Cerynise smiled up at her husband. “Oh, Beau, I feel like a princess being brought home to a castle.”
“Well, in that case, madam, you should be shown in royally,” he replied, setting the trunk on end and motioning Thomas to fetch the others. When Beau turned back, he swept his wife up into his arms and bore her swiftly to the door as the rain began in earnest.
In the entrance, he set her to her feet. “Why don’t you look around a bit while Thomas and I carry in your things? If it’s all right, I’ll put your paintings and oils in my study. You can work in there if you find the amount of light acceptable.”
“But won’t I be disturbing you if I do?”
“You may, but only because I’ll be indulging my second favorite pastime…watching you.”
Cerynise giggled. “I need not ask what your first is.”
“That will come shortly,” he promised her warmly.
She ran to open the door for Thomas, who was struggling with her largest trunk. Then, as Beau and the driver returned to the carriage for the rest of her baggage, she looked around at the rich, tasteful appointments. Cerynise couldn’t have imagined herself not liking the interior, for Beau, in his own right, was an artist of exceptional abilities. He had a keen eye for elegant furnishings and decor and applied that talent well. An entrance hall with a beautiful floor of variegated marble in tones of white, gray and magenta opened onto a more spacious, airy central hall where a curving staircase, replete with polished mahogany steps and handrail that sat atop gracefully turned spindles of white, twined gracefully upward to a second-story landing. The interior woodwork was painted white, and abundant greenery complemented it. Everywhere she looked, Aubusson carpets were plentiful, and furnishings of Chippendale, Queen Anne and similar pieces were fully in evidence throughout.
Once again Cerynise returned to the front portal and held it open for the men. They carried in the last of her trunks, satchels and paintings just in time, for the rain, driven by the wind, had begun to pelt the windows. Thomas ran out to bring the carriage around to the back, leaving Cerynise to close the door behind him. With a vivacious smile, she turned to face her husband. “You leave nothing for a wife to do but stare in awe,” she said with pride. “The interior is even more lovely than the exterior.”
“Want to see the bedroom?” Beau invited with a teasing leer.
Her eyes shone as she scanned the length of him. “Only if you’re willing to show it to me.”
“I’m eager to show you a lot more than that,” he assured her with a chuckle. “But Philippe is in the kitchen, and he’ll want to see you ere I whisk you upstairs. The way I’ve been yearning for you, it may be another week before I allow you to leave my bedroom. I’m definitely not going to tolerate any interruptions until I’ve sated my every craving.” Beau stepped near, and his wife lifted her face expectantly. He lowered a soft, warm kiss upon her lips before he urged huskily, “Now hurry, my love. Go see Philippe while I get your baggage upstairs. Then we can be alone together.”
The kiss was so nice Cerynise wanted more and rose on tiptoes to steal another. Her husband readily accommodated her, this time making it far more sensual as his tongue slipped inward to play chase with hers. When he drew back, it seemed she had no strength of her own, for she leaned heavily against him.
“More,” she pleaded wistfully.
“I dare not, madam, lest you’d have me wear your skirts.”
“Beast,” she fussed with a pretty pout as she rubbed herself against him.
“Wench,” he whispered back, smiling as he brush his lips against her temples. “Ere long, you’ll have my heart in your hot, greedy hands if you don’t desist, my winsome wench. I’m not two seconds away from taking you upstairs and pleasuring myself with you. Philippe and your trunks be damned.”
Cerynise heaved a sigh, exaggerating her disappointment. “I suppose I must leave you since you put duty before pleasure.”
Beau’s eyes glowed as he watched her wander dreamily toward the kitchen. He could only marvel at the significant change that had taken place since he had let himself into her uncle’s house. His knock on the front door had gone unanswered for several moments, and when he had finally ventured in and traversed the hall in search of his wife, he had found her seated at a table in a back room, staring dejectedly at his painting. She had reminded him of a small child who had been severely rebuked, for with shoulders hunched, her slender frame had clearly conveyed an attitude of defeat. He had expected her to turn at any moment after she had straightened, for he could have sworn that she had sensed his presence, but what had followed had nearly torn his heart. He couldn’t remember ever having heard a woman sob with such deep, harrowing anguish.
Her cheery voice now came from the hallway leading to the kitchen. “Philippe? Where are you?”
“Madame Birmingham?” the chef cried in surprise. He ran into the corridor and, upon seeing her, took both her hands in his and liberally pressed happy kisses to them. “Oh, it is so excellent to see you, madame.” Immediately cautious of what he was about to say with her husband in the house, he slipped into his native French and began to confide how the captain had nearly sunk into the depths of despair without her warm glow lighting his life. “He would not eat, madame, and drank far more than he ever did.” Then with a knowing smile and an upward flick of eyebrows, Philippe sighed. “Ahh, l’amour.”
“Cerynise?” Beau called from upstairs some moments later.
“Coming,” she answered happily, and blew a kiss to the chef as she pushed through the swinging door. The storm was now upon them, but she hardly noticed as she hurried into the hallway. Beau was waiting for her at the landing above the stairs, and when she came into view, he held out a hand to hasten her flight. The windows behind him displayed roiling black clouds, and now and then, streaks of lightning tore across the sky, ending in great, bellowing peals of thunder. The wind was equally as fierce, but even with her fear of such turbulence, Cerynise could think of nothing but being in her husband’s arms.
She was breathless by the time she arrived, but the radiance in her eyes evidenced the precise cause. Taking her by the hand, Beau whisked her into the master bedroom of his home and then nudged the door closed behind him. He reached around to lock it and, leaning back against the sturdy plank, pulled her within his embrace and kissed her with all the passion he had been saving up for her alone. His fingers freed her hair, and then he was lifting her up in his arms and carrying her to his bed. He stood her to her feet beside it, and immediately they were seized by a frenzied haste to undress one another. Soon they faced each other in all their naked glory. Cerynise’s hands moved down the hard length of her husband’s body in admiration while he stroked her soft breasts and covered her with greedy kisses. In the next moment they were wrapped in each other’s arms and tumbling to the mattress. This time, there was no lengthy, tantalizing prelude, for Beau had endured an agonizing abstinence and wanted nothing to hinder their union. His wife was soft and willing, and he was hard and ready. There was enough kissing, tasting and handling to elicit sharp gasps of pleasure from each as they boldly searched out familiar territory. Then Beau was loving her in a most physical way and snatching her breath with his fierce ardor. In the midst of their intimacy everything came flooding back to him in a newly awakening reality, her panting breath in his ear, her nails digging into his back, her silken limbs entwining his hips…it was just as he had thought he had dreamed it.
Though the storm continued to rage outside, they lay in each other’s arms, kissing, touching and whispering. Beau finally questioned her about what he now suspected to be true, and Cerynise confirmed that they were no illusions he had had, for she had actually sat beside his bed that night luxuriating in her new wifely state. He also told her of the many times he had tried to question her about it, but she had refused to accept his invitations. Cerynise was rather appalled at her countless blunders. If not for her mistakes, they could have been enjoying the intimacy of marriage months
ago.
She snuggled against her husband’s side and idly caressed his chest. “Do you hate me for what I almost did to us?”
“Hate you?” Beau was incredulous. “Good heavens, woman, can’t you understand by now how much I love you?”
Bracing up on his chest, Cerynise searched his handsome face. “It’s not just your rutting instincts?”
His hand caressed her naked back. “If it were, my dear, I would have been able to find appeasement with any woman, but I wanted no one but you.…You’ve held my mind ensnared from that moment I put you into my bed and brought you close to my heart.”
“The day we were married, you mean.”
“No, the night I carried you aboard my ship.”
“So long ago?”
“Aye.”
Cerynise traced a finger along the hard ridges of his muscular chest. “You must know I’ve been in love with you ever since I was a child.”
His dark eyebrows lifted in a small shrug. “I had always thought that, but you led me to believe otherwise when you wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”
“I was afraid you’d hate me if I got with child. You’d have felt obligated to do the gentlemanly thing.…”
“So you were willing to let our child be born a bastard rather than tell me that you had gotten pregnant? Madam, you must think me a cad to have gone to such lengths to hide that fact from me.”
“How could I possibly think you a cad when I’m sure the sun rises and sets just for you?”
Without another word, Beau turned with her, pressing her flat upon the bed as he rose up on an elbow beside her. He gently caressed her breasts, noticing again how much firmer they had become since her pregnancy. His hand moved downward to examine the gentle roundness of her small belly, affirming once more that it was true, that she was going to bear him a child. He needed no further proof, but the sudden hard knot that formed beneath his palm made them both laugh. He slipped farther down into the bed and pressed the side of his face close against her stomach to listen.
“He’s kicking me.” Cerynise giggled and moved her husband’s hand over the spot. “Do you feel him?”
“Aye, I do,” he replied, and chuckled as he pressed his lips to the place. “Papa’s first kiss.”
One kiss led to another and soon his tongue and mouth were tracing upward over his wife’s body until they blended with hers in an erotic exchange that left them both heady with desire. Quickening fires were lit beneath provocative caresses and titillating kisses until Beau rolled, pulling her on top of him. Cerynise caught her breath at the sensations aroused within her as he settled her over the hardened shaft and directed her hips in a long, languid caress of his loins. His mouth greedily claimed a soft peak, and the fires of passion leapt higher still, sweeping away her restraints. Slipping her forearms beneath her heavy tresses, she lifted the tawny length above her head, capturing his gaze. Her lips curved in a sensual smile as she looked into his lusting eyes and moved her hips in a slow, undulating motion, much like a dancer before an Arabian prince. The hotly pulsing flame within her quickened her blood until her movements became more concentrated and increasingly forceful, igniting their fervor. His hands seized her breasts as he rose up beneath her, and soon their passions were soaring out of control, driving them onward until their harsh gasps were finally muted and became soft, blissful sighs of contentment.
Beau was certain he had never experienced the like of such fulfillment. He also knew he wouldn’t have traded all the freedom in the world for what he now held within his arms, his wife, his mate for life. She had been delightfully creative in her innocence, and he could only imagine, with a little more instruction, that she’d entangle his mind so thoroughly that he’d be willing to yield her anything for a few moments in her embrace.
“How would you like to accompany me on another voyage after our baby is born?”
Cerynise didn’t even have to think about his question. “Oh, yes! That would be absolutely heavenly…that is, as long as I don’t get seasick again.”
His finger sketched a pale pink nipple. “I had thought you were pretty much over that until your last bout.”
Cerynise smiled up at him. “I don’t think that particular sickness was caused by the motion of the sea, my love. By that time, I had already begun to suspect that I was with child after missing my monthly.”
“Did you always come at a regular time?”
Cerynise was somewhat amazed that he was so knowledgeable about women. “Yes, but how…”
Beau chuckled at her naiveté. “You’d be amazed what boys talk about while they’re growing up, my love. But then, I also had a sister a couple or so years younger. As much as it appalled our mother, Suzanne would fly into a rage whenever I’d tease her about hiding out in her room. She let me know in no uncertain terms that she was suffering a woman’s curse and threatened to pray it down on me, too. I never dreamed her threats would have much effect, but I suppose a husband must endure monthly self-restraints when his wife isn’t pregnant.” He feigned a thoughtful frown as he measured her small belly. “We’ll have to become a little more creative when you grow too round to mount, madam.”
Happy laughter spilled from her lips. “With your propensities, my lecherous husband, I don’t think I’ll have too much time between the birth of one and the conceiving of another.”
“Definitely a possibility, madam, but then, I can afford as many as our love may bear.”
“I’ll likely be having more than a fair share of them while you’re away sailing the seas.”
“One more voyage, madam, and then Mr. Oaks will captain the Audacious,” he promised. “I have found something I love far more than sailing to distant climes. I want to be wherever you are.”
Lifting her gaze again to his, she searched his face. “But what will you do if you give up sailing?”
Beau chuckled. “Stay at home and make love to you.”
Cerynise caressed the hard, muscular ridges of his chest once again. “And when you’re not doing that?”
“My uncle would like me to help him out at his shipping company. His two sons haven’t shown much interest in doing so as yet. The oldest one definitely prefers managing their plantation. Uncle Jeff said he’d give me a full partnership if I wanted it. But then, of course, my own father would like me to help him run the plantation.”
“You won’t miss the sea?”
“Not with you beside me.”
She nestled close against his long body and murmured drowsily, “Then I will endeavor to make your existence on land as interesting as possible, sir.”
“And I will attempt to do the same for you, madam,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her brow.
It wasn’t long before Beau heard the soft, steady breathing of his young wife and realized she had fallen asleep in his arms. With great care, he drew the sheet up over them and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off in sweet, relaxing slumber, the best he had had in some time.
A soft rap of knuckles against the door tore Beau from dreams that were very much like those he had savored only a pair of hours ago. Sliding ever so cautiously from his wife’s side, he snatched on his trousers, padded barefoot across the rug to the door, and opened it a crack. Philippe was standing at the threshold looking very apologetic.
“Excusez-moi, Capitaine, but your father is here. I asked him to wait for you in your study.”
Beau nodded sleepily. “Tell him I’ll be right down. Can you make us some coffee?”
“Oui, Capitaine.”
Closing the portal, Beau stumbled into the dressing room, splashed cold water onto his face and then brushed his teeth. Garbed just as he was, he went downstairs.
If not for a definite graying at his temples which contrasted handsomely with his black hair, Brandon Birmingham could have passed for a man twenty years his junior. His sun-bronzed face seemed amazingly free of wrinkles, with only a slight deepening of crow’s-feet at the corners of his black-lashed, green eyes. H
is tall, broad-shouldered frame was still taut and muscular, evidence of an active, hardworking man.
Brandon had been staring out of the window at the churning sky, mulling over what he needed to say to his son. After Professor Kendall’s visit, he had done a lot of thinking back on his own life, especially that moment when he had been threatened with harsh consequences if he refused to do the right thing by the pregnant girl whose virginity he had taken while under the mistaken belief that she was a harlot. The intimidation had served to arouse his ire and spite, which he had later taken out on Heather soon after they were married. He recognized the fact that his son had inherited not only his looks and his larger frame but his temperament as well. Because of that, he knew that force was not a judicious way to handle a delicate situation with his offspring.
“Afternoon, Pa,” Beau mumbled, smothering a yawn as he passed through the open door of his study.
Brandon’s eyebrows lifted in sharp surprise as he faced his son and saw that he was only half dressed. “’Tis a poor late hour in the day for you to be rising from bed, son. Are you ill?”
“No.” Beau shook his head. “Just trying to catch up on a little sleep. I didn’t go to bed till dawn.”
Though he wasn’t necessarily proud of the fact, Brandon also knew his son had followed too closely in his footsteps to imagine that he was a teetotaler in regard to spirits and women. It seemed practical to assume that his firstborn had been too busy indulging those propensities during the past evening to get any sleep.
Philippe entered with a silver tray bearing the coffee service and, after pouring each man a cup, took his leave.
Brandon downed his in a hurry, and then cleared his throat, not knowing exactly where to begin. He settled on a more direct approach. “Professor Kendall came to see me today.”
“Oh?” Beau’s brows gathered in some bemusement. “What did he want with you?”
“To talk, mainly about you. When you came out to deliver Cerynise’s painting, you never mentioned the fact that you had married the girl. Why?”