The Price of Indiscretion Page 11

  Alex’s own temper ignited. No one attacked him on his own ship. He hauled her up off the deck. She gave a shriek of protest. They could talk about this, but not in front of his crew. Carrying her in his arms, he started for his cabin.

  “Set sail, Oliver,” he barked over his shoulder. Miranda arched up again, attempting to use her weight to free herself. He tightened his hold, which wasn’t difficult with their wet clothes.

  “For where, Cap’n?”

  “Where we were originally going,” Alex answered, letting his irritation show. “To London.” He kicked open the door to his cabin with one wet moccasin. “Better duck,” he warned Miranda.

  As he had anticipated, she did the opposite. Her head would have bumped the bulkhead except for his reaching up and pushing it down.

  In gratitude, she attempted to bite his fingers. Alex pulled them away in time, shoved the door shut with his other shoulder, and dumped her on the floor.

  The room was dark. He left her where she was while he lit a lantern. He picked up the remnants of his shirt off the table to wipe the blacking and water from his face and chest and turned around. She was coming to her feet, her movements hampered by her damp clothes. She’d lost a shoe and appeared more like a drowned kitten than the reigning beauty of the evening.

  But her pride was still intact. “Do you know what you’ve done?” she demanded in ringing tones.

  “Saved your life?” he suggested.

  “I would have been better off to have drowned,” she said, spitting out the last word. “I’m not staying here.”

  She headed toward the door, but Alex threw aside the shirt and in two steps stopped her. He used his weight to hold the door closed, his arm around her.

  “I was almost murdered tonight because of you,” he said. They stood close. Too close. “So if anyone will be giving orders, it will be me.”

  She met his eye. “And what do you want to order me to do, Alex? I had no hand in anyone attempting to murder you, although I feel like doing exactly that this moment.”

  Her flat statement surprised a smile out of him. “Yes, I’m certain you do,” he admitted. He relaxed, suddenly tired. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he confessed. “I decided to not let Jeffords have you.”

  “He attacked you?”

  Alex nodded.

  A shiver went through Miranda. She crossed her arms, stepping back from the door, and Alex let her go. “I told him I would never marry him,” she said. “He was wrong to think you were the reason.”

  Alex wasn’t?

  He didn’t like that idea. “What, are you going to deny anything between us again?” He was soaking wet, dead tired after enduring the scare of his life, and the wound in shoulder and the cut on his cheek did not like salt water.

  “I didn’t say that,” she snapped. “Let me go, Alex. There is still time to get me back to the Venture before I’m discovered missing.”

  So she could marry another man, he could have added for her.

  Alex curled his hand against the door into a fist. “How many times will you deny me?”

  She took a wary step back. “Deny you what? I acknowledged you very well this evening, Alex, and it almost ruined me. Take me back. I can’t stay here.”

  He shrugged. “Why not? I’ll take you to London. We were already going in that direction.”

  “And then what? Marry me?” She shook her head, her body shivering. “Right now, I’m so angry at you, I’d never marry you. You shouldn’t have done what you did, Alex. You shouldn’t have taken me.”

  He shouldn’t have. Except he’d never admit it to her.

  “Get undressed,” he ordered. “I’ll be back with hot water and dry clothes.” He started to open the door but instead of listening to common sense, Miranda made a rush to push past him.

  What was she planning to do, create a scene in front of his men? Jump over the side of the ship?

  He caught her arm before she could take a step outside the cabin and whirled her back inside. He shut the door. But as he turned to her to give her a tongue-lashing for being so foolish, she came at him, his brass sextant that had been on the table in her hand, and attempted to clobber him with it.

  Alex deflected the blow with his arm. With a vivid oath that would have made Oliver proud, he caught her wrist before she could escape and backed her across the room away from the door. The backs of her legs hit his bunk; she lost her balance and fell. He came down on top of her.

  Miranda squirmed beneath him, trying to club him again with the sextant. Alex pressed her down into the cotton mattress with his weight, one hand shackling her wrist while he attempted to keep her from hitting him with his other. He caught hold of the sextant and yanked it from her, dropping it on the floor. She doubled her fist and struck him on the shoulder.

  Alex easily captured her hand. Their faces were inches from each other. “What game do you play, Miranda?” he demanded. “Do you like seeing men fight over you? To have them bleed for you? And what do you offer in return? Promises and lies.”

  She lifted her hips as if to throw him off, but he easily held her in place. “I never lied to you.” The chill in their bones was being replaced by the heat of their bodies and their tempers.

  “No, only to yourself,” he shot back. “You would rather we’d never met. Or that I was like the lads back in the Ohio Valley. The ones who thought they could have you because your father was a drunkard.”

  “They couldn’t,” she vowed, her body rigid beneath his.

  “You wanted me to be white,” he taunted. “All white. I was never good enough for you.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “There never was anything more true,” he answered, “and the bitch of it is you want me—”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You hate the fact I’m not white.”

  Her eyes blazed with outrage. “I’ve never said that. Not ever, Alex—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  She lifted her head and shut him up with a kiss. Or maybe he kissed her. He wasn’t certain. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, save for the fact that once again, he had Miranda in his arms.

  Willing, willing Miranda.

  Their kiss picked up where they had left off out on the terrace. She was completely open to him.

  He began undressing her, peeling off sea-wet clothing and tossing it onto the floor. She offered no protest. Instead, she was as lost in their kisses as he was. Her fingers curled in his hair, holding him close. Their tongues stroked and explored.

  His hands found her breasts. They filled his palm, the nipples dark red and hard. A chill danced across her skin. He lowered his head and heated them with his kiss.

  Miranda gave a soft gasp of alarm that turned to a sigh of surprised pleasure. The lantern light bathed her skin in gold. She was naked to him. Naked and pliant.

  Alex reached down and began unbuttoning his breeches. Miranda moved against him. He understood. She didn’t. Her movements were natural and innocent.

  Soon innocence would be a thing of her past. He wanted her. The savage took hold. He was so hard now that he had to have release.

  His wet breeches were a barrier. The buttons couldn’t be undone with one hand in the wet material.

  Frustrated beyond patience, Alex pushed up from her body and used both hands to make quick work of the buttons. He kicked off his moccasins and slid his breeches down over his hips.

  Miranda’s eyes opened with the hazy indulgence of desire—and then widened when she saw him, naked and fully aroused. She started to rise.

  Alex stopped her. He put his knee between her legs and gently laid her back on the bed. “It’s all right. It’s the way it should be,” he whispered, kissing her lips, her chin, her neck, her ear. “You are lovely, Miranda. Perfectly lovely.” He stroked the curves of her waist, her hips, her buttocks. He fit their bodies together.

  “Alex, I—”

  He cut her off by covering her nipple with his mouth, sucking
gently at first and then harder. The tension left her.

  She liked this.

  He liked the taste of her, even with the salt from the sea on her skin.

  Alex knew he’d like being in her even more.

  His sex nestled against hers. Her heat beckoned. She was moist and hot, and he couldn’t have held back if he’d wanted. This was what had been meant to be between them. They had been fated for each other.

  Alex had thought to go slow. He couldn’t. He had to have her.

  Wrapping his hand in her hair, he shifted his weight to hold her steady and took her in one smooth thrust.

  It wasn’t easy. She was so tight. He felt the tear, the rush of warmth, and then he buried himself inside her to the hilt and thought he would explode from the sheer, exquisite pleasure.

  Miranda stiffened. He wondered if she felt pain. Some women did—but he could do nothing about it at this moment. His mind was not his own.

  With an understanding as old as time, he began riding her. He tried to ease up on his thrusts. He couldn’t. She felt too good.

  She was magic. Glorious, glorious magic. In her were the secrets of the universe. The very reason for being.

  If Jeffords and the whole British navy had come charging into this room, he couldn’t have stopped, especially when Miranda started moving with him.

  It was his undoing. Those untamed movements of her hips threw him over the chasm into something he’d never experienced before.

  His seed shot out of him. The release came from his soul.

  He held himself tight. Wave after rippling wave of completion rolled through him. Dear God, it had never been like that. Ever.

  Slowly, the euphoria faded. He drifted to reality, his weight coming down on her body. Alex released his breath and looked into her face.

  Tears shone in Miranda’s eyes. Her wet hair was tangled in his fingers, her face pale, and her lips pressed together tight. He became aware of the dampness of the quilt, the chill in the cabin, and the scent of the aftermath of sex in the air.

  What the bloody hell had he done?

  Ten

  Miranda lay rigid beneath him. She needed a moment to understand what had just happened. She knew the facts, but feared what they meant.

  One thing was certain: She’d finally been “had.”

  After all these years of people suspecting the worst, the deed was finally done—and she didn’t know how she felt…except for being disappointed.

  Was this it? All there was?

  The act of joining between a man and a woman struck her as little more than a carpentry job like dovetailing two joints together. The pain she had felt when he’d first forced himself inside her had receded, leaving her with a strange emptiness and strong dissatisfaction. The earlier yearnings, the driving need that had compromised her good sense, still lingered deep within. What good was coupling if it left you itchy and irritated?

  The whole event was humiliating. For this she had betrayed Charlotte and Constance’s faith her, once again over Alex.

  Like Eve confronted by God in the Garden of Eden, Miranda became aware of her nakedness, and she was ashamed. Her throat closed as hot tears threatened.

  His body still on top of her, his weight starting to grow uncomfortable, he asked in a gruff voice, “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak. She would break if she did.

  Alex pushed his hair back from his face and swore under his breath. Miranda turned her head away, expecting him to leave her now. Indeed, she wanted to be alone. Then she could nurse her disappointment and failures privately. She didn’t know what she would tell Charlotte or how she would face Constance.

  He rose, but instead of getting dressed and doing what was modest, he padded stark naked over to the table where a basin sat on the table. He started to pour water from a bucket off the floor and found it empty. He crossed to the door, opened it, and shouted a few cross words for water, and then shut it.

  Miranda curled up in a ball, giving him her back. She wished he would go away. She wanted to be alone.

  A knock on the door signaled the delivery of fresh water. The door shut. A beat later, there was the sound of splashing water. She was so aware of his presence in the room, she could practically see without looking at what he was doing.

  The bed gave under his weight. “Roll over,” he commanded in a quiet voice.

  Miranda wasn’t about to do as he ordered.

  Alex released his breath in a sigh. There was the sound of water being wrung out. He began washing her with a soft, wet linen cloth, and wiped her forehead. She refused to look at him. Patiently he washed the cheek she had exposed and then her neck and her back.

  The cool water felt good. It eased some of her tension.

  His hand went over her hip. It dipped down between her legs, and she pressed them together. “No,” she started, but he cut her off with a kiss.

  She didn’t want to respond. For a moment, she held herself tight…but he persisted, and she didn’t have the strength to fight.

  He sensed her weakness and gathered her up in his arms, bringing her onto his lap. He cradled her there, holding her close, his head resting against her hair.

  It was so easy to give herself over to his strength, to stay wrapped in his warmth.

  One tear of those she’d struggled so hard to contain escaped. He saw it and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His eyes darkened with concern. “Don’t cry, Miranda. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I failed them.” She fought to keep herself contained. To be strong. “Charlotte and Constance trusted me, and once again I failed them.”

  “You didn’t fail anyone,” he said fiercely.

  “The money is gone. It was on the Venture.”

  “You don’t need money. I’ll take care of you. All three of you. You’ll never want for anything, Miranda, I promise.”

  He meant those words, and she was certain he could—in his way.

  “Except,” she said sadly, “they will never have what they really want and what they deserve. They’ll never receive the birthright Mother lost to us. And I will always be the half-breed’s woman.”

  His muscles tensed. “In England that doesn’t matter.”

  “It doesn’t?” She dared to look at him. “Or do they just tolerate you?”

  For a second, she thought he was going to dump her onto the floor. She wouldn’t call back her words. They were the truth, the one she’d lived with all these years.

  “Damn you, Miranda,” he said evenly. “Damn you for being the only one who can make me feel inferior.”

  Before she could comment, he kissed her. A demanding, full-lipped kiss.

  Those edgy, dissatisfied feelings leaped to life. This was what she needed. This would appease them.

  He shifted her back to the bed. Her legs opened to him with a will of their own. He settled himself between them. Without preamble or warning, his body thrust into hers.

  This time, there was no pain. Not even a pinprick. He was deep within and it felt good.

  Every muscle, every nerve, every fiber of her being whispered yes.

  Alex began moving, his lips never leaving hers. Instead of pushing away, she put her arms around his shoulders and hung on. Her hips began to move, meeting his thrusts. What had first been meaningless took on meaning.

  Heat began building inside her. Her body drove her toward what she did not understand. If she had wanted to stop their mating, she would have been powerless to do so.

  Their kiss broke.

  He looked down at her. He’d won, she wanted to tell him, but her lips couldn’t form the words. His thrusts went deeper, and all she could do was sigh from the pleasure of being connected with him in this way. She felt as if she were climbing a glass mountain, gliding her way toward the pinnacle.

  “I love you, Miranda. I’ll always love you.”

  She opened her eyes at his whisper, afraid her ears betrayed her.

  His eyes were shut, his expr
ession one of concentration. His breathing was as rapid and heavy as hers. He gave no indication he had spoken at all—

  And then it didn’t matter what had been said.

  Her body reached the peak. Her muscles clenched. She cried his name. Wave after rippling wave of sensation carried higher and higher. She rode the crest, caught in surprise and, yes, wonder.

  Alex felt it, too. He leaned into her, his body rigid and tight. The life force moved between them, and they were one.

  At last, Miranda understood what it meant to become one. All her life she had heard the phrase, but had never understood until now.

  Spent, he lowered himself and rolled off her body. Instinctively she curled up beside him, wanting his warmth, but also needing to touch him.

  Now she understood so much more. The whole meaning of life made sense. This man was her rock.

  Miranda placed her hand on his chest, over his heart. It beat as rapidly as her own. She could imagine the blood pumping through their veins in perfect timing…and she smiled.

  Alex turned to her just then. He answered with a sleepy smile of his own. Reaching over his body, he brushed her hair back from her face.

  “The first time was difficult,” she confessed.

  He nodded.

  “I liked the second time.”

  He heard the understatement in her voice and gave a short laugh before kissing her forehead, her eyes, and her nose.

  Perhaps the first time should be difficult, she thought. But it was well worth the price for those moments she’d just experienced.

  Her body felt good. Complete. She yawned and snuggled in deeper against him. Later she’d worry…but for right now, she wanted to sleep.

  Within seconds, she did exactly that.

  He’d stolen her, and lying with her in his arms as content as a kitten, Alex vowed he’d never let her go. Not this time.

  The sun had risen over the horizon. Rays of sharp morning light came through the window and cut across them. He pulled the quilt out from under their bodies. Miranda didn’t stir. She was exhausted. He knew how she felt.

  The quilt bore the telltale proof of her virginity. She’d always been his. He knew that now. Miranda had waited for him.