"Victoria, are you all right?"
"I-I think so," she whispered.
Grant believed he should be still. Let her body adjust to his size. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do with virgins? He'd never had to worry about this before. "Do you want me to stop?" As if he could. This would be the ultimate test, buried in her tight heat and having to give that up....
"Yes."
No. Damn it, no! his mind screamed. He couldn't give this up. He'd just achieved heaven. But he looked down and saw that her eyes watered. The idea of her hurting tore at him.
His body set with determination, he pulled out, but beast that he was, he withdrew slowly, lingering inch by inch to enjoy what he'd only tasted.
She moaned low in her throat. "Oh, wait. I like that." Stunned, he drove back in. "Ow," she bit out.
He pulled out once more, and again she moaned. He was losing his mind. "Love, you can't have one without the other."
"Can you go in slow, like you go out?"
Could he? When every instinct demanded he plunge into her? Shaking, sweating with effort, he slowly, so slowly tortured himself in and out, finding a rhythm that pleased her and made him shudder. Sweat dripped from him onto her trembling breasts where it mingled with her own. He bent down to take a salty nipple into his mouth and drew on it. She moaned again, spreading her legs wider.
"Maybe a bit more quickly," she whispered in his ear. Again, he shuddered.
As she wished, he pushed in faster. When he saw her breasts shaking with each thrust, he knew it was only a matter of time, and when she moaned he took the ground she gave. Over and over, his hips drove into her, his hands trapping her thighs wide or fondling her breasts.
"Ah, Grant, yes." The harder and faster he took her, the more she called his name, until he was pounding against her and she was meeting him.
Then suddenly, just as he'd become so thick in her he could hardly move, she arched her back, breasts pushing against his chest. She cried out and he felt her squeezing around him, all along his cock, her body milking his.
No more. He could take no more. A last pounding shove. Yelling out her name, he exploded into her, his orgasm pumping on and on, relentless.
When he finally was spent, he realized he'd been squeezing her in his arms as he helplessly continued to buck.
Slowly, thoughts emerged from the haze. I'm holding her so tight, I might hurt her.... She's mine.... I don't know if I can let go.
He eased up to rise above her. As though clawing his way from a dream, Grant stared in disbelief at Victoria beneath him, at his body still languorously pushing inside her. He stared down at her delighted face and saw her tears.
What have I done?
Victoria lay in his bed, curled on her side. She slept lightly, with small twitches and movements of her eyes behind closed lids. Life on the island most likely had awakened that in her--that something deep within, that instinct reacting to sound, filtering the normal from the warning, the slapping of bristly palms in a breeze from the first low hiss of a storm.
He enjoyed watching her sleep, he realized, but she needed to get back. God only knew what he might do to her if she stayed, because he'd realized something about himself tonight. He was becoming more and more comfortable with losing control with her.
He shook his head, still staggered by his behavior. He'd never been free with a woman, never had more than a perfunctory release, certainly had never done what he'd pressed on Victoria--he'd always feared losing control, feared his needs being talked about among the women of his acquaintance. Perhaps that was why he never sought out women, and by no means slept with them more than once. He was far from a rake, but worried that if he ever got comfortable his restraint might slip.
And every time he'd eased the pressure himself, the fantasies and imaginings filling his mind had only reinforced what he already knew about himself and what he desperately wanted to hide. Men of his caliber should be able to control such baseness. But then, the men of his family had never been good at restraint. No one but him.
Until now.
He leaned over and turned up the lantern. When he reached her side, he noticed the four fading half-moon indentions in her palm where her fingernails had dug in during her pleasure. She made fists when she reached her peak.
And when he returned her to the hotel, she squeezed his hand as if in thanks. The memory of the indentions in her palms flashed in his mind. Something so small. It was really such a tiny detail and shouldn't mean so much.
He was lost.
Eighteen
Tori's lips curled up seconds after her eyes slid open to the morning sun. She stretched her body, her soreness making her grin widen. She'd been made love to thoroughly. Oh, the things Grant had done to her.... She'd never conceived of actions and words so wicked and stirring.
She shivered in delight. And now they would marry. Her future husband had a vigorous imagination--and a talented, powerfully built body. Reflecting on Grant's perfect pairing made a haze of contentment wash over her. She could now admit to herself that she'd fallen for Grant. Completely.
When she finally dressed and joined Cammy, they enjoyed a luncheon of eggs, rice, apples, and juice, in keeping with Cammy's new special diet. Both were so excited about her health, they giggled over the slightest thing.
But late that afternoon, when Grant still had not shown up, Tori's contentment and confidence withered. How dare he not come by? After a night like the last, she supposed she should feel used, but that would mean she'd given something up. She felt she'd received something instead. And that was why she was so livid. She wanted to...receive again!
That night, what was left of her patience was ragged. The second Cammy fell asleep, Tori crept out the door and hurried to the Keveral. The guards on deck took one look at her face and backed away, nervously chuckling as she swished her skirts by them. She marched to Grant's cabin and yanked open the door. No sign of him. She made her way toward the salon and heard his voice. Good. She couldn't wait to get this off her chest.
As she neared the door, she heard Ian as well.
"Are you going to tell me again that there's no chance of her having your babe? Because this time, I'm not--"
"No, there's every chance in the world." Grant's words were slurred.
Why were they talking about this?
"Ian, drop it."
"Just because you're foxed? It won't deter me. Listen to me clearly, Cousin. I was going to let you work this out on your own, try to see if you'd put things right, but you haven't. Tori's become like a sister to me and I'm about to act like a brother."
"How's that?"
"I'm going to wipe the floor with your face, if you don't promise to make this right by her. Damn it, man, I keep thinking about how Emma or Sadie would feel in her situation. They're all the same age, Grant. I would hope that someone would help my sisters like this if they needed it."
"You have nothing to fear. Though this lecture is absurd coming from you, it appears that I am going to do the honorable thing and marry the chit." She heard him clacking a bottle against a glass. "So, wish me well."
Chit? Well, he did say he'd marry her. A grin spread across her face.
She could swear she heard Ian exhale. "Good, you've finally come to your senses."
"No, I've just finally done something that I can't undo, and I'm going to pay the price. I'll own up to my mistakes."
Mistakes?
Ian echoed her thought. "Mistakes? How could this possibly be a mistake?"
"She's not what I want in a wife. She has no respect for rules. I wanted an asset by my side--her wildness will always be a liability. I shudder to think how she'll behave in London."
Tori pulled her head back as though slapped. Hot shame flowed through her, seeping into every inch of her body. Her breaths shallowed. Now everything became clear. She embarrassed him. He was ashamed of her. Making love to her was a mistake?
Everything she'd shared with him now seemed cheap and sordid. Her
wildness? Had she behaved inappropriately with him? Done something unacceptable in his bed? Oh, God. The humiliation was so thick she tasted it rising in her throat. She rushed to the gangway and retched.
Wiping her face, she leaned on the rail, her face in her hands. An uncouth girl. A sorry, pitiful woman, following him like a puppy nipping at its master's heels. She was the one who couldn't see what was so plain before her. She remembered Cammy's advice: Don't confuse love and lust.
Turning back to town, she ran the back of her hand over her tears until their sheer number defeated the gesture. It wasn't ever about winning him over, just trying a little harder to get his attention. She'd never had a chance.
That's why he didn't want to make love to her. That's why he felt so guilty afterward--because he'd reduced himself by it.
Oh, God.
She could barely make out her way through tear-clouded eyes, stumbling back to the hotel. Captain Sutherland would never have to worry about her bothering him again.
"Grant, you're an idiot. Mistakes, liability? Do you hear what you're--"
"What if she comes to want another?" His voice was low, hurting.
"So this is what it's really all about?"
"No, the other things are"--he waved his hand as he searched for words--"well, there are other concerns." He slurred the last. "Bloody hell, I'm about to make her mine, give her everything I have, and I'm probably doing her a disservice. I can't help but think that perhaps she should have had a chance to find a husband naturally, with more prospects. I think she settled on me because I'm the first man she saw as a woman."
"You're not exactly a bad catch."
"Not financially, but I'm not really what she needs. She needs someone closer to her own age. Someone as fun-loving and carefree as she is, not the killjoy she thinks I am. What if I can't make her happy?" Grant stared down at his drink. "Christ, what if she comes to want another?"
Ian shook his head forcefully. "You run that risk with any woman--"
"No, it's worse than that," he said, raising his face, uncaring that Ian saw his pain. "You know how women are always accused of trapping a man in marriage? I think...I think part of me finally gave in because I wanted her bound to me. I didn't want her to have a choice when we return home." Grant's chest twisted when he voiced what he'd done. "I trapped Victoria."
"I didn't think you'd be awake," Tori intoned to Cammy as she entered their hotel room.
"Oh, I just got a drink of wat--Tori, what happened? Where have you been?"
Tori fought the urge to tell her what she had just learned. The news was just too raw, and if she spoke the words "He is ashamed of me," she thought she'd break down again. She'd never felt shame like this before, and now that man had made her feel it so deeply, she thought she would choke on it.
"It's nothing. I'm just being sentimental about the island."
Cammy looked relieved. "I do that too."
They spent the next hour reminiscing about their times there, calling up good memories, but in the back of her mind, Tori realized one thing she'd overlooked. He was going to ask her to marry him. His sense of duty demanded it. She didn't think he'd be easily deterred once he'd made up his mind and his honor was on the line. What to say to him to turn him down? How to approach this to salvage her pride? An idea was forming.
Nineteen
Grant's head was splitting from what he decided was his last hangover. Reality rushed over him in waves. The headache was palpable; his feelings for Victoria were palpable. Both were just facts of life. If Grant drank too much, his head would ache. If Grant made love to Victoria and saw her smile, he'd never settle for another woman. There was nothing to be done for it.
If Victoria came to love another man, it would not be for lack of trying on his part to make her happy. And, of course, it would be over his dead body. He was going to be her husband and, by God, he was going to be good at it.
With his decision made, he felt lighter, more content than he could remember. He couldn't deny that marriage to Victoria was very tempting in certain aspects. Wedding her would give him the right to her body, to do everything he'd been imagining--every touch, every kiss, every way he could join them together--whenever he pleased. He could take what she freely gave him. Only him.
And when the idea arose that she might now be with child, with his child, he became curiously pleased.
During the day, he scoured the city for the perfect ring. Grant had to pay an exorbitant amount, but as soon as he saw the emerald, he knew she had to have it. The color was the same as the water around her island, but this stone shone like fire was inside it. He'd never seen anything like it.
He went to her that night, his spirits high. He would get the issue of marriage settled and then take her to bed somewhere. The anticipation of touching her again was maddening. Thinking about what they'd done together...His lips turned up in what he knew was a wicked grin. He'd teach her something new tonight....
She sent down a message that she was ill.
Panic flew through him. Had he been too rough with her? Was she embarrassed? Victoria had been grinning ear to ear when he left her the night before, and she wasn't easily embarrassed. She must really be sick. Guilt overrode panic. He'd taken her away from Eden to a dirty, congested city.
He couldn't think like that. After they were married, Grant would make sure she always had room to breathe. He'd make her happy in her new life. He sent up a note asking if they would be able to sail on the morning tide. Her response: I am more than ready to leave.
When they sailed the next day, Victoria did look ill. Her eyes were flat. Her face lacked its usual animation. When Camellia kicked her out of her cabin again, Victoria excused herself to his room. He put his hand on her upper arm and pulled her aside. "Are you unwell?"
"Not at all."
Then why do you look as though you hate me? he wanted to rail. He had a fear; he hoped he was wrong. She glared at his hand on her arm, and, baffled, he released her.
Midmorning passed, and Victoria still hadn't made her way to the bridge. She usually brought Grant coffee by this time. Then he saw her. Her long hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and she appeared fresh and young. No sign of sickness.
Anticipation thrummed, but she walked past the ladder and sat on the deck with Ian. She never looked up at him.
Later that day it began to drizzle. Now Victoria would bring him his oilskin jacket as she did whenever it started to rain. He waited for several moments, getting steadily more soaked. Finally, he turned the bridge over to Dooley and made his way to his cabin. She answered his knock in a low, emotionless voice.
Grant felt as though he'd walked into a battlefield when he hadn't known there was a war. He took a chair, though he was unasked.
"It's raining," he said stupidly.
She lay on the bed, curled on her side as she read a book. She gave an uninterested glance toward the porthole and said, "So it is." She licked her finger, then turned a page.
"It's good you weren't on deck. It's going to come down harder." What the devil was he babbling about? She didn't answer, only turned another page.
"Are you feeling well?"
"Splendid." Without looking up, she waved an airy hand at him and said, "Oh, when you close the door, will you lift up on it? It leaks if it isn't in the track. Thanks."
He'd just been dismissed. From his own cabin. But wasn't this what he'd wanted? He'd wanted her to stop looking at him with those adoring green eyes. To stop smiling at him over her cup when she brought coffee.
But that had been before. Before he'd made her his.
What had brought this sudden change between the door of her hotel and the next night? She simply didn't want to have anything to do with him. Maybe it was because she'd expected a proposal, but that didn't explain the bitterness.
What if she knew about him now? Perhaps she'd told Camellia what had happened and Camellia had told her how...wrong Grant was, how a lady shouldn't have been treated as he'd treated her. H
e couldn't take it if Tori looked at him with disgust. His mind seized on the idea that she had wished for a proposal--that it wasn't his behavior--and he held on to it desperately.
"I'll leave, but first we need to talk about some things."
Tori immediately put the book down and rose. "Yes, we do."
"We need to marry."
There, he'd asked her. Well, told her, concluding the proposal she'd known was imminent. Again, she wondered if she'd misunderstood him when he spoke with Ian. What if he was posturing for Ian? The idea gave her hope, but she wouldn't just blindly grasp at it.... "Why should we marry? Do you love me?" she asked bluntly.
He appeared astonished at the idea. Had he never even considered that he might love her? "I am...fond of you."
"Fond?" Her heart broke a little. "What kind of marriage would it be, based on fondness?"
"Strong marriages have been built on less."
"Would you be proud to have me as your wife? Would you show me off to everyone?"
The skin around his eyes grew tight. "You would go everywhere I went."
She paced the room. "That doesn't answer the question. Would you want me to change?"
"I'd hope you'd want to acclimate to society again."
In other words, change. As in, you are not what you need to be. "I wonder if you care for me at all."
"I respect you. I admire your resiliency. I like that you're intelligent and resourceful."
She stood before him, her body tense with anger. "You admire my resiliency? You don't love me, you wouldn't be proud to call me your wife--well, at least not in front of others. Though you certainly liked bedding me."
He stood, his eyes seeming to burn through her. "More than you can know."
She almost lost her will to him then. Almost. Unfortunately, he was confirming everything she'd overheard.
The answer she most needed to know..."Do you feel obligated to marry me?"
He hesitated. "I know the rules, Victoria. I uphold the rules. We must marry."
She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. Be strong. "That's the thing about obligations. People come to resent them. I won't marry you."