The Secret Rose (28 page)

. . .

The storm raged on, hour after endless hour. Wave after punishing wave crashed against the side of the ship, plunging it into deep troughs beneath the monstrous swells. The
Emerald Gold
shuddered and rocked.

More than once, Abigail was certain that each violent wave that slammed against them would be the wave that broke the ship apart. The final blow that took them to the bottom of the sea.

She held on to Ethan as the wind exploded around them. The ship lurched, then another booming sound thundered from above. It was the sound of another giant mast splintering as it fell to the deck.

She lifted her gaze and focused on the worry in Ethan’s eyes. “You don’t have to stay here with us,” she said, although she wasn’t sure she could let go of him long enough for him to leave.

“Mac ordered me below. He’ll send for me if he needs me. We just have to ride out the storm the best we can.”

The ship lurched again, and he held her more securely. “Close your eyes, Abby. Don’t think about the storm. Tell me what you remember about the first time you went to the docks with your father.”

She knew what he was trying to do, but it wouldn’t work. The wind was raging all around them, threatening to shatter the
Emerald Gold
to smithereens. How did he expect her to concentrate on anything other than the thought that they might not survive this night?

“I don’t remember. I can’t think.”

“Yes, you can. How old were you?”

“I don’t know. Six perhaps. Maybe seven.”

“What’s the first sight you remember seeing?”

“The ships,” she answered. “They were mammoth. I remember thinking that they were big enough that our town house would fit on the deck.”

“Did your father take you on board?”

“Yes. That was when I fell in love with the ships.”

Abigail answered his questions, then asked questions of her own. She was fascinated with his answers, with the courage that seemed to underpin each choice he’d made in his life. She had tried so long to shut out his voice, to keep some great chasm growing between them. But in this moment the divide seemed to have evaporated, swept away with the tempest, and having him close seemed to be all that mattered. There wasn’t anything she wasn’t eager to learn about him, and nothing he avoided telling her.

His quiet voice lulled Mary Rose to sleep and calmed Abigail’s heart. His words reassured and comforted her, his arm warmed her and held her safe. And somehow, as the night raged on, slumber overtook her.

. . .

“It’s over, Abby,” he said from the doorway.

Abigail looked up. At first her mind didn’t comprehend what he said, then surprise and disbelief rushed through her body.

She looked around the cabin, to the spot where Mary Rose lay in her little low hammock with its bumpers of thick blankets.

Stella slipped past Ethan and tiptoed to the hammock. Without waking Mary Rose, she lifted her from her bed and turned to Abigail with her hand outstretched. Abby grasped it. Their mutual smiles shared the same thought—that it was impossible to believe they’d just endured one of the worst storms imaginable. And survived it.

Ethan stepped into the room as Stella slipped out with the babe, and closed the door behind her. “It’s over,” he said. “The storm is over.”

She looked at the relief on his face, then turned her own eyes to the window. The sky above was clear and blue, the sun shone in mocking brightness. She’d slept so soundly she hadn’t noticed when the ship had stopped bucking and rolling. She hadn’t noticed when the wind had stopped howling, or the thunder and lightning no longer exploded around her. She hadn’t noticed when Ethan had left her and gone above to help Mac.

She looked to Ethan’s face again, then brought her trembling hands to her mouth to cover the cry that rose from the back of her throat.

“It’s truly over! Oh, thank God,” she cried. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” He helped her to her feet, then gathered her against him. Without hesitation, he brought his mouth down on hers and kissed her with a desperation that matched her own.

She could deny him nothing. He tasted of salt and rain and the elements he’d battled. He was exquisitely male and she wanted to touch and taste every part of him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him closer. They could have died. The storm could have destroyed the ship, and taken all of them to a watery grave.

She didn’t want to go one more day without showing him how much she loved him, without being his wife, without giving herself to him and taking the love he’d so willingly offered before.

And pray he wouldn’t realize her secret.

Abigail didn’t allow herself to think what might happen if he did. She wanted him too much. Loved him too much. It was worth the risk. Loving him was worth any risk she had to take.

Ethan lifted his mouth and cupped her cheeks in his roughened palms. She cried out when he separated himself from her.

“Do you want this, Abby?”

Her hands reached inside his wet shirt, drenched and sticking to his flesh. “Oh, yes. Kiss me. Please. Want me.”

“I’ll not give you another chance to stop.”

“I won’t need one. Love me, Ethan. Make love to me. Please.”

With a frantic desperation neither of them could control, she pushed the shirt from his shoulders while he undid the row of tiny buttons down her dress. He kissed her again and again, his mouth worshipping hers, while his hands worked at the clothes concealing her body. Within minutes, they both stood naked in the morning light that streamed through the tiny porthole, their hands touching and discovering and caressing every inch of each other’s body.

Abigail stared into his eyes, dark with passion. She brought her hands up, threading her fingers through his thick hair, and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him with all the emotion she’d tried to deny from the day he’d walked into her life. He kissed her back, hard and long, until neither of them could breathe. Her chest heaved as violently as his, and her lungs fought to take in enough air to breathe.

“It’s too late, Abby,” he whispered, picking her up and carrying her to the bed. “I need you too badly. I love you too much.”

He laid her in the middle of the covers and followed her down. Oh, the beauty of it. The incredible pleasure of his body, wonderfully heavy atop her, touching her, moving against her. She thought she would die from the uncontrollable sensations surging through her.

Then he entered her.

Having him inside her was uncomfortable but didn’t hurt like she thought it would.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered in her ear, then pulled back and thrust deep within her, breaking the thin barrier that held her secret.

He froze above her, closing his eyes as if he wanted to blot out what his mind was telling him.

Abigail felt him pull away. “Ethan. Love me. Please.”

He didn’t move inside her, nor did he pull away from her. Finally, he opened his eyes and leveled her with a look that showed his confusion. His anger.

“Don’t move,” he said at last. “The pain will lessen soon.”

It did. In only a moment, her discomfort eased.

He moved inside her, showing her the wonders of making love. Taking her to heights she’d never dreamed existed.

Higher and higher she climbed until her body could soar no higher. She cried out as his body spun through the exploding lights.

He thrust inside her one final time, then, with a shuddering cry, dropped his head back on his shoulders and closed his eyes. He fell against her and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

He didn’t move.

Abigail reached out to touch him, skimming her fingers across his sweat-drenched shoulders. The muscles on his arms bunched beneath her touch, the taut flesh at his waist and back heaved with exertion.

She held him to her, touching him, caressing him, but with each passing heartbeat he pulled further away from her, distancing himself from her.

He breathed a sigh, heavy, burdensome, filled with untold bewilderment. He rolled off her, separating his body from hers. He lay on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her. As if he couldn’t accept the secret she’d kept from him.

He knew. She’d not been able to hide her secret from him. As if she’d thought she could.

Or that it wouldn’t matter when he found out.

“You were a virgin,” he said when he’d risen and dressed.

Abigail rose and dressed, too. She knew what was coming and didn’t want to face the battle naked.

His voice was strained, his words a struggle for understanding.

She opened her mouth to speak. To deny his accusations.

He swung his hand through the air. “Don’t,” he hissed between clenched teeth, as if he realized her intentions. “I’m not a randy school boy, and you are far from the first woman I’ve made love to. Although you are the first virgin I’ve ever deflowered.”

“And that bothers you? You’re upset because your wife came to you a virgin?”

He spun to face her, his hands clenched in tight fists. “No! Not that you were a virgin. But that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you were.”

“I prayed you wouldn’t notice,” she whispered, straightening the covers on the bed so she wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes.

“Wouldn’t notice? Bloody hell, woman! It was your first time. I was far from gentle.”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

He turned back to the porthole, the bright sunlight streaming down on him, casting his features in golden magnificence. He was strong, powerful, beautiful. The most handsome man she’d ever seen.

And the angriest.

He’d washed, dressed, and shaved the two day’s stubble from his face all in silence. He hadn’t looked at her once. She wanted to scream her frustration. She’d known from the start he wouldn’t be able to forgive her secrets.

“Who is Mary Rose’s mother?”

She hesitated, knowing the time for honesty had come. “My mother died giving birth to her.”

“And her father?”

“Stephen.”

Ethan rubbed his fingers across his forehead in frustration. “Dammit! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I couldn’t chance losing her! Because I didn’t want you to know that I’ve no more right to her than you do.”

He braced his hands on either side of the small opening in the cabin wall. Taut muscles bunched beneath his full-sleeved white linen shirt. His stature depicted the anger she knew she would see in his eyes.

She lowered herself to the edge of the bed and tried to think how to begin. How could she make him understand without revealing her last secret? She took a deep breath and prayed he wouldn’t realize there was more.

“My mother and father hadn’t lived together as husband and wife for years. Their marriage was a sham, a bitter farce. Father had always known that Mother kept lovers. It was no secret. Half of London knew she did. He no doubt had his share of lovers, too. But both of them had always been discreet. Until Stephen.”

She took the corner of the cover on the bed and unconsciously worked it into a tight roll. “I don’t know if Stephen’s affair with my mother began before or during our engagement. It hardly matters now. The damage was done the night they were discovered together.”

“Your father found them?”

A picture of her mother and Stephen wrapped in each other’s arms flashed through her mind. A picture of their naked bodies joined together in lovemaking.

“No,” she whispered, nearly choking on the word.

He focused on her, a look of shocked regret on his face. “Oh, hell,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

Abigail spoke past the lump in her throat. “Mother and I had gone to a small dinner party hosted by the Marquis and Marchioness of Bladebury. Just before the evening’s entertainment, Mother claimed she was feeling poorly and wanted to leave early. Stephen graciously offered to see her home. I remember thinking how gallant it was of him to leave my side long enough to escort my mother. He was always quite attentive.”

She rose from the bed and paced the length of the room. “When Stephen didn’t immediately return, I became concerned. An opportunity arose to ride home with family friends, and I took it. I went in to check on my mother and found…”

Abigail’s legs trembled beneath her, and she sat down on the corner of the bed, clutching the bedclothes with her fists. Telling the story was like reliving her nightmare. Seeing the shocked looks on her mother and Stephen’s faces. Hearing his footsteps as he raced out into the garden after her. Feeling his hands on her, touching her, pulling at her, hurting her. Her fingers ached from clenching them so tightly. A pain similar to the pain she’d felt just before she grabbed the rock and brought it down against Stephen’s head.

The air left her body and she cried out. Ethan’s soft caress pried her fingers loose from the covers. She looked into his eyes and fought against a painful pressure in her chest. “I thought my world had ended that night, but I was wrong. The worst was yet to happen.”

When she could no longer hold his gaze, she closed her eyes and lowered her chin.

“Mother didn’t realize she was with child, not immediately, at any rate. I think she thought it was no longer possible for her to conceive. By the time she was certain, it was too late to get rid of the child like she wanted.”

“And your father,” he said in a tone that did not resemble a question.

The air caught in her throat. “Father couldn’t abide the sight of his wife huge with another man’s child. He left Fallen Oaks and moved to London to manage his ships. He bought the new clipper and lived on the docks, drinking himself into oblivion. Fenny kept an eye on him for me. Mother stayed in seclusion at Fallen Oaks.”

“And you?”

“I spent most of my time at Fallen Oaks. There was no point in going to London. Stephen’s abrupt departure and my crying off had created quite a scandal. Stephen was, after all, one of the most eligible bachelors in England. The inferences your mother made as to what I had done to drive Stephen away made me the social pariah of the Season.”

“You could have fought her,” he said, as if that had been a possibility. “Challenged her.”