Pleasures of a Tempted Lady (3 page)

And then it struck her as she squinted harder and the blobs of color turned into the unfamiliar shapes of a cabin she didn’t know: She wasn’t on the
Defiant
. He hadn’t found her.

Someone else had.

She didn’t know whether to cry from relief or fear. Yet, whoever it was, surely it couldn’t be as bad as Caversham finding them.

Jake’s dark brown hair blocked her view of the room, and she struggled against the pain to raise her head. Jake grumbled softly and snuggled harder against her. She tightened her arm around him. Above all, she thanked God they were still together. She didn’t know what had happened, but there were all sorts of scenarios in which she might have lost Jake. He was the most important thing. As long as he was with her, she could protect him.

She blinked hard. That seemed to clear her vision a bit, and she blinked again. She could see buff trousers tucked into shiny black Wellingtons, and a sea-blue waistcoat with a line of gold buttons—far finer than anything Caversham’s men wore, although Caversham himself was quite the fop. This man, though—he filled out his clothing in a way Caversham never could. Powerful thigh muscles pressed against the wool of the trousers. The waistcoat cinched a narrow waist that widened to strong, broad shoulders. He seemed endlessly tall.

Finally, she was looking up into the man’s face. The face was familiar, like his voice, but who was he? She frowned. Something about him…

He stared down at her; his lips parted as if he was about to speak but lost the words before he was able to push them free.

He blinked, and her gaze riveted to his eyes—dark as chocolate swirled with bits of amber. Beautiful eyes. Eyes that hadn’t changed.

She must be dreaming. Having visions. The days in the
Defiant
’s jolly boat and the storm had muddled her mind. She was probably, at this very moment, lying on one of the jolly boat’s benches as they drifted toward Ireland.

“Meg,” the man whispered.

And his name—and all the memories associated with it—flooded through her in a powerful rush.

Commander William Langley.

She wrapped both her arms around Jake and gathered him close. The boy was her only link to reality. If she lost him, she’d have nothing. He shifted, and she glanced down to see that he was awake and gazing at her.

She looked back up at the man—no,
Commander Langley
. He was still standing there, pale and motionless, his dark eyes swirling with emotions she couldn’t begin to name.

How should she address him? When she’d last seen him, she’d called him Will. But that was years ago. Surely it wouldn’t be appropriate after so long. She swallowed hard against the lump that had formed in her throat.

“Commander Langley?” Her voice emerged low and cracking.

He released a hissing breath, and his hand covered hers over Jake’s back, heavy and warm. “Yes. It’s me. William Langley.”

“How…?” She choked on the word.

He hesitated, then gave her a tight smile. “We found you. Floating in a jolly boat with a broken mast. You’ve been unconscious since we brought you aboard.”

“Jake?” She looked down at the boy again. “Are you all right, darling?”

“Mmm hmm,” he said with a sober nod.

She struggled to raise herself into a sitting position, but the world swirled around her, her vision blurred, and she groped to hold on to the bed sheet.

Instantly, firm arms came around her shoulders, holding her steady. “There now. Lie down. I… we found a lump on your head—looks like you were hit quite hard by the mast when it fell.”

“I think I… I’m going to…” Her body pitched forward. It was too much. Unthinkable that after so long she should be on a ship with—of all the people in the world—William Langley.

Unthinkable that she was about to vomit all over his fine silk bedspread.

“I’m sorry,” she groaned, willing it not to happen. But it was. As if he knew he might be the target of the imminent disaster, Jake scrambled away from her.

“Hold on,” Commander Langley murmured.

She closed her eyes tight and focused on the rapid thump of his boots over the wooden floorboards.

Within a few seconds, his hand was on her shoulder again. “Here. Lean forward. I’ve got you.”

Opening her eyes, she saw the silver gleam of the tin bucket he’d placed in her lap. She leaned forward and released the sparse contents of her stomach as William Langley held the hair back from her face.

For years she’d fantasized about seeing this man again. Never once had the reunion of her dreams included bile, an overwhelming headache, and dizziness so pervasive she couldn’t think straight.

When she’d finished, she leaned over the bucket panting, tears seeping from her closed eyes. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “So very sorry.”

His fingers tightened on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

He took the bucket away, and when he returned, he drew a handkerchief across her lips and then pressed a glass into her hands. She opened her eyes and stared into the pink liquid, then up at him, her brows drawn in question.

“Watered-down wine,” he explained.

She took a cautious sip. The wine flavored the water but wasn’t overwhelming, and the concoction flowed smoothly down, ridding her mouth of the awful taste.

She offered a game smile to Jake, who had scuttled to the foot of the bed and was still gazing at her, terrified. She reached her hand out to him. “There’s no need to be afraid, darling. We’re safe now.”

She glanced at William Langley and sent up a silent prayer that she was telling the truth. Eight years was a long time, but she had no doubt that the Will she’d known would have tried to protect her from a man like Jacob Caversham. She could only hope that time hadn’t altered his character too much.

When Jake took her hand, she murmured, “I’d like to introduce you to this gentleman. His name is Commander Langley, and he’s an old friend”—
an old lover—“
of mine. Commander Langley, this is Jake, my…” Her voice trailed off.

Once they’d escaped from the
Defiant
and were safely in Ireland, Meg had planned to pass Jake off as her son. William Langley was the first soul she’d seen since they’d slipped away several nights ago.

For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she was Jake’s mother. She closed her eyes in a long blink,
and when she opened them, she was thankful that the commander had chosen to ignore her unfinished sentence. Gravely, he held out his hand to Jake.

“Pleasure to meet you, lad.”

“Hold out your hand,” Meg murmured. “Like I taught you. Remember?”

Tentatively, Jake reached out. Commander Langley took the little hand into his grip and shook it firmly. “Good. Now that we’re friends, I trust you won’t try to leap overboard again?”

“Oh.” Meg gathered the boy against her chest. Jake didn’t speak much, he was easily frightened, and no one would dream of thinking him a “typical” boy. But Meg was convinced that while he would always be rather unusual, with proper love and care he might grow into a well-adjusted and capable man. It was what she wanted so badly to give him in Ireland. She looked up at Commander Langley. “I’m sorry. He’s very easily frightened and was probably terrified when you brought us aboard.”

He gave Jake an easy smile. “It’s all right,” he said to Jake. “Of course you were frightened, surrounded by unknown men and with your mama unconscious.”

He’d placed a soft emphasis on the word “mama.” She knew it was a question, and he paused, awaiting a confirmation or correction. She offered neither, instead looking down to hide the heat flaring in her cheeks.

Meg knew he would assume it was true now. It was as it should be. Just as she’d intended. Though she’d never intended to encounter this particular man when she’d been planning her escape from Caversham. She had been prepared to face the condemnation of society—society meant little to her now after all she’d been through. But to
face the condemnation of William Langley… the thought of it made her stomach clench into a tight iron ball in her abdomen.

Looking down at Jake, she forced herself to speak. “You needn’t be frightened anymore. I’m certain Commander Langley will help us.”

When she glanced up at him, unable to hide the pleading in her expression, he gave a polite incline of his head, his expression completely unreadable. “I’ll assist you in whatever way I can, of course. Shall I return you to your husband? Where—?”

“I am not married,” Meg said quickly.

He raised a single eyebrow. “I see.”

She’d intended to inform the world that Jake’s father was dead, but once again the words snagged on the back of her throat, simply unwilling to emerge. She had learned to lie in the past years, and lie well, but lie to this man about such a thing…

She couldn’t have conceived of lying to him about anything when they’d been lovers so long ago. More than anyone else, even her twin sister, Will had known the real Meg. To lie to him now seemed a betrayal of that.

But she knew she must. She’d already lied to him by omission, anyhow.

She took a deep breath and forced her lips to curl into a semblance of a smile. “It’s just Jake and me now,” she said softly.

“Ah. His father is gone, then?”

At the mention of his father, Jake had made a small whimper and clung tighter to her. She knew it was from fear of Caversham, but Commander Langley interpreted it as a confirmation.

“I’m very sorry,” he said in a low voice. He patted Jake’s back, attempting to comfort the boy. “Sorry, lad.”

Not quite meeting his eyes, she gave a jerk of a nod. “We must get to Cork. My father’s family lives near there, and they will take us in.”

Will frowned at her. “What of the rest of your family? Your mother and your sisters?”

Her sisters. She’d dreamed about reuniting with her sisters—especially Serena—almost as often as she’d dreamed about seeing Will again. But if she went to her mother or her sisters, Caversham would surely find her, and they’d all be in grave danger. It was one fact she’d long ago come to terms with—to ensure their safety, she could never see them again.

Going to Cork to be with her father’s relatives was different. Caversham knew nothing of that obscure branch of her family.

Blinking hard, she looked at the far wall, at the brass oil lamp bolted to the wall. It wasn’t lit right now—sunlight aplenty streamed in through the row of windows along the back wall of the cabin. The room as a whole was downright luxurious, as ship cabins went. She realized with a jolt that she must be in the captain’s quarters.

“Perhaps… perhaps I should speak to your captain.”

For a second, he looked perplexed, as if her question had jolted him from his train of thought. Then a slow smile curved his lips. “I am the captain of the
Freedom
. I haven’t been a commander for five years now. I own this ship, and I designed her as well.”

For a long moment, they simply gazed at each other. Satisfaction welled sweetly within her. When she’d known him long ago, his dream had been to someday
captain his own ship. It seemed he’d made that dream come true. She’d never doubted he would.

“I am happy for you,” she said quietly, meaning it.

“Thank you.” His gaze lingered on her face and then swept lower. Feeling suddenly shy, she resisted the urge to cover the front of her bodice with the blanket.

He frowned a little. “This is… difficult, I’m afraid. I’ve no lady on board to assist you with your needs.”

She shook her head. “I’ve no need of help, but thank you for the thought.”

“We haven’t any clothes, nor have we the convenience of a bath for you. I’m very sorry.”

“That’s quite all right.” Once Caversham had had a bath for her, Sarah, and Jake, but he’d had it thrown overboard before Sarah died. The bathtub had been one of the many things he’d blamed for causing Sarah’s fever. Meg hadn’t had a bath in months, but she’d become adept at bathing herself with a cloth and basin.

“All I can offer you is fresh, warm water.”

“We’d appreciate that.” Her body was covered in salt and grime, and so was Jake’s. Squeezing a wet cloth over her face might help clear her muddled brain.

“I might be able to find some clothes for the boy.” He tapped his fingers on his chin. “Guernsey, one of my sailors, is a dwarf and about the same height but a mite wide, I daresay. We’ll have to cinch his belt.”

She glanced down at Jake. His cherubic face was streaked with dirt, and his shirt was so soiled it was impossible to tell that it had once been white. She gave him a mock-stern look. “You were sleeping in the bilge again, weren’t you?”

He nodded, and Meg sighed. Jake had been fearful of sailing in the small jolly boat, and whenever a bit of a
wave splashed over the bulwark, he had squeaked in terror and dived into the bilge. The child was born at sea and had spent most of his life there, but despite the fact that his knot-tying abilities were as good as some sailors’ four times his age, she had never known a soul less suited to be a sailor.

“I’m sorry I haven’t any clothes for you, though.” Captain Langley—no, he was and always would be
Will
to her—gave her a rueful smile. “In fact, I believe you’re the first lady to ever step foot on the
Freedom
.”

“The
Freedom
,” she repeated, liking the sound of the ship’s name on her tongue. “I’m honored to be the first woman aboard. But about the clothes, I’ll manage.” She thrust aside the counterpane that still covered her lap, swung her legs off the side of the bed, and when the dizziness faded and she was certain of her balance, she took stock of her dress. It was truly a disaster—her skirts were torn and streaked with dirt and grease, and the lacy overdress covering her bodice was in shreds. It was a near-hopeless cause, really.

By the look on his face, Will had come to the same conclusion. His brow furrowed. Then he met her eyes and said, very softly, “I don’t want any man to see you like this.”

She was too stunned by the words to point out the fact that it was likely that most of his crew had seen her in even worse condition when they’d brought her aboard.