The Courtship - Catherine Coulter [94]
“Oh, all right, you will just keep pulling and tugging, won’t you? Well, here it is—I wanted to see what you would do to me.”
The woman would drive him mad, he thought, staring at her, and he wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted in his life. He lightly ran his fingertip down her cheek and over her jaw. “You are so bloody soft. Did you like what I did to you?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you the truth.”
He hugged her even more tightly and said, “I have this feeling that you and I will come back to that again, later, probably many times. Now, have you told your father?”
She shook her head. “Why? There is nothing he can do. Besides, he never liked Gerard. I don’t want to worry him. As for Sir John, perhaps he didn’t know his son’s handwriting all that well. But I did. It was his handwriting, or an excellent forgery. The main reason I wrote to Sir John and tried to see him is that he is the First Secretary of the Admiralty. He is powerful. If anyone could find out anything about Gerard, it is Sir John.”
“And yet he didn’t want to hear about it. He refused to see you. That seems odd, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, and I don’t understand it. His son’s body was never recovered.”
“What happened?”
“Gerard was killed aboard a ship that wasn’t more than a quarter mile off the coast of northern France. One of the cannons exploded and set the ship afire. They couldn’t get the fire out. Just about every man jumped overboard, including Gerard, who was the first mate. No one stayed on board, even the captain. The problem was that Gerard couldn’t swim. Isn’t that odd, a man in the navy who spends all his time on the water, and he can’t swim? I have been told that many sailors can’t swim. In any case, a severe winter storm then struck, but not in time to douse the fire on board the ship. I was told that only half a dozen sailors managed to survive the swim to shore.
“Sir John was the one who informed me of Gerard’s death. I hadn’t had any contact with him since that time. He never cared for me. Since I believed him to be an old curmudgeon, it didn’t bother me. My father, as you can imagine, was bewildered that someone didn’t like his beloved daughter. In any case, if Gerard did somehow survive, if he is alive, then I am still married. I can’t marry you or anyone else.”
He had managed to figure that out all by himself. It was quite a blow to the jaw. He sat there, holding her, tapping his fingertips on her right thigh, wondering how life, which had seemed so very simple and straightforward but moments before when he was caressing her with his mouth, had now flown yet again out of his control.
He cursed again. It made him feel a bit better, for at least a short time.
She collapsed against him then, her face against his neck. He closed his arms around her.
“If he is dead, as he is supposed to be, would you marry me, Helen?”
She said against his neck, her voice warm and sweet, “The thought of awaking on a random morning with my wrists tied above my head and you over me, it is nearly too much for my brain to deal with. But you would have to promise not to ‘not quite ecstasy’ me again.”
He laughed—there was nothing else to do. “No, I won’t ever punish you like that again.” He kissed her forehead and fell silent. “Well, perhaps for a little while, before I continued.”
He fell silent then, looking beyond her to the white wall beside the fireplace.
“What are you thinking?”
“I am wondering how to flush the fellow out,” he said. “You see, it makes no sense for him to send you a letter and then do nothing at all for six months. Something strange is going on here.” He was silent again. Helen was stroking her palm over his chest. It was distracting. He grabbed her hand and pushed it down onto his thigh. That proved even more distracting. He released her and sighed, closing his eyes. “I know what we will do.”
“How can you possibly come up with a plan within five minutes of me telling you about it? I have had six months to devise a plan and there isn’t one.”
“I see. If you didn