Illusion of Innocence: Regency Rebelles Series

Chapter 12

Verity had never been so miserable in all her life. For three days the ship had been battling headwinds and storm-driven seas.

It had turned out she was a good sailor, not even feeling nauseous, but her body was totally exhausted from trying to maintain her balance and not get thrown about the galley like a leaf in the wind.

At least she hadn”t had to contend with her husband harassing her.

In fact, she”d not seen him since the day she”d thrown dishwater at him and called him a bully.

Which was a good thing, she kept reminding herself. Nipper was quick to remind her it was a ‘bluidy good thing’ when she found her conviction on that point wavering.

Trouble was, any enjoyment she might have been deriving from this adventure had been dumped to the darkest depths of the heaving ocean. She”d worked harder than she ever had in her life and while she”d continually assured a concerned Mr Jay she was capable—and fine—her hands were red and raw. Her back felt as if it would never straighten from leaning over the washing bucket, she had a painful purple bruise on her hip from where she”d been tossed helplessly against the long table in a particularly violent lurching of the ship and had yet another knot on her skull from cracking it against the bulwarks when the ship had canted so far she”d feared it would never right itself.

To add to her misery, she was so hungry she could barely function. They”d existed on dry ship’s biscuits for the last two days once all the cooked food had run out.

Fire aboard ship was the greatest peril they could face, Mr Jay assured her. He and Peggy had doused the fire in the big stove as the storm escalated that first day to a screaming, howling banshee, tossing the ship about in its jaws like a dog with a raggedy toy.

She’d give everlasting thanks to a merciful universe if she never again had to gnaw on one of those ship’s biscuits, more like pieces of dried wood, Peggy assured her was edible. There was little food preparation or cleaning up being done in the galley, and after the bump to her head, Mr Jay had sent her to her bunk, and helped her to strap herself in so she would come to no more harm.

‘Cos if yer were ter come ter any ‘arm, it’d be me as’d ‘ave to face Mr. Sin an’ I doubts there”s a meal I c’d make as’d save m’life.’

When Verity scoffed at the idea of Sinclair Wolfenden caring about her welfare, Mr Jay cocked an eyebrow at her and said, ‘Trust me, ‘e”d not be ‘appy.’

Although she wasn”t sick, she”d give much to be safe and motionless on dry land.

‘Where—is—my—wife?’

Verity’s eyes flew open. She”d slept? While the ship was rolling like a bird”s nest in one of the huge oaks at home in a high wind?

God, she wished she was home now.

‘Where is she, dammit? I’ll not have her working down here like a navvy one minute longer. She”s a goddamn lady and likely never been in such a hell hole in all her life. And you can stow your gab, Jay, or get off my damn ship when we dock.’

Wait? What?

Verity tried to sit up and realized two things at once. She was strapped into the bunk and the ship was moving as evenly as if it floated on a mill pond.

Working impatiently to free herself, she scrambled from the bunk and stepped into the galley.

Mr Jay and Sinclair were standing toe to toe at the end of the bench and Peggy was standing by the firebox with a shovel of coal suspended in his hand. Apparently they’d lit the fire again. Hot food was her first thought before her attention darted back to the two men who were glaring at one another like statues carved from bronze and with the appearance of having the same intransigence as that metal.

She”d not had much experience dealing with men in such basic situations as she now found herself.

As in none.

But good heavens, Mr Jay was a chef without par and Sin had once saved his life. They would lose the unique bond they shared over her?

‘I”m right here,’ she snapped, stepping between the two and pushing them back. To her sudden amusement, they went, as if her puny strength had actually been enough to move two large men.

The amusement did not last long. She was too concerned for the one, and deeply furious with the other.

‘Everything Mr Jay has done is because I coerced him into smuggling me aboard and he has kept me safe ever since. More than can be said for you,’ she bit out, stabbing her finger in her husband”s rock-hard chest.

He glared down at her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nostrils flaring as if he fought to ease his breathing, and his eyes blazing like storm lanterns on a dark night.

‘You are my wife. You are a lady. This—’ He waved his hand about the dimly-lit galley. ‘This—is not right.’

He stopped, closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, before he spoke again. When his eyes opened, Verity was startled to see a softening, almost a pleading.

‘Please, Very, will you come up to the cabin and at least—let me treat you how you should be treated? And—so we can talk?’

She wanted to comply in the worst way. Was so tired of being grubby and exhausted. And hungry.

‘I”m hungry,’ she muttered, and even she could hear the pathetic whining child in her voice.

‘Hungry?’ Sin growled. ‘What do you mean, you”re hungry? Surely Mr Jay gave you ships’ biscuits when it was no longer safe to cook?’

She couldn”t help it. Her face twisted into a grimace of disgust.

‘Young Nipper found ‘em not ter ‘is likin’,’ Mr. Jay said.

‘Porritch be ready,’ Peggy murmured from behind them. ‘Shall I fix ye a bowl, m’lady?’

‘Thank you, Peggy,’ she said and followed him to the other end of the galley where the big black porridge pot simmered on the stove. Peggy had taken to calling her ‘m’lady’ since the day she’d stood on the stool and addressed the crewmen at the table.

Wrapping her hands gratefully around the steaming bowl he handed her, she grabbed a spoon and bolted for a seat at the long table.

She almost burned her mouth on the first spoonful.

Hot, salty and redolent of the rich, tarry molasses Peggy had dumped on it, Verity told herself she was an ungrateful wretch for thinking longingly of the smooth creamy oatmeal Cook served at home. Dressed with warm treacle and a knob of fresh made butter. Nevertheless, she was well through her bowl of Peggy’s lumpy mush when Sin sat down on the bench beside her.

He stared at the black and grey mess in his bowl for a moment and Verity thought if he hadn”t started eating it by the time she finished hers, she’d steal it from him—

‘Can we—start again, Verity? Will you come upstairs and—and stop shaming me by working down here like a—a—’

‘A grubby brat from the stews?’

Verity thought longingly of the clean and light cabin above decks, of her own comfortable—fresh—clothes in her trunk, and not having to scrub one more greasy tin plate. But still she hesitated. Submitting meant placing herself once more in an intimate situation with her husband and she was not sure she”d ever be ready for that again.

She glanced around the galley. For the moment they had the big table to themselves and Mr. Jay and Peggy were working silently to prepare a hot meal for the men who’d existed on those disgusting ships’ biscuits for the last two days.

She scraped the last dregs of porridge from her bowl and quickly licked her spoon. It had been all too easy to fall into these uncouth Nipper-like mannerisms. It was definitely time to return to her true self, but it was best she speak her thoughts now before they were interrupted, and Sinclair was back to being overbearing and—demanding—as he could if she surrendered without argument.

‘I”ll not leave this galley unless you avow there will be no more of—that. I meant what I said. I don”t want to do that ever again. If you—can”t give me that promise, then—I”ll be staying right here.’

A large hot cake fresh off the griddle and lying on a tin plate, slid across the table to stop in front of her. Verity raised startled eyes to catch Mr Jay”s wink as he stepped back behind the bench.

Her neck and cheeks burned. Had he heard what she said? She”d been so focused on making her point to the tight-lipped, rigid monolith beside her, she”d not noticed Mr Jay’s approach.

‘As you wish,’ Sin growled, but added something under his breath that sounded like, ‘For now.’

Verity bit appreciatively into the hot cake, thinking longingly of Cook’s damson preserves and clotted cream that such a treat would have been served with at home. But grateful she was for the sustenance, and could even face washing it down with a mug of Peggy’s stewed tea. At least it would be fresh brewed this morning.

‘Cuppa char?’ Peggy asked, placing two steaming mugs on the table before them, as if he”d divined her thoughts. Peggy”s tea came in two options, black or blacker.

Of course the milk had run out long ago and in any case, she’d not have offended the taciturn cook by asking for a little to soften it. She took a sip and reminded herself she was aboard this ship by her own choice. Even working in the galley had been her choice. She could have remained locked in the captain’s cabin and issued orders for food and baths like the lady she”d been bred to be.

Spoilt she might have been, but she always took responsibility for her own actions.

Sinclair silently swirled the molasses-through his porridge and began steadily spooning it into his mouth, alternated with sips of the tar black tea.

‘Are you finished?’ he asked as the first pair of bare feet appeared at the top of the ladder.

He climbed to his feet and held out his hand to her. Verity’s heart leapt in her chest and her eyes flew from his outstretched palm to his watchful eyes. There was no way she could make herself put her hand in his. She could not even have said why.

It wasn”t as if she didn”t trust him.

Or was it?

In truth she had no idea, but she had to come up with something.

‘I need to tidy my bunk,’ she muttered and fled around the table and into the bunk room forward of the galley. Taking her time, she straightened the bed and folded the blanket, placing it neatly on the mattress. Then she headed out towards the ladder.

Sinclair had been talking to the bosun, but as soon as she appeared he was right behind her, waiting only for her to precede him above.

If anyone were watching it would look odd, a gentleman treating a scruffy lad as if he was a fine lady.

Once on the deck, his hand settled at the center of her back above the curve of her bottom and the sense of being branded was so overwhelming her clumsy boots skittered across the wet decks. In a trice the branding hand curved about her waist and pulled her bodily against his rock-like strength.

And Verity couldn”t breathe.

‘I—I”m fine. L—let.me go. Please.’

His touch was withdrawn as suddenly as if she”d stabbed him with a pin. Without another word, he followed her across the deck towards the cabin below the poop deck.

It was then Verity realized the ship was navigating through some kind of river or canal. Wide enough for ships to pass, it was flanked on either side by high, mounded banks so even they were surely man-made.

‘Where are we?’

‘The North Holland canal. We”ll dock at Amsterdam before noon.’

‘There”s not much to see,’ she murmured, stalling before the door of the cabin. Once inside that small space she”d be alone with the man who’d—oh lord, she couldn”t think about it.

‘Much of this land is lower than sea-level, hence they build these dykes to keep the seawater out,’ he said, his tone flat and impersonal.

‘Oh. I don”t think I’d like to live here,’ Verity muttered. ‘I don”t think I’d sleep easy in my bed.’

‘Fortunately, there are thousands who have no such qualms. This is a fertile and productive area. Dutch cheeses in particular are in great demand as trade items, along with the specialty smoked meats and the finest woven yarns and textiles.’

‘Is that—what you will take on board here?’

‘Yes, and wrought iron work for door and window fittings, balconies and balustrades made with the delicacy of fine lace. Dutch tiles. If we can fill the holds here there is no need to go on to Hamburg.’

He”d leaned past her and opened the door of the cabin and when she still didn”t step through the entry his hand settled on her back again, lower this time, almost cupping the curve of her bottom and propelling her into the comfortably appointed room.

A stupid squeak of shock escaped Verity’s lips and she spun about to see him throwing the latch before turning to face her. Then he stopped, the color leaching from his cheeks and even from his eyes, leaving those usually thunder-grey orbs shimmering and silvery with shock.

‘Verity, please tell me I have not given you a fear of me.’

The words seemed to be wrenched with some pain from deep in his chest.

She stared at him for a moment, checking her inner knowing.

‘Not fearful as such,’ she was able to mutter, ‘it”s—I don”t want—’

‘—to do that again. I hear you, wife, and I understand,’ he said, dropping his gaze to examine his hands is if the answer to all of life”s conundrums could be found in the unique set of lines on his palms. At last, he looked back at her, his eyes once again that dark, penetrating granite grey.

‘Will you please take a seat?’ he asked gently.

Watching him a little warily, Verity took the chair he pulled out for her and sat as primly as one could while clad in a lad’s filthy shirt and breeches and ill-fitting, well-worn work boots.

Sitting himself in the chair opposite, he leaned his elbows on the map table and once again stared down at his hands working restlessly one over the other. At last, he looked up and she was at a loss to place the emotion shading his eyes.

‘For better or worse,’ he said softly. ‘We made that vow to each other.’

A shudder trembled through her entire body and Verity could not have said what triggered it.

Fear that he intended to ignore her ultimatum?

Or anticipation? For hadn’t the Comtesse said—?

‘This marriage,’ he said, holding her gaze steadily with his, ‘has started in all the wrong ways. From the day I saw you at Pennington, that first day of the house party, you were cavorting on the lawn like a—like a fairy siren, and even though I thought you barely out of the school room, you stole all my focus thereafter. I looked at you and every tenet of gentlemanly behavior was lost to me. I—and my friends—learned a salutary lesson about dallying with innocents when I was a callous young idiot. It was blown from my consciousness like sea foam in a tempest. I had long determined never to pursue a woman when I knew such a dalliance could only lead to marriage. It was as if that thought had never entered my head in all my life.’

He stopped, and scratched at a blob of dried ink on the tabletop and Verity had the sense he was gathering his thoughts.

There was more? She sucked in the first breath she’d taken since he’d spoken the words, ‘you stole all my focus thereafter’. The whole speech was easily the longest he”d made to her since they’d met.

She had questions. Lots of them. As much for herself as for him, but she”d not disrupt the flow of his thoughts. For the more he talked the clearer came the answer to an enigma rising within herself.

Her feelings for this man embodied anger, hurt, resentment, but nowhere could she discover hatred or outright antipathy. No, even naive as she might be, she still recognized, buried beneath all the negative emotions, a quickening of her blood, a stirring of her maidenly senses not maidenly at all—whenever she looked at him.

Her body still outright rejected any thought they might repeat the disastrous moment of intimacy they’d shared the first night aboard, but she could not deny that somewhere deep in her core she still wished—hoped?—to experience all the power and joy of intimacy the Comtesse had outlined so clearly in her diaries—as if she”d known her writings would provide the exact education a later, innocent generation of young women would deeply appreciate.

Was Sinner Wolfenden the man who could show her that kind of intimacy—when—when he”d already disappointed her beyond redemption? Or so it felt.

The unnerving thing was she knew a bone-deep longing lodged in her heart for him to be that man.

When had he last shared so much with a woman? And still more needed to be said. Much more.

Keeping it straight in his head was the challenge, especially with her sitting across from him with eyes like luminescent opals beneath the filthy cap, eyes that shifted, sheened, and shimmered with the magical radiance of that beautiful gem.

God dammit, he wanted that cap and those filthy rags she wore burnt. He wanted her bathed in warm water and honeysuckle-scented soap. He wanted her gowned in silk and lace—or nothing at all.

And there lay the crux of all his problems. He wanted her. In a way he had never wanted any other. Wanted to shield and protect her from all harm, even from himself.

He wanted to free the glorious cloud of moonbeams she’d pinned ruthlessly beneath that cap, spread it across a satin pillow and worship every strand with his lips.

Then every inch of her body—

Gritting his teeth, he leapt to his feet and began pacing about the small space, intensely aware of the opal-fire eyes following him with—what?

Apprehension?

Wariness?

Fear?

‘In my arrogance, I made some wicked, unfounded assumptions—about you. And I am deeply sorry about that.’

‘What assumptions?’ she whispered, those opalescent eyes dimming a little.

He could well imagine the sheen would vanish altogether when he told her of his base suspicions.

He”d rather cut out his tongue.

Struggling to his feet, he grabbed the other chair and pulled it around so he could sit facing her, knee-to-knee.

‘When we were in the music room, the first time we were actually alone together, you said something that made me suddenly suspicious. Trust has always been my challenge. But you said if I were to be your husband as if it was a foregone conclusion—or you were trying to maneuver me in that direction for your own devious purposes. I wanted you badly, but I certainly wasn”t thinking marriage. Even though I’d considered you an innocent up to that point, I was still only driven by my—desire—for you. But that thing you said made me feel—hunted, like you were pointing me in a direction you needed me to go. And in my cynical mind, the only reason a woman pushes for marriage is because she is in danger of being ruined unless she has a wedding ring on her finger.’

Now her eyes were flat green, like the ‘tideless ocean’ in a poem he”d recently read. Still, motionless, the spark of life, the essence of his faerie goddess, obliterated by shadows.

By his arrogance, suspicion, mistrust.

‘You thought I was pregnant.’

The statement was as flat and cold as her eyes. He searched those eyes, hoped for a softening, a shimmer he could not find.

He needed to bare more of his soul. Strip it.

‘My body argued your innocence, craved it. My head was never so easily convinced. But even with that war going on within me, I couldn”t stay away from you, could not douse the fire you ignited in my—loins—every time my eyes fell upon you. The sight of you, the scent of you, burned away every other consideration from my brain. The taste of you was my undoing.’

‘Then why—would you not—consummate our marriage?’

Was that the hint of a spark in her gaze? Or the glitter of accusation?

‘Did I mention my difficulty with trust?’ he asked, offering her the rye twist of his lips.

She simply blinked once and waited.

Sin dragged a much-needed gulp of air into his lungs.

‘I knew if I took you to my bed—and found you not to be—a virgin—and if you were to fall pregnant with my child immediately, I’d never know for sure whether you’d foisted me with a cuckoo. It would rankle and fester and ruin what little chance I perceived our marriage had of succeeding. Thus, I determined to wait until I could be sure you were not already carrying another man”s child.’

He never saw it coming.

Her hand moved so fast that the first intimation she”d hit him was the stinging slap on his cheek. The weirdest thing was, when he looked into those mesmerizing eyes, he wasn”t sure who was more shocked.

Eyes wide and stark with horror, mouth agape with what he imagined might be disbelief, she scrabbled backwards out of her chair and backed up against the door, hands plastered to the wood on either side of her.

‘I”m sorry,’ she breathed. ‘I shouldn”t have done that. Oh—’ Her hands crept up to her blazing cheeks. ‘I don”t usually—I”ve never—’

Turning on his chair to face her, he offered his startled wife a crooked smile.

‘Do you not think I deserved it?’

‘P—perhaps—but I”ve never—’

‘Never hit anyone who rightly deserved it?’

The violent shake of her head dislodged the ugly cap and he took the opportunity to snatch it off the floor before she could.

‘I intend to see every last piece of these filthy rags you”re wearing consigned to the fire in the galley.’

‘Burning rags would stink everyone out of the galley, I imagine,’ she said prosaically, her body relaxing somewhat against the door.

‘Then they shall be tossed overboard. I’d—like us to start again, Verity. In fact, we just need to start. We skipped that step entirely and raced straight to the end—and we arrived there without one breath of—foundation—on which to build a relationship—let alone a marriage. I take full responsibility for that—and for the debacle that followed. I’d like a second chance Very. I”m begging for a second chance to show you how a gentleman courts a lady and how he makes love to her so she—adores how he touches her, so much so she begs for more. I’d like the chance to show you how—ept I can be at bringing your body to pleasure.’

He couldn”t miss the flinching around her eyes and the tightening of her lips. If she could never again allow herself to contemplate him taking her in the most pleasurable act known to mankind, he had no one to blame but himself.

Please, God, he had not completely ruined the most important gift of marriage for his wife.

‘Perhaps we should start with learning to be friends,’ he said softly. ‘Once the men all have a hot meal in their bellies and we are docked, would you allow me to order you a bath and then—perhaps—I could help you dress as a lady should? I presume you do have some appropriate gowns in that trunk?’

She nodded, but he”d caught the flicker of uncertainty when he suggested helping her dress. In the absence of a maid someone would have to help her with her stays and buttons and that someone aboard this ship could only be her husband.

He would not push. But he would be firm.

His offer to assist with her bath was roundly denied and he”d been banished from the cabin until she”d donned her night rail and was well wrapped in a blanket off the bunk. Only then had she allowed him back in the room.

He”d been waiting outside the door, feeling much as he presumed a supplicant might feel while waiting to confess his sins. He wasn”t just tied in knots. He was bound from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, and the worst part was, he had no desire to break free.

Other men had fallen into this silken trap. He”d watched and vowed it would never happen to him. His freedom, his ability to function as a free and independent spirit, to sail, drift, anchor where he would, had been too important to him.

At last she’d called him in.

She’d still demanded his promise of gentlemanly behavior.

He”d asked if he could talk, explain, anything dammit, that would convince her to retract that dire pronouncement.

Never again. Ever.

But she’d looked at him from droopy, soft green eyes and declared herself too tired to talk.

‘You will not share your bunk with me?’

‘No.’

‘Could I at least sleep on the bunk above?’

At least she’d hesitated over that question, but he still hadn”t liked her answer.

‘I don”t believe I could sleep with you that close.’ He flinched at the thought she was that afraid of him. ‘There is a spare bunk down in the galley.’

Any contrition he”d been feeling was lost in the surge of anger, or was it mortification drowning him at the thought of the men seeing Sinner Wolfenden banished from a woman”s bed like—like—an inept lover.

‘I”ll leave you to sleep then,’ he’d growled and stomped up into the wheelhouse with the clunk of the inner latch falling into place to ensure he could not return, resounding in his ears.

No one was in the wheelhouse because the Princess Eloise was now snug in port and except for a handful of men prowling the decks on watch, the rest had been sent to their bunks, no one allowed to leave the ship until the morrow. Most were too exhausted to argue. Even Nik had vanished, presumably to find a bunk somewhere below.

Truth to tell, his own body was beyond exhausted, but Sin knew even if he laid down on a soft feather mattress beneath a down comforter, he’d not sleep. He doubted his body would rest again until he’d shown her, until she”d allowed him to show her, what he”d failed so dismally to demonstrate that first night aboard ship.

Although he”d known sleep would elude him, he found to his consternation his legs were buckling beneath him. Pulling around him the two heavy overcoats that always hung in the wheelhouse, he collapsed on a pile of coiled ropes in a corner, laid his cheek on his arm and thought on Verity”s response when he”d asked to at least sleep on the top bunk.

‘I don”t believe I could sleep with you that close.’

The words had fired his infernal temper, though his anger had been directed at himself as much as at her.

He listened to her declaration again in his head. Indeed, he couldn”t banish the damning, bitter words.

Damning? Aye. He’d definitely damned himself.

Bitter? He listened to her voice in his head again. There had been no hint of bitterness in the words, or even anger. He brought the image of her to mind, the tiny, wry twist of her lips and the shy upward glance of her eyes as she spoke the words.

Could he have mistaken her meaning? With the arrival of that intriguing thought, rigidity seeped from his limbs, the tension eased from his mind, and he drifted into a deep, exhausted sleep.