Into His Arms (13 page)

“Are you drunk?”

He heaved a pungent sigh. “Aye.”

“The cook said you didn’t drink.”

“Not often.”

“Is it because of me?”

“Go to sleep.”

“Did I anger you?”

“Faith, I’ve drunk all this so that I can sleep with you next to me. Now shut up and let me sleep, else I’ll do what I was trying to avoid!”

Faith wisely closed her mouth. She wasn’t sure how far she was willing to let this go, but she was certain she wanted it to stop before he did. She relaxed, growing accustomed to the steady sound of his breathing, the comforting warmth of him. This was depraved, she told herself sternly, but in truth, it did not seem so. It seemed so utterly right, so completely natural. She did not hold herself rigid against the wall, but allowed herself to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

She must have been tired, for when she woke he was gone and the room was filled with light. She pulled her gown over her shift, slipped on her shoes and raced above into the bracing wind as she tucked her hair into her coif.

She recognized Geoff’s broad form, even as he leaned over the deck rail. Whatever was he looking at? “Good morning!” she called.

When he turned to her she knew a sudden sense of alarm. He didn’t look at all well! “Geoff, are you all right?”

“Have you never encountered a man after a night of drink?” he asked crossly.

“Nay.” He looked positively green, and Faith feared that he had quite poisoned himself. “Is it serious? Did you truly drink so very much?”

“Aye, I’m like to die,” he groaned, but then laughed weakly when her eyes widened. “Nay, I’ll live. I’ve no stomach for it is all. Especially rum.”

“Oh.”

He shook his head at her disapproving look, then clapped his hand over his eyes. “Don’t preach. God is punishing me enough, to be sure.”

Giles came to her side and gave her a merry grin. “‘Tis good to see the captain fairing so poorly.”

“Excuse me?” she asked.

He winked at her and replied, “Means he’s keeping his word, and that you’re sticking to your guns. ‘Tis about time he met a wench who didn’t tumble into his bed after a single look.”

A frown pulled at the corners of Faith’s lips. “How many women have tumbled into his bed?”

“Now Giles,” Geoff protested, “you’re doing me no good here. She’ll think I’m a rake.”

“You are,” Giles supplied cheerily.

Fine for them, she thought to herself. To her it was no laughing matter. The thought of him with other women hurt more than she cared to admit and left her wondering what he thought of her. Did he find her lack of experience unsatisfying? Perhaps if she knew what she was doing, he would not need to drink himself into a stupor. She could do something that would please him for the time being.

A niggling guilt tugged at the corner of her mind, but she brushed it aside. She had committed so many sins already, what was one or two more? Besides, Puritan theology taught her that the actions of mortals did not move God. Those among the elect, chosen for salvation, had been chosen before birth. If she were truly graced, she would not even have these strange desires. For a wicked, wicked moment, she pitied those so chosen, for they would miss out on this exhilarating, befuddling experience.

She silently argued with herself as the two men spoke of mundane matters, and was still trying to harness her wayward thoughts hours later, when Geoff joined her for the midday meal.

He slowly chewed the dried beef in front of him, grateful that his nausea and headache were abating. The woman in front of him toyed with the food on her plate as though she were the one who had imbibed too heavily the previous night.

“Something’s troubling you,” he said.

She looked up at his words and seemed to search for something very important in his face.

“Is it yesterday?” he asked. “I spoke too bluntly. I made it sound as though all I cared for is your body.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Nay, and that’s the very thing. I’ve never had a woman for a friend. I think that would be the perfect lover, a woman you liked who liked you.”

“But not love.”

He shrugged. “Of a kind, but even friends can’t spend every minute of every day together. They wear on each other. I shouldn’t want to pledge myself to Giles for the rest of my life.”

“But you’ll be friends for life.”

“Aye, but ‘tis different.”

“How so?”

“Giles can make his own way in the world. ‘Tis not your fault, but you’ll need a man. You’re not made to take a series of lovers, and no man who marries you will share you with me. We’ll have to part, sooner or later. Still, I like you. You’re not like any other woman I’ve known.”

Whatever response Geoff expected, it was not the one he got.

“Will you kiss me, as you do other women?”

“What?”

“I think there is something more. I sense you hold something back, and you seem unsatisfied. I would know what it is that you withhold.”

The wait for just such a request had long tried his patience, yet now he hesitated. “I warn you, Faith, ‘twill take more than a kiss to satisfy me.”

“You have spoken plainly with me, and I will do the same. I cannot promise you more than this kiss. Still, I have asked.”

He smiled at her implied demand. “I promised I would do naught but what you ask for; I did not promise to do all that you ask.”

“Do you not want to kiss me? ‘Tis a sin to lie.” She smiled back, an enticing little smile that brooked no denial.

They rose from their respective places at the desk, eyes locked, tension vibrating in the air between them. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine her a mere tavern wench, an easy night’s pleasure, but when his lips touched hers, the illusion would not hold. Her mouth was eager but untaught.

“Part your lips for me, Faith,” he murmured against her, and when she did, his tongue dipped delicately to savor this first sweet taste of her. She sighed softly and stood on her toes, pressing herself full against him, and he pulled the coif from her head to bury his hands in her hair. Instinctively, she turned her head slightly, giving him full access to her, and he deepened the kiss, thrilled when her tongue responded tentatively in kind.

The blood roared in Faith’s ears, and she knew not whose breath was whose, only that it came hard and fast. Her fingers splayed themselves against the hard heat of his back beneath his soft cotton shirt. When he would withdraw, she cried out softly into his mouth and pulled him back to her. She might well burn in hell for the feelings Geoff had ignited; she would have her fill and make it worth the price.

Geoff ached. He wanted to touch her, taste every inch of her, bury himself in her, and just at the moment he believed she would let him. He had to make her think. If he took her now, she would feel nothing but regret after.

He pulled forcefully away and spoke, his voice thick with desire. “What is it you would ask of me, my sweet? Do you want me to make love to you?”

An ‘aye’ nearly tripped from her tongue, but an instant’s reflection stopped her. Make love? Aye, she wanted that, and no less. “Nay. Forgive me, I did not know it would be so—”

“Powerful?”

“Aye,” she said, her voice laced with awe.

“I told you, lust is a powerful thing.”

“Aye, it is,” she said, moving away from him.

And so it was. When he held her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers, desire seemed to drive every rational thought from her mind. But even when he was not touching her, she loved every moment in his company. He was a scoundrel by every rule she had ever known, but she admired him. He could be as serious and responsible as the most staunch Puritan man, but he was witty and playful, as well. He laughed easily, and she found that with him, she could, too.

It wasn’t that her family had been entirely lacking in humor. She thought wistfully of David and Isaiah’s childish antics and of the gentle, good-natured teasing between her and Noah. Even her father could engage in some jest if the circumstances made it too hard to resist. But as with all other things, humor and fun were to be had in moderation. At the appropriate time, and in the appropriate place.

Geoff cared naught for moderation. Work, play, food, flesh. He embraced and savored all that life had to offer and encouraged her to do the same. At times, she would think of the huge, irrevocable step she had taken when she had left home, and she would be nearly paralyzed with fear. But then, he would sweep into the cabin, or appear on deck, and she found his reckless sense of adventure contagious. With him, she felt she could do anything.

“I’d give a gold doubloon for those thoughts,” he said, interrupting her ponderings.

“What?” she asked, giving her head a little shake.

“For a moment, you looked so stern that I thought you must be contemplating the fires of hell. But that was a lovely little smile, just at the end there. Tell me ‘twas thoughts of me that put it there.” He grinned rakishly at her.

She tried to frown at him in mock disapproval, but the corners of her mouth would not comply. “You are a terrible, wicked man, Captain Hampton.”

“Thank you,” he replied.

Chapter 11

Faith lay atop the covers on Geoff’s bed, transfixed by the volume of Robert Herrick’s verses. She had not begun it earlier because the dress had occupied much of her time, but her fingers rebelled at last, and she sought a chance to relax. The book was anything but relaxing. In it were verses gently chiding young virgins to “Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,” for life was short and youth quickly spent. There was verse upon verse dedicated to a woman named Julia. Verses extolling the merits of every part of her body. Verses that made Faith wonder wickedly if perhaps Geoff might see “strawberries half drown’d in cream” in her nipples as Herrick saw in Julia’s.

It was little wonder this poet was a favorite of the man whose bed she shared. In one composition, he spoke of how he loved to woo but had no wish to wed. He had somehow managed to make his appetite for many women seem romantic rather than depraved. All this, written by a minister? She knew that she should set it aside, that her parents had been right. Poetry had no place in the library of an upright woman. Just reading it had made her tingle and awakened strange cravings. It had aroused an immoral sense of curiosity.

She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow that smelled of Geoff, allowing images of him to drift through her head. In her mind’s eye she could see his hair as the wind swept it about his lean face, envision his broad, dark shoulders and back when he peeled off his shirt. She imagined his eyes, intense and golden, and it took all of her will to keep from running her hands over the front of her bodice, thinking of his hands, large and strong.

She sat bolt upright and flushed guiltily when he opened the door and walked into the room unannounced. “Geoff! You startled me.”

“Sorry, my sweet. Were you napping? I thought to let you know the weather looks a bit untamed, and we’ll soon be rounding Cape Hatteras. ‘Twill be a rough day at sea today.” His gaze fell upon the book that lay open next to the pillow. “Ah, you were reading, then?”

She rose hastily and became absorbed in one of the many wrinkles in her skirt. “You said they were written by a minister.”

“They are,” he defended. “Even a minister can appreciate the pleasures of the flesh. You see, Faith, ‘tis not so very sinful.”

Could that be so? It was tempting to believe him. After all, marriage was consummated by such pleasures, and what was the meaning of consummate? To perfect, to complete.

Nay! She did but seek to justify her weakness! “Such verses are a bad influence,” she said with a frown.

Interest lit the gold dust in his eyes. “Are they? What influence have they over you?” Her blush deepened, but she said nothing. Geoff closed the space between them like a lion stalking a nervous gazelle. “Tell me, Faith. Tell me of their corrupt influence.”

“They are lewd,” she whispered without conviction.

“They are erotic.”

Erotic. It was a word she had never heard before, but somehow it brought to mind the whisper of her scissors as they sliced through the silk Geoff had given her. It was a word that seemed to fit the smell of him, the heat when he pulled her into his arms.

Geoffrey watched the play of emotions on her face. The poetry had given her knowledge she hadn’t possessed, awakened urges she hadn’t known lay dormant within her. The realization filled him with urges of his own, ones that had been simmering just below the surface for far too long. He sighed in pent-up frustration.

“Why must you complicate it, Faith? Why can you not lose yourself in it?”

She lifted her gaze to his. Lose herself indeed. Her whole world seemed trapped in the light of his eyes. He took both of her hands in his and pulled her to him, his mouth brushing hers, his teeth lightly catching her full, tempting lower lip. The slight growth of beard upon his face rasped gently against her as he continued to kiss her along her jaw and down her neck.

“God, a man could drown in the taste of you. You’re sweeter than any wine. We thirst for each other, my sweet, and we could quench each other, as well, if you would only let it be enough.”

She opened her mouth to stop him, but nothing more than a sigh escaped. He captured her mouth again, drinking as though she were indeed the wine of which he spoke, and she drank, too, as though she would die of thirst. His hands moved, traveled down her bodice just as she craved, spreading liquid heat in their wake.

She didn’t think, banished thoughts from her befuddled mind. Her own hands slid over the soft cotton that covered his hard, muscular chest, then journeyed on over his shoulders and down his arms. He caught one hand and placed a lingering kiss on the sensitive flesh of her palm then pushed her sleeve up, bestowing kisses up the inside of her arm, warming the blood in her veins.

“Geoff,” she whispered. She had no idea what she had intended to say. Whatever it was, he cut it off when his mouth returned to hers. He pulled her full against him, filling her with aching desire.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered fiercely against her ear.