"We only have hours left," she whispered as she hung the dish towel near the sink. Another wave of sadness was cresting and she battled the tears once more. She glanced at Lucky, standing near the door to the hallway.
His stance was confident, as always. But his furrowed brow and narrowed lips told her how he was faring with his imminent departure. He was not looking forward to leaving her either. "What would you like to do?"
Mary-Michael forced herself to smile, to fight the tears for a few minutes longer. "Just be with me," she said. "Hold me."
They went up to her room again and for the next few hours he did just that. He lay with her on her bed, held her, dried her tears and did his best to reassure her that he cared about her and that he would return as soon as possible.
And she felt like the worst sort of woman deep inside her black soul, for deceiving this man when he seemed so sincere in his affection for her.
"Just as you told me to have faith in your ability to build me two clippers, I am asking the same faith of you." Lucky brushed back her hair and kissed the forehead he uncovered. "I am a very capable sailor. My men want to be on my boat. Most of us have sailed together for many years. We know our jobs and what needs to be done before it becomes a necessity."
Mary-Michael laughed nervously through her tears. "I hadn't thought of that. Sorry."
She sat up. At some point in the evening the summer heat had gotten to them both. He'd removed her dress and demi-corset, leaving her in her petticoat, and she'd removed his breeches, shirt and stockings, leaving him in his thin drawers. She straddled his lap, resting on her knees, so she could better read his eyes and features as though now was the perfect time to ask him all the things she'd wanted to know about him. If she was blessed to have a babe, she wanted to one day tell her child about his or her father. She thought a moment, wondering what to ask first. "Well, last night you promised to tell me about you," she said. "And with you leaving tomorrow, I have to learn all I can now."
"You are correct. I did say that. What do you wish to know?"
She loved sitting here with him and wished she hadn't spent the first half of the week arguing with him and fighting his attentions. They might have better used their time getting to know one another. Maybe, one day in the future, she could soothe her guilty soul by telling herself there really was something between them. That they had deeply cared for each other. Lifting her hand to his cheek, the warmth of him seared her palm. Her thumb traced along the curved fullness of his lower lip. "How did you get the name Lucky?"
He smiled at this. "The crewmen on my brother-in-law's ships could not pronounce my name and gave me a shortened version of my Christian name."
"What is your given name?"
"The whole thing is a mouthful, but the name I use is Luchino Gualtiero."
She tried to pronounce it and it rolled right off her tongue. It sounded exotic and it fit him with his olive-skinned Mediterranean looks. She lifted her hand to his hair and threaded her fingers into it. "Your name suits you, Luchino."
"Only my sister calls me that." He appeared bashful and uncertain.
"Do you have a middle name Luchino?
He nodded. "Antonio Francesco."
"Two middle names?"
"You have two first names. What's the difference?"
"Point," she mused. "Do you have any more names I should know of?" She lifted a brow with mock skepticism. "Any pirate monikers? Such as Captain Heartbreaker, perhaps? Leaves a crying woman in every port." She grinned.
He stared at her and she got an uneasy feeling in her gut. "No. No other names."
She searched the gold-flecked depths of his beautiful coffee-colored eyes to see if they held deception as another question floated up from her heart. "Have you ever been in love?"
There was no hesitation in this reply, and his steady gaze never faltered. "No. I never had the time. I don't have time now, but..."
Her breath caught in her chest and she waited for words that never came. She wanted to demand he finish his statement, but could not. Why should she ask something of him that she was unable to give herself? Not that she refused to give him her affections, but that she was not free to do so. That's what had her teary-eyed earlier. Because if their circumstances were different she might have been able to love him.
She leaned into him and rested her head on his chest. For several long minutes, she felt his heart beating on her cheek. "Where do you go when you sail tomorrow?"
"To Bermuda first, then London," he said. "Ian and I will leave for China in mid-September, arrive in Foochow in early to mid-December, then we sail for London in January, arriving in April. Depending upon how long it takes to find some quality cargo, we could be in China a month. But the timing for our departure from London and China are dependent upon weather rounding the horn of Africa." His thumb swiped a tear that fell from her eyes. "After bringing our cargo home we will both turn around immediately and come here."
The silence in her room was overwhelming. Mary-Michael remembered her father and mother and how happy they were. And Mr. Watkins still spoke so fondly of his first wife Abigail. Then there was the example of Sally and Victor, who obviously loved each other very much. Mary-Michael adored being in their presence because they were so comfortable together. The two of them had been married for longer than she'd been alive.
That was what she wanted, but would likely never have.
She wanted to be loved in that way, but not by just anyone. It had to be someone she was as attracted to as the captain and someone she respected as much as Mr. Watkins. The entire week she'd told herself that a relationship with the captain could never be, even though she'd already begun to more than care for him. She was beginning to feel things. Things that she found she wanted in her life, after all these years of denial.
But wanting him, and feeling these titillating sensations she got when she was with him, didn't solve two of her problems. First, she was already committed to her mentor, Mr. Watkins. Secondly, her captain didn't live here, and this is where her home was. She could never leave her little village on Curtis Bay. She was poised to inherit her husband's shipyard and would run it with the help of the legal and financial counsel that Mr. Watkins had already designated in his will.
Unless Lucky voluntarily gave up his home for hers, there was no hope for them. No matter how much she was attracted to him. No matter how much she didn't want the magic with him to end.
More tears slipped past her closed eyes, and she wiped them with the back of her hands.
L
ucky saw something in her just now he'd not seen before. Fear. She feared the future. It was understandable, of course. Mary-Michael Watkins was about to lose a husband she obviously cared for. To make matters worse, she had no family to speak of except a brother tied to the church, who with an order from his superior could be relocated away to another parish or another country. She faced an unknown future.
So when she lay her cheek across his chest, he stroked her back and let her cry. When she was done, she apologized.
"There's no need to forgive you for an honest emotion. You've been through a great deal lately, and I'm sure my dogged attentions didn't help matters."
"Then why did you? I mean I tried to resist... all of this. I did."
"Because I felt something inexplicable, something—" He struggled to find the right word, as he wanted to comfort her, but didn't want to give her more hope for a future than he could right then. "—memorable was possible between us."
She nodded. "Aside from Mr. Watkins and my brother, you are the most patient man I have ever met. Mr. Watkins put up with a great deal of my idiosyncrasies and tantrums when he was trying to educate me," she confessed.
"How so?" He stroked her arm while she lay sprawled across his chest in the warm, humid night. Changing the subject might help her forget her fears.
"There was this one instance where he took me to a symposium in Norfolk to hear a marine architect speak. The man made a supposition that caused me to giggle. When the esteemed speaker noticed me, he made a comment that daughters should remain at home with their mothers. I think perhaps that miffed Mr. Watkins. I believe he tried to apologize for my behavior, but I remember standing in the auditorium and refuting the man's claim, presenting my own crude mathematical calculations, made on the spot, to support my theory. You see, I believe in preparation, so I studied this speaker's works thoroughly prior to attending his symposium at the naval base. Even though I never attended university as he had or studied marine architecture officially, as he had, my refutations to his supposition caused a great stir among the crowd." She sighed. "And poor Mr. Watkins. At the break, he was asked to take his daughter and leave as I was causing a disruptive debate."
"I would have been reprimanded at university had I done anything similar." Even as he said it, Lucky would have loved to have witnessed such a display.
"I'm sorry," Mary asserted. "But if the professor is wrong, in my opinion, he should be told so. It's irresponsible of someone purported to be an expert in his field to continue to present outdated ideas as current scientific fact, especially when it can be proved otherwise. And, in this case they had been, three years earlier." She huffed, obviously still miffed from the long-ago incident. "A man shouldn't go around claiming to be an expert in something if he isn't willing to stay current on the research in his field. Don't you agree?"
Mary reminded him of his sister Lia. Both women were passionate about topics they believe in deeply, and brave enough to stand up and speak out when something is wrong. "Yes, but, in defense of the speaker, shouldn't you have addressed him privately afterward, rather than openly question him in his lecture?"
"He brought my actions upon himself when he said I belonged at home with my mother. As though because of my gender I have less intelligence."
At this point, she moved to sit cross-legged next to him on the bed. With only the light of one candle in the room, Lucky thought she was incredibly beautiful when she had her feathers ruffled. "Ah. Your ire was piqued because of the comment he'd made regarding your fair sex."
"Yes, it was." She tucked the petticoat under her legs, tightening the fabric across her breasts. Stirring his desire for her yet again. "If I am ever blessed with children one day, either through remarriage or adoption, my daughters will be given the opportunity to attend university if that is what they wish. I will never force conventionality upon them."
He quirked a brow at her. "You will rethink that when the time comes." He thought of Sarah, and her struggles to fit in with the other debutantes of her set. She didn't care for attending balls, parties, or musicales, though she did—reluctantly. She was very much the outdoors type, preferring to ride, swim and sail, than discuss ribbons, fabrics and the latest
on-dits
of society. He gathered Mary was very much the same.
"No. I will not," she insisted.
"It has been my experience that quite frequently girls just want to fit in with other girls. More so than boys of that same age range." He smiled as he thought of a whole house full of children. "What if your daughter just wants to be like the other girls of her set? What if she does not choose the bluestocking route?"
"I do not see where the color of her stockings has anything to do with her desire or ability to learn. I cannot equate one with the other."
It took all he had to not burst out in laughter. He swallowed hard and covered his eyes with his hands. "Oh, you darling woman, you are so refreshing, and such an adorable bluestocking."
"You are laughing at me."
"Not
at
you, Mary." The moment that came out of his mouth he knew that wasn't true.
Oh, who was he fooling?
He lifted his hand, squinched his face and nodded. "Okay, I confess. I'm laughing at you."
"What is a...
blue stocking?"
She sat straighter, indignant and curious at the same time. "And more importantly, my name is Mary-Michael. If you wish me to call you Lucky, then why can't you call me by my correct name?"
He placed a hand on her thigh, hoping to smooth this over before she misunderstood him. He truly didn't mean to offend her doing either. "First, bluestocking, while originally a derogatory word, has become something of an endearment to most women who are of literary or academic nature. My sister willingly calls herself a bluestocking, so it's not meant in any way to belittle you or disparage your interests." He raised his hand and began to trace a circular pattern over the soft fabric of her petticoat, moving down to where it disappeared beneath her thigh. "And there is just nothing feminine about the name Michael." He pushed the linen up with a finger and dipped his hand beneath to stroke her soft, white skin. "Mary suits you."
She turned away in a huff and attempted to leave the bed. He caught her hand to pull her back, and she landed on his chest. He swiftly rolled her beneath him and began to kiss and nibble from her creamy collar-bone up the sensitive column of her neck to the spot just behind her earlobe that made her exhale and melt whenever he touched her. If heaven had a taste, this was it.
The candle sputtered and the flame died, leaving the room awash in moonlight. Lady Fortune was surely smiling down on him.
"You're forcing—"
"Never," he replied between kisses.
"—a change of subject."
"Guilty." He said just before taking a perky nipple between his teeth and caressing it with his tongue. "Though, I would prefer—" He said as he moved to the other breast and paid homage to this tight bud as well. "To think of it as dipping into the well again." He moved over her in one fluid movement, easing his weight between her legs once again.