Capture The Night (13 page)

She pushed at his chest, and he released her. Silence lengthened between them as night stole slowly over the vessel. Finally, in a hesitant voice, she asked, “And you have endurance?”

He wanted to laugh, and he couldn’t quite hide the teasing twinkle in his eyes as he gave her a slow smile and said, “Ah, honey, I’m good for hours. It’s a fundamental, just like I told you, only some men are better at it than others.” He captured her hand and pulled her back into his arms. “It’s the battle and the conquest that make victory so sweet. And when you taste the fruits of your labor, well, that satisfies yet another need.”

A faint whisper escaped her lips as Brazos bent his head and nibbled at her neck. In that moment, his amusement died. He looked at her and wanted as he’d never wanted before.

Bathed in the milky moonlight, Madeline seemed as mystical as the sea. Her skin glowed like the creamiest of pearls, and her smile had the promise of hidden treasure. But it was the look in her eyes, the mix of innocence and worldliness, that caught him in a tide of sensation so intense, Brazos thought he just might find drowning enjoyable. “Maddie,” he said, “do us both a favor. Wiggle off this hook, now.”

Madeline stepped away from him, took a deep breath, and smoothed her skirt with trembling hands. “Brazos,” she said softly, “I don’t want to.”

He lifted his gaze to the foresail, billowed and straining, much like himself. Damn, he’d not believed she’d really do it. It gave him a sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t the only one dangling bait here tonight. Only he didn’t plan on getting hooked.

His voice hoarse, he said, “No more games, mermaid. We can’t do this. The annulment. We’ve gotta get an annulment. Go below, please.”

In answer she stepped into his embrace. “Divorce me, then, Brazos. But love me now.”

He groaned and buried his face in her hair smelling roses and salty seawater. She put her hand at the back of his neck, her touch a silent siren song.

Brazos slid his fingers down her cheek, tilted her head, and covered her mouth with his in an urgent, demanding kiss. He pressed his tongue through her lips, probing the softness inside, exploring the wine-sweet taste of her. Yanking the ribbon from her hair he loosened her braid and spread the heavy tresses in a silky fan across her back.

She moaned against him, pressing herself tighter bringing her hips into intimate contact with him. His hand drifted lower molding to the curve of her bottom, and he pushed, grinding his aching hardness against the cradle of her femininity.

“Inside, we must go inside,” she murmured as his lips left her mouth to trace a wet path down her throat toward the taunting swell of her breasts. She wiggled away and led him to the companionway.

Brazos stood there, his breath heaving as the heat pumped through his body, and he knew that he shouldn’t go down those stairs. Madeline descended the first two steps. She reached for his hand and gently tugged. He stared down at her. Lighted by the soft glow of the wall lamp, she smiled at him, and her eyes made promises he wanted desperately to accept.

But he couldn’t. They couldn’t. Too much was at stake. Divorce? There had never been a divorce in his family before. He rasped, “Maddie, I can’t—“

“—make love to me in public,” she finished for him. “Please, Brazos. Come below with me. I’m losing my nerve here. You’ll have to help me.”

Brazos stepped down one stair, feeling the urgent need to bury himself inside her. He watched her float below, aching for her and knowing that he’d been bewitched. A grim smile stretched his lips. The dread of family scandal was no match for Madeline. The woman could charm the hallelujah from a preacher.

In a flash of movement, he was down the stairs, in her cabin, and lying atop her on the bunk. He took control, any doubts or fears locked away in a corner of his mind. Breathing ragged breaths, he quickly divested her of the green silk dress and feasted on the sight of dusky round nipples covered by a thin white film of batiste. “No corset, Madeline?” he murmured, and traced the circles with his tongue, dampening the fabric.

“Mmm,” she sighed. “Not the thing for mermaids.”

“With a tail like yours, you don’t need one.” He took the chemise between his teeth and ripped the fragile fabric, baring her breasts to his eyes.
My God, she was beautiful
. Achingly exquisite. The thought occurred to him to take things slower; but when he stripped away the last of her clothing and exposed her femininity to his view, he felt the little control he knew he had begin to wane.

His hands roamed over her body as he parted her legs with one thigh, and settled himself against her. He gazed into her eyes and felt a catch in his heart as said, “You’re a wave weaver, Madeline.”

She wriggled beneath him, sending flashes of fierce, intense need throughout his body. He sucked in a breath. He simply couldn’t wait anymore. Backing away, he shrugged off his jacket and shirt, then kicked off his boots.

It was as his hands moved to the buttons of his pants that the sound of a voice raised in laughter broke through the whirlpool of his senses. Though the sound quickly died, the damage had been done.

Brazos had realized that the cabin door was closed.

His gaze darted for the porthole.
Shut. Oh, damn
. The walls, all four of them, moved closer. And the ceiling. His fingers froze with but a single button undone as his muscles clenched against the fear. He swallowed hard and grimaced as a wave of terror threatened to drown him. “Oh, God.”

“Brazos?”

He yanked off his trousers and reached for her, frantically touching her, tasting her, seeking desperately to find an island of physical pleasure in this ocean of emotional pain. He felt the pressure pounding at the back of his eyes.

He felt pressure between his legs seep away. He grew soft. Useless.

Brazos’s agonized voice groaned, “Oh, damn!”

Waves of humiliation rocked him as he rolled off of her, not daring to meet her gaze. He couldn’t face the scorn he knew he’d see there. Keeping his back to her, he pulled on his pants. Grabbing his shirt and boots, he fled the room—and Madeline—without a word.

HE’D BEEN like a beast running away to privately lick his wounds. For a few moments, Madeline considered allowing him the opportunity and leaving him—for good. But her body continued to tingle from the touch of Brazos’s hands and mouth, and her heart ached at the knowledge of having failed him—and herself.

She’d seen his expression the moment he’d noticed the stateroom’s closed door. But what choice had there been? A woman didn’t share herself with a man with the door standing wide open. Especially when it was her first time. If only she’d thought to open the porthole, maybe that would have been enough.

But she hadn’t exactly been thinking straight at the time.

For that matter, if she’d been better at the entire business, maybe he’d never have noticed. “If I weren’t a virgin, I’d have known what to do,” she muttered. “I know I could be good at sex with a little practice. I do better at kissing every time.” If only she could kiss the hurt and make it go away.

Maybe she could try. After all, what more could he do than send her away? “Wounded beasts are dangerous,” she told herself as she dressed. But Brazos Sinclair had been both wounded and dangerous from the day she first met him. Besides, she was a thief. She had experience treading upon dangerous ground.

And she still had this virginity problem to take care of.

As she emerged onto the deck, she paused, listening to the sigh of the wind through the ropes and the rattle of the cross-timbers’ metal rings. The ship sounds were different at night, more pronounced, but at the same time more comforting. It felt good. She found she needed some soothing tonight. Probably Brazos did too.

She located him in the stern of the ship this time, standing at the railing. He watched the foamy bubbles of the ship’s wake fade toward the horizon, and something in his expression gave Madeline the idea he stared into his past. She wondered what horrors he saw. So she questioned him, “Brazos, I asked you before, but you wouldn’t tell me. This time…well…I’m hurting, too. It doesn’t exactly help a woman’s ego to be abandoned at such a moment. I think you owe me an explanation.”

He whispered a short, succinct curse. “Maddie, with all of the men in your life, your ego oughta be as strong as a new well rope.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He shrugged. Minutes passed before he spoke, and when he did, his raspy voice betrayed no emotion.

“I had a friend, a very close friend, who was a priest. He and I were doing a bit of prospecting down in South Texas not long after the Mexican War. We got ambushed by a bunch of renegade Mexican soldiers who took an interest in some cargo we were carrying. They decided that their boss would want to question my friend and me, so they marched us to their headquarters, a prison a good ways south of the Rio Grande.”

He stared at the scuffed toe of his black leather boots as he continued, “I’ll never forget walking into that place. It actually had a moat, probably a hundred feet wide. We crossed a drawbridge leading to the only gate in the place.

“These huge carved figures flanked the gate like they were guarding the entrance. Strange-looking statues—wore this headdress-type of hat.” He smiled ruefully as he glanced at her and said, “I know it sounds ridiculous, but something about them frightened me more than the walls or the guardhouses or the damned cannon.”

His laugh sounded like a mean, cold wind. “I spent over two years in Perote. After the first couple of months they kept me in a cell they called The Hole.” Briefly, he met Madeline’s spellbound gaze. “I don’t remember it, Maddie. I spent two years of my life in the dungeon of a Mexican prison, and I don’t remember a damned minute of the entire time.”

Abruptly, he stood. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he lifted his head and focused on the jibs. “You’ve probably figured this out by now after seeing me go crazy. I get scared, Maddie. I can’t stand to be cooped up; the dark only makes it worse. It’s not this bad on land, but there’s just something about being on a ship surrounded by water that, well, it gets to me. I get lost in my own mind—somewhere awful.”

Madeline stood and reached for him. “Brazos, I’m so sorry. I know it must be—“

“I don’t want your pity, Madeline,” he snapped, shaking off her touch and putting some distance between them. “I could tell you that…well…what happened to me in your cabin had never happened to me before. But you’d probably think I said that every time, so I won’t bother. And as far as tonight goes, just forget it ever occurred. It shouldn’t have then, and it’s not going to again. I don’t want a divorce. I want an annulment. They are simple and easy to get, and it can’t happen soon enough to suit me.”

He looked at her then, his eyes blue ice and his voice just as cold. “Now, I’d really appreciate it if you’d stay the hell away from me. I plan to do you the same favor. The nights are warmer. I’ll be sleeping on deck again from now on.”

Madeline swayed as if his words had been a physical blow. Watching her, Brazos felt like a total bastard. An angry, humiliated, total bastard. A part of him—the part that wasn’t raw and hurting—approved of the way she stiffened her spine and lifted her chin.

In a regal voice, she said, “Fine. I was quite growing tired of the way you continually stole my covers.” She dipped her head in a prideful nod, then turned and walked away.

With his gaze following the gentle sway of her skirts, Brazos was tempted to call her back. He didn’t.

And so he was left alone to deal with his demons and desires.

MADELINE ABANDONED the idea of using Brazos to rid her of her virginity and turned her attention to finding a husband, a permanent husband. Once she’d selected the man, she would then make a decision as to the best method of dealing with the problem of her chastity. It occurred to her that a medical solution might be possible, as well, and she decided to investigate the idea upon the
Uriel’s
arrival in Galveston.

As the weeks passed, she accepted that speculation concerning her relationship with Brazos Sinclair undoubtedly ran rampant in the ‘tween decks, where most of the colonists made their berths. According to Lillibet, some of the wagers made concerning the status of her marriage of convenience had been collected upon. Everyone aboard ship understood that any relationship between Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had ended. Her own behavior had clarified that fact.

Seventeen bachelors could be counted among the La Réunion colonists, and Madeline had made it her business to become acquainted with each of them. Having learned from her mistake, Madeline had contrived criteria for the next man in her life. No more reckless marriage proposals for her. Her next husband would share her vision of the future, not be grounded in the past. It wouldn’t matter one little bit whether he made her blood race or not. To her dismay, Madeline discovered the need to remind herself repeatedly of that last part.

Every day, while Brazos claimed his playtime with Rose, she had strolled the deck with one bachelor and finagled a dinner invitation from another. Through these efforts, she’d become quite adept at flirting, although she made certain that her speech and actions remained well within the bounds of what was considered proper. Of course, considering that her fellow passengers were Fourierists, overstepping the boundaries of the New Amorous World would have been extremely difficult.

Truly, if she heard one more word about the higher order of erotic pleasure or the Court of Love, she would lock herself and Rose in her cabin for the rest of the voyage.

Madeline had thought that out of seventeen men, she could find at least one who shared her dream of home and family, and who respected the Fourierist principle of equality for women. She’d gone about her search methodically, and out of the field of available gentlemen, she had narrowed her choice to two: Monsieur Loupot, the botanist, and Monsieur Guyot, the mason. In the beginning, she’d had hopes for Monsieur Loupot. He was closer to her age than was Brazos Sinclair and, truth be told, more attractive. He didn’t have that hard, angry look her husband possessed, and although his muscles weren’t as well developed, the physical work that awaited them in Texas would take care of that.