Alex’s eyes grew wide with interest. “I want to hear both of them,” she urged.
He chuckled. “I rather thought you might.” Always thirsty for knowledge of any kind was Lady Alexandria Cassel … Lady Alexandria Cairnham, he amended silently.
“The Indians believed that the Great Spirit, Manatoana, and the god of evil were at war. They stood on opposite banks of the river casting rocks at each other. Those stones that fell short of their target landed in the water and were transformed into the islands. Manatoana was, of course, victorious, after which the Thousand Islands came to be known as the Garden Place or the Happy Hunting Ground of the Great Spirit.”
“How wonderful!” Alex’s whole face was alight with pleasure.
“The second legend is even more poetic,” Drake continued. “It is said that when white-robed angels carried Eden to heaven, one thousand flowers fell from the garden. These flowers lit upon the waters of the river and floated to the surface, thus becoming the Thousand Islands.”
“That is an enchanting picture,” Alex breathed. “And considering the euphoria that permeates our island, that legend is perfect … magical and mystical, as is our little paradise, don’t you agree?”
He ruffled her hair gently. “Yes, princess, I do. Legends are people’s ways of breathing life into their dreams.”
Alex sighed. “Dreams are wondrous things. For in them anything you wish for can be yours.”
Her words sounded so wistful. And suddenly all Drake wanted was to make her every wish come true.
“And what is your dream, princess?” he asked in the growing darkness. “Throughout your young and sheltered life, what has been your heart’s desire?”
She stared up at the stars. “My answer will no doubt surprise you, for it is quite contrary to your opinion of my needs.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that you are convinced that I delude myself into thinking that my happiness cannot be found within my aristocratic world. I have never denied being a product of my social class, for that is all I know. But we are speaking of dreams now, not realities.” She continued to gaze up at the heavens, remembering all the lonely nights at Sudsbury when she had stared at those same stars, dreaming that same dream.
“Some women dream of princes, wonderful and powerful men who carry them off to their castles, where they will live happily ever after.” Her voice had grown feint, and she was so far away, lost in her own thoughts and memories, that Drake wondered if she even remembered his presence. “I have lived in that castle and I know just how empty and lonely it can be. And princes are merely men who are consumed with themselves and their domains. There is no room in their hearts for love, true love that yearns for a partner to stand beside them rather than beneath them yet on a pedestal above all others.” She shook her head. “I want no part of that dream. My dream? A man who can take me from that castle to a simple cabin, where we can live as we will and love as we were born to do, side by side, with joy and with meaning. Sadly, I have yet to find that within the confines of my social circle.”
“You are my wife now.”
Alex turned, startled, at the ferocity of Drake’s tone. In truth, she had been lost in her words, unthinking of how they would affect him.
“Yes, I am,” she answered softly, looking up into his face.
Drake could barely understand his own reaction at her description of her dream. Everything inside him tightened with tenderness, with an almost violent determination to be everything she wanted and needed him to be. She thought he was that simple man of whom she spoke. Yet he was not, could never be, for he was as much a prisoner of his noble birth as she. She believed him to be a sea captain; that he was. And he was her husband, now and always. For now it would have to be enough.
“Drake?” She reached up to touch his cheek, stroked her hand over his beard. “I didn’t mean …” She broke off. How could she tell him that he was everything she wanted, that she loved him so much it frightened her? He was none of the things she had been brought up to seek in a husband, and upon returning to England, she would suffer the ton’s scorn and ridicule … and yet, in spite of it all, she wanted him, needed him. Loved him.
She had no chance to speak. Wordlessly Drake pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his.
Alex required no urging, for she shared the same desperate feelings that shook his powerful frame. Drake made a sharp sound deep in his throat and pulled her onto his lap, crushing her against his bare chest and kissing her until she could hardly breathe.
She didn’t care if she suffocated. It had been too long since she had been able to express through her body what she felt in her heart. She dug her fingers into the longer hair at the nape of his neck and held on, pressing herself as close to him as she could, wanting to be absorbed into his body.
Drake was already out of control. He stared down at her face, suffused by moonlight. “Your head?” he gasped.
“It doesn’t hurt.”
“Alex … are you sure?”
“Drake, please, please … I need you.”
He was on his feet, lifting her
into his arms and taking long strides toward their shelter. Alex buried her face against his chest, feeling the crisp hair tickle her nose, inhaling his wonderful masculine scent. She felt the warmth of the fire surround them as he lowered her to the soft grass that was their mattress, then dropped to his knees beside her.
Alex watched him gaze down at her with blazing desire and poignant tenderness that he made no attempt to hide. She reached for him; he covered her with himself. They wrapped their arms around each other, their mouths meeting in an endless kiss that said more than words ever could. Somewhere in the inferno that followed, Alex felt Drake unbutton her shirt, pull it from her body, then kick off his breeches, never ending the kiss. Their naked flesh met, pressed closer, ignited. Alex threw back her head, alive with sensation, as Drake buried his face against her throat, whispered her name, then licked a slow path around each swelling breast, reveling in her moans of pleasure, her pleas for more. He wet the tip of each nipple with his tongue, grazed it with his teeth, and finally drew it deep into his hungry mouth. Alex cried out his name, digging her hands into his shoulders, pulling him closer.
He was on fire, desperate to make her burn with the same intensity that throbbed through his loins. He needed her, all of her, this night. He trailed his open mouth across her shoulder and down her arm, kissing her palms, her fingers, moving then to the other arm to repeat the caress. He loved her slowly, fighting the rampaging desire that grew stronger, more insistent, each time his tongue laved her hot skin. His caress left no part of her untouched; he kissed her waist, her flat stomach, her thighs. She opened herself to him wordlessly, and he began to stroke his tongue again and again over the warm softness between her legs. He closed his eyes, inhaling her fragrance, drinking in her growing wetness. He listened to her cries of passion, felt the urgent arching of her body against his mouth. Cupping her soft bottom, he brought her closer to his seeking tongue until Alex began to cry out wildly, convulsing, shuddering against him. He felt every exquisite spasm of her body, not lifting his head until she went limp in his arms. Then he raised himself up, gazed down into her flushed, damp face. It still was not enough. With a ragged sound, Drake lowered himself to the grass beside her and pulled her over him, on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her with near-violent possession, crushing her breasts to his chest, feeling her silken limbs entwined with his strong, hair-roughened ones. He took her mouth with a hunger that transcended the mere physical, and she returned his unspoken words with her own.