Kenna was touched by his thoughtfulness. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but there is no need to bother anyone now. I’ll wash at the basin.”
“As you wish.” He walked over to the desk and began pulling out charts, a log book, and the ship’s manifest. “I can look over these things now.”
Kenna glanced over her shoulder as she slipped out of her gown, concern knitting her brows. “Should you? I mean, you seemed so tired when I came in. Shouldn’t you try to go to sleep?”
Rhys did not look up from the things he in front of him. “I doubt that I can,” he muttered. More clearly he said, “This won’t take long.”
Shrugging, Kenna put away her gown then went to the basin. Unaware that Rhys was watching her, she sighed happily as she took off her shoes and wriggled her pinched toes. She dipped a cloth into the clear basin water and cooled her face with it, letting drops of the water trickle down her neck and dampen the lacy edge of her chemise. A sliver of lavender soap lay near the washbowl. Kenna used it to lather the cloth and washed her face and throat.
Eyes forward, Rhys commanded himself, and then disobeyed his own edict. He watched Kenna slip the chemise over her shoulders until it rested around her waist, baring the tantalizing curve of her back to him. She soaped her breasts and shoulders, drew the cloth along the inside length of her arms, then rinsed. His eyes fell on the manifest in front of him but his vision blurred. The lines on the paper merged and formed the slender outline of Kenna’s body. It took no effort to imagine the narrow curve of her waist, the smooth contours of her incredibly long legs, or the arched thrust of her buttocks. The vision in front of him turned and though he held her gaze, his fingertips traced the column of her throat then the vulnerable flare of her collarbone. He cupped her breasts and they swelled at his touch. Her flesh grew warm as he brushed her abdomen. There was a hushed intake of air when he cradled her hips and brought her flush against him and…
“Did you say something, Rhys?” asked Kenna as she turned away from the basin and fastened the buttons at the neck of her nightgown.
Rhys blinked at the paper and the picture in his mind dissolved. He looked up at Kenna, saw that she had completed her bathing and was dressed for bed, and he guiltily wondered if she could guess the direction of his thoughts. Her expressive eyes were curious. “No. I didn’t say anything.” He pushed back the papers. “You’re ready for bed?” Stupid, he thought. It was obvious she was ready.
She nodded slightly and stifled a weak yawn with the back of her hand. “I’m more tired than I thought.” Kenna went to the bed and pulled back the blankets. She sat down on the edge and fiddled with the lace cuffs of her sleeves. “Rhys…”
“I won’t bother you, Kenna,” Rhys said quickly, believing he understood the reason for her hesitation. That her head lifted sharply at his words seemed to confirm his suspicions. “I know you have not had the time to become accustomed to our marriage. I don’t want you to worry that I shall force intimacy upon you. In fact, I was thinking that I could sleep on the window seat. It’s long enough and I should be quite comfortable.”
Kenna was mortified at this turn of conversation. She had only been going to ask him to put away his charts and books and come to bed. It seemed as if he wanted nothing to do with her. She glanced past him to the window seat. “You’ll be miserable there,” she said quietly, color staining her cheeks. “It will be cold and you’ll probably fall off the edge before morning.”
Rhys shrugged. “I’ll take my chances.”
“All right.” She put a pillow and two blankets at the foot of the bed then slipped beneath the remaining covers, turning on her side to face the wall so he would not see the tears that misted her eyes.
Rhys stared at the stiff set of her shoulders for a moment before he got up from the desk. Telling himself he was doing the only sensible thing, he took the pillow and blankets, threw them on the window seat, then blew out the lantern.
Kenna found little satisfaction in hearing Rhys toss and turn as he tried to make himself comfortable on the padded seat. Darkness and distance gave her courage. “If you do not intend this to be a real marriage, then why did you say there will be no divorce?”
Rhys thumped his pillow. “Pardon. What did you say?”
Would talking to him never be easy? Kenna repeated her question in a rush, stumbling over the words. She swore if he didn’t understand her this time he would go to his grave without hearing the words again. He was silent for so long that Kenna thought this was indeed going to be the case.
“What do you mean by a real marriage?” he asked finally.
“You know.”
“Oh. Well, yes, I intend ours to be a true marriage. You shall be in charge of all the staff, oversee the running of our home. I doubt you need my permission, but you may harangue me at your leisure over any trifle I’ve forgotten, or complain bitterly that I’ve spent far too many hours immersed in matters of trade. We shall go out together and make a polite show of being a most loving couple, leaving our differences behind us. I will endeavor not to flirt overmuch if you will promise the same. An affair for either of us in our first year of marriage would be in bad taste, I think.” Rhys was lying on his back, fingers locked behind his head, and for all that his tone was serious, he was smiling broadly. “Have I got the way of it? Is this the real marriage you spoke of? Pray, tell me if there is something I’ve forgotten.”
Rhys was so pleased with himself as he developed his speech that he never heard Kenna getting out of bed. His first indication that she had done so was when her pillow thudded into his chest and effectively wiped the smile from his face. He grabbed the pillow, intending to pull her down, but she had already released it. In the blue moonlit shadows of the cabin he could see the pale outline of her gown as she stalked back to bed. He took aim and the pillow thumped unerringly on her derriere.
Kenna paused, not quite believing he had retaliated in kind, then a wicked smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She turned, picked up the pillow at the ends, shook it so the feathers clumped together, and advanced on Rhys. He held up his hands to ward off the blow but Kenna was giving no quarter. She walloped him over the head.
The pillow exploded. A puff of feathers rose above Rhys’s face then drifted downward, settling on his cheeks, eyelids, and in his open mouth. He sat up slowly and deliberately, giving Kenna time to run but knowing there was no place she could hide. He brushed the feathers off his face as Kenna backed away. He heard her give a nervous little laugh as he stood and picked up his own pillow.
Now it was Kenna who held out her arms to keep Rhys at bay. She retreated until she felt the back of her knees connect with the bed frame. She sat down abruptly and scooted to the far side of the bed. “Unfair, Rhys!” she said, choking down laughter. “I have no weapons left.”
That gave Rhys pause and he shook his head slowly. “Oh, Kenna, you have not begun to tap your arsenal.”
In her innocence she looked around frantically for something she might hurl at him. Her search lowered her guard and Rhys hit her shoulder with the pillow, knocking her to one side. She made a grab for it, missed, and prepared herself for another soft blow. When it didn’t come she peeked at him through her fingers. His shoulders were shaking, an unmistakable sign that he was laughing at her. She supposed she did look rather funny, curled up with her face in her hands and her backside an obliging target.
“Please, just hit me and get it over with,” she said.
“Anything to oblige my wife,” said Rhys. The pillow connected with her rump.
With cat-like quickness Kenna caught it from behind and yanked hard, pulling Rhys off balance so he fell on the bed. His fingers lost their grip and though he waited to be clobbered again Kenna merely busied herself fluffing and smoothing the pillow. His eyes widened as she placed it at the head of the bed and promptly rested her own head upon it. The final straw was when she pulled a blanket over her shoulder and serenely closed her eyes. Her smile was terribly complacent.
“Oh, no,” said Rhys, giving her a shake. “You are not going to get away with it. That’s my pillow.”
