A Most Unsuitable Groom by Kasey Michaels (12 page)

But he had stopped listening, fascinated by her mouth, by the softness of her skin beneath his hand, so easily remembering how she had looked earlier.-Earthy. All woman. Lush and full. He brought down his mouth and captured hers, sliding his arms around her, holding her close as he slanted his mouth first this way, then that, easing her lips open, sliding his tongue inside, kissing her as a man hungry for the taste of a woman. This woman.

Mariah gave up the battle, gave herself over to this kiss, this sweet invasion. She wasn't going to win, she already knew that. Her body already knew that.

He had been a handsome man, even as he lay wounded and feverish, his eyes burning dark in an unnaturally white face. He spoke the King's English like a native, but had the touch of the exotic about him...something foreign and intriguing and, as she had to admit to herself, exciting.

Now, healed, strong once more, she knew he was the most dangerously attractive man she'd ever seen, and she'd seen her share, living so close beside the army all of her life. It wasn't the uniform; it was the man who wore it, and Spencer Becket could be clad in rags and still be the most striking man in any room. He exuded danger and excitement. Then and now.

She raised her arms to slide her fingers up and into the dark tangles of his hair.

Wasn't this how it had all begun? With her stroking his thick black hair back from his fevered brow, feeling the silk of it, then being startled when he'd opened his unfocused eyes and she'd glimpsed the mystery of the man—a mystery she would probably never unravel. When she'd unbuttoned his shirt to see his shoulder wound, she'd also seen the slightly olive hue of his fevered skin that covered smooth, rippling muscles, the dark thatch of hair that arrowed down to his waistband. So elementally male.

He'd lain there, unprotected, vulnerable, helpless, and still he exuded strength she could feel beneath her fingertips. She remembered placing the palm of her hand against his chest to feel his heart beating strongly but much too quickly and her palm had tingled.

At that moment, saving Lieutenant Spencer Becket had become the most important thing in her world, more important than saving herself. Turning into his arms when all her hope felt gone had seemed so. logical at the time.

But where was logic now? Where was her sense of self-preservation? Hers, and that for the safety of her own son? Why was this man more important than anything and anyone else in this world? Was it because, deep in her heart, she knew that without him, she and William would never be complete?

"No," she said at last, pulling away from him. "Not again, Spencer Becket. I won't allow this to happen again. I don't even know you, you don't even know me. This is insane, was insane the first time it happened."

"A time I can't remember," Spencer said, collecting himself, for he had very nearly forgotten that this woman had only recently given birth. What was it about her that made him lose all reason, want nothing more than to kiss her, touch her, take her? Again and again and again. "Forgive me. I should be courting you, shouldn't I?"

Mariah gave a short, nervous laugh. "Courting me? Really? With our son as chaperon, I suppose?"

The tense moment was broken, saved by Mariah's teasing remark, and Spencer laughed, that laugh ripe with relief. "I've got to go. You'll...you'll be all right here?"

"They're your family, Spence," Mariah said, lifting up William, who was now asleep. "You'd know the answer to that better than I."

His smile disappeared. "You'll be safe. We protect our own. Believe me when I say we've learned that lesson well."

And then, before he could say anything else, before she could ask him what he meant, he turned and left the room.

Scanned by Coral

Mariah was standing at the far corner of the terrace as the sloop anchored offshore, peering through the glass she'd seen days earlier in Ainsley's study and commandeered later that same evening, hiding it away in her room. After all, if there was one thing a quartermaster's daughter knew how to do, it was how to
appropriate
necessary supplies with a clear conscience. Hadn't her father told her that a quartermaster, especially in time of war, was actually little more than a thief with stripes on his uniform sleeve, gathering supplies for his troops by any means available?

Ainsley probably knew she had taken the spyglass. There didn't seem to be much Ainsley Becket didn't know, and if he didn't, Odette did. Or Eleanor. Or Callie. Or Fanny. Or Rian. Or Courtland.

So many people. She was surrounded by people who saw everything, noticed everything... and commented on very little.

They were all so friendly and welcoming, all of the Beckets. And yet, after a full week of being in their company at meals, in the drawing room after supper, Mariah knew that they had garnered much more information from her than she had managed to nudge out of any one of them.

She felt she had all the names and even the faces of the many Beckets straight in her head now, thanks to fine drawings Eleanor had made of her siblings and their mates and children. In return, Mariah had sketched Tecumseh's likeness for them all in colored chalks, and Rian had begged for the page, planning to hang it in his bedchamber.

They were all rubbing along well, quite well.

Yet Mariah knew only one thing for certain and that was that she still knew next to nothing. Fort Maiden, any of the outposts she had lived in with her father, even those surrounded by stout wooden walls, felt more open and free than Becket HalL If Spencer felt confined here, she could understand his feelings. But who were the hostiles the Beckets felt it necessary to protect themselves from, to keep at bay?

Eight days had passed since she'd seen Spencer walking across the sands; eight days since he'd lied to her, kissed her and then left her.

The Beckets were freetraders, smugglers. There was no other explanation, no matter what Spencer had tried to make her believe. A family living outside the King's law. Had they lived outside the law in the islands, as well? Privateering—or worse? It seemed quite plausible. Even the furnishings of Becket Hall were the stuff of which pirate booty was made.

A few kisses, a few, moments of madness, hadn't held up well when she'd been left alone for eight long days to think.

She and her son were now a part of this nefarious, fascinating family. Which, Mariah had to admit to herself, still far outstripped giving birth at a crossroads and living under a hedgerow, which was what she would have been reduced to if she hadn't been welcomed at Becket Hall. The last of the money her father had carried had gone for their passage to England and the traveling coach, and she had little more to her name now than the clothes she stood up in. Everything else, a broken wa-gonload of furniture and pots and even a few portraits of her mother, had been left behind at Moraviantown to become part of the spoils of war that went to the victor.

Spencer Becket may have lied to her, but he'd only delayed the inevitable and perhaps even made that inevitable even worse, for she had gathered up a list of questions as long as the man's arm, all waiting for his return.

And now he was back.

The glass pressed firmly to her eye, Mariah held her breath until she saw Spencer's dark head in the longboat rowing toward the shore in front of the village. His head was bare and the greatcoat he'd slung around his shoulders blew about in the cool, early-evening breeze. It had to have been even cooler out on the water, where she had been told earlier by Fanny a storm was most certainly brewing.

Ah, never fear, sir. You have no idea how very warm your homecoming is to be, Mr. Spencer Becket.

Onatah was with William, so Mariah felt free to descend the steps to the beach and walk toward the village to meet Spencer halfway, before he could be swept up and taken into his father's study, away from her. Outflanking the Beckets. After all, in any war, logistics were crucial.

He stood on the beach for a minute, speaking to the men who had landed with him, and then turned, heading for Becket Hall, so that Mariah stopped, waited for him to approach her.

She thought his step was a little slow in the now rapidly fading daylight and his shoulders seemed to slump a bit under the weight of the greatcoat. He walked with his head down, his wavy black hair blowing every which way in the wind. Surely he hadn't exhausted himself simply overseeing the construction of the frigate.

If that's where he'd been, and Mariah didn't believe that as much as she'd wanted to believe that it was true, that his absence had been innocuous.. .and not outside the King's laws.

Did they really expect her to turn a blind eye, pretend she was an idiot, allow her son to become a part of whatever was going on here?

Did she really think she could leave? Would even be allowed to leave? Certainly not with William. Spencer had made that very clear from the beginning.

"Hello, Spencer. Welcome home."

"Mariah," he said, at last looking up, seeing her standing not ten feet away from him, the hood of her cape fallen back, her amazing hair free and dancing about her face. His heart lurched a bit crazily in his chest. "Is something wrong? William?"

How wonderful, his first thought had been of William. Not that it should have been of her. That would be ridiculous. "He's just fine. He's passed from hand to hand all the day and night long, as if he's the most remarkable infant to have ever been born. At this rate, I doubt his feet will even touch the ground until he's at least three years old."

Spencer's dark eyes seemed to light up with this news, except that those eyes then swept down and up her body, as if he was taking some sort of mental inventory. "So you've come down to the beach to greet me, just like a good wife. How gratifying. Even if we're yet to wed."

Mariah swept her hair out of her face. "A lapse your family seems eager to rectify, although they've agreed that I should have these next weeks to...to prepare," she said as he began walking once more and she turned, falling into step beside him.

Spencer nodded, pushing his windblown hair out of his eyes. "Yes. Elly took me aside and explained to me about brides-clothes and embroidered handkerchiefs—and a woman's body after giving birth."

Mariah felt herself flushing with embarrassment. "She shouldn't have told you about that."

"No, you're right. I should have known. And are you.. .recovering?"

"I'm not an invalid," she shot back angrily.' "Perhaps
I
should be more concerned for
you.
You look exhausted." "Only because I am. We ran ahead of the storm all the way, but it will be here soon. Tell me more about William, if you please."