Kit Black (3 page)

“I'll teach you all you need to know. I hope I can go slow, it's been a long time for me.”

I felt his hands at the ties to my bodice. He released the ties and pulled the garment from my skirt. I helped him pull it over my head. He looked at my breasts beneath my sheer chemise, his depth of concentration causing me to smile. He looked like Roger's dog when he was expecting the cook to give him the soup bone. My nipples were plainly visible and hardened to points beneath the thin cloth. I felt no shame, just a heightened awareness of my womanly self. It was wonderful. I had denied it so long. I was stunned by the look on his face, the same torturous need that I seemed to be feeling.

He picked up a tendril of hair that has fallen to my shoulder and studied it for a while, testing the texture between his long, elegant fingers. I looked at his half closed, heavily lashed eyes, the way his lips parted ever so slightly. He raised the lock of hair to his mouth and brushed it against his lips.

“Beautiful,” he said. “You are too beautiful.”

I could barely breathe. I could not think. I just stared at that mouth, coming closer to mine.

“I am going to kiss you again, Kita. Tell me now if you object.”

“I have no objections. It's what I came here for.”

He slanted his mouth across mine, teasing my lips with soft, slow, tantalizing kisses, each one just a foray into unknown territory, a promise, a taste of what would come.

My heart raced and my thoughts flew about in my mind like fluttering birds. I thought I was going to die there in his arms and that I would burn slowly like a martyr on a pyre—and that was what some would say I had done without the benefit of a promise of forever, or love, or a gold ring around my finger—and I would enjoy every second of this delicious sin. It was akin to being licked by fire. Slow burning, just a flicker or a spark that would ignite all too soon and swallow me, swallow us both in its intensity.

He took his time, and he planned his actions carefully. He was thorough. And patient. He gave me everything before he even thought of himself. But he was also a firebrand in his passion. A lamb and a lion. I found that with each passing moment I loved him more.

He confused me and delighted me in the same moment. He was a scrumptious, intoxicating mixture of everything I wanted, both wanton and wild, safe and soothing.

I think that when he was a child he at first willed himself to suck and savour his treats and then, later, having tested his will to satisfaction, plunged in to gobble. He made me feel as I were the best, most glorious treat he'd ever had and in return, he left me wanting nothing.

Perhaps his initial patience was in deference to my inexperience. Part of me, that willful, bratty, headstrong girl, wanted to hurry him along. I wanted to find out all there was to know. Now. To stand on that precipice and just leap with my arms spread wide. I do not normally like to be shown. I want to find out for myself, and I always want to lead.

He didn't stand for that. “Let me show you,” he said, taking my chin in his hand, his voice husky. His eyes were wicked with promise.

He stilled my restless, shaking hands, covering them with his as he kissed me, more to reassure than to control. They remained there, threaded to mine, pressed against my quivering thighs.

He moaned then, leaning forward, letting go of my hands, holding me tightly on either side of my waist. His face was angled up into mine, as if he was in some way giving himself to me.

I threaded my fingers through the silk of his hair. He slid his hands slowly up my sides, cupping my breasts. The sensation made me jerk in response. I pressed my legs together to still the reaction there.

“I don't know what to do. I do need you to show me…I don't want to disappoint you.”

“You'll not do that. But I shall like being your teacher.”

He rose to his feet and reached for my hand. “Come. I will not let myself take you without loving all of you first.”

I took his hand, shyly, my legs so weak they could scarce hold my weight. “You'll not need to take. I give myself to you freely and without regret.”

He looked at our joined hands, his eyes closing slowly. I saw his throat convulse against to smooth skin of his neck. He pressed a kiss to the chapped backs of my fingers. When he looked at me, his green eyes glittered. “I shall try not to hurt you. Come. I can't wait much longer.”

He helped me remove my chemise, even if I told him I could do it myself. He said he wanted to undress me. He said he wanted to do it slowly so his eyes could make love to me as well. It was a strange and beautiful thing to say. He looked at me for a long time, my taut aching breasts, my waist, my hips, and my long legs. When he finally raised his eyes and smiled at me, almost in awe, I thought I might cry from the acceptance, the longing, the need I read within their depths.

What I remember most is how he looked there in his bed, a bed so sumptuous and soft, I could not imagine such bliss anywhere. He pulled me down atop his body, brushing back the curtain of my hair, bringing my face down slowly to meet his, as our lips and our bodies joined as one.

Afterwards, I remember watching as he slept, worn out from exertion. I looked at a fresh sword cut on his shoulder, still glaring red, an inch from where his heart lay beating. How close it had come to my never having known him. His hair had spilled on the linen pillowcase in loose, thick red-fire tinged waves. He seemed gilded by the moonbeams that streamed through the high mullioned window. When he opened his eyes to look at me, the prisms lit his eyes like jewels in their dense thicket of lashes. I remember how his lips looked, swollen by our long, heated kisses, stretching in a cat's contented grin over white, even teeth. He reached for me again in sated, sleepy contentment, wrapping me in the luxury of his embrace.

I pressed my lips to the scar above his heart, smelling myself on his skin. Our scents mingling like some exotic perfume.

“This is all I want,” I whispered. “This all I will ever want. This gift, this knowledge, this joy.”

I love you, my Armand.

Yet, I could not let the words past my lips.

“Where were you born?” I asked him.

“Marseilles.”

“Why did you join the Navy?”

“I'm the second son of a Marquis, so my older brother will inherit the title and the land. As the younger son, I was forced to find some way to make a living. And I like the sea.” He was playing with my hair as he spoke. His voice held a little regret.

I didn't quite understand the laws of inheritance, but I knew that was why my father went to sea. That's what they had told me.

“I'm glad you came here to Ajaccio, Armand Dupuis.”

“I'm glad, too,” he sounded wistful. “I have to leave next week. We sail for about eight months, and then I go back to France.”

“Oh,” I said softly.

“I'll be married,” he continued, his voice almost sad this time. “To Sandrine. It was arranged when we were children.”

“Is she pretty?”

“I don't know, I haven't seen her since she was eight. She had very dark hair and black eyes. I imagine that she hasn't changed too much. She was delicate. Dainty. She's been in convent schools. She's a little older than you.”

I stared at him. He seemed resigned to his fate. “You don't love her, then?”

He smiled a little. “I don't even know her, but that's the way it is. She's got a good dowry. I can leave the navy if I want. There'll be plenty to live on. “

“Do you want to?”

“Sometimes. At one time, I didn't think there was anything better out there than the smell of the sea. I find it hard to get used to dry land.”

“I can't think of anything better than being on the sea.” I told him about my father, how he had been a pirate. He just gave me an indulgent smile like one gives a child. It irritated me a little.

“I have a proposition for you. Will you hear me out? “He rose up on his elbow, tracing the freckles on my chest with one long finger.” I can give you
carte blanche
. Do you know what that is, Kita?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Follow me to France next week. I'll set you up in a house. You can have whatever you need. Dresses. A carriage. Servants. I can afford it.”

I stared at him. “You'd keep me, you mean?” My heart was pounding. I'd heard of this practice before. Of the fine gentlemen who kept their mistresses with the permission of the wife who turned the other cheek.

“Under the nose of Sandrine.”

He had the grace to look sheepish. “I told you that I have a duty to her. I am bound by my honor, but she's a most understanding girl, I'm sure.”

For one minute, I imagined it. Having him with me at least some of the time. And then, I thought about sharing him with someone else. “I'm not interested in being kept. I have no wish to be a whore.”

His face darkened. “What are you doing here in my bed, then, Kit Black?”

This time, I had the grace to blush.

“I didn't mean that you're a whore. How can a bloody virgin be a whore,” he said, his brows knitting together. He appeared to be genuinely contrite. “And I know you are a virgin, because I felt it.”

“Was a virgin.”

“Yes, was,” he said softly. “Still faultless.” He touched my breast. His fingers burned me.

I jerked back. “You're in the habit of despoiling virgins, are you?”

“No. Of course, I'm not in the habit of that. You just felt different. And there's blood on the sheets. Kita, please.”

I sat up and tugged the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around me. I just managed to waylay the arm that shot out to grab mine. I had left him quite naked. He didn't seem to mind at all. Of course, the sight of all that tanned hard flesh on the white sheet he lay on took my breath away, but I told myself that I was angry and insulted. Truth to be told, though, I was also flattered by his interest. That he felt enough for me after having had me twice to offer
carte blanche
. A home of my own. A carriage. Servants. It was nice to know that if I were so inclined I would not end up like my mother. Well I would end up that way, just a higher paid version. A whore is a whore. What if I was to have children? What would they be? Bastards like me? Sandrine's children would bear his name. And if I got old or unattractive would he leave me in the streets? I knew he would. There would be younger ones wanting him. He would only become more attractive as he aged. Oh, no. I was not going to be beholding to any man. I was not going to take this man's money. Now, or ever. I had made a terrible mistake.

I jerked away from him and left the bed. I lifted my chin high as I searched for my clothes. I planned to refund him his damned coins, too. So much for the new boots. It was no great loss, really, and he had done me the favor of satisfying my curiosity. Oh, God, he'd satisfied it so well. I knew no man was ever going to measure up to him.

“Kita…come back to bed,” he beseeched.

“No, thank you.”

“We had a bargain. I think I lived up to my end of it.”

“Aye, you did. But I don't need your money.” I found my chemise on the floor where he had tossed it and slipped it over my head. Then I stepped into my skirt. I still couldn't find my bodice. If it came down to it, I'd wear the shawl home. “And don't think you are so wonderful, Armand Dupuis. You're not. You're too old for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I feel quite sorry for your Sandrine.”

“What are you doing?” He was genuinely worried now. He rose from the bed and walked to the chair naked.

No. The man prowled. How does a man walk naked the same as he does with clothes? With the same regal bearing and the same haughty pride. My God, he was splendid. I just watched him stupefied, my heart thudding against my ribs. I couldn't take my eyes off his smooth rounded rear, white beneath the tanned line where his breeches had stopped the sun from kissing his skin. He slipped on a robe; jade silk with Chinese characters. I wouldn't have been surprised if he had chosen it because it made his eyes look even more attractive.

“I won't need the money. My mother is dying, she hasn't got long. After that I'm going to sea.”

“You can't be serious. You're going to put that silly disguise back on and pretend to be a man so you can go to sea?” He laughed at me again like it was all some big joke.

“I hate you for laughing. It's not funny. You're the first man who has ever seen through my disguise. The first, Armand Dupuis. I am taller than most men, and equally as smart. I can make my voice quite deep, and I can use a sword. I can read and cipher, I can read maps of all kinds. I know all about the stars and changes in the weather. Roger taught me. I can learn to be a buccaneer just like my daddy. Damned if I can't. I will have more gold one day than you'll ever offer me.”

He shook his head, and I wanted to punch him. Instead, I turned and picked up his sword. “I could fight you.”

He sighed and held up his hands. “I believe you. At least take the gold coins.”

“I don't want them.”

“You said you needed boots. I want you to have them.”

“I don't want anything of yours.”

“Ah, but you already have it.”

“What?”

“You have my heart and my undying desire, my lady pirate.”

I tossed the coins at him and followed with the sword. He ducked, but I think the blade nicked his face. I didn't look at him. I backed out of the door and slammed it in his handsome face. Horrified, I wanted to go back to him and see how much damage I had done with the sword blade. I didn't.

I walked barefoot home and cried for the most of the way. My feet hurt on the rough stones and my legs ached between them. I was ashamed, disgusted, and terribly sad. Oh, God, what if I'd taken out his eye? I couldn't remember crying since I was a child.