What the Groom Wants (13 page)

Radley pulled her tight against him, taking advantage of the dark interior of the carriage to bring her close. He would have let her go if she fought him. If she pushed to the opposite seat, he would have released her instantly. But she didn’t, and so he acted like a cad and tucked her close.

She smelled wonderful. In a city of every scent in the world, Radley decided that hers was the best. Lemon and honey. And something that was hers alone. Until he caught the vague whisper of tobacco in her hair. Must be the carriage, he thought. She would have no reason to be near anyone who smoked.

His hands were around her waist. He slipped beneath her wrap to stroke the elegant fall of green silk that was her dress. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are in this gown?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, the word a breathy gasp. He felt her hand touch the back of his, stilling the steady rise of his fingers toward her breasts.

He chuckled. “That’s my Wind,” he said. “Ever practical. Simple question, simple answer.”

“Did I tell you how handsome you look?” she asked.

He thought back. “No, I don’t think you did.”

“I’ve never seen anyone more uncomfortable in his clothes,” she said. He barked out a laugh as she continued. “But you wear them so well, Radley. You will look every inch the duke in coats fit to you. And they won’t pinch so very much.”

“Everyone wants to dress me,” he groused.

“I know the best tailor in London. He will fit you to a dream and not cost too much.” She squeezed his hand. “He is young, but very good.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I shall go to whomever you suggest, provided he doesn’t make me wear these ridiculous waistcoats.” He tugged at the buttons digging into his belly. “Pants and a shirt. Maybe shoes. These things, I understand. But waistcoat and coat, cravat and starched points? Whatever for?”

“For fashion,” she answered. “And because you look wonderful in them.” Then she twisted in his arms, bringing her face close to his. In the gloom of the carriage, he could barely make out her features, but he didn’t need to see to know them. He had been picturing her face every night for years now.

“Wind,” he whispered. “May I have that kiss now?”

He thought he saw her smile, but wasn’t sure. It didn’t truly matter. He was going to kiss her no matter what. But since she didn’t say no, he leaned in, easily bridging the distance between them. He touched his lips to hers, savored the yielding softness of her mouth, and then pushed himself farther, seaming her lips with his tongue.

She teased him, touching her tongue to his. Tentativeness at first—like the caress of a gentle breeze—quickly kicked into a storm. Their tongues tangled, and he felt his blood stir hot. His cock went from thick to stone hard in the space of a breath. He pushed closer, angling his body over hers. She gripped his coat, and the feel of her pulling him closer was all he needed to push her backwards against the squabs. A moment later, he was lying atop her, his hips grinding against her.

She ripped herself apart from him then. She twisted her head, and they broke the seal of their mouths. Her breath was a harsh rasp against his ear, but no more rapid than his own. Her hands were no longer gripping his coat but pressed flat against his chest. He had gone too fast. He didn’t need her sudden stillness to tell him that. And yet, it was so hard to stop. She had filled his dreams since his first night aboard a ship.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he dropped his forehead against hers. “I keep meaning to be careful, to go slowly, but…” He closed his eyes, but that did nothing to shield him from her scent.

She pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “But what? What do you want, Radley?”

“You.”

“Why?”

He laughed, the sound almost strangled. So simple a question, but so complex an answer. He had to settle for a simple, partial answer. “Because you’re you, and I need you.”

She sighed and pulled back. “You’re so confused, you don’t know what you want.”

“Horseshit.” He pulled her face back to his when she flinched at his relatively mild curse. “I have commanded men in storms, I have fought in battles, and I have grown from the boy you remember. I am a man, and I know my own mind.”

“But do you know mine?” she asked. “You know nothing of me. You remember the girl I was, not who I have become.”

He nodded, knowing it was true. “Then tell me of the woman you are now.” He smiled as he settled against the squabs. “We are finally alone, and we have the entire night. Tell me everything.”

She was stiff at first, holding herself away. But in time, she relaxed enough to settle beside him. He still had an arm wrapped around her waist, but he didn’t pull her tight. He was content to have her beside him.

“What do you want to know?” she finally asked.

“Start with your day. What do you do when you first rise?”

“Groan and cover my head with the blanket. Mama usually makes me get out of bed, and I often say mean things.”

He laughed, picturing the scene. “No one speaks to me in the morning unless they have to. Some have been known to leave a mug of coffee and back away.”

She sobered. “No one would dare wake you now. You’re—”

“No, I’m not,” he said sternly, before she could say the dreaded word
duke
. “For tonight, I am simply Radley, and you are—”

“Wendy.”

“—my Wind.” He squeezed her. “You shall always be that to me, no matter how much you object.” Then he sobered. “You don’t object, do you? Not truly?”

She softened against him. “No, not truly. Sometimes, I wish I could disappear into the wind and be blown far away.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t like the idea that her struggles were so many that she wanted to disappear. Right then, he resolved to fix whatever he could. No matter what happened between them—as man and woman—he would see her brother’s debt paid. He owed her that much at least.

“So, after your mama drags you from bed, what do you do?”

“Dress and rush to the shop. These days, I’m always late.”

He kept asking questions, his interest in her life genuine. It amazed him how much she accomplished in a day. Moreover, it stunned him how casually she spoke of running a successful business. She wasn’t just a seamstress. She employed at least three other people and had business arrangements with a half-dozen more. She managed bills and goods, trained at least one apprentice, and still had time to work off her brother’s debt.

She didn’t speak of that, refusing to talk about it no matter how much he pried. Instead, she turned the conversation back to him, asking about his days. It was an easy shift. They had arrived at the docks and climbed into a small rowboat to take them to the ship. She was clearly excited to be on the skiff, her eyes shining, and her hands trembling as he helped her step aboard.

“I’ve never been on a boat,” she said, her voice tight with anxiety or excitement, he couldn’t tell which.

“I will keep you safe,” he promised. He noticed that she was wrapping her arms around herself. It was colder here on the water, and so he shrugged out of his coat and settled it around her shoulders.

“Thank you.”

“You must tell me,” he said against her ear. “I will keep badgering you until I know about Bernard’s debt.”

She shook her head. “Tell me everything about your boat.”

He grinned, allowing her to distract him because he did love talking about the ship. “She’s a clipper ship, and you can see that she’s been badly damaged. There should be another mast in front, and we had to patch the hull in three places.”

“Three? How did you not sink?”

“They were small holes, thank God, and I am a good sailor.”

There was a watch posted, of course, but all the men knew him. It was an easy matter to call out and have them drop a ladder to climb aboard. Not so easy was helping her climb in a dress. He hadn’t anticipated the problem, but was grateful when she had no choice but to hike her skirts. He shielded her, of course, and sent a dark glare at the owner of the skiff. He would have no man ogle her but himself.

But when he had done all he could to manage her privacy, he allowed himself to enjoy her trim ankles and muscular calves. She was a strong woman, his Wind, for all that she was petite. What would it be like to feel her legs wrap around him? To be pulled inside her sweet center while he lost himself in her wildness? His balls ached at the thought, and because he was so distracted, he did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He slipped on the ladder.

It was these damned ducal shoes. They weren’t even his, but his grandfather’s ancient pair. Barely worn, horribly out of fashion, and the worst possible things for climbing a ladder while ogling a beautiful woman’s legs. It was only his strong grip on the rope that kept him from falling into the drink.

He recovered quickly enough, managing the last part without incident. His crew noticed though, and he caught more than one smirk as he dropped onto the deck. They knew what he’d been doing as each had likely been trying to see Wendy’s legs as well. Fortunately, they didn’t have the vantage point from above, or he might have to sentence them to draining the bilge for their impertinence. Illogical, he knew, as he was as guilty as they, but Wind was his woman, and they would know it now or be off his ship.

Except, of course, this wasn’t his ship and never would be.

He stifled a sigh as he took her arm, then glared at the nearest men to vent his bad temper. They all tugged a forelock and backed away. All except the leader of the watch, who reported smartly.

“All’s quiet, sir,” he said.

“Good,” he answered. “Man your posts. I’m just showing m’lady around. She wanted to see a ship so I thought to show her the best.”

“Aye, aye,” came the chorus all around.

There were three on the watch, and each man slipped into the darkness to leave him to his seduction. Every man had been guilty of bringing a woman aboard at one time or another. There were all sorts of private spots on a ship this size, and as the man who had sailed her to port, he had the captain’s berth. They knew what he was about, and he felt some shame about that. Wendy wasn’t a typical flyer—not to him, nor in any other meaning of the word. And yet, he had brought her here for exactly what they believed—so that he could touch her in private. And if the kisses became more, then he was not opposed. He meant to marry her, and so he would take what she would give without apology.

Meanwhile, she shifted awkwardly against his side. “I’m not anyone’s ‘m’lady,’” she whispered.

“You are to me,” he said firmly. Then he guided her around the clipper, talking easily about his life aboard ship.

She said all the right things as he showed her about. She was impressed that he would easily climb into the rigging and gasped at the height of the crow’s nest. She touched the wheel and marveled at the power he would need to steer in a storm. He told her tales of danger—leaving out the worst details—and she trembled as he pointed to one area of the ship or another.

Then he brought her to the prow, stepped her up at the very tip, and held her there while he whispered into her ear. “Do you know how I came to call you Wind?”

“You have always called me Wind.”

True enough. “But there was a moment that burns in my memory, a time that made it more than just a nickname for a child.” He enveloped her with his arms, pressing his body along her backside as he spoke. “Do you remember watching on the pier as your brother and I sailed away? Do you remember how you looked or how long you stayed?”

She didn’t answer, but he didn’t need her to.

“I remember every moment. You stood there as long as I stood watching.”

“It wasn’t long,” she said, proving that she did remember the day. “None of you were allowed to stand and watch.”

She was wrong about that. In truth, the captain had let them stand there longer than most. It was his kindness to the men, as it would be long weeks before they saw another woman, and months before they could speak to their loved ones again. But Radley didn’t argue. Instead, he let the memory flow.

“You wore a blue dress, the color of the sky on a pristine day. It was your Sunday best, and you wore it that day.”

“My big brother was leaving. Of course, I dressed in my best gown.”

“You waved at first, but in the end, you stood there watching. A vision in blue with a straw bonnet that blew back from your face. Then you took it off and let your hair blow free.”

“I didn’t take it off,” she huffed. “It
blew
off, and I barely caught it. The wind was terrible.”

It was a perfect sailing day, but he remembered her gown pressed against her curves, her hair streaming behind her, and her green eyes wet from tears. He hadn’t been able to see her eyes, of course. Not from the ship, but when she’d kissed her brother good-bye, he’d seen them. Spiked lashes, green eyes, and a silent look to him, pleading that he watch after her brother.

It was a ridiculous notion as both he and Henry were as green as her eyes. They hadn’t been able to take care of themselves, much less each other. But the faith in her eyes when she’d looked at him had made him feel ten feet tall. And he’d made a vow then that he would be worthy of her faith.

Then she’d turned from her brother to say good-bye to him. She’d held his hands and looked into his eyes. Neither spoke a word, but the agreement was there.

Take
care
of
yourself
, she communicated.
Live
your
dream
and
be
happy
.

I
will
, he had promised in silence.
And
you
do
it
as
well.

Not a word out loud, but he knew what she wanted. And he had done so. He had lived what he wanted, save one thing. He had not returned home to claim her. Not until two days ago.

“Someone on board asked who you were,” he said, returning to his tale. “You were so beautiful in that blue dress. Henry answered with your name, but it was hard to hear. The other man thought he said Wind.”