Seducing The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 1) (13 page)

If he fed those passions with the taste of Isobel, he might lose himself completely. He broke the kiss, but still held her close.

“There,” he said, brushing away a silken curl from her cheek. “That is the only answer I can give you.”

She studied him for a moment with eyes that seemed to see far too much for his liking.

“Your answer only raises more questions, Beckett,” she replied. “For both of us.”

Isobel’s words were the only truth they could share at the moment. If Beckett allowed her to know the depth of his desire for her, it would put him at a disadvantage. He could not give her that power over him. She already had too much for his liking. He could not let his passions run unchecked. For if he did, there might be no turning back.

* * *

An uneasy silence remained between Beckett and Isobel for the remainder of the voyage.

As husband and wife, they maintained a cordial atmosphere that Isobel considered might be quite common to any marriage. But beneath that calm veneer lurked the shadows of the past, like a great whale that swims below a ship—far too deep to be seen—yet still posing a dangerous threat.

Every night Isobel found herself hoping Beckett would reach out and pull her to him, kiss her passionately as he had on the deck, and touch her in ways she could only imagine.

But he didn’t.

To keep her mind off her husband during the day, Isobel observed ship-board life on deck, recording all she saw in her sketch-book.

She drew everyone, including Captain Mayfield and the large sailor with the black-and-white cat she’d seen curled on top of his shoulders. She’d had to make her observations from afar, as the mysterious cat always disappeared when she approached.

On a particularly breezy afternoon, while she was drawing a sailor who worked up in the rigging, the cat appeared beside her and sat still. It seemed to study what she was doing as it sat there, silent yet imposing.

Isobel reached out to stroke his soft, furry head in greeting. The cat’s green eyes narrowed to slits, and he purred in pleasure. Reluctantly taking her hand away, Isobel flipped to the next blank sheet of paper and began to render the feline’s image.

The cat was huge—not fat by any means, but with muscular shoulders and haunches. No doubt, he was well fed by keeping rats and mice out of the galley.

Isobel noticed that one of his black patches covered the side of his head and his left eye, looking remarkably like a pirate’s lopsided kerchief and eye patch.

Captain Mayfield came to stand in front of her, but at his approach, the cat rose, stretched, and walked away.

“I wasn’t finished,” Isobel called out, but the cat simply walked haughtily across the deck and disappeared from sight.

Mayfield chuckled, saying, “I suppose I didn’t mention that this ship has two captains, did I?”

Isobel shook her head. “Two captains? I’ve never heard of that. Who is the other?”

“You just met him.”

Isobel put her pencil down and asked, “What do you mean?”

“That cat is more than he seems,” Mayfield said, sitting down beside her. “His name is Captain Black. I first met him on one of my journeys in the Caribbean, which is swamped with pirates, as you well know.”

Isobel smiled at the gray-haired man beside her. He was going to tell her a sea-faring yarn, she supposed. He was just having fun with a land-lubber. She would play along with the old soul.

“We were off the coast of Jamaica,” he began, “carrying a heavy cargo of coffee beans, when we were attacked by a rather notorious pirate ship, the ‘Midnight Star.’ Its captain was named Worthington, a shrewd but fair man who was more famous for his cat companion. Legend has it that the beast was the ship’s previous master, a man named Black, who had been transformed into the guise of a cat during an obeah ceremony in Jamaica.”

“Obeah?” she asked. “What on earth is that?”

“The religion of the Haitians,” Captain Mayfield explained, “also known as voodoo. Their ceremonies are filled with chanting, wild dancing, and other practices that are too indelicate to mention in mixed company.”

Isobel was intrigued. “And they used it to put a spell on Captain Black? How?”

“Apparently this man Worthington had planned to mutiny against his captain and take over the ship himself,” Mayfield said. “While in Jamaica, he discovered the powers of obeah and arranged to do away with his rival.”

Silly or not, the tale was suitably unnerving. Isobel admired the old captain’s story-telling ability.

“Members of the pirate crew swear they saw their captain changed into a cat during one of those frightening ceremonies.”

“But how did Captain Black arrive on board your ship?” she asked.

“It was during the battle with the ‘Midnight Star,’ when the pirate ship caught fire,” Mayfield explained. “We searched for survivors after she sank, but found no one except for a mysterious cat who appeared on our ship, as if out of thin air. The crew was naturally suspicious, but unwilling to dispose of the creature in fear of bad luck. They believe he possesses mystical powers.”

The cat suddenly appeared again, as if he’d heard them talking. He leaped up onto the railing and landed solidly, turning to arrange himself into a comfortable position.

Captain Mayfield grinned and regarded the cat, who stared back at him with a penetrating gaze.

“Though we found no other survivors, there are rumors that Worthington is still alive, and even now searches the seas for his cat companion. As you can see, we gave Captain Black a position on our ship as chief mouse-catcher, one that he performs exceedingly well.”

Isobel regarded the man with a wary smile. He’d almost had her believing the incredible tale. “You wouldn’t be teasing me now, would you, Captain Mayfield?”

“That is Captain Black before you, Madam,” he insisted, “in flesh and blood! He tries to steer the ship, you know.”

Isobel laughed, and Captain Mayfield leaned toward her in a conspiratorial way.

“Sometimes, I let him,” he whispered, then returned to his post.

Isobel regarded the cat, still sitting on the narrow railing in front of her. “Are you really a pirate, then?” she said.

The cat returned her gaze, then gave a long “meow.”

“Perhaps you are,” Isobel mused. Then Captain Black leaped down to the deck and strolled away from her, doubtless to resume his mouse-catching duties below.

* * *

An eerie moan broke the dark silence of the cabin. Beckett jumped up and hit his head on the low ceiling above the bunk. He was momentarily stunned, but quickly recovered as another hair-raising wail cut through the darkness from beside him.

Isobel.

She thrashed about on the bed, her breathing shallow and strained. He reached out to shake her awake.

“Isobel, you’re dreaming,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He touched her face and felt her cheek, hot and damp with tears. Her whole body was covered in perspiration, soaking her linen nightdress.

She stiffened and awakened then. Beckett loosened his hold on her, suddenly aware of how naked she was beneath the damp night dress.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I think so,” Isobel whispered, her voice shaky.

“You were having a bad dream,” he explained. “Lay down and try to go back to sleep.”

“No—” She sprang up and clutched at his hand. “I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want to have that dream again.”

Beckett propped himself up on one elbow. “Come, now. Lay down and go to sleep. There’s no one to trouble you here.”

Isobel exhaled slowly, and lay back down on the bed. She turned onto her side and her rose-water scent reached out to him, teasing his senses.

Beckett watched the moonlight spill through the window and play on Isobel’s hair, like silvery fingers dancing across a river of gold. He reached out to stroke it. The texture of the silken strands running through his fingers sent a jolt of heat through him.

He continued to stroke her hair, not for his pleasure, but for hers. It seemed to relax her, and soon he heard her breathing regain a steady rhythm.

As he lay there beside her, he was glad Isobel was able to go back to sleep.

Damn, but he desired her.

Beckett doubted he’d be able to resist her next time. But he couldn’t let his guard down—there was far too much at stake. He’d promised to protect her, and he would do exactly that.

He could not let himself become distracted by Isobel’s charms.

Her very life depended on it.

* * *

Isobel opened her eyes slowly, peering at the dim morning light through squinting eyes. She had done it. She had fallen asleep and not dreamt the awful nightmare again. As she became more fully awake, she remembered what had made such tranquil sleep possible.

Beckett’s arm lay curled about her waist, a bit of her nightdress bunched loosely in his fist. A thrill zoomed though her veins at the sweet heaviness of her husband’s embrace. How wonderful it would be to wake like this every morning.

Her breathing quickened as the arm about her waist tightened and drew her closer.

Beckett’s deep, steady breathing told her that he was still asleep. Her back pressed against the hard wall of his chest as he held her firmly against him.

Then Isobel felt something else—something hard—pressing gently against her buttocks. It couldn’t be his knee.

Good Lord, it was his—

She knew she should try to get up, but it clearly seemed impossible without waking him. And surely this situation would embarrass him as much as her. No, she would have to endure this wicked intimacy until she could unlock his arm from her waist and move safely away.

Gingerly, Isobel closed her hand around Beckett’s wrist and tried to lift his arm. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought. Although he was asleep, Beckett’s muscles were anything but relaxed.

Isobel closed her eyes in shock as his hard manhood pressed against her bottom. She clamped her lips together to keep from making a sound as he ground himself quite brazenly against her.

The most exquisite sensations swept through her body. Her breasts throbbed with heat, aching to be touched. Desire teased between her legs, unnerving her with its intensity.

Oh, this was dreadful.

Wasn’t it?

But if it was so dreadful, why did it feel so wickedly good?

Her body was weak with desire. A dangerous heat burned in her veins, making her almost light-headed. She had never wanted something as much as she did right now… Beckett’s touch, his mouth, his hands. His body loving hers, making her his true wife.

Would he wake and make love to her?

She wanted him to.

Oh, how she wanted him to.

Every inch of her body begged for his touch. Beckett stirred a physical response in her she hadn’t known possible.

Abruptly, Beckett released his hold on her waist and turned over, his breathing rhythmic and even.

Isobel lay in stunned silence, feeling an embarrassing sense of disappointment.

He was still asleep, thank the Lord.

She pulled back the covers and tiptoed across the room to the screen in the corner. Isobel pulled off her night dress, wet a cloth, and rubbed it over her hot skin, trying desperately to slow her racing pulse.

Isobel donned her underclothes and stockings, followed by a somber fawn-brown day dress. She hoped it would set the mood for the rest of the day. She picked up her paper and leads, but paused a moment before leaving.

Beckett was still asleep. She watched him in the pale morning light.

An uneasiness crept into Isobel’s heart, like a soft-footed cat bent on mischief. She had been fooling herself to think she could make this marriage purely one of convenience. Their arrangement was doomed to be a dismal failure. Like it or not, Beckett stirred passionate feelings in her. And like unruly children, each day she found them harder to control.

Chapter 13

Isobel watched as a dark shape grew along the horizon. She had dreamed with such longing of land beneath her feet again.

As they neared the island, she was entranced by the clear, turquoise waters. The sun shone high in the sky, and made the water sparkle as though covered in twinkling jewels.

The heat grew a little more intense as the ship neared the island. The wind had been constant out on the open water, and the temperature on deck had been warm but bearable. Now, she felt the sun beating down on her and she shaded herself with a parasol.

Isobel looked over the side of the boat into the depths of the blue-green ocean, and was startled as she saw a large, dark shape swimming through the water far below.

“Captain Mayfield, what is that down there?” Isobel asked, with some fear.

The captain looked over, but the shadow was no longer in sight.

“Most likely a dolphin,” he replied. “Though to an untrained eye, a shark can easily appear to be a dolphin.”

Isobel nodded, remembering the stories he’d told her during their voyage about life in the tropics. Aside from the assortment of poisonous plants and insects, and the wild animals, there was also the native religion of obeah to send shivers down her spine.