“So, what do you think, Maddie? Will you invite me to this passion release?”
“Not in this lifetime, Monsieur Sinclair” she said dryly.
He flashed her a boyish grin. Suddenly, Madeline found herself wanting to grin right back. In a strange sort of way, his outrageousness could be appealing. For the first time, she looked at him in a new, different light. Perhaps Brazos Sinclair wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. He was a handsome rogue; there was no denying that.
Then he opened his mouth once more. “Back to your question about why I believe La Réunion is doomed to failure. I think a good example is the position they take on a woman’s place in society. Come on, now, Maddie, equality for women?”
Madeline sucked on her lower lip. Of the myriad points he could have argued, he had to pick the one nearest to her heart. She put the chill of the North Sea into her voice as she said, “Why is it that I am not surprised by your attitude? I suppose you don’t believe that women are as intelligent as men?”
Brazos shook his head. “I’m not saying some women aren’t clever about some things—I’ve never known a man who could bake a cake worth a damn— and I’m not claiming they don’t have their uses. But as smart as men? Don’t be ridiculous!”
A fencing foil, she thought, right through the heart. Or perhaps the liver, he mightn’t have a heart. Monsieur Rejebian was a fencing master surely he could furnish her a weapon. Lifting her chin, she said, “What about Cleopatra and Catherine the Great? Queen Elizabeth? Now,
there
was an intelligent woman for you. She never married!”
Brazos blew a slow whistle. “Ooh, Maddie. You could slice beef jerky with that tongue of yours. Look, you can’t count those women—they’re royalty, freaks of nature. They don’t have anything to do with a normal female.”
Madeline breathed deeply to maintain the tenuous hold on her anger. “Mr. Sinclair, La Réunion will succeed, and much of that success will be due to the respect the men of the society have for the female members.”
“Yeah, that same respect that caused you to propose marriage to a total stranger, right?” He folded his arms and waited, a victorious grin on his face.
Lightning slashed the sky in the distance. It could just as easily have been coming from her eyes. Her voice was tight as she said, “A woman at La Réunion will have the freedom to choose her occupation. If she has an idea for a piece of machinery or a suggestion on where to build what, she’ll be listened to, and
she’ll
be the one doing the creating and building.”
Ignoring Brazos’s snort, she continued, “At La Réunion, a woman can earn and keep her own money, separate from her husband.” She flashed her own winning grin right back at him. “And at La Réunion, women will have the vote.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Now, there’s a scary thought.” Brazos grimaced. “I can see it now, they’d vote to make gingham curtains mandatory on every window in America.”
“Pink ones, probably.”
“Hell, I’d have to emigrate myself if that happened. Yellow I could abide, maybe blue. Never pink.”
Madeline shrugged.
Brazos, with a penitent expression on his face, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m not sayin’ women are dumb, Maddie. I want you to understand that. They just don’t think like men.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
This time Brazos did the ignoring. “Women simply don’t think logically,” he said. “They lack common sense.” Madeline snatched her hand away from his as he continued, “I think it must have something to do with the size of their brains. A man’s is bigger, so he’s just naturally smarter and ladies get shorted a bit on horse sense. Instead, they think with their emotions, and I, for one, can’t think of a better way to end up in trouble.”
Madeline sputtered indignantly. The foolish man actually believed this nonsense! Why was she even listening to him.
Be honest
, a voice inside her whispered. Isn’t that what most men think of women? Isn’t that why you are so intrigued by the Fourierist philosophy? The thought of living in a society that judged women as equal to men was seductive. Listening to Brazos Sinclair made the idea irresistible. “Mr. Sinclair,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, “your logic leaves me speechless. It must be that emotional part of me, wouldn’t you say?”
“I imagine so.”
She lifted her gaze to the heavens, and frustration added a sharp edge to her voice as she said, “Let me get this straight. You are claiming that La Réunion will fail because, in part, women will be treated equally to men in both work and responsibility.”
“That’s right.”
“You believe that a woman is incapable of being a man’s equal.”
Brazos nodded. “Honey, the day a woman becomes my equal, I’ll tie on an apron and bake a cake.”
Neither a fencing foil nor poison was at hand. Brazos’s Colt revolver was, however. He never noticed her hand reach out and spirit it away.
Madeline’s emotional intellect convinced her not to kill him where he stood. She tucked the gun into the deep pocket of her skirt and said, “Brazos, about that cake? Make it chocolate.”
She pivoted and marched away, muttering about Texans, men in general, and the silly women who found them attractive.
As Brazos watched her leave, a roguish smile played across his face. Damn, but the woman was glorious when she was riled. Her purr turned to a growl; those gorgeous brown eyes snapped like a well-worn whip; and with all the huffing and puffing she did, that bountiful bosom of hers liked to spill right out of her dress. ‘Twas enough to make a man’s mouth water.
Madeline Christophe Sinclair might be round-heeled and fickle, but there was no denying her beauty. He had observed her as Mrs. Brunet approached with the baby. The smile that had lit Madeline’s face had damn near blinded him. He’d watched her snuggle little Rose, and he’d been surprised as a puppy with his first prickly pear at the intensity of emotion in the woman’s gaze. For all her faults, the woman truly loved her child.
In Brazos’s eyes, that went a long way toward making up for some of her failings. He’d always had a thing for kids. But since Perote, well, a child’s innocence alone had been able to penetrate that darkness inside him. Being with children, playing with them and basking in their love, had come closer to healing him than anything else. The trip to Europe had been a waste of time. That know-everything doctor hadn’t helped at all. Brazos would have been better off staying home and playing with his children.
He’d enjoyed spending time with Madeline’s Rose and the Brunet boy. Little babies were special in their own way, although he had to admit he fancied them more once they were up and running around. He’d the notion Rose would walk early; already she played at crawling. She was a feisty little thing—determined. Just like her mama.
Brazos’s gaze searched the deck for Madeline. She stood at the center of the bow, and she’d removed her bonnet. Glistening golden tresses blew free in the wind, and Brazos thought she competed well with the
Uriel’s
figurehead. “Get Maddie to bare her breasts, and she’d put the wooden beauty to shame,” he observed, visualizing the picture, sighing ruefully when a surge of desire swept through him. He wouldn’t mind one bit having a taste of what this Denis and Emile and who knows how many others had enjoyed. Brazos had a bad case of yearning for Madeline Christophe Sinclair.
He didn’t doubt he could seduce her. Hell, she had men on two continents. She’d probably be proud to have one in between. But it couldn’t happen. The little detail of a pending annulment on grounds of nonconsummation of marriage stood in the way.
No, Brazos wasn’t about to risk ending up married to the scheming, wanton beauty. While his acquaintance with the La Réunion colonists had convinced him to be more open-minded and accepting of this libertarian way of living, that didn’t mean he was ready to embrace the life-style himself. These ideas of free love went against his raising, and no matter how appealing the idea might be at times, any loving with Madeline Sinclair would damn sure give him a peck of trouble. For one thing, it’d make her his wife. Brazos didn’t have it in him to bed her, then swear on a legal document it never happened.
His gaze locked on her again, and he cursed his own honor. She smiled serenely as she lifted her head to catch the sea spray on her face. “Holy hell,” he muttered, tossing the Fourierist magazine over the side of the ship. Briefly, he considered following it, as he needed a nice cold swim at the moment. Diving into the North Atlantic during February couldn’t be any more dangerous than taking a dip in Madeline’s bed.
From here on out, he’d stay clear the hell away from the woman. He’d learned his lessons the hard way in the past, but this time would be different. Brazos was determined to stay out of harm’s way.
THEY SAILED into the storm that evening. Heavy seas tossed the
Uriel
about like flotsam, and a bitter, icy wind buffeted all aboard. Sleet pinged against the single porthole in Madeline’s cabin, and she stuffed a towel against it, hoping to contain the chill seeping through the glass.
An hour earlier, the captain had ordered all fires extinguished. Madeline’s cabin was pitch-black and gloomy—and lonely. Beneath her flannel nightgown she pulled on extra petticoats and stockings for warmth. Then she crawled into her bed, wrapped a blanket around herself, and waited.
She wanted Rose, she worried about her. She’d had her talk with Lillibet earlier and received assurance that the Brunets would act as guardians if need be. Madeline’s relief had been short-lived, however. In the course of the conversation, Lillibet disclosed that she and André were expecting another child. Madeline realized she must see about making permanent arrangements as soon as possible. Caring for two babies of such a young age would be difficult. Three would be overwhelming.
Right now, she wished she had even one to cuddle. “Quit being selfish,” she scolded herself. “Rose is better off with Lillibet. If she’s scared, Lil can nurse her. Nothing is as comforting as being put to the breast.”
Again, an annoyingly recurrent picture of Brazos Sinclair flashed through her mind.
A prolonged yawn of timber scattered her thoughts. She hugged herself tight as the ship creaked violently, and the ghostly howl of the wind warned of souls resting below in a watery grave. She prayed that none of the
Uriel’s
company would join them on this hellish night. Intent upon her petitions, she didn’t notice her cabin door open.
“Maddie?” Brazos’s voice was a strained whisper.
“Brazos, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
A sudden wave of relief washed over her. She was no longer alone. “I’d wondered if you had remained on deck. I’m sure conditions must be awful out there. It’s bad enough down here in the cabin. This is my first experience with a storm at sea, and I admit I’m a bit frightened.” She was babbling, she knew, but she couldn’t seem to stop. “Would you care to join me? I’d appreciate the company, and you are welcome as long as you mind your manners.”
“Is Rose here with you?”
She stared into the darkness, trying to make out his form. He sounded strange. “No, she sleeps with the Brunets because she sometimes wakes to nurse in the middle of the night. I wish she were here, I wish I could…oh, never mind. Brazos, listen to me. Just because I invited you inside doesn’t mean I’m inviting you in any other way. I meant what I said about a marriage in name alone. Brazos? What are you doing? I can’t see you.”
“Does this cabin have a window?”
“It has a porthole, yes.”
“Open it.”
“What? Why? It’s freezing outside; it’s sleeting, Brazos.”
“Dammit, I know that. The captain ordered me below. Maddie, just do it.” He paused for a moment then added, “Please!”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“Please!” he repeated.
Shaking her head, shivering already, Madeline reached up and pulled the towel from the porthole, then twisted the cold brass screw and pulled the glass open. A spray of frigid sea water slapped her face. “Bloody hell,” she muttered beneath her breath.
Brazos stepped inside. “Is there a chair or something in here that’s not fastened to the floor?”
“No,” she answered, wiping her cheeks with an edge of her blanket. “Why? Brazos, what is going on here? This is ridiculous; I’m freezing! It was bad enough before, but with the porthole open…”
“Give me the blanket.”
“What? Why?” She heard him step toward her. He yanked the cover right off of her. “Brazos!” she cried. Somehow, he used the blanket to prop open the door. A steady stream of wind and ice whipped into and out of the cabin. “What are you doing?” she squealed. “This is stupid, Brazos! I’ve had enough. Unless you can give me an excellent reason for your requests, I’m shutting this porthole. We’ll catch our deaths—if we don’t drown first, that is!”
His voice tight, he demanded, “Stay away from the window, Maddie. Just climb under your covers.”
“You took my cover.”
“You have more. Look, I’m sorry, but I need a bit of accommodation right now.”
The rustle of cloth made her hope he was donning extra clothing, as she had. Then she heard something that sounded suspiciously like a belt buckle hit the wooden floor.
“Brazos?” Beside her, the mattress sagged beneath his weight. The unmistakable contour of a taut, masculine muscle—a taut, masculine, naked muscle—curled against her. She gasped. “Brazos Sinclair! How dare you! I distinctly told you that…” Her sentence trailed off when she realized he’d laid the handle of a knife across her palm. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”
Chapter 4
“KEEP THE KNIFE, MADDIE. You might need it,” Brazos said. “Sorry about the clothes, but I’m so damned hot.” His voice trailed off, “I’m so damned.”
Oh, God, don’t let me hurt her
. Brazos was fighting for all he was worth. Panic poised at the edge of his consciousness, ready to consume him. He trembled, waves of hot terror washing over his body, soaking the sheet beneath him with his sweat. His heart raced, and he gasped for every breath against the terrible weight on his chest, the heavy, suffocating weight.