The Notorious Lady Anne: A Loveswept Historical Romance (36 page)

“Let’s wait to see how this plays out before I decide what to tell Kenmar.” He would tell Kenmar what he needed to, in order to keep his wife safe. She was everything to him now, his sole focus.

“You’re going with us?”

“In this, I will not waver. You are my wife and I will accompany you.”

She nodded, looking like the little girl he pictured in his mind, a girl who went in search of a father and ended up a lady pirate. To the outside world, she was a fairy tale woven by women who yearned for a better life. To the sailing world, she was a legend, forging a path few men succeeded in. But to Nicholas, she was a vulnerable woman, unsure of where she belonged in
this world that had been so cruel to her.

He could tell her where she belonged. He could tell her she was his now, of his world, but that would only make her lift her chin and deny everything. He had no intention of extinguishing the light that made her the woman she was. But he did intend to show her she was no longer alone. She had him at her side always and forever.

He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, loving the soft feel of her warm skin, loving that he was the only one who knew she felt just as soft, just as warm all over.

“Will you allow me to make love to you, Emmaline Addison? ’Tis your choice. If you say no, I’ll walk out the door and retire to my bedchamber. My hope, my desire, is for you to say yes, but this is your destiny and your decision.”

Wide eyes looked up at him. She still trembled, but hopefully not from anger. Hopefully, it was from the same burning need that raced through him. He wanted nothing more than to lay her on the bed and bury himself in all her sweet heat and wetness, but it was her decision to make and whatever she decided, he would abide by.

“I’m frightened,” she whispered.

No other words would have touched him as these did. Had Lady Anne ever admitted to being frightened?

“Of what, my love?”

“This. Us. You play a dangerous game.”

He shook with need, but forced himself not to touch her unless she told him to. “What frightens you about us?”

For a moment she looked away. “What you make me feel.”

“And what do I make you feel?” He held his breath. He felt as if he were standing on the bow of a ship with the vast ocean before him, so large, so all encompassing, so violent and beautiful at the same time. Those were the same feelings he had for Emmaline. She drew him like nothing but the ocean could.

They stood so close he had but to move his hand a small bit and he would be touching
her, but still he refrained.

“You make me feel …” Her voice trailed off.

The breath he was holding burned in his chest, fighting for release. Slowly he let it go, only to pull in another.

“Hope.”

“Hope?” He pushed out the word, his voice raw. Of all the words he would have wished for or chosen for her, hope was not among them, and yet it made sense.

She looked away, out the window where the wind whipped the tops of the trees into a frenzy, ripping leaves from branches and tossing them into the air like confetti.

“Make love to me, Nicholas. Please.”

He groaned, his body shaking, his mind a whirl of need. Finally, finally he touched her chin, tilting her head up so he could take her mouth with his. She trembled beneath him, so fragile for all the strength she portrayed to those around her.

Gently he picked her up. She gasped, her arms going around his neck as he carried her to the bed. Wickedly, she smiled up at him. “No one’s carried me like this before.”

“I should hope not.”

She threw her head back and laughed, the sound pure joy for him. To think she was his. Lady Anne. The pirate he wasn’t even convinced existed.

Slowly he laid her on the bed.

“I don’t think we’ve ever made love while you were wearing a gown.”

Mischief glowed in her eyes, making them sparkle. He loved that look. He loved the sparkle in her eyes and the sweet curve of her lips when she smiled up at him.

Fully clothed, he lay on top of her, resting the upper half of his body on his elbows so he could look down at her. Her expression turned serious, her gaze moving across his face.

“What have we done?” she whispered.

He shook his head, unsure himself, yet knowing that whatever it was, they’d done the right thing.

“I promise to be the best husband I can possibly be,” he said softly.

Her lips curved again. “I have no idea how to be a wife.”

He touched his nose to hers. “And I have no idea how to be a husband. We’ll muddle through the best we can.”

The upward curve of her lips turned down. “What if we made a mistake?”

He kissed her lips to hush her words. “Lady Anne doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Yes, she does. Immense mistakes.”

“This isn’t one of them. Trust me.”

She pressed her lips together and blinked rapidly. “Make love to me. Make me forget who I am.”

“Never will I let you forget who you are.” He kissed her again, exploring the lips he was coming to know so well. “You are Lady Emmaline Addison.”

She raised her head and kissed him with such force he couldn’t help but respond, even though his heart ached for her. Would she ever accept her new identity? Her new position? Or would she forever cling to Lady Anne?

He married her knowing who she was and accepting who she was, so it mattered not to him. But he had a feeling it mattered greatly to her. If she didn’t feel she deserved such a life, then he would spend the rest of his life proving to her she did.

His hand slid down her side, skimming over her curves, the satin of her gown so smooth. When he reached her thigh he began bunching the skirt, pulling it up.

He smiled down at her. “I like you in a gown almost as much as I like you in breeches.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Gowns are ponderous. They get in the way. I’m not sure how women stand wearing them all the time.”

Nicholas chuckled. “I’m sure they get used to it.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, until their lips almost touched. “Someday it will be appropriate for a woman to wear breeches all the time.”

He pretended a shocked expression. “Never, my lady.”

Her expression turned serious. “Mark my words. It will happen. Women will rise in revolt and demand to wear breeches all the time.”

Nicholas kissed her, his heart lightened by their silly banter. Emmaline pulled his head down and they fell into the kiss until they were breathless with it. Nicholas pulled her skirts up the rest of the way and touched the spot between her legs that made her cry out. She was already wet for him, and his already hardened cock leapt in anticipation.

“Oh, Emmaline. What you do to me.”

“I don’t see you doing a whole lot right now.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Witch.”

“Pirate.”

Apparently unable to wait for him, she unbuttoned his breeches swiftly and delved inside, wrapping her fingers around him.

Nicholas hissed in a breath and closed his eyes, lost in the sensation of her nimble fingers moving up and down over him. His hips bucked, picking up her rhythm.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. “We aren’t even undressed.”

“I thought you wanted to make love to me while I wore my gown.”

“I’m rethinking that statement.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled it out of his breeches. Quickly he shucked the pants and pulled his shirt over his head while Emmaline watched his every move, her gaze missing nothing.

“Your turn.”

She looked up at him, her lips parted. “I’m unsure how to remove this gown. Cook laced me up.”

Nicholas rolled her over and lifted her arms above her head. “Allow me.” He unbuttoned the small buttons that ran down her back until he reached the next layer of her stays. “Damn, but you have a lot of clothes on.”

“Tell me about it.” Her voice was muffled by the fact that her face was in the pillow.

Nicholas spread her gown apart and touched her naked shoulders, making the muscle beneath jump at his touch. Lightly he skimmed his hands up her arm. Goose bumps raised up on her skin and she shivered beneath him.

“I feel entirely at your mercy,” she mumbled.

“That’s where I want you. For now.”

He flipped her back over. She tried to lower her arms but he took her wrists in his hand and raised them again. Sitting back on his heels, a knee on either side of her, he lowered her bodice with his free hand. Her breasts were barely confined by the simple stays. If he raised her hands any higher, her breasts would pop out. The sight suspended his breath in his lungs as he stared down at her. His manhood pained him, demanding release. But he wasn’t ready yet.

He pulled the bow on her stays and slowly began to loosen the strings until he could spread the stays apart, and there they were. The most perfect, beautiful breasts he’d ever seen.

Emmaline drew in a deep breath that raised her breasts. Nicholas bent his head and kissed one puckered nipple, then the other, flicking his tongue out to taste her luscious skin.

She pulled in a breath and moaned. Her gaze went to his straining cock and she licked her lips. Her gaze flew to his. “Make love to me. Now.”

She raised her hips, brushing the underside of his cock. Nicholas drew in a painful breath.

“Now, Nicholas.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Giving orders, Captain.”

“You’re damn right I am.”

He lowered himself on top of her and slowly entered her, watching her expression as he did. Her eyes glazed over and her breaths came in quick bursts.

“Satisfied?”

She strained upward, her face twisting into a grimace he knew was passion. “Not. Yet.”

When he was fully seated inside her he rested there, luxuriating in the feel of her surrounding him. So tight. So deliciously tight. She moved. He groaned as her slick skin slid against his engorged cock.

She pulled back and he slid almost all the way out until she surged forward again. The friction had him gasping. Her tightness had him nearly begging her not to stop. He lay still as she moved. Sometimes quickly. Sometimes so slowly he growled in frustration.

Like any good pirate, she knew her opponent well. Knew his weaknesses, his strengths. Knew when he was close to losing control. At those times she stopped entirely, until he whimpered, all words lost to him.

Other times she moved quickly, her hips moving up and down so fast he nearly went blind with the exquisite feeling.

“Don’t stop,” he whispered harshly.

Her gaze didn’t leave his face. There was such an intense look of concentration about her, he would have smiled if he could. With each thrust of her hips she emitted a small sound that began to grow in intensity.

He touched her inner core, sliding his finger over the bud hidden inside. Emmaline cried out, thrusting up one last time as her muscles contracted around him.

Nicholas held on as long as he could, but his completion was beyond his control. He moved as her muscles milked him and he spilled his seed, shouting as he came inside her. This time he didn’t pull away.

This time he didn’t care.

After they finished, their breaths mingling together, their chests rising and falling from the exertion, they lay in each other’s arms. He turned his head to better see her. Her arm was flung over her eyes. Had she felt what he did? Had this lovemaking meant more to her, as it had to him?

He rolled off her and she rolled onto her side, her sleek thigh sliding over his, soft skin against his tougher skin.

“Technically, you’re still in your gown,” he said, a bit breathlessly.

She smiled up at him. “Your dream come true.”

“Just one of my dreams come true.”

She rubbed her leg against his. “Tell me about your scar.”

Jolted by the unexpected question, he flinched before he was able to stop himself. He’d hoped to avoid this conversation. Forever if he had to, but that was impossible. Of course she would want to know.

“I received it in battle.”

She touched the red, raised scar running down the length of his leg. “The same battle you received your title for?”

“Aye.” He hadn’t wanted the title. Not for that, at least. But he’d been forced by Sebastian to take it, to travel to the king’s residence, barely healed, using a cane for support, and accept the king’s gratitude for saving a ship and so many lives of His Majesty’s Royal Navy. But during the ceremony, all Nicholas thought of were the lives lost. All he pictured were the faces of the men who had met their doom that day. And the pirate who had caused it.

“What happened?” Emmaline asked, still stroking the scar. He fought the urge to snatch her hand away.

“My ship was attacked.”

She glanced up at him, more than likely sensing he was deliberately holding back.

He captured her hand and brought it to his chest. “My first sailing as a captain.”

“Who attacked you?”

He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles. “It’s not important, Emmaline. It happened a long time ago.”

“But the wound still pains you.”

“The doctors told Sebastian I would never walk again. They were wrong. But they were correct when they said I would live with pain. It’s not bad, considering I could be an invalid.”

“Who attacked you?” she repeated.

He turned on his side, sliding his other hand over her hip to brush against her breast. His body stirred, hungry for more.

“You’re distracting me on purpose.”

He sighed and pulled his hand away. “Pirates attacked my ship. We battled back and won.”

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived. The wind no longer howled, but clouds still obscured the moon. The candles in Emmaline’s bedchamber were sputtering out one by one, leaving only a few remaining.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He shrugged, the pain of his memories pressing in on him.

“How can you do this?”

He looked at her sharply. “Do what?”

“Marry a pirate after what one did to you.”

“Were you on the
Megan Kelly
when it attacked my ship?”

She shook her head.

“Then you had nothing to do with it. The fool pirate died that day. It leaves me with little compensation but I take what I can.”