“No. I cannot.”
He bent down, his mouth close to her ear, his breath sending heated shivers through her, his fingers now hovering over the bow that rested between her breasts. “Swear on your life that you no longer love me—for I think otherwise.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to think, when all she wanted to do was kiss him until neither of them could breath. To press her body to his and savor every forbidden part of him. “Too long,” she whispered again.
His sigh moved the hair at her temple as he traced the neckline of her gown, his fingers warm against her skin. “And I lost you when you came here. I do nae understand that. ’Tis just a house.”
“But it isn’t; it’s a home, too. Or it should be, but never will.”
He brushed his hand over her breast and she gasped with pleasure as he whispered fiercely in her ear, “You want me to give up the sea.”
“It’s who you are. But if you’re gone all of the time, then Dunskey isn’t a home. I want a home, Conner.”
His frown deepened and he cupped her breast more firmly, his thumb finding her nipple.
She arched against him, her body aflame as she pressed into his willing hand.
He flicked her nipple through her gown and her traitorous breasts swelled with pleasure. She fought for breath, clutching the folds of his shirt. Why had she fallen in love with a man too wild to tame.
Yet she loved his wildness.
And she was so damned tired of being sensible.
She lifted up on her toes and kissed him, slipping her tongue between his lips in a wanton way.
Instantly, her troubled thoughts disappeared in a blaze of sensual heat so strong, she could only give in.
Conner fiercely tugged her into his arms, sliding his hands over her with a bold possessiveness that weakened her knees. Her heart thundered in her ears, her breath shortened until she could scarcely breathe, and she melted under his hot possession. God, she loved him. No matter how she tried, no matter how many times she told herself to stay away from him, she couldn’t. She wanted him. Needed him.
He consumed her, his mouth plundering hers, forcing her lips to part, his tongue brushing hers in a wanton way that made her ache. Her breasts swelled as he touched her, her nipples tightened with need, her skin tingled in a million ways. He played her as if she were a piano and he a bold composer, his hands never still as he lifted her to higher and higher heights.
And then suddenly he picked her up, his rock-hard manhood pressed against her as he carried her to the settee. Shrugging out of his loose cravat and waistcoat, he covered her body with his. He kissed her, murmuring desperate words against her hair and ear as she pressed her lips to his rough cheek and neck, tasting and devouring him as if she were starving.
Somehow he’d untied her gown, and had pulled the neckline free. She gasped as his hands slipped under her chemise and cupped her breasts, his skin as hot as his kisses.
“God, but I’ve wanted to do this for weeks,” he murmured, trailing kisses that burned like fire down her neck.
He rolled his palm over her bared nipple and she gasped and arched wildly, hot tremors jolting through her. “Yessss,” she breathed through her clenched teeth.
“God, yes,” he answered as he tugged her gown over her head and threw it aside, her chemise following. He stared greedily at her bared body.
She felt as wild as the sea, and she moved against him, parting her legs and pulling him to her. He bent to capture her nipple with his teeth, rolling it softly, laving it with his tongue. The hot wetness made her moan deeply, thrashing under the exquisite torture.
She lost all track of time and thought, and merely existed, the wildness of his caresses and the wantonness of his touch igniting her until she could only feel. She restlessly moved her hips against his, grasping handfuls of his shirt and tugging it loose from his breeches and pulling it over his head. She slid her hands up his naked back, exploring his muscled shoulders, holding him as she pressed her breasts into his hands, his mouth.
He blew softly on her wet nipple and she went wild with pleasure, hissing “Yesssssss” in desperate need.
He pulled away and undid his britches with one hand, and she helped him tug the material free. All too soon, nothing was between them but her silk stockings. She reached down to pull them off, but his hand closed over hers. “Leave them,” he whispered against her ear.
His hands wandered over the silken expanse, sliding up and then down. The thin sheath of silk was all that separated them, and she gasped wildly when his hands slid over the tops and found her bared thighs.
She parted them instinctively. It felt so right, so natural, that she wished he’d never stop.
Conner found the damp juncture of her thighs, and he trailed his fingers over her womanhood, her wetness driving him wild with need, his cock leaping in response.
She was here, and willing, and wildly passionate, her thighs parted, her eyes closed as she tugged him closer. Had it been any other woman, he would have taken her now—but this was his Thea. And it felt as if he’d wanted this, wanted her, his whole life, but had refused to admit it.
Now he couldn’t get enough of her, of her soft moans, of her full breasts and soft lips. He bent to capture again first one nipple and then the other with his teeth and tongue. She had beautiful breasts, rounded and high, pouting and pink. He laved them as his hand slid up and down her slick wetness, teasing and tormenting.
She moaned wildly and surged against his hand, and he pressed harder.
Theodora thought she would explode into flames. She threaded her hands through his thick hair, holding on as his hand took hot possession of her. He didn’t hesitate or waste time talking; he just did, and did it well. She writhed under his touch, the sheer wrongness of it making her want it all the more.
He pressed kisses from her breasts to her shoulder, burrowing against her neck.
“We shouldn’t,” she panted.
“We must,” he growled back, kissing her again and again.
And he was right. There was no going back now. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in the rhythm his hands had set. Her thighs were slick with her desire, his hands never still as with the suddenness of a lightning strike, passion overtook her, crashing over her with waves wild enough to stop her bruised heart. She clung to him, gasping his name, holding on to him as wave after wave shook her body.
He held her close, murmuring her name as she clutched him, struggling to find her breath. Never had she experienced such raw wildness of feeling. Her entire body quivered over and over, clinging to the final passionate tremors.
Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, her skin cooled.
Conner shifted and she felt his manhood pressed against her hip, still hard and ready. She looked at him, an unspoken question in her eyes.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Nae, lass. I’ll nae have your first time be wasted oopon a settee. We’ll have a proper bed, and do it right.”
His words sent a new wave of longing through her, but before she could pull him closer, he moved aside, sitting up. For the first time, she was aware of an extremely uncomfortable pillow under her shoulder, and that one of her legs threatened to develop a cramp. She sat up, and looked for her gown, which was crumpled on the floor near their feet.
Conner handed her the gown. She clutched it to her, unwilling to dress just yet.
He smiled and gently brushed a strand of her hair from her cheek. “You are magnificent.”
She didn’t know what to say.
A wicked light warmed his eyes. “I’m nae one who fishes for compliments, but I feel my talents deserve at least one happy sigh.”
He looked so pleased with himself that laughter bubbled unexpectedly to her lips. “Certainly. You and your talented hands were quite . . . adequate.”
His smile disappeared. “Adequate?”
She laughed. “You look so shocked.”
“Ha! One partial lovemaking session and
you’re suddenly a bold tease.” He bent to kiss his way along her jaw to her ear. “You.” Kiss. “Are the most passionate.” Kiss. “Woman.” Kiss. “I’ve ever met.” Kiss.
“That was—” She wet her dry lips. She had no idea what a woman should say after being so thoroughly pleasured. “Thank you” seemed oddly impersonal, and anything else seemed coarse and unnecessary, but to say nothing at all left the impression that one hadn’t enjoyed—
“Thea, love. You’re thinking too much.” Conner captured her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers. “There are some things we cannae reason our way through.”
And just like that, she remembered why she couldn’t marry Conner, why this—being with him and loving him—was a bad idea. Her heart sank, and her gaze moved past him to the peeling wallpaper near the windows, to the smoke-stained fireplace, and the threadbare carpet. He doesn’t want a home. He wants a woman who will keep his house and never ask for more.
She remembered the longing in his eyes as he’d gazed out at his ship, and the last vestige of her euphoria seeped away.
He was happy to be with her now, passing the afternoon with a romp on the settee. Who wouldn’t be? But where was his heart?
Reality was a cold, hard mistress who saw every imperfection. Theodora needed to stand up, dress, and leave. And she had to do it with what was left of her pride intact.
It wouldn’t be easy, for more than anything, she wanted to pull him back down on the settee and repeat their tryst. She wanted to feel him, to touch him, to taste him—
But I cannot. Regret so deep it never ended coursed through her and she pretended to be absorbed in dressing as she fought to keep from weeping. Her arms already ached at the thought of walking away. When she was away from him, she died. When she was with him, she died. God save her from a sensual, forbidden man.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for he cursed low and deep, then reached for her.
She pulled free, murmuring “no” as she refastened her gown.
“Thea, dinnae . . . Please. We have to talk.”
“There’s nothing left to say. We didn’t make it, Conner. We never had a chance.” She was no empty house to be left behind. She was a woman with hopes and dreams, a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid of doing what she had to in order to be happy. Passion might fan the flames of love, but without respect, concern, and constant tending, it would leave nothing but charred ruins.
As for him, he loved his freedom, and she couldn’t fault him for not wishing to give it up.
His brow lowered, a flash of irritation in his blue eyes, he dressed, his movements barely controlled fury. “You torment me, woman. You are making this harder than it needs to be. I want to get married, I need to marry—that works for us both.”
“It’s not that easy, and you know it. We’re doomed, Conner. We want the opposite in life, and were we to marry today, we’d come to hate one another. Perhaps not right away, but eventually. I won’t have that. Not if I have to cut off my own arm, would I agree to such a painful, prolonged death.” The words tumbled from her lips like water from an overfilled cup, splashing them both with the bitter tones. “Just look at this place. The house is a wreck, the lands have been left to ruin, the fields have not been plowed in years, the stables are falling down, the drive is cut through with erosion, the ditches filled with debris—” She threw up her hands, clinging to her anger, hoping it would give her the strength she needed to leave him. “But you don’t care. If it’s not a ship, then it’s not important or exciting enough for you.”
His expression had grown increasingly grim as she spoke. “You test my patience!”
She returned his glare. “And you destroy mine! As soon as Miss Simmons is better, we will quit your moldering house and return to where people care about their lives and their families, and wish to do more than run away to the sea.”
“Run away? Bloody hell, woman! If that’s how you feel, then go, dammit. I’m nae keeping you here.”
She fisted her hands so tightly that her fingernails cut into her palms. “We are done. But if it will set your mind at ease and give you some peace so you can sail away with the next sunrise, then I’ll admit one thing: you are right—Lance. He isn’t the man for me.”
“There! Finally!”
Conner took an eager step toward her, but she threw up her hand. “But neither are you.”
The front door banged open and footsteps ran through the marble entry. Through the door they could hear Spencer’s breathless voice shout, “Cap’n!”
When no one answered, they heard his footsteps going up the stairs.
Conner swore under his breath. “Something’s wrong. I must go. But I’m not finished with us yet, lass. We’ll talk again.”
They wouldn’t; she would make certain of it. She turned away and set herself to rights.
Conner unlocked the door and opened it. “Spencer!” he shouted.
There was a second of silence and then Spencer came running back downstairs to meet him. “Cap’n, you have to come quick! The Promise just made dock.”
Conner sent him an irritated look. “I saw her. I’ll go once the other ships arrive.”
“But that’s just it— The Promise is the only one that returned. They had a run-in with the French.”
Instantly, deep concern filled his eyes. “Are the others lost? What does Captain Reeves say?”
“Two of the other ships took hits, but nae one is certain what happened beyond that. The Cap’n lured the biggest frigate oot to sea to distract her from the fray. She’d been causing most of the damage, and he hoped she was nae stocked for the open waters. He must have been right, for she dinnae follow long. Once she turned away, he returned to the fight, but there was nae one to be seen.”
“So there’s hope. Are there injuries on The Promise?”
“Aye. The doctor is with them now. Cap’n Reeves came with me, sir. He’s ootside, waiting to speak with you.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Spencer hurried away.
Conner turned to Thea. “I must go.”
“Of course. Your men need you.” Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t keep the faintest hint of regret from her voice.
His jaw hardened and he raked her with a final blazing look before he walked to the door.
He’d just reached it when he stopped and then spun back around and strode straight to her. Without a word, he swept her to him. Hot, demanding, and possessive, he kissed her as if he would devour her.
When he finally set her back on her feet, she blindly reached for the back of a chair to hold herself upright.
“That, lass, is worth fighting for.” With that, he left.
Theodora sank into the chair. Life was so unfair. She’d thought she’d loved Conner before, but that was nothing compared to how she felt about him now. During their journey she’d learned so much about him, and about herself, that her love was now deeper than ever, and the passion she felt for him had grown with that love.
Which only made things worse. Unable to sit still, she arose and went to the window. Conner was speaking with the other captain, who was obviously in great distress, for he gestured wildly as he spoke, his face pale with emotion.
Conner put his hand on the young man’s shoulder and said something. The man calmed almost immediately, nodding as he regarded Conner with gratitude and admiration. His men love him. They wouldn’t be the same without him, and he wouldn’t be the same without them.
She stifled a painful sigh as Conner climbed onto his horse. He looked back and she quickly moved behind the curtain, holding her breath until she heard him and his men gallop away.
She came out from behind the curtain and rested her forehead against the cool glass, her heart heavy. If only he wanted a home and didn’t find leaving so infinitely satisfying. Why, oh why, couldn’t she love an easy man?
27
The next few days were a whirlwind for Conner. The
missing ships limped into port a few hours after The Promise. The fleet was battered but sat low in the water, still filled with their prizes. Conner oversaw the unloading of each ship, made certain Dr. Murray had what was necessary to heal the injured, and sent Spencer and Ferguson to scour the local villages to find woodworkers to make repairs.
On top of that, there was cargo to declare, dockets to be filed, bills of lading to see to, and a dozen other mundane tasks that he usually performed with a deep sense of satisfaction, since they represented his successes. But even with so many tasks to see to, he found himself standing at the curved window of his cabin, important papers strewn forgotten on his desk as he gazed up at Dunskey, wondering what Thea might be doing.
She would be watching over Jane, of course, and seeing that Mrs. MacAuley had the house running well. She would make sure Alice wasn’t being too much of a pest, that the men Conner had assigned to the house were doing as they were told, that dinner would be served at the same hour, and a million other things she did without being asked. She was efficient. And resourceful. And too bloody stubborn for her own good.
He raked a hand through his hair and scowled, overwhelmed by a deep hunger for her; the taste of her, the way her soft curves melted against him. But more than that, he couldn’t stop thinking of the sadness in her eyes when he’d left the library.
He turned away from Dunskey and watched the sea roll gently. He needed to talk to Thea, to explain himself. But each evening when he returned home, she was either with Jane in the sickroom, dining with Lance, or had one or more servants with her.
She was avoiding him, and he knew it. He’d tried to catch her alone during the limited time he had on land, but she’d thwarted him every single time. It was maddening, and his patience was wearing thin.
He rubbed his neck and wished for the thousandth time he could ask Anna what to do. His sister had been gifted in giving advice, asked for and not, something that used to irk him to no end. Now, he’d give his right arm to hear her calm, patient voice telling him how to handle this frustrating situation. Was Thea right? Was he lacking what it took to be a good husband? Could he settle down and live on land?