James River - Lost Lady Part 8

By the time she was ready to leave the dormitory, she was very angry. Her uncle had said she was mealy-mouthed, an embarra.s.sment to him, but many things had happened to her in the last few weeks, and she was changing.

The cabin she shared with Travis was empty when she replied it, but as she stood watching the stars through the big window, the door opened.

A pewter mug sailing directly toward Travis's head made him duck quickly. "What the—?" he began.

Regan grabbed another mug from a wall cabinet. "You enjoyed flirting, didn't you?" she accused. "You liked having all the women fawn over you. 'Oh what a darling man,' they all drooled." The second mug grazed his shoulder.

As she grabbed the third one, Travis crossed the room and held her hand. Again, that half-amused little smile was on his face. "Don't let your temper get the best of you. Please try to remember that you were once an English lady."

His patronizing tone, added to the fact that he was the one who'd made her fall from being a lady, sent blind rage coursing through her veins. "I am sick of you! " she gasped as she slammed her elbows back into his ribs.

She got some satisfaction from his grunt, but before he could recover she kicked him in the s.h.i.+ns.

As he backed away from her, rubbing his s.h.i.+ns, his expression was one of bewilderment. "Wouldn't you like to talk about this? What's got you so riled?"

"Riled?" she mocked in her crisp accent. "I am angry because of the way you a.s.sume that you have the first right of everything in the world. Did you enjoy the way the women looked at you with great adoring eyes? It was disgusting that you used the babies to get to the women. Are you planning to kidnap one of them when you're through with me?"

"I might," Travis said, his jaw set, a tiny spark of fire in his eyes. "At least one of them might be more grateful for what you have. Why don't you ask who'd like to trade places with you?"

"You are the most vain, arrogant animal ever created!" she seethed. "Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to be held prisoner or that other women might not either? Am I supposed to be grateful that you hold me against my will, drag me onto a s.h.i.+p that's sailing for a country I despise, and threaten to tell everyone our true relations.h.i.+p if I do not remain with you?"

"I told you why I couldn't release you in England." His voice was quite low. "I've shown you every kindness, given you every st.i.tch on your back, yet you're still too much of a romantic to see the truth. Can't you remember what it was like on the docks when those men came after you?"

It was too much like the things her uncle had said. Someone was always taking care of her, always throwing it into her face. "I'm not grateful," she said quietly. "And I do not want anything more from you. You needn't worry that I'll be attacked on board s.h.i.+p, so I'll leave you now and begin my stay with the single women." Looking down at the simple muslin dress that Sarah had just finished for her last night, she said, "When I get to America I will try to earn enough money to repay you for this dress. Perhaps you can sell the others."

Turning, her chin up, back straight, she started for the door.

It took Travis a moment to realize that she meant to leave him, and she was just stubborn enough to do it. Without thinking what he was doing, he grabbed the back of her dress. With Regan going one way and Travis pulling the other, the thin muslin quickly split from top to bottom, landing in a small heap at Regan's feet.

Instantly, his look changed from anger to desire, his eyes raking her hungrily, feasting on her heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s well exposed above the low-cut chemise.

"No," she whispered, trying with all her might to pull away from his mesmerizing gaze.

His arm, strong and powerful, went around her waist, pulling her to him, bending her backward into an arc.

Weakly, she fought against him, wanting so much to defy him, to prove to him that she was her own person, but his touch, his lips on hers, drove her senseless.

"You'll do what I say, love," Travis growled, lifting her off the floor, his lips nuzzling her neck. "You're mine for as long as I want you."

Closing her eyes, leaning her head back, giving her body completely to his touch, she had no idea of escaping this man who controlled her so easily. When she heard the sound of tearing cloth, and felt her chemise give, she began to struggle once again.

"Mine," Travis whispered. "I found you, and you're mine."

There was no time for her to think as Travis pushed her back against the wall, her small body pinned there by the strength and size of him.

His kisses became ravenous, as if he meant to devour her. Her own breath was coming faster and faster as her hands clutched at his shoulders, fingertips digging into his flesh through his s.h.i.+rt, trying to pull him close enough to crush her.

One of Travis's hands l.u.s.tfully traveled down her bare hip, stroked her thigh, and lifted her leg so that it rested on his hip. Eagerly, Regan grasped his body with her legs, her ankles hooked behind him, her weight supported by him as he stroked and caressed her bottom.

His hands moved excitingly, teasingly, driving her to a pa.s.sionate frenzy. When his clothes fell from the lower half of his body, she didn't know. Only when he lifted her, his hands about her waist, and set her down on his manhood did her eyes open, but only for an instant.

She was completely in his power, unable to move on her own, her back to the wall, her legs clutching his hips, as he began to lift her, to control her movements, guiding her. Feeling his body against her, the undulations of his hips under her thighs, the driving force of him threatened to drive her insane. Clutching his hair in her fingers, she pulled as Travis leaned harder into her, threatening to break her, to merge his flesh with hers, to consume her. With his might he easily picked her up and lowered her, again and again, faster and faster, until she screamed under the pressure of her sweet torment. Crus.h.i.+ngly, Travis's mouth came down on hers as he collapsed against her, her legs like a steel vice about him, her body shuddering, weak and helpless, sated, exhausted.

Gradually, she began to become aware of where she was and who she was, her body pliant, boneless against Travis's proud muscularity. He was kissing her damp neck lovingly, his arms under her bottom, supporting her. Carrying her like a child, he took her to the bed and laid her down as if she were the most precious, most delicate substance ever created.

Tiredly, as if he too had no bones left, he removed his s.h.i.+rt and lay beside her. "No supper tonight either," he murmured, but there did not seem to be any regret in his voice. With his last bit of strength, he pulled Regan to him, their skin sticking together from their mutual sweatiness.

"How could I ever let you leave me?" he whispered before they both fell asleep.

Chapter 8.

In the morning, Regan could hardly meet Travis's eyes. The way he looked at her—so smug, so sure of himself—made her want to toss a knife at him. He seemed to think he knew everything about her, that he had complete control over her, that he merely had to crook his finger and she belonged to him.

How very much she'd like to wipe that expression off his face; just once she'd like to see him not get what he thought was his.

As they were eating, Sarah Trumbull gave a quick knock at the door before entering. "Oh! Excuse me," she said. "Usually the two of you are gone by this time."

"Have some breakfast, Sarah," Travis said, smiling smugly, and looking at Regan as if he understood exactly why she was avoiding his eyes.

But Sarah was more interested in a torn piece of muslin that yesterday had been a dress she had just made the day before. Chuckling, giving Travis a mock look of reprimand, she said, "Travis, if you're going to treat all my handiwork like this, there's no need for me to keep on sewing."

Running his hand through his hair, glancing quickly at Regan's averted face, he laughed. "I'll try to control myself. Now I need to help on deck. The captain is a bit short-handed this trip. Although," he grinned, "I may not have much energy left." He kissed Regan's cool cheek before he left the cabin.

A sigh to rival a hurricane escaped Sarah as she gazed longingly at the closed door. "If there were any more men like him, I might be tempted to get married."

If Regan had known any foul words, she would have used them. "Don't you have work to do?" she snapped.

Regan's tone didn't phase Sarah. "I'd be jealous too if he were mine."

"He isn't—!" she began hostilely, then stopped. "Travis Stanford belongs to no one," she said at last, before beginning to clear the breakfast dishes and put them on a tray.

Sarah decided to change the subject. "Do you know that man in the cabin across from yours?"

"David Wainwright? We met, but that's all. Is he all right?"

"I don't know, but I've been in your cabin for two days now, sewing on your new clothes, and I've never heard a sound from him. I thought perhaps he was helping with the men who are ill."

Frowning, Regan decided to investigate, excused herself to Sarah, and left the cabin. Even though she worked in the stench every day, the smell that hit her when she opened David's cabin was overpowering. The heavy darkness of the room caused her to pause for quite some time on the threshold, her eyes searching for Mr. Wainwright.

Finally, in what looked like a heap of filthy rags, she found him huddled on the window seat, his body s.h.i.+vering. Crossing to him, she saw immediately that he had a fever, that his eyes burned dangerously bright, and, by the tone of his ramblings, that he was delirious.

A noise at the door caused her to turn to see Sarah looking at the room in horror. "How could anyone live in this?"

"Would you tell Travis to send down some hot water, please?" Regan said firmly. "Tell him to send a great deal of it—and I'll need was.h.i.+ng rags and soap, too."

"Of course," Sarah said quietly, not envying Regan the task she had ahead of her.

Sunlight filtered through the windows in David Wainwright's cabin, touching on Regan's hair, showing the golden strands intermingled with the darkness. More sun glistened on her soft, sweet-scented muslin gown, highlighting each of the minute, embroidered golden rosebuds. A book was held lightly by her, and as she read from it her words were as soft as the picture she presented.

David lay back against freshly laundered cus.h.i.+ons, propped on the end of the window seat, his arm in a sling, his snowy s.h.i.+rt open at the throat. It had been a month since that time Regan had found him alone and ill in his cabin. At the first movement of the s.h.i.+p, he'd become seasick and returned to his cabin. Hours later, he'd fallen from his bunk-bed and landed in such a way that he'd broken his forearm. In pain, nauseated, weak, helpless, he was unable to call for help. In an attempt to return to his bunk, he fell again, and with the new pain he lost consciousness. When Regan found him he had no idea who or where he was, and for days after the bone was set no one was quite convinced he'd live through the ordeal.

And through everything, Regan had never left his side. She scoured the filthy cabin, washed David, sat by him, coaxed him into eating a broth made from salt beef, and, by sheer will-power, kept his spirits up. He was not a good patient. He was sure that he was going to die, that he'd never see England again, that America and Americans were going to be responsible for his death. He spent hours telling Regan how he'd had a premonition that these were going to be his last few days on earth.

For Regan, she was glad of an excuse to get away from Travis's overpowering presence, glad for once in her life to be needed by someone, not to feel as if she were a burden.

"Please, Regan," David said petulantly. "Don't read anymore. I do wish you'd just talk to me." He s.h.i.+fted his injured arm with a great show of distress.

"What would you like to talk about? We seem to have exhausted every topic."

"Every topic about my life, you mean. I still know exactly nothing about you. Who were your parents, where did you live in Liverpool, and how did you meet that American?"

Putting the book down, she rose. "Perhaps we should go for a walk on deck. It's a lovely day, and the exercise will do us both good."

Smiling slightly, David put his feet on the floor, waiting patiently for Regan to help him stand. "My mystery lady, " he said, his voice betraying that he rather liked not knowing much about her.

On deck, her arm around David's waist and his about her shoulders, the first person they met was Travis. Regan couldn't help but notice the contrast, the slim blond young man in his immaculate clothes next to Travis's brawniness, and his clothes smelling of male sweat and the salty air.

"A bit of an airing today?" Travis asked politely, but lifting one eyebrow and giving a mocking grin to Regan.

David nodded curtly, almost rudely, before half jerking Regan forward. "How could you marry someone like that?" he said when they were alone. "You are the gentlest, tenderest woman, and when I think of you having to endure the attentions of that insensitive, oversized Colonial, I am nearly made ill again."

"He is not insensitive!" she said quickly. "Travis is*"

"Is what?" he said with great patience.

There was no answer to that question. Moving away from David, leaning over the rail and watching the water, she asked herself what Travis did mean to her. At night he made her cry in delight, and the way he always had a tubful of hot water ready for her in the evenings convinced her of his kindness. Yet she was always aware that she was his prisoner.

"Regan," David said. "You aren't answering my questions. Don't you feel well? Perhaps you're tired. I know taking care of me isn't the easiest task in the world. Maybe you'd rather*"

"No," she smiled at the familiar complaints. "You know I enjoy your company. Shall we sit here a while?"

Staying with David the rest of the afternoon, she found she couldn't keep her mind on what he was saying. Instead, she kept watching Travis as he agilely climbed the rigging tied along the mast, as he threw great heavy rope into an orderly pile. Several times he stopped and winked at her, always aware of when she was watching him.

That night, for the first time in weeks, she returned to her own cabin ahead of Travis. When he entered, his face was lit, his eyes smiling with happiness.

It seemed he'd grown more handsome in the last few weeks, his face tanned by the sun, his muscles even harder than before.

"You're a welcome sight after a hard day. You think I could have a kiss of greeting, or did you give them all to young Wainwright?"

Her happiness faded. "Am I supposed to take that insult without a word? Just because you force me into an indecent relations.h.i.+p doesn't mean another man can—or even attempts to, for that matter."

Turning away from her, Travis removed his s.h.i.+rt and began to wash. "It's nice to know the pup hasn't tried to take what's mine. Not that he could, of course, but I like to be rea.s.sured."

"You are insufferable! And I am not yours!"

Travis merely grinned confidently. "Shall I prove to you that you belong to me?"

"I do not belong to you," she said, backing away from him. "I can take care of myself."

"Mmm," Travis smiled, coming to stand near her. Sensuously, he began to run his finger down her arm, and when her steady gaze flickered he narrowed his eyes. "Can that boy make you s.h.i.+ver with only one finger?"

She jerked away from him. "David is a gentleman. We talk of music and books, things you know nothing of. His family is one of the oldest in England, and I enjoy his company." She straightened her shoulders. "And I will not allow your jealousy to ruin my friends.h.i.+p with him."

"Jealousy?" Travis laughed. "If I were going to be jealous of someone, it would certainly be someone with more than that whining boy." His face turned serious. "But I believe the boy is getting serious about you, and I think you should stop seeing so much of him."

"Stop—!" she sputtered. "Is there no part of my life you don't attempt to control?" She calmed herself. "I am a free woman, and when I get to America I plan to take advantage of my freedom. I'm sure David is the type of man who'd want to get married and not try to make a* a slave of a woman."

Calmly, Travis put his hand on her shoulder. "Would you really like to trade me for a boy and a gold ring?"

As he bent to kiss her, she pulled away. "Perhaps I'd like to try," she whispered. "Surely men can't be so different. If David loved me, perhaps we could be compatible in the marriage bed. "

Travis's hands on her shoulders were brutal. "If that boy ever touches you, I'll break every bone in his body—and I'll make you watch while I do it." He gave her a sharp push before he slammed out of the cabin.

That night Regan spent alone. She refused to admit to herself how much she missed him, how alone she felt without his arms around her. All night she tossed and turned, trying not to cry, attempting not to be afraid.

In the morning there were circles under her eyes, and Sarah, for once, didn't ask questions. The two women sat quietly in the cabin and sewed. Near sunset, David knocked on the door and asked if Regan would walk with him.

On deck, all she seemed to see was Travis, yet Travis never looked at her.

His ignoring of her made her angry, and as a result she turned all her attentions to David, who was complaining about the length of the voyage and the food. At her look, suddenly turned from disinterest to adoration, he stopped speaking and looked at her.

"You are especially lovely today," he whispered. "The sunlight makes your hair a red-gold. "

Just then Travis was pa.s.sing them, a ma.s.sive piece of canvas thrown across his shoulder.

"Oh thank you, David," she said, much too loudly. "You make a woman feel like a queen with your fine compliments. I don't know when I've been so flattered."