Slowly, she began to tell him about what she’d done while they were apart, making no apologies and expecting nothing from him. If ever they were to survive together, he had to know everything. No more secrets, no more surprises or men from her past. If he left because of it, he would have left anyway one day if—when—he knew the truth.
“Because the truth has a way of destroying the lie when you least expect it,” she said, meeting his eyes with a show of confidence she didn’t feel. Inside, her heart was madly thumping, her nerves stretched so tautly that she thought he must be able to feel the tension inside her. “You already know most of this anyway. You deserve to hear the little you don’t already know from me.”
Amazingly, he accepted it all without comment, no harsh words or sarcastic criticism when she told him about Andre Delery, with whom she had left New Orleans after finding out Steve had slept with her stepmother, and she told him that she had loved Richard Avery, but not with the wild, sweet passion she felt for him. She even confessed about Boris Shevchenko, the burly bear of a Russian who had escorted her from Stamboul when Richard sent her away. She spared herself nothing, unflinching from harsh facts.
“I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” she ended flatly, “or to tell me about all your past amours. I just wanted us to start our new life together with no more lies between us, no secrets, no swords hanging over my head.”
Darkness had fallen while she talked, so that the tiny cabin was lit only by the soft glow of a single lantern on the wall opposite the bunk where they lay. The storm had blown itself out and the ship glided swiftly toward their destination—and their future.
Steve’s eyes were dark, a midnight blue in his lean, tanned face, narrowed at her with an expression of fierce attention. She couldn’t tell if he was angry, disgusted or hurt, and dismay clogged her throat so that she found it difficult to swallow rising panic.
Finally he moved, his long, lean fingers brown against the pale skin of her hand as he reached for her, curling them around her wrist to force her clenched fist open. He held her hand, silent, only a muscle leaping in his jaw to betray his tension as he studied her face in the gloom.
“Christ, Ginny,” he said at last, softly, “did you think I would stop loving you if you told me all this? You look like a scared rabbit. You know I’ve been no saint myself. I know you don’t expect details, like names and places, but I can give them to you. What I remember, anyway.”
“No,” she said, surprised to find she meant it. “That’s behind us now. The important thing is that we never really loved anyone else, that our hearts have always belonged to each other. Oh, Steve, it’s all that’s important!”
“Ginny—”
“You don’t need to remind me of all that’s happened between us, because, believe me, I remember it far too well to ever forget. But I do know that despite everything—or, maybe in some strange way because of it—we’ve always loved each other that much stronger. I’ll admit that I’ve been jealous of you, of your women like Concepciόn and Francesca di Paoli, even the arrogant Miss Lorna Prendergast and her obvious designs on you. Does that surprise you?”
“Only that you admit to it.” A wry smile twisted his mouth as he stared at her, his eyes half-lidded and slightly wary.
“Well, why shouldn’t I? This is a night for confession, for the truth. No more ghosts, Steve.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” After a pause he said, as if to himself, “I haven’t always made the right decisions. For a long time I thought I knew what I wanted from life, from myself. It was enough to do what was right at the moment. If I hadn’t met you, maybe I would never have felt any differently. But you, green-eyes, changed everything.
“When I was in Cuba, I was told you were dead. Maria Felipa, Cuban leader Julien Zuleta’s daughter, took great pleasure in informing me of your death. I felt responsible. It didn’t matter that you weren’t with me when you had your accident. You were my wife, and I should have protected you, should have been with you instead of letting you go off with Andre Delery. I blamed myself for a long time. It ate at me…turned me into a man I didn’t know anymore. Hell, for the first time since I was a kid, I felt utterly lost and bereft.”
His eyes met hers. “I wanted you and knew I’d never have you again. It was the worst time of my life. I tried to forget you even though I knew that I couldn’t, that nothing and no one could replace you. But I still tried.”
When he drew in a deep breath, she put her fingers over his lips and shook her head. “I know. You told me about her. The woman you asked to go away with you. But now I’m here, and we’re together. Nothing can hurt us if we refuse to let it. Don’t, Steve, don’t tell me anymore. I can’t bear to hear it….”
Silence fell between them, the creaking of the schooner a familiar counterpoint. Water sluiced against the sides in a steady whoosh and the muted snap of canvas sails was like the beat of giant wings against the wind.
When he reached for her, it was the most natural thing to fall into his arms. This time their lovemaking was tender and sweet, an absolution and a benediction after confession. It was the first time in her memory that he had ever been so gentle with her, bringing her to release several times before he sought his own…whispering soft words that were erotic and loving at the same time as he touched and caressed her, kissing her
