Home. Her parents. Her brothers. Her friends—and the entire ton gossiping about where she’d been and with whom. “And what then?” she asked. “Do we go our separate ways?” She’d given some thought to their situation over the past few days. She’d had the time, and a nagging ache inside told her to prepare to lose him. She might love him, but he’d never claimed to reciprocate her feelings. Ashley had never wanted to be in love. She’d always thought it made women and men behave foolishly. Her mother was a perfect example. The woman had borne six children and had lost her beauty and her strength caring for all of them, while her husband was free to come and go as he pleased. She’d been fortunate Gareth Brittany was a good man.
But then her father loved her mother. Ashley had known that even as a young child. Her mother never had to worry she’d be stuck with a passel of brats—her brothers—and not a shilling to her name. Did Ashley have the same security? Life as Nick’s wife meant she was Lady Nicholas, but how many ladies did she know who had nothing but their titles to live on?
Nick moved toward her, moving with all the confidence and ease he had on his ship. There was so much strength in him, so much caged power. It made her weak to think of being in his arms, all of that strength and power surrounding her, focused on her.
“No separation,” he said in a tone that brooked no discussion.
“We could have the marriage annulled. Surely a ceremony performed by a drunken priest in Gretna Green isn’t strictly legal.”
His eyes darkened, and she wondered if her words had angered him. Why? Did he want to stay married to her? If he loved her just a little, she would be content to stay with him, come what may. It was pathetic but true.
How long would he be happy with her? How long until the lure of the sea called to him again? He’d given his ship to Chante, but he could find another. Once a pirate, always a pirate.
“And if Lady Madeleine and my brother have accepted their marriage, what then? We invalidate their vows if we disavow our own.”
She hadn’t thought of that. Was Maddie really married to Lord Blackthorne? Were they trying to make a go of it?
And then he reached out and stroked her cheek, and though she tried to hold onto her doubts and questions, they slid away with each brush of his hand. Everything but Nick melted into the shadows. She looked up at him and saw the hunger in his eyes, and her own matched it. Her skin warmed, coming alive under his touch. Where his fingers stroked the skin of her cheek felt extraordinarily sensitive, and the heat of his flesh seemed to shoot a direct path to her breasts, making them tighten in anticipation of his hands and his mouth on her flesh.
Her lower abdomen was heavy, aching with need, but it was her heart that concerned her. Her heart ached for him too, and she feared his touch would not be enough to appease it.
“You are my wife,” Nick murmured, lowering his mouth to whisper in her ear. She shivered as his lips caressed her skin and his breath feathered over her earlobe and the delicate flesh beneath. “I want no talk of annulments or separations. You are mine.” His lips closed on her earlobe, kissing it gently. His tongue flicked out, and she shivered from the delicious pleasure coursing through her. “I will not”—he shifted and put his mouth on the other side of her neck—“lose you.” The deeper meaning of his words was not lost on her. His lips caressed her neck, and she shifted to give him better access.
He trailed heat down her skin until he reached her collarbone and then he kissed her there, wrapping his arms about her and pulling her close. “I missed you,” she said, inhaling his scent. He still smelled of sea and sand, and she buried her face in his shoulder, trying to imprint the scent on her mind for always.
“I didn’t intend to be away so long. As I mentioned, buying passage took some effort and blunt I didn’t have readily available.” He pulled back and looked down at her. “You are so beautiful.”
Men had given her those words so many times she could not begin to count them, but they had not meant anything to her until now. She wanted nothing but to be beautiful for Nick.
“I didn’t imagine you’d be dressed like this. It’s unexpected and incredibly erotic.” One hand trailed down her shoulder, tracing the flimsy material. And then his hands were on the fastenings of the silk bodice she wore, and he’d freed her easily. She did not want to know how it was he completed such a task so easily. At this moment he was hers, all hers, just as she was his and always had been.
“You look quite handsome yourself,” she said, as he pulled her bodice down. Behind her the breeze wafted through the open window, the warm air caressing her bare skin. The small coins on the silk wrap tinkled as he dropped the garment to the floor.
“Beautiful,” he said, stepping back to look at her. “You are so perfect.”
“I’m not.” She shook her head. “You know I am not.”
“To me, you are.”
He reached for her skirt, and she stepped back. “I want to see you as well. Take off your coat, your shirt.”
With a grin, he stripped them off, struggling a bit with the tight coat, which only made his muscles bunch and flex under the linen shirt, which was stretched tight from his efforts. How could he say she was beautiful? He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. When he finally pulled the tail from his breeches and pulled the shirt over his head, her throat went dry. He put his hands on his hips. “A man, like any other.”
She reached for him, stroking a hand over his bare chest. She saw his skin rise in small bumps where she’d touched him. “You know you are not like other men.”
“No, because I have you.” He caught her hand when she stroked across his hard, flat abdomen, stopping it from angling downward toward the bulge in his breeches. With a gentle tug, he pulled her into his arms. She inhaled sharply at the feel of their skin pressed together. She loved the feel of his skin against hers. Her nipples puckered as her breasts were crushed against him. She felt wanton, and she could see no reason not to behave as she would like—she rarely did see a reason not to behave as she wanted. Ashley stood on tiptoe, brushing her distended nipples against the top of his chest and then lowering herself so she felt the breadth of him. Her hands clenched at his powerful thighs, and she moved upward until she covered his erection, feeling the hot power in her hand.
“Have I shocked you?” she asked, stroking him. “Am I too wanton?”
“Too wanton?” he said, voice breathless. “This isn’t wanton at all.”
She smiled because she knew his game, and she rather liked it. They’d had too little time to play games like this, so little privacy, coming together on a small, crowded ship or a beach where they might be interrupted at any moment.
She leaned back and cupped her breasts, feeling their weight. His eyes on her made her nipples ache, and she flicked her fingers over them, making them swell. “Is this wanton?”
“It’s closer,” he said, his eyes so dark they looked the color of the deep ocean water rather than the sky on a clear day.
“What about this?” She placed her hands on the knot holding the wrapped skirt she wore together and slowly loosened it, allowing the material to drop over her hips. She revealed her belly, her pelvis, and then her sex. She shimmied out of the skirt, trying to ignore the pang of fear she felt at having his attention on her burnt leg. He reached for her, but she held up a hand. “I don’t want to disappoint you with my lack of wantonness.”
