She raised her lids, through the dimness found the dark glint of his eyes. Held them for a pregnant second, then provocatively murmured, “And did you claim them?”
He thrust into her, and filled her, not slowly, not fast, but powerfully, forging in, the latent strength in his body, so much greater than hers, blatantly evident. She couldn’t have prevented him, denied him her body, held him out had she wanted to, not by any physical means.
He thrust deep, impaled her fully, then leaned close, and whispered against her lips, “I tried.”
Her lips curved in response.
Physically, she was his. Emotionally, he was hers.
As if in acknowledgment of that truth, his gaze lowered to her lips. “I was never sure I succeeded.”
He kissed her rapaciously, and their ride began. More forceful, less civilized, more real than before. The sense of being a figment of the other’s fantasy released what little inhibitions they possessed, unlocked and let fall the last restraints.
Let them both be as they dreamed of being, a revelation deeper, more intimate, more telling.
He held her against the wall, supporting her weight, and thrust heavily into her. She gasped, clung to his shoulders, gripped his hips with her knees, and rode every deep penetration.
When she broke from the kiss on a sob, he bent his head and feasted on her breasts. Took all he wished without quarter.
Ravished her, body, mind, and soul.
Even while her body shuddered, racked by a superbly gauged intimate assault wholly focused on bringing about her surrender, the elements of desire their roles revealed spun around her, through her.
Slowly coalesced even while he drove her to the brink, and over.
Until she screamed his name on a breathless cry, and shattered.
He withdrew from her and carried her to the bed, tossed her across it, stripped her nightgown away, stripped off his breeches, and joined her. Trapped her beneath him, with his thighs spread hers wide, settled between, caught her hands one in each of his, raised them level with her head, then pressed them to the coverlet as he braced his arms and rose over her, held her down as with one powerful surge he joined with her.
And took more. Demanded more, every last gasp, every last sob of helpless desire she had it in her to give.
Heat poured from him, turned their skins slick, burned through their veins, and still she met him, matched him, stayed with him. Gave all he asked, took all he gave in return. Exulted as from under weighted lids she watched him above her.
Hot, relentless, unforgivingly hard-and hers.
He drove her ruthlessly up and over the peak; her awareness fractured into slivers of glowing gold. She felt him follow hard on her heels into physical oblivion; he slumped atop her and she freed her hands, slid her arms around him and held him close-and that power that had grown immeasurably in the last weeks rose up and engulfed them.
In that moment of blessed peace, a sense of certainty bloomed and burgeoned within her.
Long moments passed before they eventually moved, just enough to find the pillows and slip under the covers, not enough to disturb the heavy pleasure that lay upon them, that had sunk to their bones, and deeper.
Curled within his arms, her head on his shoulder, she felt her lips curve as, borne on the cusp of sated slumber, the truth gleamed, clear, in her mind. Her fantasy had been an extension of their real lives-lord and lady-that was who they were. His fantasy, however…in it was embedded the real truth of what they were, what they meant to each other.
He was the pirate who had captured her.
She was the siren who, his captive, had captured him.
CHAPTER
THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN THEY GATHERED FOR BREAKfast, Nicholas was much improved, yet to his irritation was straitly informed by Charles, Jack, and Gervase that he could not stir a foot without a guard.
As their clear message was that they wouldn’t permit him to stir that foot, he had no option but to acquiesce.
“The patrols I set in place-in light of your arrival”-Charles looked at Jack and Gervase-“I’m calling them off. Normal enough seeing we’ve gone two days without incident. If he’s scouting about, he’ll doubtless wait another day or so for all alarm to subside before making his move.”
“Regardless,” Jack declared, working his way through a plate of sausages, “we’ll be here.”
“I need to go into Fowey and check what my sources there have unearthed,” Charles said. “It might not be anything, but we can’t afford to miss whatever scraps fate deigns to throw us.”
Gervase and Jack nodded. Nicholas looked resigned. “Perhaps I should show these two the priest hole?”
Jack brightened. “Good idea.”
Penny set down her teacup and pushed back her chair. “I’ll come with you, Charles-I want to speak with Mother Gibbs.” She rose with a smile for the others, but didn’t catch Charles’s eye. Turning to the door, she spoke over her shoulder, “I’ll change into my habit and meet you in the stables.”
She could feel his gaze narrowing, arrowing on her back; blithely ignoring it, she glided out of the dining room.
He was waiting when she reached the stables; from the look in his eyes, he was less than impressed. She held up a hand before he could speak. “If I stay here, I’ll be forced to go for a walk-I’ll be safer with you.”
The comment gave him pause, then, with a grimace, he surrendered and lifted her to her saddle.
Neither they nor their mounts had been out for two days; they took to the fields and galloped, eager for the exercise. When the outskirts of Fowey lay ahead, they reined in to a sensible pace.
In perfect empathy, they trotted toward the town. That empathy was deeper than before; from the moment she’d agreed to marry him, regardless of her qualification, she’d sensed the change in him. The absolute, unshakable confidence that she would be his come what may. Initially, she’d been suspicious, but there was no denying he knew her and her stubbornness well; after last night, his rock-solid confidence in their ultimate outcome had infected her. It could only mean that he was sure he could meet her condition, was committed to meeting it, confident he would. Which meant…
A
They left their horses at the Pelican, took the downhill lanes to the quay, then wended up the familiar alleys to Mother Gibbs’s door.
Even though it was midmorning, Charles had to knock three times before a towheaded lad opened it. Recognizing the youngest Gibbs, Charles asked for his mother, only to be informed in an uncertain tone, “Ma’s in the kitchen givin’ the others merry ’ell.”
Charles blinked; sounds of a shrill altercation drifted up from the depths of the house. “Dennis and your brothers?”
The boy had recognized him; he nodded.
“We’ll go in.” Charles grasped Penny’s hand and towed her past the lad, who blinked in surprise.
“Close the door,” Charles reminded him.
Shaking free of his stunned stupor, the boy jumped to obey.
The kitchen lay at the end of the corridor that ran the length of the house. Penny ignored the closed doors they passed; the nearer they got, the louder and shriller the argument became. Charles ducked his head and they stepped down into the kitchen.
Mother Gibbs stood before the stove, in full flight, punctuating her statements with a heavy ladle that she banged on a chopping board on the table before her. Ranged on the other side of the table were her three eldest sons, all hulking, brawny sailors who towered over her, yet all three appeared to be trying to make themselves small, an impossible feat.
