Must Have Been The Moonlight (22 page)

The kiss deepened, and he spread his hand over her wrapper, spanning the back of her rib cage, berating himself for allowing the wave of desire to flood him. This time when he pulled back to meet her smoky, luminous gaze, something far more carnal filled his eyes as he held her in his arms and remembered what it was like to fill her.

“You don’t fight fair, Michael.”

“I never claimed I did,
amîri
.”

No one could ever accuse Brianna Donally of cowardice, she told herself hours later as Gracie finished the final touches on her hair. Excited servants had filled her room, but Brianna sent them all away, confused by the strange flutter in her stomach.

“This is a very happy day for us all, mum.” Gracie slipped a pin beneath the waterfall of curls. “You’ll be leavin’ for Alexandria in a few days to catch the packet to England. That will give us enough time to pack your belongings and have a gown or two made for the English clime. January in London is cold, mum. This year is worse than normal.”

A knock sounded on the door behind her.

Brianna turned her head when Christopher entered. He stopped as he surveyed her sitting at the dressing table. With a nod, he dismissed Gracie. He was a formidable figure dressed in black, with a white shirt and a neatly turned cravat.

Her fingers interlaced in her lap, Brianna turned away from the door and stared through her veil at the faintly tilted blue eyes so unlike hers that it seemed as if a stranger looked back at her. She’d dressed in a gown of pale blue watermark taffeta that she’d once worn at a festive Mayday celebration.

“The contracts are signed, Brea.” Christopher set down the papers in his hand. “It is done.”

The words sounded so final. Her hand spread them in front of her. She looked at each page, seeing nothing but the bold signature at the bottom of each below Christopher’s, and finally below hers on the last page. Her heart beat a strange tattoo in her chest.

Though she’d glimpsed a portion of Michael’s tenderness these past weeks, Brianna didn’t know the other man beneath the name, the image of the man embodied by the bold scrawl—the aristocrat, James Michael Fallon Aldbury, the tenth Duke of Ravenspur.

With him, she knew that there would never be any holding back for the sake of self-preservation. She sat still, her breathing even, conjoined to her thoughts. Her heart in chaotic flutter.

All day, she’d endured growing trepidation, aware of the melodrama of her feelings, yet, unable to quell the escalating uncertainty. First, that Michael would recognize his mistake and abandon her. Now when she realized that he’d not
deserted her, that he truly meant to marry her, uncertainty grew into something visceral. After tonight she’d be his wife in truth, with all that it entailed.

How could she ever be equal to that?

“Does he know he’s wedding an heiress?”

“He doesn’t want your shares of D and B.”

She lifted her veil and looked at her brother’s reflection in the mirror.

“Maybe he recognizes your need for autonomy in some matters, Brea.”

The elation that she’d expected to feel didn’t materialize. Maybe her autonomy rested on her ability to bring something into this marriage.

Christopher sat beside her on the bench, his shoulder touching hers, his back to the mirror. He braced his elbows on his knees. She folded her hands. For a moment neither spoke.

“I’ve wired Ryan and Johnny to expect your arrival in a few weeks.” He seemed to study his hands. “Alex will be going back to England with you. Fallon and I are in accord with getting both of you out of Cairo.”

She turned her head. Her brother’s gaze gentled over her face. “As for me,” he added, “I’ll get to England before my son is born if I have to swim.”

“Your son?” She laughed quietly. Men were so arrogant.

Yet, she knew he’d have to be afraid to do something as drastic as sending Alex away. Nor had she considered the possibility that Michael might still be in danger. Or that the danger could extend to her and Alex. But someone had attacked Michael last night, then framed him for Omar’s murder. And those questions remained unanswered.

“I don’t want you going downstairs thinking that you’re alone, Brea. You haven’t asked me to give you away. Not that I blame you—”

She wrapped her arms around her brother’s solid form and clung to him—the oldest and the youngest in the Donally clan. Fourteen years divided them. She loved him with
her whole heart. “And deny you this moment?” She laughed through her tears. “You’ve been waiting for this moment since I was twelve, I’m sure.”

His low chuckle rumbling in her ear, he embraced her, the beat of his heart heavy against his chest. “Fallon is lucky to have you.” Awkwardly, he adjusted the veil over her head, his eyes touching hers through the pale gossamer. “Our mother would be proud of you, Brea. You’re just like her.”

Brianna remembered very little about her mother. She looked down at her dress. Christopher stood and held out his hand to her. “I think we’ve kept Fallon waiting long enough.”

The butterflies that fluttered in her belly did so now out of alarm. She let Christopher lead her out of the room, turning just once to look back before she straightened her shoulders and moved forward.

Brianna descended the stairs, but slowed at the sound of voices. “Brianna.” Alex swept out of the parlor. “You are beautiful.” Looking radiant in saffron silk, Alex took her hands. “The minister is here.”

Brianna knew a priest would marry them later.

Abdul was suddenly standing before her. Brianna looked into his brown crinkled face. She would probably never see him again. She took both his hands. “This is for each of your wives, Abdul.” She rose on her toes to kiss his cheeks. “I have enjoyed our acquaintance.”

“As have I, Sitt Donally.” He salaamed and stood aside.

Gracie handed her flowers of white jasmine and, with tears in her brown eyes, told her that she looked beautiful. Brianna was suddenly feeling very much like a bride. The few servants gathered in the corridor belonged to Christopher’s household staff. They made a path for them as her brother walked her toward the parlor. Caught by the charged hush that began to fall over the room, Brianna stopped in the doorway.

Her breath caught. Dressed in full mess uniform, Michael stood beside the minister near the veranda doors. Through
the gossamer whiteness of her veil, she looked directly into his silver eyes, more blue than gray in the sunlight. More day than night. Like the mists over the lake of dawn that bound her to the promise of a future that seemed as vast and unfamiliar as it was frightening.

They spoke their vows outside on the veranda beneath an ancient Cyprus tree, standing in warm squares of sunlight, surrounded by the smells and scents of an exotic world. Then Michael was lifting her veil and she was raising her face to meet his kiss. Her fingertips whispered across his muscled shoulders where the sun had warmed his back. She was conscious of the taste of peppermint, the pulse of his heart and the beat of hers. He pulled back and her eyes opened to the intensity of his silver gaze. The man who had been her lover was now her husband.

“M
ay I get you more coffee, your Grace?”

Michael lifted his gaze. The wind sent a salty spray over the lower deck of the Northern Star. He sat with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his pith helmet lying low over his eyes as he watched his wife tend to her mare. An empty mug sat in the space next to him at the table. Even his great coat could not keep the icy wind at bay. Lady Alexandra and Gracie had retired an hour ago. Michael had promised Donally that he would see his wife safely home to England. It was not a pact that he took lightly, no matter how angry her ladyship had been at the arrangement her husband had made.

“Black, if you will,” Michael said, leaning to look around the steward as Brianna removed her cumbersome cloak and set it on a table. A length of her dark hair had fallen from the bun at her nape.

The ship swayed and the royal-blue-clad steward caught his balance. Coffee sloshed from the pot onto the table. “I’ll return with a new cup, your Grace,” he said.

The deck had emptied in the last hour as the seas strengthened. Brianna rode the awkward sway of the ship as she
made her way to the rail. He’d been watching her the last hour, and awaited her surrender to the inevitable. His wife was simply incapable of losing a battle. Any battle.

Barely visible in the mist above him, the great funnel, one of two that stretched the length of the deck, sent a plume of smoke into the sky. “Is there anything else you need, your Grace?” the steward asked Michael over the noise, handing him the steaming coffee.

“That will be all.”

The steward mopped up the spilled brew on the table. “The seas are rough and most of the passengers are sick in their cabins. Supper in the dining saloon will be served cold tonight.”

“I imagine that’s typical fare for this time of the year.”

“Yes, your Grace.” He placed the rag on the tray. “If I can be of further assistance, please let me know. I’m in charge of your suite.”

Michael’s gaze followed the man’s departure. Beyond the makeshift stalls, a pair of young military officers wearing regimental uniforms had gathered to play shuffleboard. He’d seen their open glances at his wife. Sliding the helmet lower over his eyes, Michael leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles, content to remain where he was.

He didn’t see Brianna look up as he stirred his coffee, or know that not for one moment had he been dismissed from her thoughts, any more than he’d dismissed her from his. She knew that he watched her from beneath the rim of his helmet with eyes that were anything but lazy. Even after three weeks, he still made her heart beat faster than it should.

She was unused to feeling like someone’s chattel. She’d always been adept at fending for herself and making her own decisions. Yet, in the course of the last few months, she’d managed to lose her virginity, common sense, and her liberty. Some men just had the natural ability to bring out the worst in a woman.

Gripping the rail, Brianna began to regret her stubbornness to come topside. Her bonnet had fallen off and now clung to her neck by its ribbons. The deck heaved and sank away again, and the drenching salt spray stung her face. Within sixty seconds she was beyond caring whether she was cold or might be sick on the deck. A hand fell over both of hers, which were clinging to the rail. “Come,
amîri
.” Michael turned her into his arms and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. “It’s time to go below.”

Lifting her easily, he swung her around in his arms and walked with her across the swaying deck. It wasn’t fair.

“I’ll secure the mare for the night,” he said.

She leaned her head against the solid strength of his shoulder. “Thank you,” she murmured matter-of-factly. “I suddenly find that I can’t walk.” The churning of the paddle box blocked out the sound of her voice as he passed beneath the doorway and down the stairs.

“I imagine this service is included in my duties as your husband.”

She knew that he’d been annoyed that she had not sent a steward topside to feed the mare, that she’d insisted on taking care of the horse herself.

The drawing room off their sleeping quarters was furnished with plush armchairs and tables topped with Italian Brocatelli marble. It was disconcerting as he sat her in a chair and removed her stockings and shoes that he should appear so capable.

“G-Gracie and Alex haven’t been well either.” Brianna’s hand splayed the muscled curves of his shoulder as he knelt beside the chair. “I’ve been told the sea is rough this time of year.”

“This is the Atlantic in January, Brianna.” He pulled her to her bare feet. “It’s bloody rough. And ass-freezing cold.”

The faint hint of rebuke in his voice was more than her pride could endure. “I owe you,” she said.

“Do tell, love.” He tipped her chin. “Put it on my bill along with everything else that you claim to owe me.”

“You know how I feel—”

“When this trip is over, I’ll send you a goddamn bill, Brianna. Would that make you happy?”

“Yes.”

How dared he be so obstinate about something that was important to her.

The ship rode a swell and threw her against him. “Are you finished?” Michael gently burrowed his hand into her hair.

Through a haze of misery, she eyed his perfect coloring with hostility. “Actually, I w-would have preferred that
you
were s-sick.”

“I know.”

“The malady would make you…” She flitted a hand in the air. “What is the word I’m s-seeking?”

“Manageable?” Michael carried her into their sleeping quarters. “Helpless?”

“Normal.” She stumbled against him as he lowered her feet. “The Irish favor their curses about the devil and Brits, your Gr-Grace. But I would never wish anyone to feel helpless or at another person’s mercy.
That
would be unkind of m-me.”

“Indeed.” A corner of his mouth tilted.

He used his hands on her shoulders to turn her around. He touched his mouth to within a sigh of her ear. His body was a solid wall at her back. “I’ve noticed that about you,
amîri
.” He made quick work of her gown. Her teeth had started to chatter in earnest. “While other debutantes hold court over their flock of admirers, you like to beat the hell out of yours. You’ve a man’s thirst for blood.”

“Very amusing, Michael.” She’d wanted to take offense at the backhanded insult, but she rather liked the analogy, or would have if she hadn’t felt so ill.

“Fortunately, for me, your rifle was empty that day at the oasis,” he said. “To think that you could have spared yourself this trouble.”

“What a terrible thing to say.”

“Then you are content with your life, Lady Ravenspur?”

Outside, sleet began to pound the port window. Finally, her chemise followed the way of her stays and she stood in front of her husband naked as the day she was born. She opened her eyes and stared into the handsome face so close above her own. The invisible walls that had been her security since Stephan had walked away from her no longer separated her from her heart. She had never loved with her soul. But Brianna felt the dangerous flutter of wings in her heart and knew the strangest urge to fly. Not away into the clouds, but toward the sun.

She could not answer that question except to look away. His very nature demanded her dependence on him. She could not be strong and be in his presence.

A soft down comforter went around her shoulders, and the hint of sandalwood rippled against her senses. “Do you think the physician made it to Alex and Gracie’s quarters?” she asked.

Michael wrapped her snugly and sat her on the edge of the bed. He poured two snifters of brandy and thrust one into her hand. “Drink.”

She watched him toss back the glass, then studying her own glass, did the same, but with far different results. Fire burned down her throat and exploded in her belly. She coughed and sputtered. For all of her progressive drive for equality, she was excruciatingly aware that she drank like a novice, and that Michael noticed.

But after a moment her limbs grew warm and languid, and she plopped on her pillow like a log. Her eyes became dreamy. “How many people have you nursed, to be so capable, your Grace?”

Michael slipped the glass from her fingers and remained looking down at her profile. She was already asleep. The life of a public official in Egypt called for forbearance when dealing with the unanticipated. He’d repaired broken bones, dealt with dysentery, and delivered babies. “Treating one stubborn bride with a glass of brandy hardly takes the skill of a surgeon,” he said quietly, adding another comforter to the bed.

Outside, the weather had worsened. Michael made sure the stove had ample fuel. He returned to the deck and found that he wasn’t the only fool outside. Another man stood in the darkness by the rail. Michael slid his hand into his coat and retrieved his tin of mints. He snapped open the lid and slipped one between his lips as he peered toward the man’s back, but the icy spray climbed beneath his collar, and he lowered his chin to make his way through the darkness toward the berth where Brianna’s mare was stabled.

He could hear the upper half of the stall door banging against the bulkhead. None of the horses had been tended, and as the storm beat down on the deck, Michael secured the mare, shut and bolted the latch on the door; then he did the same for the two bay geldings on either side.

He’d allowed Brianna to bring the mare with her to England. It had seemed important to her, and he’d practically moved mountains to see it done in the short time they’d had before leaving Cairo.

She’d not petitioned anything else from him, when it had been her right to do so. While he’d been preoccupied at the consulate that last week, she managed to put together a winter wardrobe for herself and her maid, and to have a heavy coat made for him. She’d settled her own accounts before leaving. A part of him knew that it was important to Brianna to come together with him as an equal. If only because in some things, she could. But attempting to pay her way in this marriage only proved there was no wisdom to stubbornness.

The ship rode a swell and Michael caught himself against the rail. He reached the passageway to find the door locked against him.

He turned to look behind him. The man who had been standing at the rail was gone. With an oath, Michael struggled to make his way up the stairs to another entrance, barely avoiding the dangerous wash of waves. He was wet and furious by the time he found his way inside. He walked down the corridor to check the door, but found it unlocked. A vague smell of something medicinal filled the passage
way. He retraced his steps and checked his cabin door to make sure it was locked. Hesitating a moment, he removed his helmet and knocked at the cabin next to his.

The door eased open. Lady Alexandra raised her gaze to meet his in surprise. “Major Fallon. You’re looking somewhat dampened.” Her red silk dressing gown whispered as she stood aside to let him enter.

“You haven’t opened your door recently?” he asked as she closed it behind him. “The corridor smells like a restorative retreat.”

Lady Alexandra held up a damp rag. “My maid and I are caring for Gracie. I fear she’s quite ill. A steward just brought me a new supply of rags. Thank you for sending up the physician this afternoon.”

“Brianna was concerned. I should have made her see the physician as well.”

“Would you care for tea, your Grace? Or do you still prefer ‘Major’?”

Michael walked to the port window. Bracing a hand against the wall, he peered out into the darkness. “You’re my sister-in-law. Michael would be a more acceptable moniker to me in private.” He took the cup from Lady Alexandra’s hands. Wearing his military boots, he towered over her. “As for the other? My military duty will officially end upon my return.” Turning a leafy mint sprig over in his hand, he dropped it back in the tea. “Is this a miraculous antidote against vomiting?”

She regarded him with warmth. “Mint helps to calm one’s stomach.”

He drank, his gaze going to the door that opened into Gracie’s room. Alex touched his arm. “My servants will be with Gracie tonight.”

“My wife and Gracie have known each other a long time?”

“Gracie helped deliver Brianna into this world. She was with her when her mother passed away. The death was very hard on Brianna. Twenty-two years can forge a bond as strong as one forges with family.”

Michael leaned a hand against the wall and stared outside the window toward England, somewhere on the unseen horizon. He was no longer thinking about the weather or the strange scent in the corridor. He wondered if he’d ever been truly close to anyone in his entire life.

“How long since you’ve been home?” Alex asked.

“Too long. Not long enough. Twelve years. I’m under no delusions as to my homecoming.” Turning back into the room, he peered at her over the rim of his cup. “Already, England is as cold as I remember.”

“Where will you be going once you get there?”

“My family has a London residence,” he said. “We’ll go there first, until I can get my affairs in order.” He would need more than the one suit of clothes he had. “Brianna will need time to adjust.”

“You underestimate her.” Alex merely smiled. “Brea kept me alive for three days in the desert. She protected me with her life by sheer force of will because she is stubborn and she loves me. She loves me enough to suffer through research and poor French to help me finish a book no one but a handful of scholars might read. Because she has a need to protect me from my peers,” Alex said, turning her head and her gaze to him. “She’s already loyal to you. And you’re not even Irish.”