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Smitty smiled. “You are determined to protect her.”
Drake looked surprised. “I have always protected La Belle Illusion.”
“I was speaking of your wife, not your ship.”
The slight softening of
Drake’s hard features was subtle, but Smitty saw it.
“Yes, Smitty, I will protect Alexandria. It is my duty, after all.”
“Of course, Captain,” was Smitty’s bland reply.
Drake knew his friend was not fooled by the casual mention of Alexandria, but he was not ready to discuss his wife with anyone. Hell, he was having enough trouble dealing with his feelings for her on his own.
Before last night Drake had possessed some control. No longer. Instead of extinguishing the blazing fire that burned within him, last night had only served to feed the flames, to make them lick higher and higher, spreading throughout his body and, far worse, igniting something fundamental, yet unwilling, within his soul. An internal voice of self-protection cried out with fear, warning him that he was exposed, vulnerable in a way that he had sworn never to be.
Alex had held back nothing of herself. Despite her fear and inexperience, she had budded and then blossomed like a beautiful flower in his arms, offering him her innocence and her newly awakened passion. And he had hurt her. No matter how many times he told himself that it was inevitable, he still could not forget her sharp, anguished whimpers as her virginal flesh tore with his frantic entry. Long after she had fallen asleep he had stared down into her face, trying to comprehend the intensity of their passion. Her long lashes, lying on her cheeks like golden wisps of sunlight, were moist with tears. He had fought an overwhelming urge to awaken her, to promise her that he would never hurt her again. But he knew damned well that, if he did, he would only end up making love to her again. And he could not give in to that impulse, for her body and his emotions were still too raw and tender for that to occur.
After a few hours of sleep, Drake had reluctantly detached himself from her soft warm body, dressed, and gone on deck. He was still here, and no nearer to understanding his feelings than he had been last night.
He did know that, with Alex, once was not enough. Drake had the maddening, drowning fear that he would never have enough.
“Smitty, have you seen Alexandria yet today?” he asked abruptly.
“No, Captain. When I left the berth deck, Lady Alexandria was still abed.”
Drake frowned. “But it is almost noon.”
“You left instructions for her to remain below until we are safely down the Saint Lawrence,” Smitty reminded him.
“Since when has my wife followed any of my instructions?”
Smitty chuckled. “Perhaps now that you are wed she is attempting to turn over a new leaf.”
Drake raised a disbelieving brow. “I don’t think we should hold out too much hope of that.” He was silent for a moment. “Smitty,” he said at last, “perhaps you should go below and assure us both that she is well.”
Smitty studied Drake for a long while, then nodded, choosing not to ask any questions. “Very well, Captain. I will go at once.” He stepped down from the quarterdeck and walked toward the stairs. “Have you any message for her?” he called back over his shoulder.
Drake shook his head. “Just remind her not to make any unexpected appearances topside, since no doubt she is contemplating doing just that.”
This time Drake was wrong.
Alex had awakened several hours earlier, emotionally shaken and physically sore. And she needed time alone to think.
She had known Drake was gone before she even opened her eyes. The realization had left her both relieved and terribly disappointed. She wanted him with her, and yet she was unsure of the status of their relationship.
Once during the night she had drifted awake, acutely aware of Drake’s strong body wrapped around hers. She had pressed closer, content to feel the power and security of his presence, the knowledge of their intimacy, the reality of her love for him. In his sleep Drake had tightened his embrace, and Alex had nestled against his solid strength … where she belonged.
Alex had never made love before, but she knew that what had transpired between them was a rarity. That knowledge filled her with a strange peace. Drake might not love her, but he most definitely wanted her, and that intense desire manifested itself in a passion that had stunned even him. And the way he had made love to her had told her more than he could ever guess. He had tempered his burning urgency with caring words and gentleness. He had wanted—no, needed—her pleasure as much as his own. And after their passion was spent, he had held her tenderly, limiting himself to soft kisses and soothing caresses.
Alex had known he wanted her again, and yet he hadn’t taken her. Her intuition had told her that Drake’s self-discipline was based on his concern for her inexperience and her discomfort.
Now she sat up in bed, clutching the thin sheet against her. It was time to consider some of the colder realities. She raised her knees and rested her chin on them. She was Drake’s wife now in every way. However, she reminded herself, making love with him was one thing; living with him was something else. He was domineering, didactic, embittered, and angry.
And he did not love her.
Because Alex was proud, that knowledge hurt her. She did not delude herself into thinking that it was her fault; she had seen and talked with Drake enough to know that something, or someone, had formed his opinion of women and relationships long before he met her.
