoat to wipe her cheeks. “So, you see, you may t-take your arm away now … quite safely …”

Her face looking up at him caused another tremor inside his chest. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her lips swollen from her weeping, yet she seemed to him more appealingly lovely than she'd ever been before. He wanted so much to kiss her that the need became a knot in his stomach. But of course such an act was unthinkable, especially after what she'd just been through. “I … er … What a lovely day we've been having, Miss Garvin,” he said with a little grin, holding fast to the promise he'd just given her.

She didn't laugh but continued to gaze up at him, not even attempting to move from his encircling arm.

The knot in his stomach tightened. “One rarely expects to find such exceptionally pleasant days in December, wouldn't you say?” he tried again.

There was not even the suggestion of a smile in her widened eyes. She continued to look at him as if she'd never seen him before. There was no help for it—he
had
to kiss her. He wondered briefly if he was as despicable a creature as the wretch at the crossroad for wishing to kiss her so soon after the other incident. But he pushed the thought aside. He loved her. That had to make a difference.

His arm tightened about her, and he brought his face down within an inch of hers, watching closely for a sign of dismay in her eyes or a stiffening of resistance in her body. But she remained motionless, gazing up at him with a surprised, almost trance-like expression. He couldn't, if his life depended on it, stop himself now. “Jenny?” he whispered softly.

“Yes?” It was the merest breath.

“Have you another jar of jam on your person?”

She blinked. “What a strange question. Why?”

“Because I'm afraid I must kiss you, and I want to be certain that I shan't be crowned with gooseberry jam for my pains.”

Chapter Thirteen

It was strange to ride in absolute silence through the deepening shadows in a shower of sleet with a lovely young woman whom one has just released from a stirring embrace. The only sounds were the brittle taps of the horses' hooves on the icy road and the crackle of pellets of sleet as they fell on the curricle's roof. He wanted very much to speak to her. He wanted to tell her that he loved her. But he restrained himself. The time was not yet right.

The words he'd said to her earlier echoed in his head with a mocking irony:
a kiss is not an act of very great significance
. After what had just occurred, the words sounded ridiculous. The very nature of his relationship with Jenny had been changed by the kiss. He'd held her in his arms and felt her respond, and he now knew there was no going back. He would not leave Wyndham until he'd won her.

He'd wanted to tell her as soon as he'd released her. But he knew that there was something about him that troubled her, and until he learned what it was, it would be unwise to force the issue. He had to hold his tongue. And, since it was difficult to think of anything trivial to say after having been so deeply stirred, he merely kept his eyes on his horses, his hands on the reins and said nothing.

Jenny was grateful for the silence. This had been the first time she'd been kissed by a man, if one didn't count the attack of the man at the crossroad, the occasional peck on the cheek from her brother, or the friendly buss from Toby on her last birthday. And if one compared those kisses with
this
, one certainly
shouldn't
count them. The other kisses had been ugly or paltry; this one had been profoundly moving—the sort of kiss a girl dreams of. She knew she was inexperienced in these matters, but it seemed to her that the embrace had been both passionate and tender … and certainly not the sort of kiss she would have expected from a man she believed to be a monstrous brute.

Even more surprising had been her response to the embrace. She'd felt no urge to resist. From the moment she'd glanced up at him, after her bout of weeping on his shoulder, she'd
wanted
him to kiss her. It had been the expression in his eyes that had moved her. He'd looked down at her with a glow in his eyes so gentle and loving that all her misgivings about him melted away. And when he'd actually kissed her, she'd had no desire to see it end. She'd quite forgotten where she was; she'd had no awareness of the sleet, the open carriage, even the time of day. She'd been aware only of the arousal of her senses, a pervading warmth and a heady and delicious dizziness. The after-effects of her dreadful experience at the crossroad which still lingered in her mind simply evaporated away, like a sliver of ice on a hot coal. Instead of being horrified (as any proper young lady should have been if she possessed a grain of sensibility) she'd felt completely, foolishly, wildly exhilarated.

It was only after he'd let her go that she'd remembered he was Robbie's Captain Allenby. It was as if this man had two identities: one the man who'd twice saved her life and twice charmed her, and the other Robbie's brutish commander. There had only been one instant in which the two had come together—the moment when he'd been about to strike her assailant. And even then he'd restrained himself. She'd not
quite
seen the bestial side. And now, after the kiss, it would be even more difficult to keep the brutal image of him foremost in her mind. The memory of the look on his face as he was about to kiss her would be an image very hard to supersede.

His voice, though low and hesitant, made her start. “I hope you're not angry with me, Jenny,” he said sheepishly.

“I'm not angry, Captain. After all, we did agree earlier that a kiss has no special significance.”

“Yes, we did, didn't we? What a very shortsighted view that was! But I wish you'd stop calling me Captain. You did ask me to call you Jenny, and you therefore must be equally informal with me.”

“I'm afraid I don't know the informal mode of address for a sea captain, sir.”

“It's the same as for anyone else—the given name. Mine is Tristram, but I prefer Tris.”

The thought of calling the imposing Captain Allenby by a nickname made her flush. “Oh, I don't think I can be as informal as
that
,” she told him.

“Why not? I quite insist on it.
All
the girls I've kissed call me Tris.”

A laugh escaped her. “I'm sure they do, but perhaps it would be best to forget that I'm numbered among them. Since we did agree on the incident's insignificance, I'd be most grateful if you'd forget it ever happened.”

“I very much doubt that I can. And you're not going to pretend that the embrace we've just shared is as insignificant as most such occurrences, are you?”

Jenny was saved the embarrassment of a reply because she noticed at that moment a large, dark object lying on the side of the road. “Good God!” she exclamed, pointing. “Look over there! It's our laudalet!”

He pulled the horses to and jumped down to examine the vehicle lying on its side in the ditch. “An axle's broken,” he told her as he climbed back upon his seat. “Whoever was driving it realized he couldn't fix it and just walked off.”

“Robbie,” she muttered worriedly. “He was to have come for me. I hope he wasn't injured.”

Tris looked at her for a moment with upraised brows.
He'd better have been injured
, he thought grimly,
or he'll hear a few choice words from me
. Had the boy no thought for his sister at all? Even though the carriage had been wrecked, the fellow still had had his horses. Why hadn't he ridden for her?

But Tris didn't express those thoughts aloud. He merely told her not to worry. “I'd not be concerned for his safety if I were you. Your brother impresses me as an ingenious lad. He can take care of himself.”

She didn't notice the irony in his voice. “I'm so glad to hear you say that, Captain. Mama and I have always felt that he's a boy of remarkable self-sufficiency. It's good to know that his captain agrees.”

Tris felt himself growling inside. If there was anything he disliked, it was doting relatives. He'd often been subjected to the effusions of fond parents about the characters of their sons who were sailing under him. Nonsense, most of it. Every fond relation believed that his particular kin was the most courageous, ingenious, clever, hard-working, upright, intrepid sailor on the ship and expected the captain to concur. If all the lads in question had half the ability their relations claimed, a captain's lot would be sheer bliss. Jenny's beloved brother was an excellent case in point. Remarkably self-sufficient indeed! The boy seemed to Tris to be remarkably lazy and self-indulgent. Midshipman Robert Garvin was nothing better than a selfish brat. And unless he'd been carried home unconscious from the wreck, Tris had every intention of telling him so to his face.

It was dark when the curricle pulled up to the door of the Garvin house. Tris lifted Jenny from the seat, set her on the ground and walked with her to the door. But as she lifted her hand to the knocker, he caught it in his own. “Before you go in, Jenny, I must have a promise from you,” he said firmly.

“Yes?”

“I want an opportunity to talk to you. Soon. And alone. Will you let me?”

She lowered her eyes. “How can I refuse, after all you've done for me?”

“Then I have your word? Whatever happens?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” He gave her a sudden grin. “And while you're still feeling this quite unnecessary gratitude, I'll push my advantage and make another request. Will you stand up with me at the ball on Saturday? For two dances? And a waltz, if my aunt is brave enough to permit waltzing?”

She smiled up at him shyly. “
Three
dances? I think you
are
pushing your advantage. I'm afraid you'll have to be satisfied with two. I don't know how to waltz. And now, sir, I think you'd better let me knock.”

Cullum, on opening the door, couldn't prevent a look of unbutlerish surprise from crossing his face. “Miss
Jenny
! We thought—”

“Jenny, is that
you
?” came her mother's voice from the top of the stairs. “We thought you were spending the night at Winch—Good
heavens
!” The sight of her daughter's bedraggled appearance, as well as the glimpse of a sodden Captain Allenby looming behind, brought her running down the stairs. “What on earth's
happened
to you?”

“She's been making her way back from Winchcombe in an open curricle,” Tris informed her in a distinctly censorious tone, “because the carriage from home which she was awaiting failed to appear.”

“Well, I
know
that, Captain. It broke down, you see. But naturally, when we saw the sleet, we assumed that Jenny would spend the night with old Mrs. Boyce. That's where you were, wasn't it, my love?”

“Not exactly, Mama. But we'll talk about this later. Cullum, will you take the Captain's greatcoat to the kitchen and dry it at the fire? And if you'll give him your coat as well, Captain, he'll have your things warm and dry before you've had time to drink your tea. I think we
should
offer Captain Allenby some tea, don't you, Mama? He's been riding through the sleet for hours without his greatcoat, and all because of me.”

“Oh, dear! Yes! Yes, of course. I don't know
where
my head is. I'll see to it at once.
Do
give your coat to Cullum, Captain. I'll get you a blanket to wrap about your shoulders in the meantime. You must be chilled through.”