The Making of a Duchess (28 page)

   Julien frowned at him. "Oh, now you have scruples?"

   "I'm willing," Sarah said then looked at Julien. "That is, if you're willing?"

   "I'm willing." He took her hand and pulled her in his wake. He did not know why he was in such a hurry to get this done. It wasn't as though she could run away. Perhaps he feared she would change her mind.

   They reached Stalwart's cabin, where the first mate, a young man of perhaps one-and-twenty was waiting with a Bible and a Book of Common Prayer. Stalwart took the Book of Common Prayer and asked for their full names.

   Julien gave his, but when it was Sarah's turn, she said, "Have you ever performed a marriage at sea, Captain Stalwart?"

   He considered for too long a moment. "Can't say that I have, though I've been present at one or two. Of course, technically we're not yet at sea. We're still in the Thames."

   Sarah, wide-eyed, turned to look at Julien. "Do you think this is even legal?" She turned back to Stalwart. "Are you even ordained?"

   He laughed at that, and Julien took her shoulders and pulled her aside. "You're right. This marriage may not stand up in a court of law. But I'm not going to challenge it, are you?"

   "No, but—"

   "We'll marry again once we return. I'll get a special license."

   "But—"

   Exasperated, he cut her off. "This is the best I can do right now, Sarah.
Will
you marry me?"

   For the space of three heartbeats, she did not answer. It was his third proposal to her, and the first one he truly meant. His heart pounded in his throat, fear gripping and paralyzing him. What if she said no?

   She stood looking at him, staring into his eyes for an eternity. In her eyes, he saw uncertainty, distrust, and something else—affection? Something more?

   "I'll marry you," she finally whispered.

   "Good." Relief coursed through him and also, unexpectedly, guilt. He knew she wanted romance. She had made that plain the first time she had refused him. And now he had proposed three times and arranged a hasty wedding ceremony, none of it romantic in the least.

   But he would make it up to her. When they returned to London, when he had his brother home safe, he would get the special license and give her the most lavish, most romantic wedding the
ton ha
d ever seen.

   She deserved it. In another moment, she would be his, and he would do anything for her—anything to please her.

   As Julien expected, the ceremony was brief, Spartan, and unromantic. Julien was vaguely aware of promising to have Sarah for better or worse, richer or poorer, and in sickness and in health.

   Then it was Sarah's turn. Her voice was shaky as she repeated the vows. "I, Sarah, take thee, Julien, to be my wedded husband." She swallowed and looked up at him, and he gave her a reassuring smile.

   The captain read the next line, and she repeated: "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death do us part."

   She took a deep breath, and Julien, who was already holding her hand, squeezed it. Finally, she repeated the last. "According to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

   Julien smiled again. It was almost done. She was almost his.

   But after a moment, he realized Stalwart was not going on. The captain cleared his throat. "Do you have a ring?"

   Damn! Julien shook his head. "No, I didn't think of that." He did not wear jewelry, so he didn't even have a signet ring to give her. One more thing to add to the wildly romantic wedding he would give her when they returned.

   "The next section is about a ring," the young first mate said. "You have to give her something."

   "It's alright," Sarah said, reassuring him. "We can just pretend."

   "No." Suddenly Julien reached back and loosed the ribbon he used to keep his hair back in a queue. It was made of a plain black material, but he could tie it around her finger. "We'll use this."

   "Tie it on then."

   Sarah offered her hand, and Julien took it. Why had he never noticed before that her hand was so small and white? He tied the ribbon on her fourth finger, noticing how stark it looked there.

   "Repeat after me," the captain said.

   Julien did. "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow."

   He was staring into her eyes, and he saw a single tear cascade down her cheek. Gently, he wiped it away.

   "There's more here," Stalwart said, "but I need to go topside, so I think I'll just end it by saying: Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder." With a bang, he closed the book and tossed it on his desk.

   "Thank you," Julien said, releasing Sarah's hand for the moment and shaking the captain's.

   "I hope you don't think I did it for free," Stalwart muttered.

   Julien shook his head. "I'll throw in a bonus when we return."

   "See that you do." And then he and the first mate were gone.

   Julien turned back to Sarah, who was fidgeting with the ribbon he had tied on her finger and avoiding his eyes.

   "Do you want to go back to our cabin?"

Sarah's head spun, and she looked desperately about for something to cling to—something besides Julien. Her stomach was jumping as though there were a dozen butterflies trapped inside. She felt nervous and excited, tense and eager all at once. Sarah clutched the back of the chair and breathed deeply. When the dizziness passed, she closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

   How mortifying it would have been if the first thing she did as Valère's wife was to fall over in a heap on the floor. He would probably begin planning the annulment.

   She felt him move forward, and his hand was on her back. "Something I said?"

   She frowned. Was that humor in his tone?

   She glanced back and saw he did have a trace of a smile on his lips. "I can see you're anticipating the wedding night."

   She swallowed. "Not at all. I think it must be the rocking on the boat." But it was no such thing, and they both knew it.

   He reached forward and smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. "It's alright to be nervous."

   "I'm not nervous," she lied.

   He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, "I am."

   She shivered at the feel of his warm breath on her skin and felt some of her fear melt away. This was Julien. She had nothing to fear. Of course, her stomach still twisted and jumped, and her body still quivered, but she no longer felt like falling over.

   "Allow me to escort you back to our cabin," he whispered. She could not stop herself from tensing, but now he pulled back and looked her in the eye. "I just want you to be comfortable and safe while I go on deck. That's all."

   She nodded. He was not going to ravish her in the cabin. He just wanted to have her settled. They would walk back to the cabin, and he would leave her alone.

   For a little while.

   Hands clenched, she followed Julien back to their cabin. Once again, he gave her strict instructions not to answer the door for anyone but him. She could tell he did not trust the sailors or the captain, and she found his protectiveness sweet.

   Sarah did not know how long Julien would be gone, and she had nothing to do in the cabin. She was tired but resisted lying on the berth for as long as she could. Finally weariness set in, and she decided she would lie down for just a moment.

   As soon as she lay on the berth, she noticed how small it was. She really could not think how Julien would fit in here with her. They would be sleeping on top of each other.

   Sarah sucked in a breath at that idea and pushed it firmly from her mind.

   Despite the berth's small size, it was comfortable, and she closed her eyes for a moment and drifted with the gentle rocking of the boat.

   Something was stroking her cheek. It was gentle but persistent.

   "Sarah?"

   She heard someone calling from far away.

   "Sarah, wake up."

   But she was not sleeping. She was floating, floating, float—

   Her eyes snapped open, and she scrambled to rise. Julien was sitting at the edge of the berth, looking down at her, but it was too dark in the cabin to discern the expression on his face.

   "No, it's alright. You don't need to rise."

   "I-I think I must have fallen asleep."

   "I don't blame you. It's late. Move over so I can slide in."

   She did as he asked without even considering what it meant, and a moment later his body, warm and solid, was beside hers. She was forced to turn on her side and back all the way against the wall in order to accommodate him. And then she was still cramped and uncomfortable.

   It was impossible not to touch him, try as she might, and she realized after a moment that he had removed his coat, cravat, and shirt. The bare flesh of his arm touched hers, and she froze.

   Her skirts were wrapped about her legs so she could not feel if his legs were bare or not. As he tried to settle in, she prayed fervently that he had kept some shred of clothing on.

   "This still isn't working," he said after a moment of trying to get comfortable. "Here." He raised one arm and indicated his chest.

   His bare chest. She could see the smooth bronze skin and the smattering of dark brown hair in the moonlight. Oh, my. She had never been this close to a man's bare chest before, and the blood thrummed in her veins.

   "Put your head here."

   She stared at his chest, then at his face. She did not see how she could lie there and avoid touching him. She did not mind touching him with her head, but in that position, her whole body would be pressed against his.

   She hesitated, but he was lying there, looking at her, and she could hardly refuse him. Finally, she laid her head on his shoulder. Immediately, his arm went around her, and she was hauled against him, her body flush with his.

   His skin was cool and the muscles of his shoulder firm. It felt strange to put her bare cheek against his skin so intimately. She could smell him, that tangy citrus smell mingled with a smoky, woodsy smell. She wondered idly if his skin would taste as good as it smelled.

   "Comfortable?" he murmured. His voice rumbled through her, the sound low and strangely comforting.

   "Mmm-hmm," she managed.

   She counted three of his slow, steady heartbeats, and then he said, "You'll faint if you don't breathe."

   He was right. She was holding her breath. She forced herself to inhale slowly, his masculine scent enveloping her. She felt quite suddenly even more lightheaded than she had before she had forced herself to take a breath.

   "Better?" he asked.

   "Yes," she lied.

   They lay in silence for several minutes, what seemed to Sarah an eternity. Julien's breathing was regular and even, and he began to stroke her arm with smooth, light caresses. Gradually, she began to relax. She did not have to tell herself to breathe, and she even allowed some of the tension to ease out of her body.

   She closed her eyes and relaxed enough to ask the question—well, one of them—that had been plaguing her all evening. "Are you still angry with me?"

   He continued to stroke her arm, but he did not answer right away. After a few minutes, she opened her eyes and glanced up at him. Her nose was level with his chin, her eyes even with his cheek. His eyes were open, and he was staring at the ceiling.

   Finally, he looked down at her. "No, I'm not angry. I'm worried, not angry. What am I supposed to do with you while I search for Armand?"

   "I told you. I have information you need. And I can blend in. I speak fluent French."

   He looked back up at the ceiling, and she lay quietly beside him, feeling the ship rock back and forth, listening to the sound of the crew calling orders, and feeling his heartbeat under her hand on his chest. "I didn't mean to force you to marry me," she said finally. "You have to believe that was never my intention—"

   "Shh." He gripped her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "You didn't force me to do anything."

   "But—"

   "You just gave me the opportunity to do what I've been wanting to do anyway."

   She allowed the words to penetrate, played them over and over in her mind. "You
wanted
to marry me?"

   "That's what I said."

   
"Why?"

   He looked down at her again. "So I could do this."

   He easily closed the distance between them, his mouth meeting hers in a kiss that was gentle and restrained yet promising a passion she could hardly fathom. As much as she welcomed the kiss, she trembled in his arms, uncertainty and self-consciousness making her quake.

   And then Julien shifted, lowering her onto the berth and rising up on his elbows so he was over her, his arms about her. He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, urging her to kiss him back, to follow him into the passion swirling around them.