Ryan's Bride (18 page)

Giving the mare another pat, Angele made her way back upstairs.

After the men left the dining room for their brandy and cigars, the women usually lingered over dessert and coffee or tea. Tucking her hair back up as best she could, and pausing to wash her hands, Angele was relieved to find them still there.

As she crossed to Annette, their stares told her she hadn’t succeeded in making herself completely presentable.

“Angele, my dear,” Annette murmured. “I thought you had gone to bed.”

“I’m feeling much better, and I thought if you’d loan me a needle and thread, I’d practice some stitching tonight.”

“A good idea. I have both, I’m sure. A lady must always be prepared, you know.” She opened her purse, fished about, and brought out a needle wrapped in a piece of cloth. “And here’s some thread, too.” Her gaze dropped to Angele’s torn hem. “I suppose you’re going to practice on yourself?”

The other women exchanged amused glances.

“Yes, yes, I am. Thank you.” Angele all but snatched the items from her hand. “I’ll see you all in the morning. Good night.” She flashed a smile and forced herself to walk away slowly.

The boy had vinegar waiting. “What do you want it for?”

“I’ll show you in a minute.” She told him how to hold the lantern again, then sat down next to the mare, who watched with trusting eyes.

Angele rubbed her leg. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could be my horse when we get to BelleRose? I think we’d get along well, you and me. Now be very still, and I’ll try not to hurt you and get this over with as quickly as I can.”

After a few tense moments, she announced in triumph, “I’ve got it. Now, hand me the vinegar so I can pour it into the wound to draw out the poison left by the bee. Then I’ll wrap a clean rag around it to keep it moist. In a day or two, she should be as good as new.”

The boy watched with interest, but when Angele asked for the rag, he said he didn’t have one. “Just the shirt I’m wearing, and since it’s the only one I’ve got, you’ll forgive me for not giving it to you.”

She knew there was only one thing to do and reached to tear off a strip of silk from her hem. It was no trouble. It was practically in tatters, anyway, and, no doubt, Annette and the ladies had noticed and that’s what they thought was so funny. She wondered if her face was smudged. She hadn’t thought to look in a mirror.

“There,” she said finally. “All done. See?” She patted the mare. “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Then she turned on the boy and warned, “Don’t say anything about this, understand? No one is to know.”

He looked at her as though he thought she was out of her mind. “And what do I tell the
monsieur
when he comes down here tomorrow and wants to know who wrapped a piece of silk around his horse’s leg?”

“You will find something else by morning and change it. Soak it again in vinegar, if he asked who did it, fib and say a passenger from steerage wandered through who knew something about horses, saw her, and wanted to help. You are not, under any circumstances, to say it was a woman, understand?”

“You don’t have to worry,” he assured her. “I’m only too happy to pretend you were never here.”

Back in the cabin, Angele leaned against the dosed door and only then breathed a sigh of relief. No one had seen her coming upstairs. No one but the boy would ever know she’d taken care of the horse, and he wouldn’t tell. Her secret was safe.

She took off her dress and held it out to see how much damage was done—and groaned. There were dark smudges, and the hem was ragged and raw. She would never be able to mend it or clean it. There were even bloodstains she’d not noticed before. It was ruined.

There was only one thing to do—ball it up and throw it out the porthole. If Ryan were to see it, she’d be hard-pressed to come up with a plausible explanation.

In her hurry to get rid of the gown, she didn’t bother putting on her nightdress.

Naked, she stood on tiptoe and tried to reach the porthole but couldn’t quite do so. Dragging the chair over, she climbed up, and, after much struggling, succeeded in opening the round window and pushed it open.

She tried to shove the gown through, and her heart tripped when part of it caught on something. She couldn’t just let it hang there for someone to see when they got to Cherbourg. It would be traced to her cabin—and her.

The porthole was not very wide but big enough that she could poke her head through, along with one arm. Gripping the bottom of it, she hoisted herself up and leaned out as far as possible.

The gown was caught on a splinter. She stretched farther. Then, just as she had it and gave a yank to send it floating away into the night, she heard a loud noise as the chair tipped over and hit the floor with a bang.

She grimaced to think how she was going to have to drop to the floor, and hoped she wouldn’t sprain her ankle—or worse.

Taking a deep breath, she braced herself and prepared to push backward.

Suddenly firm hands clamped her buttocks at the same instant she heard Ryan’s angry voice.

“Angele, would you mind telling me just what the hell you’re doing hanging out the porthole naked?”

Chapter Twelve

“Now, will you please explain yourself?”

Ryan had pulled Angele down from the porthole and set her on her feet.

She groped for a believable answer. “I…I needed fresh air.”

“Then why didn’t you put your clothes on and go outside?” He couldn’t hold back a grin. “Even though I must say your hanging there naked was quite a sight.”

Naked.

Angele stared down at herself in horror. Then, peering up at him through lowered lashes, she saw the look in his eyes and knew she had broken one of Miss Appleton’s most important rules.

She yanked the sheet from the bed.

Ryan snatched it from her and playfully said, “I’ve never seen you naked.”

And you aren’t likely to again
, Angele thought as she tried to cover herself with her arms.

He pulled them away. “Don’t. You’re beautiful. Why don’t you want me to see you? It’d suit me if you walked around naked in here all the time.”

“That…that would be rather cold, don’t you think?”

She made to step backward, but he put his hands on her waist and pulled her to him. “Why are you scared of me, Angele? Haven’t you realized by now I’m not going to hurt you?”

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he tilted her head back, then lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her long and hard.

Angele didn’t respond. She was perfectly still, her neck stiff, spine rigid.

He used the technique Jessamine Darcy had taught him and sensuously made love to her mouth. Slowly he dipped his tongue in, then withdrew it. He repeated it, again and again, teasing, tantalizing, all the while running his hands up and down her bare arms as he continued to hold her.

She raised her hands and made tiny fists and shook them as he continued his honeyed assault, but still she didn’t react.

He could feel her heat against him.

He moved to cup her head in his hands and tilted her farther back, sliding his lips from hers to nuzzle her throat then trailed to her ear.

“No, please, don’t…” she whimpered as his tongue began to circle inside her ear. “I…I don’t want you to do this…”

“Yes, you do. You like it. Say it, Angele—say you want more…”

She tried to shake her head but his long fingers held her in a viselike grip.

He returned to her mouth and kissed her again and felt his own lust rising, deepening to a churning urgency. His moan of desire came from deep in his throat. He wanted her, but this was one time he would make her want him so desperately she would toss aside her fear and inhibitions.

He dropped a hand to her bottom and pulled her against him so that his erection burrowed into her cleft. Gently, he pushed to and fro, rubbing her pearly nub, and she whimpered but still remained rigid.

His other hand went to her full, firm breast. Flicking his thumb over her nipple, he was pleased to find it already hard. He knew then despite how she was fighting against it, she was aroused. He dipped his head and flicked his tongue across it, then, lips fastened to her breast, grasped her waist to lift her and lower her to the bed.

He was still suckling at her breast as he laid her down.

And she was still not moving.

He raised his head to see that her eyes were tightly closed, her fists still clenched. “Tell me you want me, Angele.”

“I…I don’t,” she lied.

“I’ll make you,” he growled, although he wasn’t angry. Actually, though his loins threatened to burst with need, he was enjoying the torment.

He spread her legs and began to massage between them. She bit down on her lip and arched her back. He plunged his finger inside and worked it around, and, uncontrollably, her hips began to undulate.

“Say it,” he commanded.

“Say it,” he repeated, louder, almost harshly.

“Never…”

He parted her, trailing a fingertip up and down to torture, tease, then lowered his face.

She tried to rise from the bed, her fingers diving into his hair to grasp and try to pull him from her. “No, please…”

“
Yes
, please,” he murmured, his breath hot against the heart of her. “Yes, I
do
please…”

He began to circle her hot little bud with his tongue, then nibbled between his teeth, ever so gently, licking back and forth. Then he plunged deep inside, grasping her hips and holding her firm. In and out, around and around, and he felt her shuddering, knew her climax was near.

Abruptly, he withdrew.

Her lashes flickered, and then she was looking at him with glazed eyes of wonder. Her hips continued to move, ever so slightly, and he slipped his finger inside her again to feel the gentle squeezing in signal that she was about to explode.

“Tell me you want me, Angele.”

“I…” She could not say it.

“Beg me, damn it, or I’ll leave you this way, so help me.”

He mounted her, spreading her legs wider and probed against her so she could feel his hardness, feel him pulsating against her, ready to enter.

Her whispered plea was barely audible, but it was enough.

“Please…take me…please…”

And he did so, driving inside her. Deep. Hard. She wrapped her legs around him and dug her heels into his buttocks to spin him onward.

She pushed against him, lifting from the bed, wanting all he had to give.

He felt her shudders become tremors.

Her nails dug into his back, but it was a delicious pain, and he welcomed it.

She gasped and moaned and cried out, and he felt her explode into a million pieces around him as he drove himself home, deep…deep…deeper.

They lay very still, and their flesh was wet and slick. He knew he was too heavy on her and, after kissing her one more time, raised himself and moved away.

“Why did you do that?” she asked in a thin voice that rang with humiliation.

“I meant for you to enjoy it, too, and the only way was to make you admit to yourself that you did.”

“It…it wasn’t necessary.”

“I think it was.”

She was silent for a moment, and he could feel her eyes on him as he put his clothes back on. Then she said, “It isn’t necessary, you know.”

He quirked a brow at her as he fastened his trousers. “What are you talking about?”

“To…to make a baby, you don’t have to make me want you.”

He burst into laughter, but seeing the hurt look on her face was instantly sorry he had. He quickly sat down on the bed beside her and tried to take her in his arms, but she shrank away from him. She had the sheet wrapped tightly around her again, but he wasn’t about to take it. “I’m sorry, Angele, but I don’t think you understand.”

She shook her head that she didn’t.

“We don’t do this just to make a baby.” He was trying to keep from laughing again. She was so incredibly naive that he knew losing her virginity couldn’t have been by anything other than force, and he’d like to strangle the bastard responsible. “We do it,” he went on to explain, “because we enjoy it. Not just me, but you, as well. I want you to. And I’ll teach you. Now, I know it’s new to you, and you’re shy about it, but you’re my wife and you’ll learn.”

She seemed to relax a little, and he decided to give her time to think about it. He patted her cheek. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back in a little while. I only came to check on you because Annette Marceau told her husband about your coming back to the dining room to get a needle and thread. She said she thought you wanted it to sew up your gown, because it looked as though you had ripped it. When he told me, I wanted to find out how you did it. I was afraid you might have fallen somehow and hurt yourself.” He glanced about the cabin. “Where is the dress, anyway?”

“Uh, it’s nothing. I’ve already mended it and put it away.”

“Good. Then maybe you’ll catch on quickly when you start your sewing lessons tomorrow. Now go to sleep. I’ll try not to wake you when I come back. We’re about to dock in Cherbourg, and Corbett and I are going to stroll around a bit.”