Authors: Heart of the Storm
Rexanne Becnel (31 page)
Had he spoken the words or was it just the communion of of their souls? Eliza opened her eyes when Cyprian rolled her back onto the bed and half covered her with his body. “I hope you never regret the choice you’ve made, Eliza.” Then before she could assure him she would not, or question him about what she thought he’d said before, his mouth came down on hers with a ferocity she knew well, and loved.
This was her man. Hers. And she would never let him go or give him up.
She opened to his plundering assault on all her senses, for only in such acquiescence would she find that soaring oneness with him. She opened her mouth to the heady invasion of his tongue, and her arms to the power of his embrace. And when he pressed hard and urgent against her belly, spreading her legs with his knees and demanding every right a man can demand from a woman, she arched up against him, demanding in her own feminine way that he take that which she offered.
He moved against her, thrusting the thick proof of his desire against her yielding softness, but his trousers and her bunched up skirts were in the way. “If we were in Madeira, we wouldn’t have so many clothes on,” she whispered between breathless kisses.
“I’ll take you to Madeira, or Bermuda, or even the West Indies, where we can go around naked in the jungle if we want to. And I’ll make love to you in the shade of a palm tree, or on a wide open beach … .”
Eliza let out a little cry of pleasure when his hand slid up her thigh, pushing her skirts aside until he found the damp center of her.
“I’ll make love to you in the sea itself.” His thumb brushed past the curls to find the tender nub, the incredibly sensitive place she’d never known she possessed. Until Cyprian.
“I’ll make love to you everyday until I die, Eliza. Until I die from loving you.”
There it was again. He
had
said it. Eliza stared up at him, into the face she loved so well. His thumb had found a rhythm that was raising her so high, so fast that she could feel her body begin to spin out of control. But not so much that she couldn’t demand a final admission from him.
had
said it. Eliza stared up at him, into the face she loved so well. His thumb had found a rhythm that was raising her so high, so fast that she could feel her body begin to spin out of control. But not so much that she couldn’t demand a final admission from him.
“You love me … don’t you? Don’t you, Cyprian … like I—oh … like I love you … .”
It was starting. That final climb; that final leap into some indescribable place. But Eliza held on, gripping the edges of his waistcoat. She needed to hear it once more.
Then he bent his head into the curve of her neck, burying his lips somewhere near her ear. “I love you,” he whispered as he fought against his own physical need, all the while still urging her to new heights. “I do love you, Eliza.”
Like a tidal wave it came then. Love. Desire. An explosion of too many feelings to ever put a name to. The ultimate physical ecstasy. The ultimate emotional joy. Eliza convulsed with the incredible pleasure of it, pushing up against his hand as his words played out over and over and over in her head.
I love you. I love you.
I love you. I love you.
He loved her.
Somehow in the hazy aftermath, Cyprian must have removed her clothes. Eliza recalled being turned and rolled over by hands that were both tender and urgent. He shifted her legs and arms about, and managed to remove skirt and bodice, petticoats and chemise, boots and stockings, and everything else without quite ripping the garments apart. Or maybe he did rip them. She didn’t know, nor did she care. She only knew that though the room was chilly, she was flushed with warmth. Her skin radiated a heat that welled up from
inside her until she felt she would surely go up in flames.
inside her until she felt she would surely go up in flames.
Still caught in the sultry afterthroes of what he’d brought her too, Eliza opened her eyes and stared up from the center of the bed to where Cyprian stood over her. He had paused in the process of shrugging off his waistcoat, and his eyes slid slowly over her, from her wildly disheveled hair down past her bare breasts and naked belly, all the way to her wantonly splayed legs. He saw everything, for she wore not a stitch of clothing. Though her first thought was to cover herself, to grab a bit of sheeting—anything—and hide her nakedness, Eliza forced herself to lay there and let him see her. Her skin turned even more rosy, though with embarrassment this time, but still she lay there, gazing up at the man she loved, hoping he knew that she would never deny him anything again. Never.
She saw him swallow, a reflexive movement. Then his eyes lifted to meet hers and if she had any lingering doubt about his feelings for her, the look on his face chased them away once and forever. For everything about Cyprian—the intensity of his midnight eyes, the hungry expression on his harshly handsome face, the straining impatience of his finely honed body—all spoke of love. And all focused upon her.
“Cyprian,” she whispered, wanting him next to her. Within her. “Cyprian …”
The waistcoat was flung aside; the shirt tugged off almost before the waistcoat hit the floor. His boots flew in different directions, and in a moment he peeled the snug-fitting breeches down from his hips and thighs.
Then he stood before her, naked and proud. But still he hesitated. Was he giving her time to visually savor him as he’d savored her? It was almost more than she could bear. Her breath came short and fast. Her heart pounded a painful rhythm, fueled of desire for this man whom she loved.
Finally she raised a hand to him, beckoning him to come to her, to relieve the pressure that knotted anew in her nether regions and radiated out to encompass every square inch of her body. She needed him now. Why was he waiting?
Cyprian took her hand, but still he held himself away from her. She could see his erection, hard and jutting. Ready. She knew he wanted her as badly as she wanted him. Then he bent his head and kissed her hand, each knuckle, each fingertip, and, turning it over, kissed also her sensitive palm.
“I’m sorry, Eliza.”
“Sorry?” Her heart paused in its mad racing. “Sorry for what?”
“For everything. Everything I put you through.” He paused and swallowed again. “Every cruel act and harsh word.”
With a rush her heart resumed its solid, loving beat. For a moment she’d been afraid he’d changed his mind. “I don’t care about any of that, Cyprian. It’s all in the past. It’s the future I care about.” Then her eyes moved over his magnificently masculine body. “And the present,” she brazenly added.
“But I put you through so much. Even today—”
“Then make it up to me now.” She turned her hand in his so that their fingers twined and their palms were pressed together. “Make it up to me right now,” she repeated, tugging him closer.
He came down upon her slowly. First his eyes moved over her, caressing her in a way that felt purely physical, for her nipples tightened and she squirmed beneath that dark blue touch. Then his hand followed, stroking, teasing, tracing curves and hollows, seeking out her most sensitive spots and rousing her in the most subtly erotic manner she could ever imagine.
Eliza wanted to tell him to hurry, that she was burning up inside and liable to explode beneath his slow
scorching touch. But she could hardly breathe, let alone speak. When his head lowered toward her breasts, her eyes fell closed and her hands knotted in the bedclothes. It was all she could manage.
scorching touch. But she could hardly breathe, let alone speak. When his head lowered toward her breasts, her eyes fell closed and her hands knotted in the bedclothes. It was all she could manage.
With his mouth and tongue he teased her breasts, first one and then the other. Back and forth he moved, nipping, sucking, and teasing her until she was nearly mad with longing for him.
Somehow in the midst of her restless writhing, one of her hands found his thigh. Hard, rough with hair, she nonetheless thought it the most divine bit of human flesh she’d ever touched. Her fingers slid restlessly back and forth, then further up until she felt a hard smooth heat against her knuckles.
She didn’t stop to think, for she was operating purely on instinct now. And love. She took his heavy male member in her hand, circling it with her fingers and sliding a little wonderingly up and down its length. It was so hot and so silky, given the rough feel of the rest of his body.
But before she could investigate the ridged end or the softer tip, he jerked her hand away. “No, Eliza. Don’t. No.” He shook his head when she protested. “If you do that now—”
He broke off and caught her mouth in a kiss that told her more than words could. He was as ready to ignite as she was. His mouth forced hers open and his tongue thrust inside in a feverish rhythm that presaged their ultimate joining. Even as she submitted to the glorious domination of his lips and tongue, he parted her legs with his knees and moved over her.
Eliza felt the hot weight of his arousal against her stomach and she thrust up against it in automatic response. When he groaned against her mouth, she smiled, for this was surely a woman’s greatest joy: to give herself in love to the man who loved her; to know that the simple movement of her body gave him such
complete pleasure. Then he pulled a little apart from her and she felt the insistent press of him as he finally sought entrance to her woman’s place.
complete pleasure. Then he pulled a little apart from her and she felt the insistent press of him as he finally sought entrance to her woman’s place.
Eliza lifted her eyelids and gazed up through the gathering darkness into his sharply etched features. As he slid inside, slowly, in short erotic thrusts, she watched the play of emotions on his face. Passion was there; restraint too. And love. Love was there in the way his eyes caressed her and in the curve of his lips as he bent low to kiss her once more. It was there in his powerful straining body, in the hard line of muscles beneath her hand as she swept it down his back.
“I love you,” she murmured as his mouth moved on hers in sync with his body’s rising motion. But though the words were lost in their quickening passion and gasping breaths, Eliza knew he understood. And as he began the full thrusting pace that carried them faster and higher, she knew that her ultimate joy would be to give him a child—a family full of children.
She tightened her arms around his shoulders and lifted her legs to wrap around his thrusting hips. This time was for love and family, and a future they would live happily together.
“Oh how I love you, Cyprian,” she whispered as the incredible rush began.
And as he pushed her past the edge, then joined her in that mad, spiraling explosion, she heard his muffled cry. “I love you, love you … love you.”
C
yprian was insatiable. But then, Eliza felt the very same way. She could not get enough of this man. A lifetime with him could not begin to be enough.
yprian was insatiable. But then, Eliza felt the very same way. She could not get enough of this man. A lifetime with him could not begin to be enough.
But they did not speak of lifetimes during the sweet, dark hours of the night. They spoke only of the present, using lips and tongues and fingertips, and every other portion of their bodies to speak the language of love. It was a conversation that was at once both eloquent and earthy, at times a ballet, at other times very nearly a brawl. She began to understand the nuances of his very breathing: quick and shallow when she explored him with her fingers; hard and gasping when the rush to completion began.
But when she returned to her earlier curiosity about that most overt symbol of his masculinity, his breathing halted altogether. His entire body went absolutely still, though she could sense the fine tension that held him in its grip. Oh, yes, there was a heady sense of power to be had in commanding his complete attention this way.
But Cyprian only let her go so far with such inquisitive searches. Invariably his stillness would burst into near violent emotion and no matter how she tried to slow him down, he would be over her. In her. Making
love to her as if he’d never done it before and would never have a chance to do so again.
love to her as if he’d never done it before and would never have a chance to do so again.
But Eliza knew better. This was only the beginning, and there would never be an ending to it, she promised herself now as she nestled into his arms. Morning was nigh. A new day for them to spend together. A new life for them to begin, although there were any number of obstacles in their way. But they would face those obstacles together. And they would overcome them too.
Cyprian stirred behind her, pulling her more intimately into the curve of his body. Her head rested on one of his arms, while his other arm lay warm and heavy over her hip. His hand slid down her thigh, slow and sleepy, then pulled her leg up so that she was curled in a snug ball, and he encircled her completely.
Eliza felt a contentment she’d never experienced before in her entire life, and she knew Cyprian felt it too. Perhaps this was the time for them to speak of the future, she thought, though the lovely cobwebs in her brain made coherent thought a little tricky.
“Good morning,” she whispered, kissing the murmured words against his muscled forearm just beneath her cheek.
“Mmmm … .” He nuzzled his face into her hopelessly tangled hair, then kissed the three little bumps of bone at the back of her neck. A delicious shiver worked its way down from his lips, all along the curve of her spine. Eliza could hardly believe the desire it awakened in her. Was there no satisfying this hunger she felt for him?
Then suddenly and without warning, he pulled away. She started to roll over to face him, but he cautioned her with a touch that had turned abruptly from teasing to tense.
“Stay here.”
He pushed lithely from the bed and reached for his breeches while she sat up, staring at him through the
cold, early morning light in open-mouthed confusion. “What’s wrong? Where are you—”
cold, early morning light in open-mouthed confusion. “What’s wrong? Where are you—”
“Someone’s coming.”
He yanked on his boots in two quick movements, then straightened and looked at her. He was the very picture of a man at full alert, while she … she felt fuzzy-headed from lack of sleep. Someone was coming? But who?
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed as it abruptly dawned on her. Her father, or perhaps even Uncle Lloyd. She wasn’t sure which one would be worse. And if they were together—oh, but it didn’t bear thinking on.
Yet the ringing clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones in the courtyard could not be ignored. After a quick glance past the short heavy curtains, Cyprian grimaced and turned away.
“It looks like the whole damned lot of them. Your entire family.”
Her entire family! Good Lord, but this was going to be dreadful!
While Cyprian grabbed for his shirt, she leaped from the bed, searching wildly for her chemise and dress—anything to cover her nakedness and prevent everyone from jumping to the wrong conclusion. But then, clothed or not, what other conclusion could they possibly draw?
“Oh, dear,” she murmured once more as the reality of what she’d done sank in. Her father would kill Cyprian. Then she glanced at Cyprian and saw him slip a small dagger in his left boot. It was more likely, she realized, that Cyprian would kill her father, if it came down to that. Somehow she must stop the coming altercation before it could begin.
“Wait for me!” she cried when Cyprian headed for the bedroom door. He paused as she struggled with her chemise, then crossed to her and took her by the shoulders.
“If I don’t go down now, they’ll come up here and that would be even worse, Eliza.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss then set her away from him. “Get dressed and comb your hair. I’ll hold them off as long as I can.”
“But Cyprian, you don’t understand—”
“Oh, I understand, sweetheart,” he countered. “I’ve despoiled you, their only daughter, and now they’ve got to make things right.”
“But Cyprian—”
“Just hurry,” he ordered. Then he was gone.
Eliza heard a violent pounding on the downstairs door. “Eliza? Eliza!” Her father’s agitated cry came through the solid stone walls of the cottage. Pausing only a moment, she ran to the window, thrust the curtain aside, then lifted the latch and shoved the casement window open. The morning was bright, but frigid. Below her a half dozen faces turned up when the window swung wide.
“Eliza—”
“Are you all right?”
“Unlock the door!”
She heard the rising babble and saw the icy puffs of angry breath left hanging in the winter air. Besides her father and two brothers, Uncle Lloyd and Aubrey were also there. Xavier had come too, with Ana and Oliver beside him, though they stood back, just watching. No doubt Xavier would help Cyprian should it come to that, but that did not ease Eliza’s fears very much.
Her father gaped up at her as though he could not quite comprehend this reality. He took in her sleep-tossed hair and barely clad shoulders, staring wide-eyed, as if he could not believe his eyes.
But instead of filling her with shame, his stunned expression only strengthened her need to stand beside Cyprian. He was as good a man as any of them, despite the circumstances of his birth and upbringing, and she
would not let any of them say a single word to the contrary.
would not let any of them say a single word to the contrary.
Without responding to any of their calls, she pulled her head inside and slammed the window closed. She pulled on her skirt, tying it haphazardly over her bare legs, then slipped on her bodice without benefit of lacing. Her short jacket would hold it in place and she slid her feet into her ankle boots without waiting to don stockings.
Her hair was hopeless, she decided. Then she heard the pounding on the door stop abruptly, and she flew out the door and down the stairs like one possessed. That she must stand with Cyprian was her one overriding thought. She must stand with him though it be against everyone else that she loved.
The sight that met her eyes would have been comical under any other circumstances. Cyprian stood in the open door, barring their entrance with his legs braced wide and his fists on his hips. Aubrey stood opposite him, a slender child seemingly in charge of all the angry men behind him. But it was not Aubrey’s stature that held them back, but his unlikely smile and cheerful voice.
“Hello, brother. Did we awaken you?”
“Don’t call him that!” Uncle Lloyd ordered his son. “I told you to keep him away from here,” he added, turning his fury on Oliver. But that one only shrugged and ignored him. Oliver shot Eliza a saucy wink, though, and it gave her immeasurable comfort. Somehow this would work out.
But when she glanced up at Cyprian she was not so sure, for he stared at her uncle—his father—with an expression that defied description. Hatred, fury, triumph and fear seemed to compete for dominance, and she sensed the brittle tension that gripped his entire body. Without pausing to think she stepped nearer and slipped her hand through his arm.
“Eliza! Come here, daughter,” her father demanded when he spied her behind Cyprian. At her father’s curt command, Cyprian glanced over his shoulder. Then with the insolent sort of gesture she should have expected of him under the circumstances, he pulled her against his side with a possessive arm around her shoulder. “Do you wish to speak to these people?” he asked her, as if the angry throng outside the door was of no moment whatsoever.
She responded with an exasperated glare, then forced herself to smile at her father. “Good morning, Father. Would you …” She faltered in the face of her father’s scandalized expression. “Would you like to come inside … for tea?” she finished rather lamely.
Her father’s face was as pale as Uncle Lloyd’s was red. “What I would like is for you to come home with me. Right this minute,” he added in a voice that trembled with emotion. He stepped in front of Aubrey, and in the cold, clear dawn, he suddenly looked every one of his fifty-odd years. He looked weary and beaten, and it affected Eliza as nothing else could have.
“Papa, please. You have to understand—”
“I do understand,” he broke in. Then he extended a hand to her. “Come home with me, Eliza. Captain Dare and I will speak later. But for now it would be best for you to come with me. Your mother has been beside herself. She needs to see you.”
Eliza stared at his outstretched hand, then turned an uncertain countenance up to Cyprian. But though his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulder, his face was harsh and unreadable.
“Cyprian, I … maybe I should go to her.”
“It’s time for you to choose, Eliza. You can’t have them
and
me.”
and
me.”
“Come along, Eliza,” her father implored. But she continued to stare up at Cyprian.
“Why does it have to be a choice? Why can’t we reconcile our differences and be one happy family—”
“That’s impossible.” Cyprian cut her off. He looked away from her and, following his stare, she spied her uncle—Cyprian’s long absent father. He stood now with Aubrey before him and his hands rested on the boy’s shoulders. They were so alike at that moment that even a blind man would name them father and son. For Cyprian, she realized, the sight must have stabbed at his heart as cruelly as a razor-pointed dagger.
With a soft oath she grabbed Cyprian’s shirt front and forced his attention back to her. “I came to you, Cyprian. I forsook all my pride and came to you. Will you do no less for me?” She took a shaky breath, but she continued to hold his angry glare with her eyes. “I’m leaving with my father now, but only to go back to the posting house in Lyme Regis. I shall bathe and take a nap and reassure my mother that I am well. But I shall await your company for dinner. We shall dine together, you, me, and my parents. Do you hear me? We shall work everything out then.”
For a long moment their gazes held and despite his rigid composure, she saw the emotions that burned inside him. Anger was there, for he wanted her to reject all of them right then and there, to choose him without any concessions to anyone else. Fear was there too, fear that she would choose her family instead and that he would be the rejected one. But most of all there was pain, the pain Xavier had tried to tell her about that very first day on board the
Chameleon.
His father had chosen his legitimate family over his illegitimate one. As a result Cyprian saw every choice as a total committment: one or the other, with no room for compromise.
Chameleon.
His father had chosen his legitimate family over his illegitimate one. As a result Cyprian saw every choice as a total committment: one or the other, with no room for compromise.
But Eliza had enough room in her heart for all of them. She just had to convince Cyprian of that.
“I love you, Cyprian. But I love my family too. I have no intentions of giving up either of you. So don’t
you
give up on
me,
do you hear?” Then she tugged his shirt so that he was in reach, and lifted up on her toes to give him a quick, chaste kiss.
you
give up on
me,
do you hear?” Then she tugged his shirt so that he was in reach, and lifted up on her toes to give him a quick, chaste kiss.
Someone beyond them let out a sharp oath, but she ignored it. “Come for dinner at the posting house, Cyprian. Don’t disappoint me.” Then smoothing his rumpled shirt front with nervous fingers, she stepped back, turned away, and walked toward her father’s waiting arms.
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