Love's Price(21)
She’d been loitering at the gate to Bentley Struthers’s mansion, hoping a servant might exit on an errand, and she’d about given up when a maid had emerged from behind the house, a basket on her arm.
“I’m Abigail,” the girl said. “You’re mad to come here!”
“What do you mean?”
Abigail peeked over her shoulder, checking to see if they were being observed, and she seemed terrified.
“What if you’re spotted? You look just like her. What if they think you are her?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t know? You haven’t heard?”
“No.”
Helen’s heart began to pound.
“Gad, it’s all over London.”
“What is?”
“Bentley nearly raped her”—Helen gasped—“but she fought him off and fled. But that’s not the story they’re telling.”
“What are they telling?”
“They’re claiming she stole some expensive jewelry, and when Bentley went to stop her, she almost killed him.”
“Harriet? She’s accused of...of...trying to murder Bentley Struthers?”
“Yes.” Tears welled into Abigail’s eyes. “I was with her that night—right before it happened. She was in the kitchen by herself, and he caught her there. It’s all my fault. If I’d gone with her, I might have...”
Her voice trailed off, her confession at an end.
“Have you any notion of where she might be?” Helen inquired.
“No, but they’re searching for her. If she’s captured, she’ll be hanged.”
“Hanged!”
“Yes.”
Behind them, the door to the mansion opened, and Abigail jumped and hurried down the street. Helen followed her, and at the corner, Abigail halted and ripped a handbill from a lamppost.
“Read this,” she said.
Helen quickly scanned the document. “Oh, no...”
“They’re all over the city, so if you have any idea where she might be, you need to find her first.”
Abigail glanced over, and a Struthers’s carriage was about to come through the gate. She blanched.
“Don’t stop by here again,” she warned. “If you do, I won’t speak with you.”
“Wait!” Helen begged.
“And were I you, I wouldn’t let Bentley know that Harriet has a sister. For God’s sake, pull up your hood and hide that blond hair.”
Abigail turned and ran.
CHAPTER TEN
Tristan opened the door to his cabin and tiptoed in.
It was very late, and he was exhausted. He worked long and odd hours, which was what he loved about sailing. No two days were ever the same.
There was no moon, so it was very dark, and he walked to the table and lit a candle.
Harriet was over on the bunk, sleeping on her side, her hands folded together and tucked under her cheek. She looked young and sweet, as if an angel had flown into his bed, and the notion made him grin. She was definitely no angel, but on seeing her there, resting so peacefully, his pulse raced with elation.
She wasn’t like any female he’d ever met. She was brash and sassy and tough, but vulnerable, too. There was something about her that had him considering things he shouldn’t be considering.
As a bachelor and a sailor, when he stumbled on a pretty girl, he wasn’t immune, though his sexual partners were usually whores in port towns.
Harriet wasn’t a whore, so what should he do with her?
She delivered a spice and humor to his existence that he hadn’t realized was missing, and after coming to know her, he was questioning everything.
He’d been eager to wed Miranda, eager to have her money. He’d planned to build a fleet of ships with it, to establish an import company that would stabilize his and James’s situation.
He refused to be in dire financial straits ever again, so marrying Miranda—or someone just like her—was his only option. But now, with Harriet in the picture, he was having second thoughts. His future as Miranda’s husband stretched like the road to Hades.
He sighed, knowing it was pointless to compare the two women. It was like comparing apples and oranges, and when it didn’t matter, why waste the mental energy?
Miranda would be his bride, and Harriet would be his...what?
He had no idea.
Needing to be shed of his saber and pistols, he sat in a chair and removed them, then he locked them in his trunk. While he didn’t think Harriet would shoot or stab him, he wasn’t taking any chances.
After stripping to his trousers, he went to the wash basin and smoothed a cool cloth over his heated skin. The climate was growing warmer, and soon, the temperature would be uncomfortably hot. He’d rarely wear a shirt, and the prospect of being around Harriet in a constant state of undress was disturbing and exciting.
He finished his bath, made some notes in the log, and all the while, he kept watching her. She didn’t stir.
She, too, was sweltering, and she’d disrobed to her chemise, which was a surprise. Whenever he arrived in the room, she was always fully attired, so he was delighted to have her so scantily covered.
The sight brought to a head the issue of an affair, rattling loose any self-discipline he still possessed. The trip to Italy was long and slow, and it would be impossible to avoid her for the duration. Why restrain himself?
He tarried next to the bunk, and as he gazed down at her, a wave of fondness swept over him, but it was quickly replaced by lust. His phallus sprang to attention, giving him such an erection that it nearly doubled him over.
He lay down and stretched out, his fingers tracing circles on her curvaceous hip, and he was pleased to see her smile. Was she dreaming about him?
Her eyelids fluttered open.
“Hello, you,” she said as casually as if she’d been his paramour for ages.
“Hello.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost two o’clock.”
“You work too hard.”
He snuggled her to him, her pert breasts crushed to his chest, her mound of Venus teasing his cock, and she smelled so damned good.
“Any pirates tonight?” she asked.
“Nary a one.”
“Maybe they’ve finally realized the identity of our brave captain, and they’re too afraid to come any closer.”
He chuckled. “Maybe.”
As her sleep waned, reality settled in. She recognized that they were cuddled together, while dangerously unclad, and she frowned. Obviously, she was about to complain, so he kissed her.
He couldn’t bear to hear her protests as to why they shouldn’t become intimate. He knew all the reasons, but he wanted to proceed anyway.
“Captain,” she scolded as he drew away.
“Call me Tristan.”
“No.”
He kissed her again, coming over her so he was pressing her down into the plush mattress.
“What are you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing. It’s what I should have done from the start.”
“Are you planning to seduce me?”
“Yes.”
“But you can’t!”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not married, and someday, I hope to be.”
“Harriet, let me explain something.”
“What?”
“Your wedding day is a long way off. You’re here now with me, and I’m a healthy, adult male. I can’t keep pretending that I don’t want you.”
“But we’re not animals. We might have wicked thoughts, but we don’t have to act on them.”
“We, Harriet? Are you claiming you have wicked thoughts about me?”
He grinned, and she scowled.
“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”
“It will be all right,” he insisted. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”
He began kissing her in earnest, his tongue in her mouth, his hands in her hair. She was so pretty, so vibrant and alive, and she was about to be all his.
Gradually, her resistance melted away until she was participating with an equal amount of vigor. She was a very passionate female and far past the age when she should have been bedded, and he couldn’t believe that no man had pushed the issue.
He abandoned her lush lips to nibble under her chin, down her neck, to her bosom. He tugged at the straps of her chemise, baring her breasts, and he paused to study her.
“My little Harriet,” he murmured, “so beautiful and all mine.”
She blushed furiously, vividly reminding him that she was a virgin, and when she tried to shield herself by draping an arm across her chest, he took her wrist and pinned it over her head.
“Don’t hide yourself,” he said. “Let me look at you.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. When we’re alone like this, everything is allowed.”
Dipping down, he sucked at her nipple, using light pressure, so she would grow accustomed to the activity.
“Are we going to...to...”
“Yes, we are.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Only for a moment.”
She assessed him, appearing very shrewd, wise beyond her years.
“Promise me that you won’t hurt me.”
“I told you: I have to the first time. It can’t be helped.”
“No, I mean later—when this voyage is over and we go our separate ways.”
The notion of parting, of coming into his cabin but not seeing her, was terribly disturbing, but he shoved the possibility away.