One Night of Passion (25 page)

“You first,” she demurred.

“No, you,” he urged.

“I don’t know where to begin,” she said, her eyes peeking up at him from half-shuttered lashes.

A shy glance that teased him with a glimpse of her mysterious eyes. He’d been lying to Pymm earlier when he’d said he was immune to the lady’s charms.

He was hardly immune; more aptly, he was infected by them.

Rocking on his heels, Colin said, “I have something for you . . . and Chloe.”

“A present? For Chloe?” Was it his imagination or did her eyes flicker with a childish glee and curiosity?

“Yes, and you, I would imagine,” he said, as she continued to cradle the restless babe in her arms. “Would you like to come below and see?”

She nodded, a smile on her lips.

Georgie tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered. A present? No man had ever given her a gift before.

Oh, don’t be foolish,
she chided herself.
He is just
offering some piece of ill-gotten gain to curry your favor.
To lull you into believing in him. To trust him.

Did he really think her so shallow?

So she followed him below and down to the door of his cabin, resolved to be unmoved by his offering.

He unlocked the door to his cabin and swung it open wide.

Georgie took a tentative step inside, and then another.

“Well?” he asked.

“Well, what?”

“What do you think? I made it myself.”

It was then she saw his gift.

For beneath the stern window sat a rough-hewn cradle.

Not jewels, not gems, not even gold, from this alleged pirate. From this man of ill-repute.

But to Georgie it was a gift of far more value. For it changed her view of him in an instant.

That he had thought of Chloe’s comfort first, that he had made it himself, as evidenced by his bandaged and bruised fingers, wiped away everything she’d considered about her erstwhile guardian.

How could a man be so cruel and uncaring, and yet so thoughtful? This was the scourge of the Mediterranean? The traitor to England? A man who’d spent his day hammering and sawing together a cradle for his daughter.

Yet she couldn’t just surrender to him because he’d chosen his gift, his peace offering so wisely. She had to consider that once she told him who she was, revealed the depth of their relationship, she was opening not only herself to exposure, but Kit as well.

The specter of Lord Harris seemed to hover between them like the heads of old on Tower Bridge—a strong warning of what was to become of those unwise enough not to heed it.

No, she needed more than this. Something that would prove his feelings, prove his honor, show the depth of his heart.

That would show he believed as well in the magic they’d found the night of the Cyprian’s Ball.

She forced herself to remember who he was—the guardian who had tried to force her into an unwanted marriage. The worst sort of unscrupulous blackguard.

Yet such an assessment of his character hardly made sense in light of his thoughtful gift.

So who was Colin Danvers? Coward? Traitor? Ruthless guardian? Or a man misjudged?

After all, she had gotten most of her information about Lord Danvers from Uncle Phineas. Not exactly the most honest and trustworthy of sources, if ever there was, she had to admit.

The only thing she could be sure of was that he was the man who had stolen her heart—and of all the crimes she could tally against him, that was the worst of them.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his arms for Chloe.

She nodded, handing her daughter over to the man so very determined to be the babe’s father.

“Hello there, princess,” he whispered to the little bundle in his arms. Chloe gazed up at him, wide-eyed. “I have something for you.”

Carefully, he settled her down into her new cradle. He’d readied it by covering the rough boards with a thick blanket and a piece of a silken coverlet that fit it perfectly—one Georgie suspected had been cut from the same rich blanket tossed haphazardly on his bed.

Chloe settled happily into the safe surroundings of her new bed, her eyes growing drowsy as it rocked to and fro with the gentle movements of the ship.

“Thank you, Captain Danvers,” Georgie managed to whisper.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled down at Chloe, before his gaze returned to Georgie. “And I thought we settled that you would call me Colin.”

She didn’t reply. To call him Colin would be to admit that she had been terribly wrong about him. “I think not.”

He turned to her and shot her a look of lengthy regard. She felt as if he were trying to discover the same truths about her.

And she wasn’t so far from the mark.

Colin could see that his gift had shaken her out of some measure of her indifference, and now he was determined more than ever to uncover the truth about Georgie. “Why did you leave that morning without saying good-bye?”

His question took her aback. Her mouth opened to answer, then shut again, before, he suspected, the truth slipped out.

She reached down and fussed at Chloe’s blankets. When finally she found the words to answer, all she said was, “I would rather not discuss it.”

Oh, she was doing a fair job of feigning indifference, but he could see her breathing growing erratic, her movements a little too distracted.

He came around the edge of the desk. “I searched for you, right up until I had to sail.”

Her head tipped up immediately.
You did?
her soulful gaze seemed to ask. But instead, she said, “I can’t see why you bothered.”

Those eyes, those dark, impossible eyes glanced away, for they were the way to Georgie’s heart. They held the truth that she refused to admit.

God help me,
he thought, as he continued to stalk her, slowly, mindfully, unwilling to move too quickly and frighten her away as he’d done before. All he knew was that he wanted to prove that her indifference was just an act and that the night they had shared was anything but . . .

She skittered a few steps back, until she bumped into his chair, a massive, leather-bound behemoth that had belonged to the previous owner. She started to topple backward, so he rushed in and caught her.

As he brought her to her feet, he glanced down at her bare toes and smiled.

“I thought you said it was your shoes that were the source of your problems staying righted,” he said. “I might be so bold as to suggest that it is your feet that are perhaps the problem.”

She struggled out of his grasp, and once she did find her footing, she straightened and smoothed her hands over her skirt, in a vain attempt to appear in control.

But he knew better. When he’d held her, even for that mere second, he’d felt her heart racing, seen the way her pulse fluttered beneath her fair skin. And when he’d kissed her earlier . . . there was no denying her passionate, albeit brief, response.

Her brows furrowed and her mouth set in a determined line.
“
I think it would be prudent if we made every effort to forget our previous encounter, Captain.” She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back away from her, putting a respectable distance between the two of them. And once that was done, she folded her hands over her chest.

Pregnancy and motherhood had added a lushness to her figure. Her hips were rounder, her face softened. Her breasts were now full and heavy where they had once needed padding and a French corset to hold up her bodice. But having a child obviously hadn’t soothed her fierce nature, her damnable independence.

“Forget?” He closed the distance between them once again. He moved so close their bodies were almost touching, almost united. “I haven’t forgotten one moment of that night. I’d be willing to wager that you haven’t either.” He took a step toward her. “So I’ll ask you again to call me Colin.”

She shook her head.

“Then whisper it.” He didn’t care how she said it, just so he heard it.

That memory, of her crying out his name, had haunted him.

Late at night, while standing on deck when the entire world slept, and the
Sybaris
swayed and rocked gently in the sleepy waters of the Mediterranean, he swore he could hear her voice come whispering over the waves, teasing him as it drifted aloft, rising through the lines and sheets overhead and back into the stars and darkness from whence it had come.

How he needed her to say his name. Just as Ulysses had longed to hear the sirens sing.

“Colin,” he repeated. “Say my name.”

“Leave me be,” she whispered. “It was wrong then. It is wrong now.”

Standing within inches of her, he reached out and stroked her cheek, trying to draw her face upward, so he could look into her eyes.

So he could know the truth of it.

“It wasn’t wrong that night. I was there to rescue you . . .”

And you were there to rescue me . . .

He took her into his arms, and this time her struggles felt more tentative, which he took as the best sign of all.

“Release me at once,” she stammered. “It’s obviously time for us to come up with rules as to how we are to conduct ourselves. And then—”

“Then nothing,” he told her. “Consider this our first rule.”

With one arm wound around her waist, he pulled her up against him. His other hand caught her chin and tipped it so she looked directly at him.

And then he saw it. The dark fires he remembered from that night, burning low and hot in her smoky gaze. The blaze there told him more than if she had outright declared her feelings for him.

It begged him to kiss her.

And so he did.

Georgie had come into Colin’s cabin ready to wage her own form of warfare, but she’d lost before she’d even had a chance to choose sides.

And now without her heart to guard her, she was helpless in his arms, defenseless under his kiss, her resolve never to say his name again, never to kiss him, blasted away as if by cannon fire.

“Colin,” she whispered, as his lips swooped down to conquer hers.

The memory of his kiss had haunted her through countless nights, the deep timbre of his voice calling for her to return to him.

He’d tried to find her. He hadn’t forgotten her.

At least that’s what he claimed, her reluctance grumbled, battling with her heart’s easy willingness to believe in him, believe in them. Oh how she longed to believe him . . . And as his lips closed over hers and his hunger swept her along on that now all too familiar riptide of passion, Georgie could almost believe anything he said.

His kiss called to her and her body awakened, impatient to greet him. Her mouth yielded to his lips, throwing open the gates of her resistance to surrender willingly to him. His tongue met hers, not in combat, not to conquer, but to embrace her.

His hand released her chin to find its way to her hair. He groaned as his fingers tangled with the pins holding her riotous curls in place. Once again, he plucked at them, setting her tendrils free and sending her pins tumbling to the floor.

“I’ve dreamt of doing this,” he confessed. “The silk of your hair, the scent of your perfume.”

“I’ve had my share of dreams as well,” she confessed.

His grin was pure triumph. “What has Queen Mab brought to your nights, my mysterious lady?”

“Your kiss, your voice,” she whispered, her fingers reaching up to touch his lips. “I’ve heard you call to me in the night.”

“What did I say?”

“Nothing a lady would repeat,” she told him.

“But she dreams of such things?”

Georgie shrugged. “I’m not always a lady.”

“And for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

They both laughed, and he pulled her close once again, his lips seeking hers, sealing the uneasy truce growing between them.

As his kiss deepened and intensified, there came a great banging at the door.

“Cap’n! Cap’n! You’re needed in the galley.”

Colin groaned. “What is it, Mr. Livett?”

“It’s the lad again. He’s gone and bedeviled the last of the chickens, and Cook is in a regular state. Says he’s gonna put the little rotter in an early grave, cap’n’s brother or not.” Even through the heavy door, they could hear Livett muttering Rafe’s name, his complaints clear evidence he shared the cook’s opinion.

“I’m going to set that scamp adrift,” Colin muttered.

“I also wanted to talk to you about him,” Georgie confessed. “I believe he’s been kissing my sister.”

Colin waved off her complaint. “You’ve only been on board since last night. Not even Rafe is that fast. Besides, he’s only twelve.”

“He’s your brother,” she commented wryly.

He shook his head. “Half-brother,” he corrected.

“Apparently he inherited the incorrigible half,” she teased, tipping up on her toes and kissing him again.

“Cap’n, if you please?” Livett practically begged.

“Mmm,” Colin whispered in her ear. “I’ll be gone only as long as it takes to drown him. In the meantime, don’t disappear on me.”

“Where would I go?”

As he opened the door, Livett hit him with a litany of grievances about Rafe’s newest mishaps. The barrage of complaints continued as the two men made their way forward toward the galley.

And just like that, Georgie found herself alone in Colin’s cabin.

Alone
Handed the opportunity to discover the truth about this enigmatic man.

She glanced over her shoulder at the open door. There was no one in the hallway beyond, but to be sure, she tiptoed over to the door and pushed it almost closed.

Taking a deep breath, she glanced about the room, realizing it was much the same austere cabin as it had been in Captain Taft’s day. The only real decoration, left over from the original Spanish owner, was the intricately carved wainscoting which ran around the room. With her fingers trailing over the design, she counted off the flowers until she’d come to the eighth one from the stern window, then felt along the underside for the latch.

She’d done this countless times as a child, just for the fun of it, but this time her hand shook so that she missed the barely discernible latch. On her second attempt, her fingers found the indentation she sought, and she pressed it.

Before her eyes, the compartment sprung open. She stole another hasty glance back at the door, holding her breath as she listened for any sound of Colin’s return.