Читать книгу The Lady's Command - Stephanie Laurens - Страница 11

CHAPTER 3

Knowing that Edwina would already have left the house for her morning’s engagements, Declan went on to the Frobisher and Sons office, located off Burr Street between St. Katherine’s Docks and the London Docks. There, he set in train various inquiries, dispatching several of the company’s retired sailors to quietly ask questions in the inns and taverns scattered about the area. He doubted they would hear anything specifically relating to his mission, but if there was some wider scheme afoot that might impinge on it, he would prefer to know of any potential complication before he set sail from England’s green shores.

The rest of his day went in gathering all the information he could about the current state of commerce and industry in the West African colonies from those in the office, as well as from his peers and contacts in the nearby offices of other shipping companies.

He was an adventurer at heart. As he was going to West Africa anyway, he might as well be alert and aware of any emerging possibilities.

He returned to Stanhope Street in the late afternoon. Taking refuge in the small library, he waited for Edwina to return. He spent the minutes pacing before the fireplace, rehearsing the words and phrases with which to excuse and explain his sudden and impending departure.

When he heard Humphrey’s heavy tread cross the front hall, then Edwina’s voice greeting the butler as she swept into the house, Declan drew in a deep breath and walked to the door. He opened it and looked out.

Edwina saw him and halted.

Going forward, he reached for her hand. “If you have a moment, my dear, I have some news.”

She surrendered her hand. Her eyes searched his face. Whatever she saw there sobered her. “Yes, of course.” She handed her bonnet to Humphrey and allowed Declan to usher her into the library.

After shutting the door behind them, he led her to the space before the fireplace. Unable to resist, he drew her to him and bent his head for a kiss. Stretching up, she met him in her usual eager fashion. She tasted of honey-cakes…

Before the engagement could spin out of hand, he broke the caress, then released her and waved her to the small sofa facing the hearth.

She glanced at his face, then, in a rustle of silk skirts, complied. He remained standing to one side of the hearth—instinctively assuming the stance of a captain addressing his crew. He was conscious of the nuance, but as the stance gave him confidence that he knew what he was doing and would accomplish the task before him, he pushed the question of its appropriateness from his mind.

She sank onto the sofa and locked her gaze on his face. “Don’t keep me in suspense. What is it?”

He’d debated how to phrase his news and had decided that brevity would serve them best. “I’ve been called on to do a short run to the capital of the West African settlements. It won’t take long—I’ll only be away for a few weeks—but for business reasons, the voyage has to be made immediately. None of my brothers or cousins is available. They’re at sea and not due back in time or, in Royd’s case, unable to set sail due to other commitments.”

For several silent seconds, she stared up at him. Then in a perfectly equable tone, she asked, “How dangerous is this voyage likely to be?”

“Not dangerous at all—or, at most, only minimally so.” Given his orders to cut and run the instant he learned anything, he couldn’t imagine he would face any real danger. He didn’t want her worrying. He summoned a reassuring smile. “I’ll be home safe and sound before you know it.”

“On that route, is the weather favorable at this time of year?”

“Generally speaking, yes. I don’t expect to run into any storms.”

Again, she stared at him as several seconds ticked by. Finally, her gaze fixed unwaveringly on his face, she stated, “In that case, I should like to accompany you.”

His mind seized. His wits froze. Blindsided—knocked entirely out of kilter—he simply stared down at her.

Apparently not noticing his stunned state, she blithely rattled on, “Given we’ve accomplished the most important goal we came to London to achieve, and as all else here is running smoothly, there’s really no reason I need to remain in town over the next weeks.” Her eyes warmed and her lips curved with eager enthusiasm. “And I would so like to sail with you—to see the world by your side.”

He finally managed to find his tongue. “No.”

She blinked, then clouds gathered in her sunny blue eyes and a frown drew down her brows. “Why not? Is there some reason you haven’t yet told me that makes it inadmissible for me to travel with you?”

Yes. He opened his mouth, then shut it. He couldn’t tell her any details. She moved in circles that might easily include connections of the Holbrooks, Decker, or Eldridge; one loose word and she might unwittingly place him and his crew in danger—a danger they would not otherwise face. He couldn’t tell her about his mission, and he certainly couldn’t take her with him. Lord above! He’d only just recognized how incredibly precious to him she now was, how central to his future life, to his future happiness, and she wanted to accompany him on a flying visit to one of the roughest settlements in the empire?

“No—or rather, yes.” He resisted the urge to rake his fingers through his hair. “There are any number of reasons that make it impossible for you to sail with me.” His tone made the declaration unequivocal. “And I’m sorry, but I can’t explain. It’s entirely untenable for you to travel with me in this instance.” Probably in any instance; he rarely traveled but for business, and his business was rarely without some risk.

Indeed, sailing on the high seas was never devoid of risk. Ships wrecked. He might survive, but she was so small and weak, he doubted she would.

Edwina’s heart sank, but she told herself that this obstacle had always been lurking somewhere along their path. She’d already decided that it was time to move forward, time to focus on establishing the daily ins and outs of how their marriage would work. Here was her first challenge. They would have come to this at some point; there would always have been a first time for her to convince him to take her sailing with him.

That said, she hadn’t expected this particular hurdle to appear quite so soon. Clasping her hands in her lap, she fixed her gaze on his face. “Declan, I realize we haven’t specifically discussed this, but I knew you spent at least half the year on your ship when I accepted your proposal. I married you in the full expectation that however many months you spent on the waves, I would be able to spend, if not all of those months, then at least the majority of them by your side, on the deck of your ship.”

She couldn’t be sure but she thought his eyes widened; it seemed her revelation had come as a surprise. Yet surely he hadn’t imagined that she was the type of lady to remain snug and safe at home by the fire, oblivious to whatever dangers or threats he might be facing halfway around the world?

She fought to stifle a snort.

Studying his expression, she frowned more definitely. “You cannot possibly be surprised by that. By the notion that I want to be a part of your life—all of it—rather than being relegated only to the land-based part.” Leaning forward, she made her eyes, her whole expression, as beseeching as she could. “Please, Declan. I would so like to go on your ship and sail the seas with you.”

For a moment, he held her gaze, then his chest swelled as he drew in a deep breath. For one instant, she hoped… But then his chin firmed; she saw his jaw harden.

“I have to admit that I did not quite appreciate your interest in sailing. If you like, I’ll take you on The Cormorant, perhaps to Amsterdam, and then down the coast of France and Spain and into the Mediterranean when I return from this trip.”

She considered the offer—clearly an olive branch of sorts—for half a minute before firming her own chin. “I would enjoy such a trip, but it fails to address the issue before us, which is that I wish to, and expect to, share all of your life and not just some of it.”

He held her gaze; the sky blue of his eyes seemed somehow flatter, less alive—less open, his emotions screened. “I cannot, and will not, take you on this particular voyage.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So I am to be allowed to share some of your life—the parts you deem appropriate—but I am to be excluded from those business ventures, those adventures, you wish to keep private, to yourself.”

She paused to give him a chance to respond, but although his nostrils pinched as he drew in a long breath, he refused the unstated invitation to correct her.

Taking that as a sign—a negative one—she evenly continued, “I have already stated that such boundaries are not what I expected in our marriage—one I wish to be based firmly on the concept of shared enterprise. As I understand your mother has always sailed with your father, I had not realized that you might think I would be happy being left at home.”

His lips thinned. “My mother’s case is different.”

She arched her brows. “How so?”

“She—” He stopped. His eyes remained locked with hers as his expression turned openly exasperated. “My mother is not you,” he eventually stated, his tone clipped and hard. “She’s my father’s responsibility, and you are mine.”

She returned a terse nod. “Indeed. Our marriage is as much your responsibility as mine. And I will go further and definitively state that I am not prepared to accept the restriction of not sailing with you, short of there being sound reasons and a compelling argument against it. I am not prepared to acquiesce to such a limitation being put on our sharing—on our marriage.”

She’d concluded on a belligerent note. She knew what she wanted, what she needed, and she was as certain as she could possibly be that—granite-headed though he clearly was—he, too, would gain enormously from a sharing union. The entire point was to support each other through no longer being alone. By no longer having to face life and its challenges, threats, and dangers alone.

That meant they had to share their lives.

He could argue until he was blue in the face, but she was not going to back down.

Declan looked into her face, saw the stalwart determination infusing her features, and understood that, entirely unexpectedly, he stood on very thin ice.

He wished it was otherwise—wished he’d comprehended her vision of their marriage before they’d reached this pass, so that he might have known which way to tack to better avoid cutting across her bow. He wished he could convince himself that this was a temporary whim of hers, that she couldn’t possibly be truly serious, that her statements of direction and intent were not rooted in sincere belief…but he couldn’t. She was the least whimsical female he’d ever met. And while he hadn’t foreseen her direction regarding their marriage, he had unshakeable faith in her honesty, especially when it came to what lay between them.

That was why wooing her had been so damned easy. She’d wanted him as much as he’d wanted her, and she hadn’t been backward about letting him know.

While such emotional honesty—such emotional clarity—had been a boon earlier, it made what he had to do now very much harder.

He hauled in an unsettlingly tight breath, held her gaze, and quietly, evenly, said, “I regret, my dear, that in this instance, I cannot take you with me. I would if I could—I would lay the sun, the moon, and the stars at your feet if that was what you wished and it lay within my ability. While not fraught with danger, this journey is not one I can allow you to share.”

He paused, then—deciding that he might as well be hung for a wolf as a lamb—he added, “There will always be some voyages like this. With others…perhaps we can reach some agreement when I get back. However, for now, my decision stands. I am the captain of The Cormorant, and I have absolute authority over who boards my ship. I cannot, and will not, take you with me.”

He expected her to erupt, although, truth be told, he’d never yet seen her lose her temper. He’d seen her annoyed, irritated, but never truly furious. But he now comprehended that this issue meant a great deal to her, and he knew she was stubborn, someone who would fight for what she believed… Instinctively, he braced for her anger.

It never came.

Instead, she studied him through narrowed eyes, glinting an unusually hard, bright blue from beneath her fine lashes. Gradually, her expression grew pensive.

After several moments of fraught silence—of him waiting for some high-flown denunciation—in a relatively normal tone, she asked, “Is that because, despite you saying there’ll be no real danger for you, you fear exposing me to even that low level of danger?”

He blinked. “Freetown—the capital of Sierra Leone—is no Bombay, or Calcutta, or Cape Town. It’s basic in every sense of the word and definitely no place for a duke’s daughter.”

“And that’s where you’re going?” When he nodded, she said, “I see. So your decision is driven by wanting to protect me.”

“Yes.” Exactly. He didn’t say the word but was quite sure she read his exasperation in his eyes. Why else would he deny her?

She studied him for a moment more, then—to his complete surprise—she gave a little nod, more to herself than him, and rose. “All right. That I can accept.”

Suddenly, he felt oddly unsure, as if some unexpected wind had blown up and was steadily pushing him off course. He tried to study her face, but she was looking down and shaking her skirts straight. “Just so I have this issue clear, as long as my intention is to protect you, then you’ll accept whatever decisions I make?”

She raised her head, met his eyes, and smiled—gently, reassuringly. Then she stepped closer, came up on her toes, and lightly touched her lips to his. Drawing back, her hand on his chest, she stated, “I accept that, in seeking to protect me, you will make such decisions.”

Sinking back to her heels, she watched him for a second, then her smile deepened. “Now.” She turned and walked toward the door. “As we discussed last night, we’re having dinner here, just the two of us, and then spending a quiet evening in the drawing room.”

He followed as if drawn by invisible threads.

At the door, she turned and, smiling, arched her brows. “Unless you would prefer to attend more events?”

“No, no.” He quelled a shudder. Reaching past her, he opened the door. “I’m looking forward to spending a whole evening in which I don’t have to share you with anyone else.”

Belatedly, he realized what he’d said—which word he’d used—but she only smiled sweetly and led the way out.

Feeling very much as if he’d avoided a cannonball to his mainmast, yet having no clear idea how he’d accomplished the feat, he followed at her heels. They’d got over that stumbling block and peace and harmony had—somehow—been maintained. He told himself to be grateful.

* * *

The evening following Edwina’s discussion with Declan in their library, she stood by the side of Lady Comerford’s ballroom and pretended to pay attention to the various gentlemen surrounding her. A few ladies were scattered among the ranks, but to Edwina’s dismay, for some ungodly reason, a sizeable cohort of gentlemen seemed intent on vying for her attention.

Even though the group included several she’d heard spoken of in hushed whispers by the racier of her peers—the young matrons of the ton—and even though she recognized the attraction several of those gentlemen possessed, she had no attention to spare even for such potent distractions.

Declan had informed her that he would be departing London sometime the next day; he had begged off accompanying her to this ball on the grounds of having to deal with last-minute preparations. Given she’d already declared their purpose in appearing together at such major ton events achieved, she’d had to accept his decision with a gracious smile. She’d hidden her welling consternation; she had yet to decide how best to respond to his decision to leave her safely in London.

She understood his motives, but equally, she knew that they would have to start somewhere—that at some point, she would have to press her case to accompany him on his business trips. In the circumstances, it was difficult to find a reason not to commence as she intended to go on. If she bowed to his fear for her now, if she gave it credence on what he’d assured her was an as-near-as-made-no-odds dangerless voyage, his attitude would only grow more entrenched, making her ultimate battle to change his mind that much harder.

On them both.

As she was beyond determined that, ultimately, she would prevail and would routinely accompany him on his voyages, then letting his decision stand, even this once, seemed an unwise path to take.

Outwardly gay, she attempted to respond to the banter and comments directed her way sufficiently well to camouflage her distraction. Meanwhile, the better part of her brain revisited the options she’d identified over the past twenty-four hours. She wasn’t the sort to fret and fume, to argue and shout; over the years, she’d found that the most effective way of overcoming hurdles was to ignore them and act as she believed she should. However, this situation was complex and complicated, affecting not just her but Declan, and also impacting and potentially shaping the foundation of their marriage.

She’d thought about seeking advice, but there were precious few whom she might ask, and even fewer with what she deemed the requisite experience and understanding to whom she might consider listening. There were few ladies in the ton whose husbands were adventurers. The closest comparison she could think of was her brother, Julian, and with respect to his marriage, it had, indeed, been Miranda who had acted to make their marriage happen; if she hadn’t taken a decisive step against Julian’s clear direction, the joyful marriage she and Julian shared would simply not have been.

Impulse, observation, and contemplation all urged Edwina to act. If she truly believed—as she did—that her accompanying Declan on this voyage was critical for their marriage to succeed, then it behooved her to make that happen for their joint greater good.

That was a nice, clear, unequivocal conclusion. All she needed to do was convince herself that it was, indeed, the right one.

She was still mentally debating, still absentmindedly fending off subtly worded advances when, across the ballroom, a gilded head of light brown hair caught her eye. She was too short to see the face beneath, but that color, that recklessly windblown style…

Seconds later, the crowd thinned, and she glimpsed Declan moving purposefully in her direction. Her pulse sped up; she ignored all those about her—she had eyes only for him.

It appeared he felt the same way about her; although several ladies attempted to intercept him, and although he cloaked his responses in superficial civility, his gaze barely diverted from her.

And then he was there, smoothly taking her hand and raising it to his lips while his gaze held hers. “My dear, I apologize for my tardiness. Matters took longer than I’d anticipated.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he raised his gaze and allowed it to travel over the group of over-attentive gentlemen.

Declan smiled, coldly, on the group of, at least to him, unwelcome admirers who had had the temerity to gather about his wife. He didn’t like the looks of any of them. An unsettling thought rose in his mind—that with him absent on the Crown’s business, she would have no one to send them packing. “Do introduce me to your”—cicisbeos—“friends, my dear.”

Several of said friends all but deflated.

He managed not to bare his teeth and managed to respond with passable civility to the introductions Edwina was quick to make.

This was the first night he hadn’t accompanied her into the ton, and he was going to be away for at least a fortnight, possibly longer…

He squelched the impulse that rose within him; this was not a venue in which snarling was acceptable.

The introductions were barely complete when the small orchestra at the end of the room put bow to string, and the introduction to a waltz rose above the chatter. He fell on the opening. Closing his hand over hers, he smiled into the widening eyes she turned his way. “I do hope you’ve saved this waltz for me.”

She blinked several times, then somewhat carefully said, “Yes—that is, I believe I might chance it.”

He gave her a quizzical look, but he wasn’t about to argue; she’d accepted and given him the opportunity to remove her from the horde surrounding her. He flashed a smile he fought not to allow to be too overtly possessive around the group, made their excuses, and drew her away.

The open space of the dance floor was only two paces distant; as he turned her into his arms and stepped out, he arched a brow at her. “What was that all about?”

She sighed. “I claimed to have a twisted ankle so I could avoid all their invitations to waltz.”

Happiness bloomed. He grinned. “Clever girl.”

She pulled a face at him. “I feel I should point out that you’ve just shown me to be a liar.”

He arched his brows, considering, then offered, “Most of them probably knew you were lying.”

She snorted. After two brisk revolutions, she admitted, “Most likely.”

That was the last word they exchanged about her court of would-be admirers. Declan set himself to entertain her and not-too-subtly monopolize her time. He saw her mother, her sisters, and several of the older ladies noticing and commenting, but he’d be damned if he was going to leave anyone, gentleman or lady, in any doubt that Edwina was his—and that he intended her to remain so.

As the evening wore on, he took a leaf out of the Delbraith ladies’ book; working on the principle that the most effective way of discouraging any would-be lovers was to demonstrate just how happy he and Edwina were in each other’s company, how steeped in each other they had already become, he did something he’d never imagined he would do and openly wore his heart on his sleeve—and encouraged her to do the same.

What followed was the most enjoyable evening they had spent in the ton since their wedding. He kept his attention locked on her, and hers remained locked on him; the rest of the guests were merely a colorful backdrop for their play.

Gradually, his possessively protective tension faded, soothed by her laugh, her smile, and the openly loving light in her eyes. Earlier in the day, he’d taken time from his search for information to hunt up Catervale and Elsbury and alert them to his impending absence. Both Edwina’s brothers-in-law had readily agreed to do what they could to shield her from any unwanted advances. Of course, it went without saying that both would have to rely on her sisters to alert them to any need for action.

Foreseeing the weakness in that plan, Declan had hailed a hackney, traveled to the house overlooking Dolphin Square, and spoken to her brother. Julian and his wife might not circulate within the ton, but as Neville Roscoe, he had eyes and ears everywhere. Once Julian had shaken off his surprise that Edwina had agreed to remain in London, he’d undertaken to watch over her while Declan was at sea.

Declan had taken every precaution he could. Given that Edwina wasn’t a silly female prone to taking unnecessary risks, when they finally departed Comerford House and settled in the shadows of their carriage to rattle over the cobbles to Stanhope Street, he felt more settled than he had since he’d learned of his mission. Assured that while he was away, all would be well with her, and relieved he’d managed to navigate his way through the marital shoals caused by his unexpected voyage.

Having her seated beside him with one small hand tucked into one of his and her soft shoulder pressing against his arm set the seal on his peace.

As the carriage turned a corner, she glanced at his face. “Do you know at what hour you’ll be leaving the house?”

Her tone was even, the question simply that.

“As soon as I receive the reports I’m expecting, but I suspect it’ll be after midday. Regardless, I’ll have to leave before midafternoon in order to make Southampton before the evening tide.”

“So your ship will sail on the evening tide?”

He nodded. “If we don’t get out then, we’ll have to wait until the next day, and time is of the essence.”

“I see.” A moment ticked by, then she said, “I once went sailing on a yacht in the Solent and saw some of the larger ships pass by. Is it possible for a ship like yours to sail out into the Solent and then wait for people to be ferried from the port before going further?”

“If we weren’t in a hurry, yes. But we need to catch the tide to get out of the Solent itself, and once we’re in the Channel, there’s no turning back—not until the tide turns again.”

She fell silent as if digesting that, then she leaned closer, her head resting against his shoulder, and gently squeezed his hand. “Tell me about your ship. Does Frobisher and Sons have a particular wharf at Southampton? You have that in London, don’t you?”

He returned the pressure of her fingers. “We have two wharves in London—one in St. Katherine’s Docks, the other in London Docks. The office is more or less between them. But in Southampton, all our ships come into one section of the main wharf.”

“What about The Cormorant itself? Describe it.”

He did. As they rattled along the night-shrouded streets, he painted a picture drawn from fond memories, his words colored by emotion, by the joy he always felt on the waves, with the creak of the sails, ropes, and spars above his head, the slap and shush of the waves caressing the hull, and the pitch and roll of the deck beneath his feet. He opened his heart and shared it all with her.

When the carriage drew up outside their town house and he helped her from the carriage and escorted her up the steps, he realized he wanted this evening—this last night they would have together for weeks—to be perfect. For the pleasure they’d rediscovered in each other to remain unmarred by any discord, by any jarring note.

She seemed to have the same agenda. They climbed the stairs to their bedroom, closed the door on the world, and gave themselves up to each other.

Somewhat to his surprise, she took the lead—demanded it. He ceded the reins readily, intrigued as to what she had in mind, only to discover that she’d decided that he should remember this night…vividly.

Her small hands were everywhere, stroking his skin, caressing, then clutching, nails sinking in evocatively when he struck back and ravaged her mouth. But she drew breath and came back at him; with lips and tongue, with her curves clothed in silken, heated skin, with her breathing ragged and her lids at half mast, she seized the tiller of their passions and orchestrated a wave of need, greed, and delirious wanting that all but overwhelmed him.

Then she took him into her mouth and drove him to madness. Her tongue artfully stroked, then she suckled, and he thought he would lose his mind.

Blue eyes bright beneath passion-weighted lids, she played, joyous and bold—more confidently assured in this sphere than he’d ever seen her. Than he’d ever imagined she might be; the sight sent a lustful wave of sheer, prideful possessiveness surging through him.

That she was his had never been in question—not here, like this, with them naked and writhing in their bed. But tonight, she went a step further. Tonight, she lavished a devotion to his pleasure upon him—a commitment so intense, so deep and absolute, it left him giddy.

Giddy and glorying that he had found her, that she had accepted him and consented to be his.

When she finally rose above him and took him into her body, that appreciation, that bone-deep thankfulness thudded in his blood.

Joined, their senses fused, their fingers linking, they set off on their journey, on the long, rocking ride up and over the pinnacle of their desire, straight into the molten heat of their passion.

They raced on through the flames, gasped and clung and shuddered through the intensity, then as one, they surrendered to the final conflagration that cindered their senses and propelled them headlong into ecstasy.

Up, through, and on, ultimately to fall into the oblivion beyond.

Wrapped together, their hearts thudding in unison, they sank back to reality, back to the earthy pleasure of each other’s naked embrace, back to the tangled sheets of their bed, the quiet rasp of their breathing, and the shadows of the night.

She had collapsed on top of him. When she finally stirred and rolled to his side, he drew her closer, tucking her against him. Blindly, he searched, found the sheets, wrestled, and drew the silk over their cooling bodies.

Then he lay back, surrendered, and let satiation have him.

Despite his looming departure, all was well between them. He was, he felt, an extremely lucky man. And if she’d intended to bind him to her with her unrestrained passion, she’d succeeded beyond her wildest dreams. For this, for her, he would walk through fire. No sea, no storm, no danger on earth would keep him from returning to her side.

Tucked against her husband’s solid heat, somewhat to her surprise, Edwina discovered her mind crystal clear and her decision made—definitive, final, and resolute. The events of the evening had only underscored the value of what they already had, what they already shared. Contrary to her assumption on embarking on their lovemaking, she hadn’t been driven by the thought of fresh insights and new explorations; instead, her actions had been a recommitment—something that had welled from deep inside her, an instinctive and powerful response to their current situation.

To their current need.

She’d recommitted to protecting what they already had and to moving ahead and securing the marriage she wanted them to have—the marriage that would best benefit them both.

She now knew what she had to do—the essential elements were clear in her mind. Courtesy of the past day, she had a vague notion of how she might accomplish the crucial first step.

Tomorrow, she would act. Tomorrow, she would take the first step in forging the marriage she—and he—needed to have.

Regardless of all else the evening had wrought, she sensed—felt, could all but touch—a solid certainty that now dwelled at her core. She was not giving up—she never would give up—on her dreams.