Lucky's Lady (The Caversham Chronicles Book 4) (26 page)

Lucky kissed his way down, over the smooth skin of her ribs on both sides, which elicited a chuckle from her, then lower, stopping first to kiss the valley below her navel. Parting her curls he stroked his tongue over her core and she moaned. The more he licked and teased, the more she moaned, until he again felt her body begin to tense. Rising above her, he plunged into her again just before she crested the wave, and he felt her pull his cock deeper within.

This time he loved her slowly, taking the time he perhaps should have taken earlier, riding her deep and sure, until he again climaxed and spent himself within her.

With Mary curled into his side several hours later, they'd spent themselves on talk of philosophy, politics, economics, and literature, essentially avoiding any discussion of her work or his. He discovered she was equally as well-read as he, reading and discussing many topics with Spenser each night that he felt strong enough to listen and debate. She had strong opinions on the ownership of slaves. And, as he did, she found it equally abhorrent and unjust. He learned her closest women friends were a nun, the nun's sister who was married to a widower and had many children, and Becky the tavern owner, also a mother with two little children and third on the way. All four girls grew up together in the same church-run home. Other ladies she might have been friends with did not understand her desire to work, especially in a field dominated by men. But these three supported her desire to create and build these fast cargo-carriers.

Mary told him that she and Becky were both active with the children's home, taking some of the older girls under their wing to encourage them to continue their education and bolstering their confidence. While Lucky couldn't see her face in the dark bedroom, he felt her excitement as she talked about her work at the children's home. "Becky and I both want the girls in the home to know there are more options for them besides the ones presented to us when we lived in there. There are colleges now that accept young ladies as students, and as educated women they can go on to do great things one day if they choose."

Mary was silent for few minutes, and Lucky thought she'd fallen asleep. When she spoke again she asked him more about his life story, so he told her about his aunt and his near brush with death as a child at her hands; and about how his sister and brother-in-law saved his life. He told her that his brother-in-law mentored him in most things, much as a father would teach a son, and how Lucky respected him more now that he was an adult.

Then he told her the entire story of Maura and how he loved the little girl who was now his niece. And he found that for the first time in weeks he was able to relate the events without sadness, and happily think of little Maura as his niece now—without an aching heart.

But there was one thing he hadn't been able to share with her, because he wasn't sure how she would react. And it wasn't even something that was important to him either. It was about the extent of his wealth and his title. As the current Conte di Loretto, he held a papal title of nobility that had been in his family for centuries, conferred upon an ancestor who aided a certain Cardinal in his quest to become Pope. He was almost certain she would be unimpressed by it. She didn't seem impressed by Ian's title. Still another part of him thought she might even be averse to it. So he decided not to tell her about it just yet, or about his sister being the Duchess of Caversham, married to one of the richest men in Britain.

All his life, he'd witnessed how people tended to revere the nobility, sometimes for the wrong reasons. Even though he'd received his title shortly after his arrival to England, he'd always thought of himself as different from the young men he'd gone to school with. Not because the title he held was foreign,
he
felt differently. His sister was first to tell him that he was more than that title; that it was not something he'd earned, but something that one of their long-ago forebears earned. It was up to him to make his title as honorable as he was, so the public could forget the deeds of the cousin and uncle who held it before him. As Lucky's heart was not in the politicking and gaming that filled the days of most noblemen he knew, he lived as he chose. Fulfilling his dreams of sailing the seas while creating his own empire. He had a desire for adventure, and wanted it now while he was young; and planning on a family later, knowing his heart would eventually tire of wandering. While he craved the excitement of running his business with his best friend and partner, he fully acknowledged he did want a home, wife, and children.

When he realized he could never have that home with Mary, his heart ached with a pain unlike anything he'd ever known before.

"Penny for your thoughts?" She gazed at him, propped up on a pillow, her straight auburn hair attractively mussed.

"Thinking about how good you feel under me, with your legs wrapped around me." He didn't want to think about anything else. Because nothing could change what was, and what had to be, for them. Mary was married, and he had a duty to a title. It was as simple as that. Wishing couldn't change what was.

She smiled an invitation to him and he accepted. Again.

Afterward he rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. Sleep eluded him, even tired as he was, and his heart raced. What was wrong with him? He'd never felt like this with any of his other lovers. He cared about Mary in a way he'd never cared about a woman before.

Dear God, could he be
in love
with a married woman? Suddenly the room felt excessively overheated and an enormous pressure bore down upon his chest. He strode to the window and hung his head out for some fresh air. He needed several deep breaths before he could turn around and face Mary. God only knew what she was thinking. He didn't know what to think himself.

"Is everything all right?" She came to stand beside him near the window. "For a minute there, you looked pale and almost sick."

"It's the moonlight," he said. "I'm fine. I just needed to catch a breath of air."

"Not that I'm worried that anyone would see you at this early hour, but keep your eyes glued to the house across the street. Those women hate me for some reason. I wouldn't put it past them to watch my window when we should all be sleeping."

He hated having to hide. A twinge of guilt came over him for putting her in a position to fear gossipy neighbors. He was the one who insisted on having this affair. It was because of his desires that she worried. "Nothing has moved over there. There was movement down the street." Sudden alarm jumped to her expression and he hurried to soothe her. "It's fine. Just someone walking a good distance away, headed in the opposite direction." He had to be careful when he left because he wouldn't be around to protect her should someone witness his departure.

She relaxed and after several minutes of silence, she asked, "You eased my worries earlier. Let me help you now. Please talk to me."

He shook his head and they were silent for more long minutes. He could fall in love with her, so easily. But he still had those two issues. She was married, though would be widowed soon—that was obvious. But even if he returned next year to find Mary free, there was still the fact that she'd be unable to bear his children.

Even if he didn't have the title to pass down to a son, he wanted children. Lots of them.

"Lucky, is there anything in particular you want me to put in the mast step when we step the mast?" She was trying to distract him, he thought, and he didn't mind it. It seemed to him talking about business was also Mary's way of keeping their relationship in a tidy box.

"Most owners put a gold coin," she said, "to pay the fare to Charon for crossing the river Styx in case of a disaster at sea. Those less superstitious might place a lock of hair of a loved one. One customer purchased a wedding band to place under the main. He said his wife left him because she thought he was married to the sea more than he was to her. So, in a way, I suppose he married his clipper."

He chuckled at her tale, appreciating the joke and her effort to distract him. "I am not a superstitious man. But, let me think on it and I shall have something for you before I leave." He kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly. "I assure you, Mary-Michael Watkins, when I wed, it will not be to a boat."

"I would hope not." She leaned into him and kissed him back.

They spent the last few hours before he had to go lying in each other's arms. And it was a long time before Mary fell into that rhythmic breathing that told him she slept.

 

W
hen Mary-Michael woke in the morning, she was alone. Lucky's departure left her bedroom—and her heart—empty, and started more tears falling. God help her, but she was a weepy mess. She had to get over it before going into the office. Padding down to the kitchen, she started a pot of water to wash with, and ate a piece of hard bread left from the night before. When the water neared a boil, she scooped a cup from her pot, sprinkled dried tea leaves on top, added a spoonful of sugar, and stirred. Granted, it wasn't the ideal way to steep tea, but she was in a hurry and she didn't think it ruined the taste of the tea as Cadence said. After four minutes, she spooned out the steeped leaves and took the cup up to the table. She needed whatever pick-me-up she could get to make it through the day. A sleepless night of crying, talking, and making love, while good for the soul, was wreaking havoc on her concentration.

Forty-five minutes later, she'd dressed and readied herself for a day at the office. She stopped in the study on her way out to pick up the list and drawings she'd been working on the day before and came across two folded sheets of paper with her name on it. The bold script was clearly the captain's handwriting, and she wondered what he'd forgotten to tell her that he'd borrowed paper and ink from her husband's desk. When she lifted the first one, a gold coin fell to the table. She unfolded the sheet and read the first note.

 

 

She picked it up and looked at it, a British coin, gold, minted this year. Perfect, he'd taken her advice. Mary-Michael was curious as to why there was only one coin. She picked up the next note and saw a smaller note inside the larger one. The first note read,

 

 

She held it up to the window and thought perhaps she shouldn't read it. Maybe it was personal, a wish, a prayer, or poem. In the end, she gave it only a moment's consideration and decided if he didn't wish for her to read it, he would have sealed it, which he did not. That meant he didn't have a preference of whether or not she read his note. Mary-Michael ran her thumb along the bottom of the page and opened it. The words brought about another fresh bout of tears.

 

 

Surely he meant his new clipper. Even though Lucky had called her
My Lady
on more than one occasion, as though she were a noblewoman, or precious to him. But he made no promise to her, other than to return for his boats next year. Besides, she was not in the position to accept any such promises anyway.

Her husband, the man she owed her future to, a man she respected more than any other, still lived. And for as long as he lived, she would honor that commitment made to him on their wedding day.

   

    

T
he cold mist threatened to cancel the small ceremony, but Mary-Michael would not let the weather slow the progress of her men. If they felt safe enough continuing, she was going to allow them to do their job. She wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, wishing Lucky was here to witness this momentous event. The mast swayed as it lifted from the ground while the team of horses was coaxed forward. Lads from the shipyard kept the lines from tangling while they got taut. This was a traditional mast-raising, and she smiled at her brother, excited he was here to participate and bless the boat, just as he had the boat's twin several days earlier.

Today, with the stepping of her mainmast, the
Lady M
truly became a ship and no longer just a boat under construction. The mast rose slowly, swaying slightly. Once it cleared the deck joists the crew chief got in place, ready to guide the bottom into place. Mary-Michael kept back out of the way as the men placed the butt of the mast into the seat made for it in the keelson, where she had already placed the note Lucky gave her and the American gold eagle coin she placed with it. Theoretically, seating the mast would bind it to the keel forever, much like a man and woman are bound together in their promise to love each other before God when saying marriage vows.

She thought of her husband at home on his sickbed. Mr. Watkins wanted to help with the stepping of the mast but hadn't been feeling well lately. He stubbornly insisted the doctor was not necessary and made certain Mary-Michael kept him informed of the activity at the yard each evening. He also had begun to discuss the future, asking if she had considered the financial benefits of selling the shipyard while he still lived.

Just the fact that Mr. Watkins was admitting to feeling less than his usual robust self started speculation in the local village regarding his health and fate of the shipyard in the event of his demise. No one in the community, it seemed, had faith she could run the shipyard profitably after Mr. Watkins' death. This led to another offer to purchase the yard from their neighbor on the point, Barlowe Marine.

"Lass," Mr. Watkins had said just that morning, "you need only tell me if you want the yard or not. One day I'm going to be in the ground. I would understand if ye thought it too much for one woman alone. All I care about is that you are happy after I am gone."