Page 101 of Debtor’s Daughter

Chapter 13

“Wherein fires are lit in a room full of powder.”

Henri pulled away and saw her own shock reflected back at her in his eyes. The bright blue had seemed dull, his expression so utterly hopeless that she hadn’t known what else to do. She only knew she wanted the insufferable, arrogant pirate back, that all too charming man with the merry blue eyes who made her blood boil and her heart race. She wanted to take away the pain she saw in his eyes and lift off the shadow of the past that hung over him. Henri felt she could almost see it, the weight of it at least, as it bowed his shoulders. And so she had kissed him.

His breath caught at the first press of her lips, an encouraging sign she thought, as she had drawn back, just a little, to brush her lips against his again. She was tentative, not really certain of what she was doing, and only knowing she was mimicking the manner in which he had kissed her before. Had it really only been this morning?

But it was not only shock in his eyes and her heart began to crash with wild abandon as she understood what that meant.

She had read enough romance novels in her life to know she could never be happy being married to a cold and indifferent man who would never love her to distraction. She had wanted to know love and passion, to know what it was to be desired above all else.

Well, her foolish plan may mean she would not experience what it was to be married to a man who loved her, but she knew this man needed her, for the moment at least. And she was likely the biggest fool in the world, but she could no more walk away from him now than she could have let the militia men drag him away to the gallows.

She raised her other hand, holding his face between them and feeling a warmth that spread through her chest as a smile tugged at that gorgeous mouth of his.

“Miss Morton,” he said, his voice low, and a familiar thread of amusement behind the words. “You are the most contrary young woman I have ever known, and ...” He shook his head and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “You never cease to surprise me.”

She smiled and blinked, finding her eyes fill at the soft look he gave her. “My name is Henri.”

He laughed at that, and her heart lifted at the sound.

“Well,” he said, taking one of her hands and raising it to his lips. “In that case ... my name is Lawrence.” He pressed a kiss to her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers. “And other than Mousy, you are the only person on board who knows that.”

She blinked, quite taken aback that he should choose to share something he had taken great pains to keep secret.

“Lawrence,” she repeated, smiling. “I like that very much. But I promise you I will never use it in front of your men. You will be Lars until you say otherwise.”

“Use it now,” he said, his hand closing around hers, and such desperation in his voice that she didn’t know how to respond “Please. I want to be Lawrence again, just for a little while at least.”

She hesitated, whatever was she to do? She would not see him dead. Whatever he had done, she would not believe he was a bad man. She needed to know exactly what it was aboard that ship that made such guilt burn in his eyes. But he would only tell her that if he trusted her.

She clasped his hand in hers and held it to her cheek, before turning her head and kissing his fingers, one by one.

“Lawrence,” she murmured his name against his skin, feeling with delight the shiver that ran over him.

There was a panicked voice screaming in her head, reminding her of how nice young ladies behaved. But then she’d never been that good at being a nice young lady. She had too quick a temper, she was too stubborn and wilful, and she was far too impetuous.

If she was a nice young lady she would have been delighted at being found such a wealthy husband as the Earl of Falmouth. She would not have run to a dubious part of town, alone, at night, in order to blackmail a pirate so she didn’t have to.

The voice grew fainter by the moment. His big hand was rough and calloused, and she had imagined how it would feel, sliding over her skin. Oh, good Lord, Henri, stop, but she couldn’t. She turned his hand over and pressed her mouth to his palm before looking up. His eyes were dark, his breathing ragged, and she knew what she should do, what she wanted to do.

“Kiss me,” she said.

He stilled and for a moment she felt as though her heart waited for him to move before it dared to beat again. And then his hand was at her waist, pulling her towards him and she went willingly.

She moved forward on her knees, into the space between his thighs as he pulled her close. One hand clasped her at the small of her back, the other cradling her head. She leaned in, meeting his mouth as his head ducked towards her and this time there was no gentle brushing of lips, this wasn’t gentle at all.

His kiss was hard and desperate, and she gasped in surprise as his tongue invaded her mouth. She tensed in his arms, but he persisted, his tongue stroking hers, the warmth of him like being enveloped in a blaze compared to the frigid temperature of the room.

Encouraged by his example she began to imitate his moves as their mouths worked with increasing need. She slipped her hand under his coat until just the thin fabric of his shirt was between them. Reassured to feel his heart was thundering just as hers was she reached up her other hand and slid it around his neck, tangling her fingers in his thick hair and pulling him closer.

Oh God but it felt good. She felt warm for the first time since she had left her home on that freezing night. Except it wasn’t just warmth, it was heat, a luxurious burn that blazed just beneath her skin, and the heart of the fire was being kindled somewhere deep inside of her. Every slide of his tongue, his mouth, his hands, added fuel to the fire, and she wanted to burn.

This, she realised, this was what Annie had warned her about. She’d never truly understood the idea that a woman could become so lost in a man’s touch she would do anything, risk anything, to be with him, to feel his touch again. But now, now she knew.

Her body was crying out for more, her skin needed to feel his hands against it, and there was a deep and clamouring ache inside her. It demanded his attention, this empty, hollow sensation that only he could fill.

Her hand slid down his hard chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath her fingertips and wishing there was no cloth to keep her from touching the warm flesh beneath. She allowed her hand to drop further, resting on his thick thigh and sliding towards his hip, noting with satisfaction the way her touch increased his desire as he groaned into her mouth.