Merry looked into the lazy eyes and wondered what he would do if he knew that her brother and cousin inside the tavern were officers in the American military, there on what amounted to a mission of espionage, and what he would do if he knew that she could herself draw a sketch of him that would make him a marked man, perhaps even bring him to the gallows. Fear lent conviction to her answer.
“Yes, I’m quite sure.”
He traced a fingertip over her cheekbone. “Happily?”
Another trap yawned at her feet. It was a dangerous game; she was a pitifully inept player, and a debilitating, strain-induced fatigue had well nigh nibbled away the last of her wits.
“Hap—I don’t know. No, I mean yes. Yes, of course I am. Whenever you meet people, do you ask them so many questions?”
“Sometimes,” he said softly. “I’m rather an inquisitive person. Are you?”
He was so close, so very close to her, and she could feel his breath like a cool caress on her cheek, between the silky play of his fingers.
“I-I-I don’t know” was all she could produce.
He put his other hand to her other cheek, cradling her head. The stars above seemed to her to begin a slow whirl and to brighten and pulsate.
“Are you curious now?” he whispered.
“N-no.” It was a half-truth.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked in a gentle way. “Does your husband hurt you?”
More than ever Merry was taken beyond her depth, for the things she knew about marital intimacy could have been written in longhand on the head of a thimble. Improvisation and “I don’t know”s nearly exhausted, Merry said nothing and sat listening to the sound of her panicked heartbeat, as, gently, he laid his lips on hers, touching her with the sweetly probing eroticism of an experienced lover, and then drew away. He put his fingers to her lips, and under their subtle, clever pressure her lips parted slightly as his mouth returned to hers, stroking the soft openness. One long, slender finger played in the wisps of hair at the side of her head and traced the outline of her ear, pausing to toy with the sensitive earlobe, and then his broad hand lifted her hair from the back of her head, as if to encompass and steady the spinning sensations she was feeling there. Then he turned her head from side to side, dragging his lips across hers.
Merry had never known there could be such a thing as physical desire and was more than unprepared for the pounding sweetness of his kiss. It was a new world, velvet black and golden, every physical sensation she had previously experienced a pale ghost of this new overwhelming thing. When hislips touched her cheek, they left a trail of fever, and her skin seemed to melt under his fingers, as though they were entering her body.
She made a small, involuntary whimper, and he stroked her shoulder reassuringly, dropping his hand to her waist and pressing her close to him, her shivering small body warming against the satin of his bare skin. She began to sway under the powerful feelings he stirred in her, and he steadied her with his open hands, his arms around her, his palms flat on her back, and then his mouth came down again upon hers, insistent and urgent. He slipped his hands down until they were cupping her buttocks and lifted her to him with a firm pressure, and the cloth that separated her wanting skin from his could not impede the tingling flow of desire that caused her to move instinctively against him, the innocent wish to be crushed seamlessly against his body growing, blotting out all else, until she began to feel frightened by its powerful pull.
“Please. Oh, please,” she gasped, her mouth moving against his.
“Yes?” he answered in a slow voice. “What would you like?”
It had been too much, all of it, for her previously unawakened body. Lifting trembling fingers to her swelling, burning lips, Merry forced herself to speak. “I’m not what you think. I don’t know what you think I know.”
The starlight lent a sharp outline to the otherworldly beauty of his face, and yet, as clearly as she saw him, it was difficult to tell what he made of her words. After a minute he reached up a careful hand to stroke a drift of hair from her forehead, cupped her shaking fingers in his own, and tried to still them.
“You really are afraid, aren’t you? Come here.” He folded her tenderly in his arms and brought her head down to his shoulder.
Had she wished to push herself away from him, therewould not have been the strength in her spent limbs. Her cheek lay against the heated, porous leather of his jacket, and through the calico gown that covered her breast, she felt his chest, moving only slightly as he breathed. Dear Lord, what if he should start to question her again? What if he guessed her lies?
From behind the wagon came the light sound of running footsteps, and then Sally called out, muted but urgent, “Merry? Merry! Are you here?”
Relief hit Merry like a blow because her need was desperate, but shame followed swiftly and hit more painfully. She should have felt nothing,nothingexcept distress to find Sally near her danger.
Sally, not seeing her immediately, began to cast about in a panic, and then to race for the tavern, as if to go back in. She had nearly reached the light when Devon vaulted lightly over the side of the wagon and stopped her, clamping his hand over her mouth and saying, “Hush! She’s safe. But she won’t be and neither will you if you run yelling into the tavern.”
She fought his grasp and muttered something Merry couldn’t distinguish through his muffling hand.
“After you promise not to scream,” he said, “I’ll let you go. Do you understand?”
Under his hand she jerked her head in a hard nod, and as soon as he had freed her mouth, Sally cried, “Where is she? Where is she? What have you done with her?”
Calling her cousin’s name, Merry struggled to scale over the wagon’s side, her legs twisting clumsily in her skirts. She might have fallen if Devon hadn’t stepped to catch her around the waist and eased her way to the sand. For a moment Merry’s legs shivered under her and nearly buckled, and then with a cry she ran into Sally’s wide-flung arms. As from a distance she heard her own voice begging, “Help me, Sally.”
Merry put back her head to look into her cousin’s face and saw that Sally was glaring fiercely at the blond pirate.
“Don’t!” Sally said to him in a savagely angry voice that sounded as if it was strangling in her throat. “You’ve got to let her go! She’s so young. If anything happened—she’d never recover from it. In the name of pity…”
