The Secret Rose (26 page)

“Don’t you dare judge him,” she said, flashing him an angry glare she couldn’t soften. “You have no idea what it was like for him. For any of us.”

“No, I don’t.” He pulled the blanket up tighter around Mary Rose’s shoulders. “How much of this tragedy do you lay at Stephen’s door?”

Harsh fingers wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
All of it
, her mind wanted to scream. Instead, she turned her head and focused on the waves churning beyond them.

“We’ll arrive in Lisbon tomorrow. We’ll only spend the night in port, then return the following day, so we won’t have time to see the sights.”

“And then what?”

“Then we’ll go to Fallen Oaks for a while, until I can make sure everything will run smoothly when we leave.”

“And then?”

“Then you and I will take Mary Rose to Windswept Manor.”

Fear rang in her ears. He intended to take her away. Away from where she’d be safe. Her mind reeled in confusion. Safe was with him, wherever he was, wasn’t it? But that couldn’t be. She couldn’t face that.

She needed to escape. Needed to go where his dominance wouldn’t consume her. “It’s late. Mary Rose needs to go below now.” She reached for Mary Rose, but he held the babe and didn’t hand her over.

The look in his eyes turned dark and serious, and before she could stop him, he reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his fingers. “I’m not like Stephen, Abby. I’ll never leave you like he did.”

She wanted to tell him it wouldn’t matter, because he wouldn’t want her, either. Not after he found out the truth.

. . .

Ethan couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t forget what Abigail had said. He tried not to concentrate on how alone and frightened she must have been. How much she must have loved Stephen to give herself to him so young, then be betrayed by him and abandoned.

He rose from the bed in the storage compartment that had become his room. The bed was too short, the room too small, the light abysmal, but it was near Mary Rose’s cabin. He could go to her anytime, night or day. Take her to see the sun rise the moment he heard her wake. Step in to watch her after she’d gone to sleep.

She never ceased to amaze him, never ceased to capture his heart with her ready smile, her happy giggles, her open arms that reached out to him. Everything about her was perfect.

He hadn’t intended to become so attached to her, or let her become attached to him. He’d only paid attention to her at first as an excuse to be near Abby. But that changed the minute he held her. Now, he waited for her to wake up, or finish eating, or take her nap, so he could show her something new: the waves dancing on the ocean, the fish swimming beside the ship, the breeze pushing the
Emerald Gold
through the water.

For every wondrous experience he wanted to share with Mary Rose, Abigail invented a reason he couldn’t. She also invented another reason she couldn’t be around him.

A wave of frustration washed over him. He’d given her enough time, more than he thought it would take for her to accept their marriage. More than he thought it would take for her to come to him.

The whole ship knew something was not right between them. The tension was so electrifying that the night sky nearly lit up whenever they happened to be near each other. It took almost more self-control than he had left to keep from taking her in his arms and kissing her whenever she was near. Almost more self-restraint than he had left to keep from going to her at night and making her his wife.

He rubbed a palm along his stubbled jaw. Every minute away from her was torture. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel his lips covering hers, her arms wrapped around him, her firm breasts pressed against his naked skin. Just thinking of her caused a stirring deep inside him that wouldn’t go away.

He threw the covers back in frustration. He had to walk beneath the moon and stars. Stand where the wind hit his face and whipped through his hair. Out in the wide-open, where he could think. And forget.

He took the stairs two at a time and filled his lungs with a deep breath when he reached the top of the stairway.

Everything was quiet, with two men at the helm and two more standing watch. He walked to the ship’s bow, where no one would be at this time of night, and he could be alone without being observed.

The stars shone overhead, the moon full and bright. He took a half-dozen steps and stopped short.

Abigail’s unmoving silhouette stood as a shadow against the railing at the bow of the ship.

His eyes drank in every delicate detail.

Her hair hung long and loose, glimmering in the moonlight like shiny strands of copper. She held her back rigid and straight, her slender shoulders curved slightly, as if they struggled beneath the heavy weight of the secrets she still carried. Moonlight outlined her features—the high arch of her cheekbones, the delicate slant of her jaw, the upturned tilt of her nose. She was pure perfection.

“Couldn’t you sleep, either?” he asked, keeping his voice low and his tone easy.

He heard her gasp as she spun around. The moon reflected her startled expression.

“No.” She clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She wore only a white cotton night-rail beneath her cloak, its dainty lace collar peeking out around her neck. “I think it’s the moon. It’s too big and bright to ignore. I wanted to watch it for a while.” She hesitated. “It’s time I went back in.”

“Don’t go. Stay here with me.”

She shook her head and stepped away from him.

He stepped closer, to block her way so she couldn’t leave. “Please.”

“Oh, Ethan.”

He heard her sigh, but she didn’t run away from him. Instead, she stepped back to the railing and looked up at the moon and the stars, then out at the water glimmering below them.

“I think we may have a serious romance budding between Stella and Cook,” he said. It was the first thing that popped into his head. “Have you noticed?”

Her lips threatened to curve upward, but she stopped herself just before her expression could qualify as a smile. “Yes. Every afternoon when Mary Rose takes her nap, Stella disappears. I discovered she’s spending her free time with Cook, but I didn’t think too much about it until I noticed her rosy cheeks and the glimmer in her eyes when she returns.”

Ethan laughed. “Cook has always had a turn of the tongue as sweet as the fruit tarts he bakes.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s tall and handsome and has that smile.”

“What smile?” Ethan asked, surprised at the twinge of jealousy that stabbed through him.

“You know. The one he gives Stella each time he sees her. And Mary Rose.”

“And you?”

She sought his eyes. “Of course not. You’ve all but hung a sign around my neck that says the first crewman to acknowledge I’m even on board will get thrown into the sea.”

“I have not.”

“Yes, you have,” she said on a sigh. “But it wouldn’t matter. They all know how difficult it is between us and are giving us a wide berth to work things out.”

“Is that what it will take?”

She pulled her cloak tighter around her, then gave him her back, as if she wanted to walk away. He reached for her and pulled her back against his chest. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, but she didn’t pull away.

“You’re not being fair,” she whispered, unable to keep her voice from trembling.

“Why? Because you’re afraid you might like it?”

She shook her head, but he didn’t offer to let her go. He couldn’t. He’d dreamed of holding her like this for too long. He’d envisioned having her in his arms, close to him, without Stephen or any more secrets to separate them.

She smelled of rose water and clean night air. He wrapped his arms around her middle, touching her just below her breast, and rested his chin lightly atop her head. She felt good here in his arms. Like she belonged.

“I noticed today how well Palmsworth has adjusted to sea life,” he said, pushing her hair off her shoulder to expose her neck. “He had a needle in his hands and was sewing a rip in the canvas. He’s still a sailor at heart.”

“He’s missed the sea,” she said. “Every year, Father gave him the chance to go back, but he always chose to stay with us. I think he knew neither Father nor I could get along without him.”

Her voice sounded strange and unsettled, even to her own ear. She ran her fingertips against the shiny rail. They trembled. She looked up to study the moon in the sky, as if the answer to some great question were hidden there.

He couldn’t stop himself. He had to touch her silky skin. He had to kiss her.

“You’re beautiful, Abby. Beautiful.” He lowered his head and kissed her at that special spot just beneath her ear.
Great heaven
, she smelled sweet, tasted so good, felt so wonderful. He couldn’t make himself quit. He couldn’t get enough of her.

He turned her in his arms and pulled her close, the feel of her breasts pressing against his chest a torture all its own.

The uncertain look in her eyes told him how afraid she was. The desperate look in her eyes told him how eager she was for him to kiss her.

He cupped her cheeks in his palms and tilted her face upward. His thumbs outlined her lips, the gentle lift of her upper lip and the soft fullness of her lower. They were perfect. Enticing. Kissable.

With a slowness he could barely force upon himself, he lowered his head and covered her mouth.

. . .

Abigail felt his lips touch hers, and every nerve in her body exploded with want and desire. How could she let this happen? How could she give in to him when she knew the danger he posed? How could she want to kiss him when she knew it would lead to something she could never allow?

But she did.

She had wanted to from the time he’d put his arm around her the day of her father’s funeral. From the time he’d held her against him and had become her rock and her fortress, her indomitable strength. From the time he’d held her in his arms and kissed her that first time, and showed her what it would be like not to be alone.

She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything in her life.

He tipped her head to the side and covered her mouth with even more desperation than before.

She lifted her hands and pressed her palms against the muscled ridges that spanned his chest. Her mind gave the warning to push him away. Her body ignored it. She’d avoided him for so long she couldn’t do it any longer. She needed him to hold her, if only for tonight.

They stood in the open air, his towering presence blanketing her, sheltering her like a safe harbor in a raging storm. Yet, he was the storm, the turmoil she should run as far from as possible. And couldn’t.

He ran his fingers through her hair, cupping her head in the palm of his hand, bringing her closer to him. She thought she would die from his touch. She’d dreamed of this for so long.

His lips moved over hers, tasting her, touching her, drinking from her with a fevered frenzy that set her on fire. She couldn’t hold him close enough, couldn’t give him enough of herself. She wanted him to kiss her and hold her until she forgot the night Stephen had changed her life forever.

For just this little while, she wanted what Ethan could give her. She’d endured so much. First, Stephen’s betrayal. Then his death. Then Mary Rose’s birth and Father’s refusal to claim the child as his own. Then her mother’s death. And finally her father’s death.

Ethan was the balm to soothe her. The safe harbor to protect her.

His mouth opened slightly, and she parted her lips in anticipation. She wanted to feel him inside her mouth, their halting breaths mingling, then becoming one. His lips pressed hard against hers, his tongue mating with hers, then possessing.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him closer. For just this brief moment in time, she would pretend she could have the life she’d always dreamed of having. A life where someone would want her and love her. Where someone would choose her as his own. Not because of her mother’s status, not for her legacy of ships nor her father’s wealth, but for her and her alone.

“I need you, Abby,” he whispered between his kisses. “I have since the moment I first saw you standing alone at your father’s grave. I knew I needed you even more than you needed me.”

He kissed her deeper, his tongue battling hers for dominance. Her heart raced in her chest and her legs buckled. Every bone in her body was as limp as a sail without a breeze. Her hips pivoted forward, needing to touch him, needing to feel him against her.

He ground his mouth against her once more, then kissed a line from her jaw to that special spot beneath her ear. “Ethan,” she whispered, her lips finally free but her voice barely strong enough to be heard.

“Shh, Abby,” he said, tilting her head to the side and kissing her neck. “Don’t say anything if you’re going to tell me to stop. I don’t want to stop kissing you. I can’t.”

He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her with such desperation she barely felt her cloak slip from her shoulders. She sighed when his hands clamped around her waist, the thin cotton of her night-rail all that separated her from him.

“Let me make you mine,” he whispered. His breathing was harsh and ragged, his chest heaving with the effort it took to take air into his lungs. “Let me make love to you like you deserve.”

He brought his mouth down over hers again, pulling her close against him. She could feel the hardness of his body against the flat plane of her stomach. She knew if she didn’t stop him now, it would be too late. She would never be able to stop him.

Let me make love to you.

His words washed over her like a splash of cold water. Her body ached for there to be more, but she could never allow it. Once she gave herself to him, it would be too late. He would know her secret.

She brushed her fingertips over the rippling muscles across his shoulders, not wanting to separate herself from him. Every part of her ached to feel his smooth skin beneath her touch, feel his naked flesh pressed against hers, but she couldn’t give in to such weakness. If she did, she’d never be strong enough to walk away from him. She’d never survive the look on his face when he realized he’d loved a murderer.