She knew what that stiff ridge of flesh was, and it surprised her. How could he respond that fiercely to just a kiss, when it had taken Tarkington…
He lifted his head, and then flicked her chin with his long fingers. “Pay attention to the man who’s kissing you,” he said in a low voice. And his mouth descended again.
Oh, God. She’d never imagined it could be like this, the burning hunger that was racing through her body, making her knees weak, and she wanted to sink into him, dissolve into a molten puddle of forbidden longing.
He released her so abruptly she almost lost her footing. “That’s more like it,” he said, staring down at her from enigmatic eyes. “You’d better get going before I totally lose my mind. And watch yourself. Next time I won’t be around to rescue you.” And damned if the man didn’t start whistling cheerfully as he strode away, forgetting about her entirely.
She stood very still. She was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time in her life, and then a clear, sharp, cleansing fury exploded within her. Spinning on her heel, she stalked away, following his directions, muttering imprecations beneath her breath, including the forbidden one he’d dared to use in her presence.
“Fuck it,” she said succinctly, and then she picked up her discarded valise and she was out in the sunshine, feeling strangely better than she had in months.
CHAPTER THREE
THAT LITTLE ENCOUNTER, LUCA thought, had improved his mood tremendously. Who would have thought he’d run across such a tempting firecracker in the back alleys of Devonport? Too bad she was probably a virgin—they were always too much trouble. He kept away from the dockside girls—there were too many diseases floating around. When he needed a little distraction he used to visit a certain married woman, but he’d broken it off several weeks ago when he’d become engaged to Gwendolyn, and now, suddenly, he was thinking about sex.
Not that he wasn’t entirely capable of doing without anything but his own hand for months on end, during the long voyages. But something about that girl, about the way she clung to him at the last minute, about her attempt to kiss him back, had aroused more than just his curiosity.
He hoped she found her place of employment without running into any more trouble. Though he couldn’t remember any milliner’s shop on North Water Street. That was a residential area, including his own house. Which meant she’d be walking by occasionally. Even if he managed to talk her into bed—and there was really no “if” about it—his fiancée would be a problem. No, now wasn’t the time to pursue a bit of crumpet on the side, as Billy would put it. Though her mouth had been delicious.
Maybe Billy was right—Gwendolyn could be more trouble than she was worth. Yes, he wanted children, and he wanted a well-run household and a willing woman in his bed at night. But even though he fully intended to ignore most of the demands of marriage, there were bound to be inconveniences, like this current one, when he wanted nothing more than to follow the pert young miss to her place of employment and continue bickering with her. And then kissing her again.
Life was full of bad bargains. He’d made this one. If the lovely milliner was going to come into his life again he’d wait for it to happen. Otherwise he had better things to do. The smartest thing he could do was put her out of his mind.
He’d reached the quayside, and the girl was long gone. He looked out at the harbor, the sparkling blue sky, the nip of wind as it tossed the leaves on the trees. It was a perfect day for sailing, and he was stuck on land because of old man Russell’s larceny, just as his new ship was stuck in London while solicitors wrangled over who actually owned her.
Apparently Russell had left a will, and he’d bequeathed the Maddy Rose to its namesake, his middle daughter, Madeleine Rose. Normally that would be of no consequence given that any assets of a thief were confiscated, but apparently the damned girl’s name was on the legal papers, and one solicitor thought she needed to be found to sign off on it before he could take ownership.
And so he was stuck in limbo, with only a small ketch and a skiff to distract him. No wonder he was in a dangerous mood.
He really shouldn’t blame old man Russell, Luca thought, breathing in the salty air. Luca had spent the first twelve years of his life stealing anything he could get his nimble hands on, and he still would, if the treasure was worth snatching. Who was he to pass judgment on another thief?
But this thief had stolen from him, and that was a different matter entirely. He’d trusted the old man, even when he’d showed up full of crazy accusations. Eustace Russell had died that very night, his carriage tumbling off the side of a cliff, and Luca had always wondered if some fever of the brain had afflicted the normally levelheaded man. But he’d been heading away from the port, dying somewhere in the vast expanse of Dartmoor, which didn’t make it seem as if he was trying to escape.
It was no longer his concern, except for the missing signature to complete his ownership of the Maddy Rose. Until that happened he was temporarily landlocked, waiting for the solicitors to finish arguing among themselves, when he wanted nothing more to be out there away from responsibilities and nagging voices…
He stopped himself midthought. Being in command of a ship and God knew how many souls was hardly free of responsibility, and he’d never in his life listened to a nagging voice. Never heard one—no one had cared enough to pr
ate on and on at him about things he found absolutely uninteresting, like the arrangement of a cravat or social conventions, the sort of thing Gwendolyn set such store by. Maybe Billy was right. Getting married to a woman like that could prove very tiresome.
Ah, but she was a gorgeous piece, like fine porcelain. He could dance to her tune gracefully enough, until they were married and bedded. Once she had a child or two to fill with such nonsense she’d leave off of him. And there was the sea. He didn’t have to be home with her any longer than he wanted—he could tolerate marriage to almost anyone in those circumstances, and Gwendolyn would do.
So why did he feel so restless? This was what he’d decided upon. A proper wife to go with his proper life, a gypsy street rat and pickpocket pulling himself out of the gutter to almost laughable heights. Gwendolyn was great-niece to a duke—his common, half-Rom blood would mingle with that of aristocracy. And he’d still be free to disappear on the ocean, with the sea breeze in his hair and the slap of salt spray against his skin, and Gwendolyn probably wouldn’t notice. Oh, she was drawn to him, wanted him like a shiny new toy, but he suspected once it came down to the marriage bed she’d be happy enough to do without. The few kisses she’d allowed had been cold and close-mouthed, and he didn’t think a parson’s blessing was going to warm her. No, he’d find his pleasure elsewhere once he gave her enough children, and if she found out she’d pretend not to know.
So why wasn’t he celebrating his good fortune? The problem with the Maddy Rose would be easily fixed, particularly since his solicitor was his future father-in-law. It was a little late to be changing his mind, about the ship, about his upcoming nuptials. Gwendolyn wouldn’t be a problem, simply because he didn’t care enough to let her be one. And he wanted children. He liked them—the cheeky little buggers.
So why did his mind keep going back to the milliner with her flashing, dark blue eyes, soft mouth, and fierce temper? His course was charted. He couldn’t afford distractions, even one as tempting as the hatmaker.
CHAPTER FOUR
BY THE TIME MADDY arrived at the captain’s house on North Water Street she had regained her composure, even if she couldn’t quite forget what his mouth had been like. It wasn’t like her to let any man fluster her, and unless she made the very foolish habit of wandering the back alleyways near the docks she was unlikely to run into him again. She couldn’t quite place him socially. One of the men had referred to him as “captain,” but it was more likely a generic term of respect for power, which the stranger clearly had. The ships’ captains she’d met, and there had been many of them, were always impeccably dressed, whether in uniform or day clothes. Perhaps this man was a first mate or a quartermaster—something a little higher up than an ordinary seaman.
She shook herself. She had to hope her father’s captains hadn’t hired any foul creatures like the three who’d attacked her. But had her enigmatic rescuer ever sailed on her father’s ships? It was a disturbing possibility.
It didn’t matter. Her father had no ships—his empire was torn apart, the ships sold off one by one, including the one that bore her name. She needed to forget the rude stranger and his shocking kiss. She would never see him again; no one would ever kiss her like that again. When she found her wealthy, titled husband she would never allow him such liberties.
But still…
She straightened her shoulders, determinedly dismissing the stranger and his mouth, and stared at her destination, the place she would call home for the next few weeks.