Mariah's Prize (9 page)

“Welcome, my pretty poppet.”

She smiled shyly, glad the twilight would hide how easily he could make her blush. She’d rather be called poppet by him than a thousand more gallant endearments by anyone else. She rose as he swung open the door to the shay, but instead of offering her his hand he spanned her waist with his hands and lifted her, light as thistledown, to the ground.

“You are, you know, really quite lovely,” he said softly, his face above hers.

“Oh, but you are much more beautiful!” she blurted out, then gasped at her own idiocy. She realized his hands were lingering too long on her waist, and she slipped free. “Dear Lord, I didn’t mean that!”

“I’d rather hoped you did.” Her honesty delighted him as much as her beauty. Her waist had fit so neatly between his palms, but he wanted to feel the softness of her flesh, not silk over whalebone.

“I’m not averse to compliments. I do, you know, mean to please you.”

Behind them Ethan, forgotten, coughed loudly.

“I’ll be waitin’ in the usual place, Cap’n Sparhawk,” he said, and again Mariah heard the inexplicable unhappiness in his voice.

“Waitin’ and ready to take the young lady home.”

She caught the look that passed between the two men, but not its meaning, and the shay slowly rattled off down the road, leaving her alone with Gabriel on the Newport Road. Night had fallen, and the three-quarter moon was rising, and the crickets were loud in the tall, dewy grass. Gabriel lifted the lantern from the wall, casting the wavering light onto a path that led up the hillside. “Because you accepted my hospitality but not my home, I’m forced to bring you here,” he explained.

“It’s still my land, but free, I trust, of whatever taints my house for you.”

“Your ‘here’ appears to be nowhere. Captain Sparhawk.” If he could tease, so could she. Pointedly she ignored his offered arm, unwilling to risk even that slight physical contact with him, and he laughed.

“You’ll see where here is soon enough. And no more Captain Sparhawk, mind? My mother called me Gabriel, and I always liked the sound of it better on a female tongue.”

She smiled reluctantly. Though she’d called him by his given name before without any thought, she sensed an intimacy behind his request that had nothing to do with names. Swiftly she turned and started up the path, lifting her skirts clear of the tall grass on either side.

In some way she knew she was running away, and she wondered if she should be running farther, clear back to Newport.

Swinging the lantern as he followed, Gabriel smiled at her skittishness. To protect her skirts, she was showing him a good deal more of her ankles and calves in their pale pink stockings than she likely intended, but he wasn’t about to complain. Pretty poppet, he thought fondly, indulgence mingling with desire. He was glad the gown had pleased her. He hadn’t exaggerated. In it she was beautiful, and far more woman than girl. Who would have guessed that that silly provincial seamstress would keep silk of that deep rose on her shelf, the same pink that Catherine had always favored?

“A windmill?” asked Mariah as they neared the crest, the disappointment keen in her voice. The mill was no different from all the others that dotted the hilltops on the island, eight-sided, three-storied, and shingled, with the long blades turned to catch the wind from the water.

“Now don’t go scoffing at my mill, lass,” said Gabriel as he pushed open the door and let her go first.

“There’s precious few people I trust with its secret. If dukes and lords can have Roman temples as follies on their lands, why, then I can have a windmill.”

Still dubious, Mariah climbed the narrow, twisting stairway, feeling her way in the shadows. She came to the top floor, and gasped with delight.

The mill’s hopper and works had been taken away, and though the square-cut timbers that framed the octagonal walls remained unplastered, the oak had been rubbed and polished until it gleamed like the finest drawing room paneling. Candles in brass sconces flickered from the beams and were reflected in the framed mirror that hung over a bench, cushioned with checkered red pillows, built into one corner. Set before the bunk was a small supper table with places for two, a ham on a platter waiting to be sliced and a porcelain bowl filled with fresh strawberries.

Gabriel hooked the lantern on a timber and tapped a finger on the gleaming service plates.

“Spanish silver from some gran dee table, taken out of a ship bound for Cadiz in forty-one,” he said proudly.

“I

hope you don’t mind dining with the enemy? “

“How could I mind any of this?” She circled the table, her eyes shining as she trailed her fingers across the pressed linens. It wasn’t the lavishness of the silver or the porcelain that impressed her. It was the thought that had gone into it, the care he’d taken to please her, just as he’d promised he would. She looked up at him through her lashes and smiled shyly.

“No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

The vulnerability that she let him see surprised him even more than her admission. Even when they’d been set upon by Deveaux’s men, she’d kept her feistiness.

“How could anyone know you, poppet, and not want to do things to make you smile?”

Instantly she raised her guard again, aware of how much she’d inadvertently revealed.

“I mean that at home I’m the one who cooks, and I’ve never had anyone else cook for me. Not that you’ve cooked all this yourself, of course. I know that!”

She grinned suddenly, imagining him bending his broad shoulders in green velvet over a kettle on the hearth. “But this, this night, and the gown, and how much you’ve taught me about the Revenge, and how you’ve never made me feel as foolish as I likely seem to you, and—and thank you. Thank you, Gabriel.”

Could she know how neatly she’d just turned the tables on him? If no one had ever cared enough for her to indulge her, then no one had ever thanked him so genuinely for something he’d done, either, not even Catherine. Lord, she was a match for him, and as his gaze wandered from her face to her high, round breasts rising from the low-cut bodice, he felt his body tighten with anticipation.

There, thought Mariah miserably, she’d gone and said more than she’d intended, and certainly more than poor Gabriel had expected. She could tell that from the odd expression on his face. Desperately she tried to lighten the mood.

“But I am willing to wager,” she said as she plucked a berry from the bowl and bit into it, “that you haven’t brought any of the Other ship owners you’ve sailed for here for strawberries.”

“The only other person I’ve ever sailed for was my father,” he said lightly, ”” and no, I never brought him here. “

She frowned, incredulous.

“No one else? Then why me?”

He smiled at her over the table, his chin tipped down so that he gazed at her from beneath his brows, his eyes as green as the velvet of his coat. No man had ever looked at her like this before. With a start she realized that to him,

tonight, she really was as beautiful as he’d said, and it had nothing to do with the gown, and nothing at all to do with her owning the Revenge.

“Why will I sail for you?” he repeated, musing. He chose the largest strawberry from the bowl, shifting it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger as he gazed at her. “Perhaps because you dared to come to my house and then… then asked me so nicely.”

She watched as the dark red berry disappeared into his mouth, gone in a single bite. He hadn’t touched her since he’d helped her from the shay. He didn’t need to. The way he was watching her, the half smile on his lips, was enough. In these few moments everything was changing between them, and she felt as if she’d been tossed from a dock into water far beyond her depth.

With a swirl of her skirts she turned and crossed the tiny room to the open window, her fingers grasping at the wooden sill as she tried to steady herself. Below her the hillside fell away to the ocean, and the breezes that once had fueled the mill now cooled her cheeks, grown hot from the intensity she’d found in those green eyes.

With a deep breath she struggled to regain her scattered composure.

Just because she’d put on a silk gown didn’t mean she’d left her wits behind with her old clothes. He was the same man he’d always been with her, and she was the same woman.

Or was she?

She tried hard to think of Daniel, and all she could remember was the night he’d left, a night like this one, and what had happened between them. She’d sworn to never love another, but she knew that when Gabriel kissed her tonight—not if, but when—she would let him, and the certainty of her response appalled her, Oh, Daniel, love, why did you leave me?

“Do you see that sail, there, to the sou’east?” Gabriel asked, coming to stand behind her, his arm brushing against her shoulder as he pointed out the open window. He’d taken off his coat, and the lace on his cuff blew across his wrist.

“That’s Richardson’s Felicity, bound for Bridgetown with her hold filled with ponies and mutton. Though I told him I’d see him safely down the coast beneath my guns, the hasty fool decided he’d rather clear Newport tonight.”

A hasty fool, thought Gabriel with satisfaction, but a useful one. Not that he’d pay the man a shilling until his consignment was safe in Bridgetown. Would Mariah still be grateful when she learned what else he’d done to please her this night? Nay, not her alone, but the two of them together.

The breeze from the water tossed the loose tendrils across the nape of her neck, and though she stared out toward the departing ship, Gabriel was quite certain she didn’t see it. In the moonlight her skin was ivory pale, her eyes dark and liquid. He touched her neck below the shell of her ear, and though she didn’t flinch or draw away, he felt her pulse quicken beneath his fingers.

“You really aren’t frightened by anything, are you?” he asked, his voice dark and low over the distant rush of the breakers on the beach below. Her skin was like silk velvet, her pulse warm and insistent beneath his touch. Gently he pressed his thumbs deeper into the back of her shoulders and felt the tension slip from her muscles as she relaxed. He marveled at her trust, remembering how boldly she’d come to Crescent Hill that first night. Not so long ago, yet it seemed like he’d wanted her all his life.

“My brave Mariah.”

Her mouth twisted wryly.

“Not so very brave.”

“More so than any other lass I’ve known.”

“That’s because you believe I’m too young to know fear.

But last night, with those men. ” Her words trailed off when she remembered her terror as the man pinned her to g| the wall, not knowing what had become of Gabriel, if he lived or had been killed.

Unconsciously she swayed back against his chest, seeking to share his strength against her weakness.

“Those men had nothing to do with you,” he answered, his hands sliding down the length of her arms and around her waist, pulling her closer.

“They wanted me, and your only misfortune was to be at my side when they found me. You’ll be safe enough now.”

Safe enough, that is, if she stayed in Newport. He’d told so many women what they’d wanted to hear that the meaningless reassurance came readily enough to his lips, but the angry bruise on the side of her face was an uncomfortable reminder he couldn’t ignore. Once again he fought the odd need to protect her. What he’d set into motion couldn’t be undone, he told himself, and one night would no more satisfy Mariah than it would him. There were no certainties to be found anywhere in life, not in Newport, not on Barbados.

But misfortunes—how could he ever forget that it had been Catherine’s misfortune, too, to come between him and Deveaux? He breathed in the fragrance of Mariah’s hair, lowering his mouth to her ear. What he felt for her was desire, nothing more complicated than that.

“When I’m gone,” he whispered, “you’ll be safe enough.”

“Gone?” His breath was warm in her ear, his hands around her waist pressing her closer against him, moving her in a way that made it impossible to think.

“Aye, my sweet poppet, gone with the morning tide, as well you know.

You and I will share only this last night ashore, and then I’ll be gone. “

Gone. The finality of the word dropped like a stone into her consciousness. She closed her eyes, fighting the sense of loss that was already beginning. Of course she’d known he would leave, but part of her had fought the reality and all that his sailing signified.

Gone. Dear God, not again!

“You’ll miss me, then, poppet?” How many times, he wondered cynically, had sailors asked that of the women they meant to leave?

“Say you’ll miss me for at least a night and a day, pretty Mariah, and I’ll go content.”

“Miss you!” she cried with real anguish. She twisted about in his arms to face him, her tear-filled eyes searching his.

“Oh, Gabriel, you aren’t even mine to miss, and already I feel like part of me has been torn away!”

Swiftly his mouth closed over hers, and with a ragged sob she welcomed him, her hands linking around his neck to pull him closer. She opened her lips to his, seeking the same magic she remembered when she’d kissed him before, but what she found this time was different. This went far beyond those pleasurable sensations. This. time, when his tongue swept into her mouth, she thought she’d swallowed fire itself, the heat racing through her entire body to center low in her belly.

His hands slid lower, over the stiff boning of her stays to the soft swell of her hips, caressing her through the layers of fabric, lifting her against the hard muscle of his thigh pressed between her legs.

Hungrily he deepened the kiss, and she felt herself ‘slipping farther into the fire. Lightheaded with the first rush of desire, she clung to him for support, for she doubted her legs would hold her. Dear Lord, what was happening to her?

Fighting for breath, for sanity, she broke away and stared at him.

Captain Gabriel Sparhawk, the most successful captain and the most

notorious rogue in Newport, a man nearly e

U twice her years in age and a hundred times that in experience, yet one look at the guarded wonder in his eyes, and she knew he’d felt the same fire that had seared her.