Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
One has no sooner left off one’s bib and apron, than people cry—‘Miss will soon be married!’. . . Mighty ridiculous! they want to deprive us of all the pleasures of life, just when one begins to have a relish for them.
— ELIZA HAYWOOD, ENGLISH ACTRESS AND PLAYWRIGHT, THE HISTORY OF MISS BETTY THOUGHTLESS
Sara was dreaming. Gideon stood with her at an altar, looking civilized and very English.
His black hair was cropped close to his ears beneath a tall felt hat, and his saber was missing.
He wore a fashionable frock coat of deep blue superfine, and she wore a gown of shimmering white silk, with a ruched bonnet rounded with ribbon and sprigs of orange blossoms.
But when she looked about her, the church was filled with convict women and pirates who were gambling and drinking and profaning the sacred place.
Through the open doors she could see Petey and Jordan, but they didn’t enter.
Instead, they cast her scornful, disparaging looks before turning their backs on her.
She strained toward them, but Gideon clasped her arm, ordering her to be still. Suddenly his frock coat vanished, revealing the leather vest and saber beneath them, making her realize they’d been there all along.
“This is where you belong now.” His expression was distant and rigid, and his fingers dug cruelly into her arm. “You belong with us. You’re one of us.”
“But . . . but I must speak with my brother . . . I must see Jordan . . . please let me see my brother . . .”
She awakened to the sound of her own voice whispering Jordan’s name.
It took her a few moments to realize she’d been dreaming, and another few moments to remember where she was. Shaking her head to clear it, she sat up and glanced around Gideon’s cabin, a quick surge of shame pinkening her cheeks. Good heavens, she was naked in his bed.
A flood of memories from the night before washed over her . . . Gideon forcing her to admit she wanted him . . . the second time they’d made love, when he’d coaxed her atop him and let her set the pace . . . her sated and drowsy, drifting off to sleep as he held her close in his arms.
At least she hadn’t awakened in his arms. She couldn’t have borne that. Last night, it had seemed right to give herself to him. Their argument earlier . . . the fire . . . all of it had conspired to throw them into each other’s arms.
But this morning in the harsh morning light, she knew it had been a monumental mistake. Petey would be returning with Jordan. How could she face them, knowing she’d dishonored herself and her family?
Of course, she couldn’t tell Gideon that. No, she wouldn’t be able to explain anything to him—why she’d been so weak last night . . . why she couldn’t continue to be weak. He wouldn’t understand why they couldn’t continue as lovers.
That is, if he wanted them to. He might not. He still hadn’t even said he wished to marry her.
She frowned. Not that she wanted to marry him. No, indeed. As her dream had proved, marrying him would only compound her error.
Quickly she slid from between the sheets that still bore the crimson stain signaling her loss of innocence. She paused a moment to look at it. She would never be a maid again.
But she had no time to fret over that. She must dress and leave before he returned, before he made her forget her good intentions.
All too conscious of the soreness between her legs, she scanned the floor for her shift, but there was no sign of it.
She searched around frantically. None of her clothes were here.
“Looking for this?” came a voice from the doorway to the cabin.
She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat.
Gideon lounged in the doorway with her shift hanging from one finger.
He was dressed in gray trousers and a snowy shirt unbuttoned nearly to his waist. In the light of morning, he looked handsome and charming and so utterly male he took her breath away.
A curse on the man! Why must he be so appealing?
“I thought you might try to run off while I was away, so I took the liberty of removing your clothes from the cabin.” His gaze slid with telling slowness down the length of her naked body. “I see that was a brilliant notion.”
She blushed furiously. It was one thing to stand in front of him undressed in the middle of the night when she was drunk with passion.
It was quite another to do it in broad daylight.
She cast a furtive glance through the open doorway.
What if one of his men were to enter the saloon? How mortifying that would be!
She held out her hand. “Please, Gideon, give it to me.”
He sauntered into the room and closed the door behind him. With a smile, he hung her shift on a hook by the door, then came toward her. “Not yet. I like looking at you in the morning. There’s plenty of time for dressing later.”
“But . . . but . . .”
His hand snaked around her waist to pull her close. That familiar light was in his eyes again, the one she’d seen every time he’d looked at her last night. And to her complete shame, she felt herself growing soft and liquid under the fire of it.
“Good morning,” he murmured as he bent his head toward her.
“Please, Gideon—”
“That’s it, sweetheart. Say ‘please, Gideon . . . more, Gideon . . . I want you, Gideon’—”
“Why, you arrogant—”
He muffled her words with a kiss, a long hungry one that reduced her to pudding. When at last he pulled away, she was speechless and he was grinning. “Much better. I see I’ve been following the wrong approach with you. I should’ve kissed you every time you opened your mouth.”
She puffed up like an angry cobra. “Now see here, Captain Horn—”
This time when he cut her off, he wasn’t content with just a kiss.
This time he lifted her and carried her to the bed, his mouth making love to her every step of the way.
And when he followed her down onto the bed, shedding his clothes quickly before parting her thighs with his knees, she could only open to him, rising to meet him as he entered her with a fierceness that left her aching.
This time their lovemaking was quick and wild, with the urgency of two people who fear they’ll never have another chance to mate.
To her consternation, she was as eager as he.
She wanted him inside her, around her, driving out her fears.
She wanted him to be hers, even though she knew he never could be.
Afterward she lay cradled in his arms spoon-fashion. Despite the sounds of footsteps tramping on the deck just on the other side of the wall and Barnaby ordering the sailors about, she felt peaceful and content just being in Gideon’s arms.
Oh, how had she come to this pass? What perverse demon made her forget all her good intentions the second he touched her? No doubt about it, Gideon truly was a talented, clever satyr who could seduce her whenever he wished. Worst of all, he knew it.
He pressed a kiss to her ear, his breath fanning her hot cheeks. Then he splayed his fingers over her naked belly provocatively. “What is it the Song of Solomon says? ‘Thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.’”
Good heavens, now the cursed man was quoting Biblical poetry in the most outrageous context! He truly was wicked.
“And thy breasts—” he began.
“Gideon!” she protested, twisting to glare at him as her face flamed. “Really, that passage is quite indecent. It’s not meant to be . . . repeated aloud.”
He smiled down at her, his expression unrepentant.
“I’m a pirate. I’m supposed to say indecent things.
” Eyes twinkling, he tugged loose two locks of her hair, then arranged them over her shoulders and her breasts.
“But if you insist on being prudish, I’ll speak of something less .
. . indecent. Like your hair.” He stroked it with a delicacy she wouldn’t have expected of him.
His voice was soft and almost wistful. “I love your hair. It’s like copper coins and raw silk and Miss Mulligan’s curtains. ”
“Miss Mulligan?” She scowled up at him. “Who, may I ask, is Miss Mulligan, and what were you doing with her curtains?”
“Come now, Miss Willis, don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
The wretch. Of course she was jealous. But she’d never let him know that. Tipping up her chin, she tried for a nonchalant tone. “Wouldn’t I be a fool to be jealous of a pirate who’s probably bedded half the women in Christendom?”
That wiped the grin off his face. With a clipped oath, he fell back against the pillows. “Not quite so many. Probably only a quarter of the women in Christendom, though I do try to bed a woman every half-hour or so. It keeps me young.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, she snapped, “And Miss Mulligan was one of them, I suppose.”
“Oh, of course. I bed seventy-two-year-old women whenever I get the chance.”
All at once, she felt like a complete fool. “Oh.”
“You are jealous, aren’t you?” He propped himself up on one elbow. “And with no need whatsoever. Miss Mulligan was an elderly spinster who ran one of the many boarding houses my father and I stayed in.”
Glancing up into his face, she noticed that his eyes now had a faraway look.
“I wasn’t quite seven years old when we lived there,” he went on, “and we were only there for six months. That was longer than we stayed in most places.” He played with her hair, letting the strands slip through his fingers to pool over her shoulders.
“But I remember the curtains in her drawing room so vividly. They were made of some scarlet, silky material, and when the sun shone through them, they looked like fire. I thought they were fire.”