The Windflower (63 page)

Devon had been conscious during Cat's minor surgery and fully able to bandy words with his grinning audience. Eric Shay had drawn roars of merriment by demonstrating Devon's faint in a manner of greatly exaggerated daintiness. Joe Griffith spoke with unctuous sympathy about procuring supporting broths and burnt feathers to wave under Devon's nose in case he popped off again. And Will Saunders composed a wickedly clever and bawdy verse to this new delicacy of Devon's constitution (attributable, he contended, to Devon's newly married state).

Finally Cat had ejected everyone but Merry from the room, saying dryly that he'd be damned if he'd let Devon chortle himself into a fever. Then he had fed Devon a mildly sedative draught and bore Merry off to a private parlor for some refreshment, and after he had eaten with her and escorted her back to Devon, who had fallen asleep. Cat had left to look in on her brother.

With the adroitness for which he was famous, Rand Morgan had acquired a covered cart to take Carl to the
Black Joke,
where he could be cared for in secrecy and later returned to the United States. To avoid suspicion on the part of the watchful (but fortunately frequently persuadable) port authorities, Carl would be one of Morgan's crew, who, having imbibed more blue ruin than he could hold, had taken a chill after spending a night in the kennel.

Earlier, watching the cart with her brother rumble through the excited confusion of the warehouse yard, Merry had turned to the sound of Rand Morgan's voice. He said, "Sails and Tom Valentine will take care of him, and you can visit him in the morning. Once they've warmed him up, he'll throw off the chill fast enough." His hand touched and released one of her curls. "You know, nestling, you might have come to me. I wouldn't have let Devon do anything foolish. And 1 wouldn't do less for your brother than I would for you."

The too casual admission of Morgan's strange involvement in her life made her gaze up frankly into the snapping black eyes. "That's what had me worried."

He answered her with an enigmatic smile.

Merry stretched out her feet in front of her and spread and studied her toes, and then her husband. He was beautiful in the slight dishev-elment of sleep, with a soft flush pinking the skin below his lashes; but it was not his striking male beauty so much as his undefended posture that moved her. Scene by scene she reviewed their relationship, and scene by scene forgave him or herself for every act of temper or quick judgment, and when she had done with those, her memory began to drift to warmer moments between them. After about ten minutes of this her cheeks were as warm as her thoughts, and she began to wish earnestly that he would wake up, although her conscience warned her against doing anything to achieve that end. For heaven's sake, the man had just had a bullet dug out of him.

There is a school of thought that holds that if one stares with enough intensity at a sleeper, the sleeper will waken, but after practicing this patiently for what seemed like forever Merry decided there wasn't a word of truth in it. Beginning at his ankle, she walked her fingers gently up his leg, hopping over the kneecap, trodding a little heavily on his thigh and his ribs, and collapsing her fingers on his good shoulder. Nothing. She leaned from the waist to exhale lightly on his hand. She might as well have saved her breath.

"All right, then," she whispered, lifting his hand to her lips. Peeling back his shirt cuff, she worked little nipping kisses down his thumb and then slow ones over his inner wrist. He didn't move. Cat must have given him a stronger dose of laudanum than she had at first suspected. Sighing, she held his relaxed fingers to her cheek and then let them slip to her lap, where they created an interesting sensation against her thigh.

"How can I wake you up, you ridiculous man?" she asked softly and almost jumped out of her silk gauze day dress when he answered. "Not by playing with my unconscious body. That's more likely to make me pretend sleep indefinitely."

She began to laugh. "How dare you, sir!"

He gazed back at her from under sweetly drowsy lids. "I'm wicked past redemption, I suppose."

"Not
past
redemption, I think." Delighted to have him wake at last, she rested her chin on her fists and held him in a calm study. "I've put my mind to considering things, and I've decided that you're not much of a rake after all. All those months of opportunity and not a thing came of it until we had benefit of clergy."

His smile was slight. "The last thing I would have taken pleasure in forcing on you would be an act of love." He caught a strand of her hair and began to wind it around his forefinger. "Poor Windflower, have you been sitting here watching me snore?"

"I have, but you don't snore. Everyone else has gone off to some horrible place—the One-eyed Dog. I suppose it's a brothel."

He grinned. "No. A gaming hell."

"Oh! Are you a frequenter, then?" Her cheek was close to his wrist, and she rubbed herself against him there. "Can you hear how quiet it is? Raven said that was because when the crew of the
Joke
signed into the inn, the other patrons signed out. If you feel well enough to talk for a bit, I have something very exciting I'd like to tell you about."

He was caressing the wound curl with his thumb. "Every minute I see you, I feel better. Tell me about your something exciting."

"Well, with everything that happened today, I completely forgot to send a message to Teasel Hill, and so Aunt April arrived here with your mother! What do you think of that!" She had to laugh at his grimace. "You don't have to worry about your mother, because Lord Cathcart was outside and was able to reassure her about our safety, so she wouldn't have to come in and run a gauntlet of pirates, but Aunt April
forced
her way inside. Game as a pebble, Saunders said, and came straight into the parlor where I was dining with Raven—and half the crew almost. She swept me up in an embrace and said, 'My dear, you can't know! Aline and I have been in the greatest affliction. To leave without a word—and His Grace having ridden off after you, hell for leather, as the stableboy would say, though of course he shouldn't have, at least not in front of us. Every feeling of trepidation from those terrible months returned! We went first to Lord Cathcart's, which I only hope may not have damaged Aline's reputation, because for myself I don't care, but we were in an open carriage, so Aline says perhaps it will be all right.' " She paused to resettle her knees. "Raven was so funny about it afterward, because he misunderstood her completely, and he said it seemed like a devilish lot of trouble to go to to complain about a little cursing from a stable lad. You'll never guess what happened then!"

"Your aunt glanced around at the company and fell into a swoon?" he suggested innocently.

"A swoon! As though Aunt April would do anything so paltry! Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean—" Laughter overwhelmed her, and she could see the smile lurking in his bright eyes as he pulled her close with his good arm and played her laughter against his mouth, swallowing the thrills of sound, feeling the vibrations in her chest and lips. His kiss became more thorough, the trace of his tongue inside her mouth much deeper. But then the hand that had brought her to his kiss gently released her.

"Before I stop thinking about it," he said, "you'd better tell me what happened to your aunt."

Merry had been inclined to linger over the kiss, but she sat up anyway and was able with some enthusiasm to say, "Henry Cork! And he turned out to be Raven's 'curst rum touch'. Morgan had him follow us, you see, because Raven wouldn't have known who Henry was, because he's only just got to London, though he's been in Ireland visiting his sister and her husband. He was traveling with false papers, which shows that the world is in a sad state with more dishonest officials than anyone would suspect, though Morgan may call them 'flexible.' "

"He woald. Does your aunt still hold Cork to blame for the ants in your luggage?"

"You know, 1 have no idea because when he arrived at the doorway beside Morgan and looking so nice—almost natty, in fact, in a mulberry coat and stone-colored trousers—all she could do was stare at him. And then when he came striding across the room to pull her into his arms and kiss her, my only thought was,
Poor Aunt it
_must
be like a nightmare for her to find Henry Cork suddenly in England hugging her in front of a room filled with pirates.
I would have gone to her and tried to push him off, let me tell you, but Morgan put his hands on ray shoulders and pushed me into a chair—don't frown; he did it very gently, I promise—and it turned out Morgan was right, because Aunt April didn't seem to mind the kiss at all, although she looked rather bemused. And then Henry Cork made her the prettiest speech about how he hadn't had her off his mind a day since they parted in New York, and though he knew he wasn't her quality and never would be, Morgan had settled a nice size of property on him, as he'd promised for watching me all those years, and if Aunt April would consent, he'd like to court her, and didn't she know the reason he'd plagued her with all those tricks was to get a moment of her attention when he could. He led her out to the carriage so gentlemanly-like and kicked Max Reade in the shin because he hadn't doffed his hat. Cat says it might serve, because with a duchess for a niece and Henry Cork's money, she might not be shunned by the ton, or at least all but the highest sticklers, if we could think up some story to make his background sound more respectable. And you know, I think Aunt April wouldn't care so much if she was shunned just a little, because although in Virginia she pined for England and society, now that I see her here, she's just as content to putter in the garden and coze with her close friends as she is to go to ton parties. I think the"—she had to think about the best way to say it—"the pleasant quiet of our life in Fairfield changed her more than she knew. What are you thinking?"

"That I don't want our children to have Henry Cork for an uncle." But Devon was smiling.

The offhand mention of their children brought new color to her cheeks. "They may as well have him, since they'll have Rand Morgan also. Poor little things, we'll probably find them sailing the Jolly Roger from their cradle slats. But you had better go back to sleep. What am I doing, keeping you awake chattering? Go on. Close your eyes.
Close them.
There. And I can sing you a lullaby." But her singing voice was not as good as her drawing, and the song she chose was an American one which made reference not only to the villainy of England's ruling prince but to his girth as well.

Devon opened an eyelid and in a mild tone said, "If you will sing just a little louder, my heart, you'll insure our place in the history books, because by morning our heads will be adorning Traitor's Gate."

"Then never mind that. I'll rub liniment into your poor bruised body.
That
will relax you." She heard his indrawn breath as she laid a hand lightly on him.

Both his eyes were open now and shining. "You don't have any liniment . . . and I don't have any bruises."

"Quibbled" Then, as though willing to concede a point, she said, "Well, perhaps not bruises." Her hands slid lower, and her voice was ingenuous and husky as she said, "Swellings."

A laugh, a breath, taken quickly. "My love, my own sweet love ... my lily petal. I'm too damned weak."

"As though I care for that," she scoffed cheerfully. "I mean to ravish you. You'll find I don't share your scruples. It should be a good lesson to you."

As she carefully removed the pillow from under his head and laid him back, eddying her parted lips over his mouth, he said, in fervent agreement, "God, yes." Then when her hand began to coast down over his body: "I'm beginning to think you should have no mercy." He took another hard breath as her fingers wandered over the rise of his thigh. She could feel his flesh heat under her cheek and the crooked curve of his smile, "i don't know how it comes to be, but I'm feeling stronger by the minute."

She sighed, trailing the tip of her tongue over his lips. "Men are so easy."

Meeting her tongue, moving his lips against hers, he said,
"Flammable
is the word. Please, i! you intend to assert your conjugal rights, carry on. Although—and I'm sorry about this—the way Cat's bound my arm, I don't think my shirt will come off."

But this morning she had tucked a small knife from her breakfast tray into her garter, and her shifting skirts twisted it against her stockings, reminding her of its presence. A gleam of humor lit her eyes. "What I have under my skirt may change your mind."

He watched appreciatively as she sat back on her heels and began to draw up her hem. "ft may." His gaze widened lazily as he saw a small knife with a mother-of-pearl handle under the gold Brussels lace garter that circled her slim thigh.

"I come equipped with the necessities." Her breathless voice tried to sound informative.

There was an oddly disquieting smile in his eyes. "Every last one. And now?"

"You're such an unsuccessful ravisher, I'm going to show you how it ought to be done." A series of jabbing slashes opened his remaining buttons, laying his midriff bare.

Laughing, flinching as the inexpertly wielded blade skimmed his flesh, he said, "I suppose I'll have to make my way mother-naked back to Teasel Hill?"

"We pirates never trouble ourselves about whether our victims have a change of clothing. Revenge is
sweet.
How do you like this?"

"If I told you, love, it might ruin your revenge," he said huskily, lifting a knee to kick off the bedclothes. "Now what? Trouble?"