would have thought so.”
“A ship can only have one captain, after all.” She reminded him of his own words. “And William is not anxious to place himself under a woman’s command.”
The corners of his eyes creased, but only just. “Understandably so. I had the impression this offer was serious, however, because he feared the alternative.”
“For no good reason. The committee only confirmed what I’ve suspected and what I imagine you’ve known—that marriage would put a quick end to all this. I can’t believe you have any objection, as news of my engagement will certainly release you from your debt to me.”
Something deadly flashed in his eyes, but he merely shrugged. “Interesting plan.”
It hurt too much to look at him, so she turned her face to the window. This was not the way to her house. “Where are we going?” she asked sharply.
“I’ve ordered your coachman to take a detour through the countryside.”
Her breath turned shallow. “And your own coach?”
“Sent it home.”
“I see.” Dangerous possibilities careened through her imagination. Dangerous yearnings. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone looking for a wife?” she said, because Captain Warre on the defensive was so much easier to deal with.
“Not anyone willing to face the blade of your cutlass every time he wishes to bed you.”
The look in his eyes said clearly that he would find her cutlass no obstacle. Heat flooded her most secret places. “But, Captain, what kind of wife would I be if I did not allow my husband to bed me whenever he wishes?” It was imperative to keep him at arm’s length, because every part of her wanted to be in his arms. The reaction in his eyes was exactly what she’d hoped for. “And I intend to be a most dutiful wife,” she added, just to goad him. “In fact, I doubt my cutlass will play much of a role in the marriage at all. I don’t plan to marry a man who requires such measures to form, shall we say, a meeting of the minds.”
“Only the feeblest man would fit that specification.” The moment the words were out, he narrowed his eyes. “Good God. That’s precisely what you’re thinking, isn’t it. This ‘solution’ William objects to—you’re planning to marry someone too old to care about your reputation or your fortune, who will soon leave you safely widowed. Good God.” He stared hard now. “You’re going to marry Deal.”
She hadn’t wanted him to find out until after she’d left for Scotland. “You make it sound so mercenary.”
“It’s nothing if not that. Bloody hell.” His eyes turned that familiar stormy green. “No wonder William renewed his offer. I would offer for you myself to keep you from such a disgusting plan.”
A horrible pain caught her in the chest even though his cruel words only confirmed what she already knew. “And I would refuse you as I refused him.” And wouldn’t he be relieved.
It was impossible to look at him without an assault of memories: his mouth on fire against hers, his hands burning her flesh, his words giving her strength when she’d had none. The keening inside her broke into a silent wail.
He leaned across the coach, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’ll not allow you to throw yourself like a bone to some old limpstaff who doesn’t deserve you.” A simmering fury in his eyes told her he was imagining Lord Deal in her marriage bed. His face was inches from hers, so close she could see the flecks of brown in his green eyes. So close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. She wanted to taste them, just one more time. Just once, she would have liked to give everything to a man she chose.
“If I intend to have a legitimate heir, I can’t afford to waste my time with a limpstaff,” she scoffed, goading him. “Rest assured I will make sure of Lord Deal’s virility before the marriage takes place.”
“Bloody hell.” It was the last thing he said before he pulled her to him and kissed her. His mouth was brutal, punishing, and the taste of him poured across her tongue like heaven. “Half of London lays awake at night thinking about how to get between your thighs,” he said against her lips. “I want to kill every last one of them.”
His possessiveness made her shudder. “There’s no need, Captain. None of them will succeed.”
* * *
THEY MIGHT NOT, but James would succeed, and he was through waiting.
He half stood and leaned across the coach, pulling her to him more forcefully than he meant to, crushing his mouth down on hers again to drink the heady taste of her. She responded instantly, and his body surged. Her lips were soft, and her tongue slid across his like velvet, stoking the fire inside him. A small voice whispered no, this wasn’t the place, but then her hands touched his face and the rush of blood in his veins silenced the warning.
He had the preservative in his pocket, and this torment would end here. Now.
The coach jolted and he fell back to his seat, taking her with him in a mass of skirts that drowned his legs. The cold sheath of the cutlass hidden inside all that fabric tapped his leg, but she would have no desire to use it. He would see to that.
He invaded her mouth more and more deeply, trying to get enough of her, but it was impossible. Her scent drove him mad. He kissed her throat and neck, ran his tongue along her jaw. “I want you at my command, Katherine,” he breathed against her ear, knowing full well the effect it would have, and she did not disappoint.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders. “I will be at no man’s command ever again—” he nipped the base of her neck and she gasped “—Captain.”
That was up for debate, but one thing was sure: he was through being “Captain” to her. He pushed her gown off her shoulders and slipped his hands inside her stays, freeing her breasts. Christ, the sight of their creamy perfection nearly pushed him over the edge. They were proud like she was, sitting high over the top of the stays, and their round softness filled his hands. Puckered, dusky areolas bewitched him and he took one in his mouth, sucking hard, satisfied when her head fell back on a ragged gasp. He pulled with his lips, nipped with his teeth, rolled her between his fingers until she was clinging to him, breathless and crying out with need.
He was so hard he could barely think. Her fingers dug into his hair, holding him to her breasts one moment, sliding down and gripping his shoulders the next. She was half-crazed, fire in his arms, and he had to touch her. Madly he yanked at her skirts until he freed her legs and had her seated open-thighed across his lap. He reached behind her, fighting yards of fabric to find her skin. His hands skimmed across silky buttocks, and he found home between her thighs. She was wet. Hot. He pushed one finger inside her, then two. Her opening constricted around him.
“Touch me, Katherine,” he rasped, but she was already there. Her hands moved over the front of his breeches—too slow, too soft. His breeches were so tight it hurt. Ah, God—he undid the fastening and his erection sprang into her hands and he groaned. Her fingers tightened around him and he fought for control, gasping into her mouth on a kiss deeper than the ocean. Faster, deeper he stroked her. It wasn’t enough. He needed more—needed to be inside her. When her hands slid down his shaft and cupped his sac, he snapped.
He withdrew his fingers and grasped her buttocks, kissing her hard as he lifted her over him. He felt his erection breach
