The Handmaiden's Necklace (14 page)

The steward walked up just then with cups of hot chocolate and a plate of biscuits, which he set down on the small round table in front of them. Caro used the time to compose herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I want to believe in him the way I did before. But if he duped me and in my ignorance I took advantage of your generous nature, I will never forgive myself.”

Dani squeezed Caro’s hand. “Whatever happens, it is not your fault. I wanted to help. I believed in his innocence, just as you did. I still do.”

Caro took a shaky breath. “He was so very grateful for your help. He said that he would be forever in your debt, that his life was yours to command.”

“I know, dearest. And we must continue to believe in him and keep him in our prayers.”

Caro just nodded.

“Now, let us enjoy our chocolate in peace and no longer dwell on thoughts of men.”

Caro smiled and so did Dani, but Danielle’s smile slipped away as she thought of Rafael and the days ahead and spending each night in his very disturbing company.

The morning passed and then another. Two weeks turned into three, pushed toward four. As the days slipped away, Rafe demanded more and more of her. More kissing, more touching, more intimate contact, and her traitorous body responded.

At night she dreamed of him caressing her breasts, pressing his mouth there, touching her thighs, her belly, dreamed of him soothing the ache he stirred in the place between her legs. She was sleeping even more poorly, tossing and turning, her body on fire with a need she didn’t understand.

It was Wednesday, she thought, but she had begun to lose track of time. As the day passed into evening, she grew restless and edgy. At supper, she snapped at Caro for some imagined transgression and spoke abruptly to Aunt Flora.

Professing a headache she didn’t really have, she declined Rafe’s invitation for their usual walk on deck, desperate to be away from him, at least for a while.

“I think I’ll go down early,” she told him as they rose from the supper table. “Perhaps you could interest Mr. Baker or Mr. Longbow in a game of cards.”

Rafe’s blue gaze moved over her and she wondered if he could see through her flimsy excuse to escape him.

The edge of his mouth barely curved. “I think I’ll join
you. Perhaps I can find a way to ease your…headache…once we reach the cabin.”

At the husky note in his voice, her whole body tightened. Something hot unfurled in the pit of her stomach and moved out through her limbs. Too tired to argue, she resigned herself to whatever he intended and let him lead her out of the dining room.

She said nothing as they walked along the passage, nothing as he opened the door then waited for her to precede him into the cabin. He followed her into the room and closed the door, and she saw that his eyes had turned a smoky shade of blue.

“I’ll help you unfasten your gown,” he said.

Though she had grown used to accepting his aid and was no longer intimidated by his presence in the cabin, there was something in his look tonight, something hot and seductive that warned her to beware.

Instead, her traitorous body responded to that fierce male glance, her nipples tightening, her stomach constricting, and her fatigue began to slip away. Wordlessly, she moved to the dressing table to pull the pins from her hair, then rose to remove her shoes and stockings, and Rafe unbuttoned her gown. She drew her chemise off over her head, momentarily leaving her naked, though she carefully kept her back to him. But when she reached for her night rail, he plucked it out of her hand.

“Not tonight.”

She glanced at him over her shoulder, read his desire in the hard lines of his face, and a look of determination.

She started shaking. “You said you would give me time.”

“And so I have.”

“You gave me your word, Rafael.”

He tossed the night rail over the back of the chair. “I haven’t come close to breaking my vow, nor will I tonight.”

Dani steeled herself. A husband made demands and a wife was supposed to fulfill them. But in the weeks since she had boarded the ship, she had learned that a woman held certain powers of her own.

Naked, she turned to face him, exposing herself fully to his view. Nearly as surprised as she, he clenched his jaw and his eyes seemed to burn.

“You’ve been playing a game with me, have you not?” she asked. “I am beginning to understand that a woman can play the game, as well.”

His gaze ran over her and beneath his scorching regard, her nipples tightened even more, began to ache almost painfully, and suddenly she wanted him to touch her more than anything on earth.

“Do I please you?” she taunted, turning so that he might better view her naked figure, amazingly unashamed, her tone carrying a bravado that she was astonished to feel.

“You please me greatly, Danielle.” The low rumble of his voice rolled through her and, trancelike, she moved closer, stopping just in front of him.

Rafe held nothing back, letting her know by his lengthy perusal how much he wanted her, how pleased he was with what she had revealed.

“Come here…”

She forced her legs to move. She didn’t know where the game would lead, but she was determined to have a say in the rules. Rafe drew her into his arms and began to kiss her, gently at first, and she could feel the tension in his body, the
control he exerted. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping in, and a wild yearning rose inside her. Suddenly she was kissing him back, kissing him with abandon, driving her tongue into his mouth as she slid his coat off his shoulders and shoved it onto the floor, beginning to work the buttons on his waistcoat.

Rafe made a low, growling sound in his throat, kicked off his shoes and began to tug at his stock. He helped her pull off his shirt, leaving him bare chested, then lifted her up and carried her over to the bed.

“Release me from my vow,” he urged, but she only shook her head.

Rafe didn’t hesitate, just started kissing her again, raining kisses along her throat and shoulders, taking her breasts into his mouth and biting the ends. A swift shot of pleasure-pain tore through her and she cried out his name.

“Release me from my vow,” he softly demanded, but again she refused. She needed these weeks, needed to protect herself for as long as she possibly could.

Her eyes met his, filled with all of her fears, all of her longing. All of her doubts and uncertainties were there in her gaze, revealed to him in that moment, beseeching him to understand.

“You want me,” he said gruffly. “At least admit that much.”

She swallowed, gave him the truth. “I want you….”

The words seemed to enflame him. She thought that surely he would take her, force her if he had to, but instead, he started kissing her again, ravaging her mouth, laving her naked breasts, caressing them, biting the ends, suckling until she was shaking all over.

An ache welled inside her and a burning need so strong
she thought she would go insane. She shifted on the bed, barely conscious of the hand that moved down her body, unaware until his fingers slid between her legs.

With a will of its own, her body arched upward, pressing against his palm, desperately searching for something.

“Please…” she whispered. “Help me, Rafael….”

He made a guttural sound in his throat and his fingers parted her burning flesh, slid inside her, stroked her gently, then with growing determination. A wave of pleasure hit her, incredible white-hot need. Every touch, every caress sent her higher, closer to a horizon just out of reach.

Need clashed with fear. “Rafael…?”

“Let me give this to you, Dani.” His skillful hands moved over her, inside her. “Let me do this for you.”

Her insides wound tighter, tighter, then seemed to snap. Something deep and erotic blossomed inside her, something that seemed to have no end. Dani cried out his name as wild spasms of pleasure shook her, great tremors, one after another. Sweet darkness engulfed her, and for seconds that seemed like hours, she basked in the joy pouring through her.

Time slipped past and she began to spiral down, the pleasure slowly fading. When she opened her eyes, she saw Rafe sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, his hand holding hers, his eyes on her face, such a deep, dark blue they looked almost black.

Dani blinked up at him. “What…what did you do?”

The edge of his mouth lifted faintly. “I gave you pleasure. It’s my right as your husband.”

“Was that…making love?”

He shook his head, dislodging a short dark curl of hair
that fell across his forehead. “It was only a small measure of what you will feel when we make love.”

A small measure?
Limp and sated, her mind still fuzzy, she tried to imagine how there could possibly be more. It seemed unimaginable. Gazing up at him, for the first time, she noticed the tightness along his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders, the expression on his face that bordered on pain.

A glance at the thick ridge in his breeches confirmed that Rafe was still fully aroused.

“I don’t understand.”

He reached over and touched her cheek. “Tonight was for you, love. There’ll be other nights, a lifetime of pleasure for both of us.”

Dani didn’t say more. She was relaxed and sleepy as she hadn’t been in days, every muscle limp and completely sated. Yet they had not made love and it was obvious Rafael wasn’t feeling nearly as replete as she.

It occurred to her that he had kept his word, at what seemed considerable cost to himself. Dani clung to the thought as she drifted off to sleep.

T
he London day was chill, a brisk wind sweeping in off the Thames. As the carriage pulled up in front of Whitehall Palace, Ethan Sharpe opened the door and climbed down to the paving stones, on his way to a meeting with Colonel Howard Pendleton of the British War Office.

He started walking and saw Max Bradley step out of the shadows of the big gray stone building and begin moving toward him.

“Good to see you, Ethan.” Max was tall and gaunt and several years older, a friend Ethan trusted as much as any man on earth.

“You, as well, Max.” Their relationship had long ago progressed beyond formal address. When a man saved your life, it created a bond that erased social boundaries.

“Pendleton’s note was fairly vague,” Ethan said, “just that you had returned to England. Apparently he wants my opinion on something that has to do with information you brought back with you.”

They stepped inside the building out of the wind. “You
were one of the country’s most successful privateers,” Max said. “Your opinion could be of great value to the colonel.”

Ethan just nodded. “Any news of Rafe?”

Max’s mouth faintly curved. “Last I heard of him he was about to get married. If he did, he likely won’t be far behind me.”

“So he found her.”

“Aye, that he did.”

“Apparently he didn’t think Clemens was the right man for her.”

“I gather he was extremely unimpressed.”

Ethan wondered what sort of man would impress Rafe enough to get him to stand by and permit the fellow to marry a woman who should have been his. He wasn’t surprised Rafe hadn’t let that happen. Ethan smiled as they continued down the hall, their boots ringing on the marble floors.

“I have a hunch Rafe meant to marry her the day he left London—though I don’t think he knew it at the time.” Ethan knocked, then pushed through the door leading into the colonel’s office.

Max followed him into the sparsely furnished room that held only the colonel’s scarred wooden desk, the two chairs in front of it, a bookcase and two tables covered with maps and charts.

Pendleton came to his feet as Ethan walked in. “Thank you for coming, my lord.”

“What can I do for you, Hal?” Pendleton was another man Ethan considered a very good friend, another man who had helped save his life.

The colonel smiled. He was silver-haired, very dignified,
one of the most honest, most hardworking men in the service. “I think it would be best if Max explained what he has discovered. Then perhaps you can give me your thoughts as to where we should go from here.”

For the next few minutes, Bradley explained about the Baltimore Clipper schooners the Americans were building, about the Dutchman, Bartel Schrader, and the deal the man appeared to be brokering with Napoléon and the French.

“These ships are unlike any I’ve ever seen,” Max said. “Light, fast and extremely maneuverable. Fully armed, they could be devastating to the British fleet.”

Sitting in front of the colonel’s desk, Ethan stretched one long leg out in front of him. An old war injury had left him with a slight limp and occasionally it throbbed if he sat in one position too long.

“If I’m reading you correctly,” Ethan said, “you’re thinking the government should preempt the sale and make an offer of its own so the French can’t get their hands on them.”

Max nodded. “That’s right. Sheffield sent a letter, which I carried back with me. The colonel has already seen it. In the duke’s opinion, as well as mine, the threat these ships pose could be very grave, indeed.”

The colonel placed a rolled-up sheet of paper on the top of his worn wooden desk and smoothed it open so that Ethan could see.

“This is a sketch Max made of a schooner called the
Windlass.
”

“The plans themselves were extremely well guarded,” Max said. “I’m not much of an artist, but at least this will give you an idea why the damned things are so fast and easy to handle.”

Ethan studied the drawing, noting the unique slope of the double masts, the low, sleek lines of the hull. It appeared that even his own ship, the
Sea Devil,
wouldn’t be a match for the vessel, once it was under sail and cutting through the ocean.

Old feelings stirred to life. As content as he was in his new role as husband and father, he felt an itch to stand behind the wheel of such a ship. He fixed his gaze on the colonel.

“Neither Max nor Rafe would be worried without good cause. If Max’s drawing is anywhere near accurate—and I’m certain it is—I wouldn’t waste any time in taking this to the highest authority.”

Pendleton rolled up the drawing. “I was afraid that’s what you’d say.” He rounded the desk and walked toward them. “I’ll move forward on this as quickly as I can, though there are no guarantees what will happen.”

“With the war progressing as it is and Napoléon pressing for any sort of victory, I hope they listen.”

But of course, as the colonel said, there was no way to know what the government would do.

Ethan bade both men farewell and returned to the carriage, his thoughts mulling over the meeting he’d just had and the information Max had relayed about Rafe. Ethan couldn’t help wondering if Rafe was even now aboard a ship on its way back to London.

And if Rafael was now a married man.

A storm blew up. Heavy October winds swept across the decks and waves plunged over the bow. They were less than two weeks out of London, less than two weeks till Rafe would arrive home with his bride.

They had been at sea six long weeks and still his marriage had not been consummated.

He sighed as he sat in the salon and tried to concentrate on the hand of whist he played with Carlton Baker. In concession to the heavy seas, the fire had been put out and most of the passengers were stashed away in their cabins.

“Your turn, Your Grace.”

Rafe studied his hand. He didn’t much like Baker, but Danielle was downstairs in their cabin, embroidering with her aunt and Caroline Loon, staying as warm and dry as possible in such wet weather. With the terrible pounding seas, Lady Wycombe was suffering a bout of
mal de mer,
and he hoped Danielle did not also succumb.

He thought of her and felt a familiar rush of desire. Since the night he had brought her to fulfillment, he had stayed mostly away from her, his grand scheme of seduction utterly destroyed by the beseeching look in her eyes. He had read the fear, the doubt, seen the mistrust of him she still carried, and he simply could not go through with it.

Rafe remembered her tempting curves and the way she had responded, and his groin tightened. He wanted her with agonizing force. Still, he wouldn’t alter his decision.

He laid down his cards and picked up the small pile of coins in the middle of the table, the gaming aboard ship gentlemanly and rarely very large.

“It seems luck is with you, Your Grace,” Baker said. “But then, considering what a lovely bride you’ve acquired, that has already proved to be the case.”

Rafe cast him a glance. “I’m an extremely lucky man.” If he hadn’t been so bored, he would have refused Baker’s invitation to play. From the start, the American had seemed
overly interested in Danielle. Then again, as beautiful as she was, Rafe could scarcely blame him.

His mind returned to Dani and the decision he had made.

He had betrayed her trust five years ago. In forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want, he had betrayed her again.

He refused to do it a third time.

Rafe had promised to give Danielle the time she needed. After the night he had nearly seduced her, he had worked to see it done. In the days that followed, he had left the cabin each morning before she awakened, and though he spent time with her during the day and escorted her in to supper each evening, he had not taken her to their private place again; had, in fact, stayed away from the cabin at night until she was already asleep.

Barely conscious of Baker’s muttered curse as he lost another hand, Rafe leaned back in his chair. In less than two weeks, they would be back on English soil and his painful celibacy would come to an end.

Danielle would have had the time he had promised her and—he fervently hoped—he would have gained some measure of her trust.

Danielle checked her appearance in the glass above the dresser. Yesterday’s storm had passed. The seas were relatively calm, Aunt Flora’s bout of
mal de mer
ended. Dani had braided her hair and pinned it up, and wore a light blue woolen gown in preparation for her trip to the main salon, where she and her aunt planned to meet for a cup of tea, as had become their habit each afternoon.

Dani shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the image in the mirror. The shadows had returned to her eyes and her
features looked drawn. She knew Rafael and her uncertain future were partly to blame, but equally disturbing were thoughts of her return to London.

Once they arrived, her life would undergo a drastic change. She would be the Duchess of Sheffield, no longer a pariah in society, and yet when she looked into the eyes of the people who had shunned her, friends who had turned away from her in her hour of need, how would she be able to forget?

Along with her misgivings about reentering society, there was Rafael. Since the morning after he had touched her so intimately, he had been inexplicably distant. She knew that he had been attempting to seduce her into making love and that night had nearly succeeded.

Dani believed he had seen the quiet desperation in her eyes that night, the awful, desperate need to keep herself apart from him until she could come to terms with the marriage he had forced upon her. Although they still shared a bed, he had not touched her again, had not kissed her as he had done each night before.

Dani told herself she was grateful, that this was what she wanted. But deep down, she was no longer sure.

She might not trust Rafe with her heart, but her treacherous body burned for him. At night she lay awake thinking about him, longing to reach over and touch him, to press her mouth against the spot above his heart.

With a sigh of frustration, Dani left the cabin Rafe had abandoned at first light and headed for the main salon, hurrying along the passage in an effort to make up for lost time. As she descended the ladder and entered the wood-paneled room, she spotted her aunt, who waved a plump hand, signaling Dani to join her.

Aunt Flora gazed up at her with a hint of concern in her eyes. “You are rarely late, my dear. I hope nothing untoward has happened.”

“I am fine. I was woolgathering, I suppose. Somehow time slipped away.”

Aunt Flora’s silver eyebrows drew together. “I’ve a notion it’s a bit more than that.”

Dani sighed as she took a seat across from her aunt. “I don’t know, Aunt Flora. I’m worried about what will happen when we are returned, and lately I have just been so…restless.”

Aunt Flora reached over and caught her hand. “I realize you are now a married woman and it is scarcely my place to be giving you advice but…”

“I always appreciate your counsel, Aunt Flora.”

“All right, then, I shall speak what is on my mind. First, let me say that I was once a married woman myself, which gives me some measure of authority on the subject.”

“Of course.”

“Several days before you were wed, you told me the duke agreed not to claim his husbandly rights until the two of you were returned to England.”

“He made that pledge, yes.”

“I may not know a great deal about the opposite sex, but I am certain of at least one thing. A strong, virile man like your husband does not sleep for weeks next to a woman he desires without paying a terrible price. Now, looking at you, I am beginning to believe you are also paying a price.”

“I need time to get to know him. Surely you can understand that.”

Her aunt sat back in her chair, her bulky frame filling it completely, studying Danielle as the steward arrived with
cups and a pot of tea. He poured for them both, leaving behind the cream and sugar, which they applied themselves as the young man departed the table.

Aunt Flora daintily took a sip of tea, eyeing Dani over the rim of her cup. “If you had married Richard Clemens, he would never have agreed to such a pledge and you would, by now, be a wife in truth.”

Dani glanced away, her cheeks coloring, though she knew her aunt was right.

“You and I have been together for more than five years, Danielle. In that time, I have come to know you, perhaps even better than you know yourself.”

“What are you saying, Aunt Flora?”

“The Duke of Sheffield is a handsome, magnetic man and it is obvious you feel a powerful attraction to him. It is there in your eyes whenever you look at him. It is equally obvious the duke feels an even stronger attraction to you.”

She didn’t bother to deny it. Though Rafe had returned to the polite distance he had once maintained, the heat in his eyes remained. “What are you suggesting, Aunt?”

“Release your husband from his vow. Let him make love to you.”

Her cheeks went scarlet. It was hardly a subject she wished to discuss with her aunt…yet the thought had preyed on her mind for days. “We are nearly home. Once we are in London—”

“Once we are arrived, you will find yourself even more uncertain than you are now. Sharing a cabin as you have, you and your husband have reached a certain level of comfort with each other. That is important in matters between a husband and wife. If you wait, it will all seem new again
and unfamiliar, and the intimacy you have shared on this voyage will be forgotten.”

Flora set her teacup down and reached for Dani’s hand. “Follow your instincts, my dear. Be a wife to your husband.”

Dani said nothing. Memories assailed her: the soirée where they had first met, the way he had sought her out among all of the other women, the way he had looked at her, as if there were no one else in the room. Unlike the young ladies who buzzed about him, awed by his lofty status and swooning at his every word, Dani had always felt his equal. He was only a man, after all, not the godlike creature women seemed to believe.

She’d enjoyed his company from the start, conversing easily, discovering how much they had in common. She remembered the stolen moment on the terrace when Rafe had first held her hand, how her heart had flooded with an emotion so strong she felt dizzy.