“Want to see something even stranger?” He cocked his head and moved toward the wall of ladies’ portraits.
Kaitlin followed him across the room.
“Emma Cinder.” He nodded to the painting. “She was Lyndall’s wife.”
The woman sat prim and straight at a scarred wooden table, her long red hair twisted into a crown of braids. She was sewing a sampler, wearing green robes over a thin, champagne-colored, low-cut blouse with a lace fringe that barely covered her nipples. Her red lips were pursed above a delicate chin. Her cheeks were flushed. And her deep green eyes were surrounded by thick, dark lashes.
“Wow,” said Kaitlin. “You don’t think ten-times great-grandma when you see her.”
Zach chuckled. “Look closer.”
Kaitlin squinted. “What am I looking for?”
“The auburn hair, the green eyes, those full, bow-shaped lips, the curve of her chin.”
Kaitlin glanced up at him in confusion.
He smoothed his hand over her damp hair. “She looks a lot like you.”
“She does not.” But Kaitlin’s gaze moved back to the painting, peering closer.
“She sure does.”
“Okay, maybe a little bit,” she admitted. Their eyes were approximately the same shape, and the hair color was the same. But there were probably thousands of women in New York with green eyes and long, auburn hair.
“Maybe a lot,” said Zach.
“Where was she from?” Kaitlin’s curiosity was even stronger now than it had been in the cemetery. What could have brought Emma to Serenity Island with Lyndall?
“She was from London,” said Zach. “A seamstress I was told. The daughter of a tavern owner.”
“And she married a pirate?” Kaitlin had to admit, Lyndall was a pretty good-looking pirate. But still…
“He kidnapped her.”
“No way.”
Zach leaned down to Kaitlin’s ear, lowering his voice to an ominous tone. “Tossed her on board his ship and, I’m assuming, had his way with her all the way across the Atlantic.”
Kaitlin itched to reach up and touch the portrait. “And then they got married?”
“Then they got married.”
“Do you think she was happy here? With him?” For some reason, it was important to Kaitlin to believe Emma had been happy.
“It’s hard to say. I’ve read a few letters that she got from her family back in England. They’re chatty, newsy, but they’re not offering to come rescue her. So I guess she must have been okay.”
“Poor thing,” said Kaitlin.
“He built her a castle. And they had four children. Look here.” Zach gently grasped Kaitlin’s shoulders and turned her to guide her back to the men’s portrait wall.
She liked it that he was touching her. There was something comforting about his broad hands firmly holding her shoulders. He’d kept his arm around her the whole ride back from the cemetery, his body offering what warmth he could in the whipping wind. And that had been comforting, too.
“Their eldest son, Nelson,” said Zach, gesturing to the portrait with one hand, leaving the other gently resting on her shoulder.
“What about the rest of the children?”
“Sadie has their portraits scattered in different rooms. The other two sons died while they were still children, and the daughter went back to a convent in London.”
“I saw the boys’ tombstones,” said Kaitlin. “Harold and William?”
“Good memory.” Zach brushed her damp hair back from her face, and for some reason, she was suddenly reminded of what she was wearing.
She was naked under the white robe, her skin glowing warm, getting warmer by the minute. She realized the lapels had gaped open, and she realized the opening had Zach’s attention.
Their silence charged itself with electricity.
She knew she should pull the robe closed again, but her hands stayed fast by her sides.
Zach made a half turn toward her.
His hand slowly moved from her shoulder to her neck, his fingertips brushing against her sensitive skin.
“Sometimes I think they had it easy.” Zach’s voice was a deep, powerful hum.
“Who?” she managed to breathe. Every fiber of her attention was on the insubstantial brush of his hand.
His other hand came up to close on the lapel of her robe. “The pirates,” he answered. “They ravage first, and ask questions later.”
He tugged on the robe, pulling her to him, and his mouth came down on hers. It was hot, firm, open and determined.
She swayed from the intense sensation, but his arm went around her waist to hold her steady as the kiss went on and on.
He tugged the sash of the robe, releasing the knot, so it fell open. His free hand slipped inside, encircling her waist again, pulling her bare breasts against the texture of his shirt.
Her arms were lost in the big sleeves, too tangled to be of any use. But she breathed his name, parted her lips, welcomed his tongue into the depths of her mouth.
His wide hand braced her rib cage, thumb brushing the tender skin beneath her breast. Her nipples peaked, a tingle rushing to their delicate skin. Her thighs relaxed, reflexively easing apart, and he moved between them, the denim of his pants sending shock waves through her body.
He deftly avoided the portrait as he pressed her against the smooth stone of the wall. His hand cupped her breast. His lips found her ear, her neck, the tip of her shoulder, as he pushed the robe off. It pooled at her feet, and she was completely naked.
He drew back for a split second, gazing down, drinking in the picture of her body.
“Gorgeous,” he breathed, lips back to hers, hands stroking her spine, down over her buttocks, to the back of her thighs. Then up over her hips, her belly, her breasts. She gasped as he stroked his fingertips across her nipples, the sensation near painful, yet exquisite.
His hands traced her arms, twining his fingers with hers, then holding them up, braced against the wall while his mouth made its moves on her body. He pressed hot, openmouthed kisses from her lips to her neck, found her breasts, drawing each nipple into the heat, suckling until she thought her legs would give way beneath her.
She groaned his name in a plea.
He was back to her mouth, his hands moving down, covering her breasts, taking over from his lips, thumbs stroking across her wet nipples.
She tangled her hands in his hair, pushing his mouth harder against hers, kissing deeper, mind blank to everything but his taste and touch. One of his hands moved lower, stroking over her belly, toying with her silky hair, sliding forward.
She wrapped her arms around him, anchoring her body more tightly against him, saving her failing legs, burying her face in the crook of his neck and tonguing the salt taste from his skin.
His fingers slipped inside her, and a lightning bolt electrified her brain. She cried out his name, an urgency blinding her. She fumbled with the button on his jeans, dragging down the zipper.
He cupped her bottom, lifting her, spreading her legs, bracing her against the cool wall.
A small semblance of sanity remained.
“Protection?” she gasped.
“Got it.”
One arm braced her bottom, while his hand cupped her chin. He kissed her deeply, their bodies pressed together, her nerves screaming almost unbearably for completion.
“Now,” she moaned. “Please, now.”
It took him a second, and then he was inside her, his heat sliding home in a satisfying rush that made her bones turn to liquid and the air whoosh out of her lungs.
Her hands fisted and her toes curled as she surrendered herself to the rhythm of his urgent lovemaking. Her head tipped back, the high ceiling spinning above her. Lightning lit up the high windows, while thunder vibrated the
