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Promise Me Forever
by Kimberly Nee
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Historical Fiction/Romance

Wings ePress, Inc
www.wings-press.com

First published in 2006, 2006

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Promise Me Forever

Before she could stop herself, she told him the entire sordid tale. As the story came tumbling out, she felt the weight rising from her heart. Drew listened intently without interruption. As her words trailed away, he said, “How much did your father owe?"

“Well over eight hundred pounds."

He whistled. “Six months, eh? In six months, you'll be quite the old hand at this, won't you? But I doubt you'll fetch so high a price."

“Thank you.” Sarcasm dripped from her dry reply.

He shook his head. “I didn't quite mean it that way, Heather. But, let me tell you one thing—virgins fetch a high price that first time. After that, it drops. Are you certain you wish to sell your virginity? And to sell it so cheaply?"

“I've no other choice. My father left me with nothing except my name and even that has been tarnished.” She sunk down onto the chaise lounge. “There is nothing left for me to do except this. This was the last of his debts."

“Eight hundred pounds, you say?"

“Yes."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. “There is a way out of this, I suppose."

Her heart skipped a beat. Did she dare indulge in a grandiose dream of her own? Was it possible he would help her? No, it would be insane to even consider such a thing. Why would he wish to help her when he barely knew her? He might feel sympathy for her plight, but of course, that was the extent of it. Wasn't it?

Wings

Promise Me Forever

Kimberly Nee

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Historical Romance Novel

Wings ePress, Inc.

Edited by: Lorraine Stephens

Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Senior Editor: Leslie Hodges

Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

Cover Artist: Christine Poe

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

www.wings-press.com

ISBN 1-59705-170-5

Published In the United States Of America

December 2006

Wings ePress Inc.

403 Wallace Court

Richmond, KY 40475

Dedication

For Tom,

because you inspired Drew

One

London, 1823

“Oh, my...” Heather Spencer sighed, her belly in tight knots as she glanced around at the deep red silk moiré covering the walls of her small room. Madam Allison's favorite color was red and she incorporated it wherever possible throughout her house. In keeping with the current trend, the room had a distinctly Oriental feel to it—the deep red accented with gold, the red and gold Oriental carpeting beneath her feet, even the furniture bespoke of the Chinoiserie style for which Madam Allison had gone so mad.

Heather still couldn't believe she was truly here. Until two weeks ago, she'd never even heard of Delilah's. Now, not only had she learned of London's most exclusive brothel, she was here, in one of the little rooms, where her life was about to forever change. It didn't seem possible that she should find herself in a house of ill repute. Ladies should not even know of the existence of such places, never mind actually finding employment there. Her mother was most definitely turning over in her grave that very moment. Of that Heather was certain.

She smoothed a tiny wrinkle from the skirt of her deep claret nightgown, feeling distinctly uncomfortable in the clinging silk gown with the plunging neckline. Every time she glanced in the mirror, her fingers fairly itched to tug at the black lace edging the neckline, to pull it up and keep from showing so much décolletage. Now, she no longer had her modesty, or her dignity. Both were not so subtly being stripped away as well.

This was not at all how her life was supposed to unfold. Her mother had died five years earlier and when her father, Matthew, died last autumn, Heather had learned the true nature of her family's circumstances. Not only had he left her penniless, but he'd died deeply in debt.

Having sold off just about all of her family's possessions, Heather had no way to settle her father's last debt—the very large obligation he owed to Madam Allison. The woman had been relentless in her pursuit of having that obligation paid. However, one glance at Spencer's lovely daughter, and the madam knew exactly how it could be settled.

“You'll fetch your weight in gold, missy,” Madam Allison assured her, giving her a long, appraising look as she lifted a curl away from Heather's face. “You'll have his debt paid off in six months. A year, at most."

Six months! Heather shuddered now as she remembered the scene. At least six months of working as a strumpet for that horrid woman would seem a lifetime. Not to mention, it would most definitely leave her no options for her future.

“This is what I have become,” she murmured, glancing at the red silk wall covering once more. “A whore. I am not a common guttersnipe, nor do I belong here, and yet this is what my life is to be?” Heat rose into her cheeks as she whispered the word whore. It stuck in her throat, emerging as a painful croak.

She gave a start as someone knocked on her door. “Heather?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her deflowering would be delayed a bit longer now. She was never so happy to hear Sally's soft, lilting voice. “Come in."

Sally was another of Madam Allison's courtesans. She was tall and slim, with padded man-made curves, natural dark red hair, and wide hazel eyes. “Are you all right? Flora said you were looking a bit peaked."

Flora was another one of the women selling her wares at Delilah's, which operated above the Golden Goose, a most respectable gentlemen's club in London's fashionable West End. Heather didn't know Flora very well, save to bid her good morning and good evening.

“I must admit, I am more than a little bit nervous,” Heather admitted with a shaky sigh.

Sally perched on the edge of the high bed, smoothing her hand over the red velvet spread. “You've nothing to worry about, love. Trust me. I've been doing this for three years now. It isn't so bad."

“Perhaps not, but it isn't how I planned things to be, either."

“Aye, I understand. Not a one of us planned this, love. But, sometimes things just happen. And it is far better than wallowing out in the gutters, though, or begging on the streets."

Heather gave Sally a long look. She had maybe two years on Heather's twenty-one, but several years of working in a house of ill repute had given her a much older appearance. Fine lines had etched themselves into the corners of Sally's eyes and around her mouth. Her hazel eyes were hard and tired, as if they'd seen far more than any lady should see.

“Still, I am nervous all the same."

Sally patted her hand. “You've nothing to worry about. They are usually quite quick, then. In—out—and they're done and you've a gold piece on your bedside table."

Heather resisted the urge to shudder at Sally's description of procured lovemaking. It was nothing like the flowery depiction Susan had given her daughter when Heather was fourteen. Nothing at all and that did not sit especially well with her. “Is that all?"

“For most of them, then. Of course, some take longer and some are done so quick you aren't certain they ever even came near you at all. And most are gentlemen. Highly respected gentlemen. Trust me, love, I wouldn't lie to you. You look so terrified.” Sally lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “I do wish to warn you though, your first mister will hurt like the fires of hell."

“What?"

Sally nodded. “But only for a moment. I promise you. Only for a moment."

“Madam Allison never mentioned pain."

“Oh, that wrinkled old prune most likely doesn't remember any of it,” Sally scoffed, giving an airy wave of her hand. “It's most likely been ages since anyone has paid for her services."

Heather marveled at how precisely upper-crust Sally sounded. Neither her speech, nor her appearance, lent any credence to her profession. When Heather remarked on it upon first meeting Sally, the older woman waved it away with a, ‘What is, is,’ response and that was the end of the story.

“And how will I know when it's over?” Heather asked.

Sally gave her a wicked smile. “Trust me, love. You'll know."

With that, there came another knock at the door. Madam Allison's raspy voice came from the other side. “Get moving, ladies. There's gentlemen waiting, there is. Sally, come out of there and get yourself into your room. Leave that girl in peace now."

Sally gave Heather's hand a quick squeeze. “You'll be fine, love. I promise."

With that, Sally left and Heather was alone. She knew she was to remain in her room. Madam Allison would bring the gentleman to her. So, she had nothing to do but sit and wait, and pray that her stomach would stop roiling. The last thing she wanted to do was retch. Somehow she didn't think that would go over too well with either the gentleman or Madam Allison.

She spied the cut-crystal decanter of amber liquid on her dressing table. Brandy. Madam Allison had sent it up earlier, proclaiming Heather should take it, should her nerves threaten to eat her alive.

Her eyes narrowed. The same amber liquid was what had contributed to her father's downfall. Despite her mourning, she couldn't help feeling red-hot anger for her father's weaknesses. Had he been stronger, he might have coped with his wife's death better, might not have turned to drink, gambling, and women instead. Then, Heather might have married and be raising children now, instead of pacing the small room in a house of sin.

She froze then. Footsteps sounded just beyond her closed door and they were drawing nearer. A cold sweat broke out over her body as she realized what was going to happen—what she was going to be doing with the man who walked through that door at any moment...

Two

Drew Kennedy had no idea what he was doing at Delilah's. Though he frequented the Golden Goose whenever in London, he'd never been on the infamous second floor, although he had heard tell of the beautiful ladies gathered up there. Courtesans were never his choice. There were plenty of available, willing ladies of a much higher class for his choosing.

Still, Brady St. Charles painted such an intriguing picture for him that he had grown most curious. The sixth Viscount Danbury frequented Delilah's often, and had spoken of a new girl who was supposedly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Danbury had yet to sample her himself, but was feeling generous towards his friend, so he'd urged Drew to accompany him. His interest aroused, Drew decided to take the chance and see if Danbury told the truth, or was simply pulling his leg.

He glanced around at the small parlor. Everything was red and gilt, gaudier than anything he'd ever seen. Red velvet covered sofas and chairs, red and gold flocked wallpaper covered the walls, the sconces were gold, the carpet was red and gold. The tables were teak, with delicate Chinese vases holding huge sprays of fragrant, exotic blooms. Their perfume lay heavy in the air, combining with musk and spicy colognes to create a layer of sickly-sweet fragrance that fairly clogged his throat and threatened to make his eyes water.

Madam Allison greeted both men warmly, fawning over the viscount as she offered them the finest cigars and headiest liquor she had available.

Brady winked at Drew, his dark gray eyes dancing. “My friend here is quite interested in the Spencer chit."

“Oh, is he, now?” Madam's blue eyes narrowed cunningly, a sly smile pulling at the wrinkles around her thin lips. “She is our freshest blood, you know."

Drew held her stare with ease. This wrinkled crone looked more like somebody's grandmother than the madam of a high-priced brothel, “Name your price."

She quoted a sum with the self-satisfied air of one who expected to shock him. Her price was exorbitant, but money was hardly an object for him. After all, he owned half of one of London's most successful shipping companies. He gave her a wink and said, “Done."

She looked somewhat surprised that he'd accepted the fee without the slightest haggling. “Very well. You'll not be disappointed."

Drew gave her a rakish smile. “At that price, I damn well better not be."

A mottled flush worked its way into Allison's pale, wrinkled cheeks as she turned to Brady. “And would you like Flora again, Viscount?"

Brady smiled. “Yes. She was more than satisfactory the last time."

The madam smiled at both men. “Come with me, then."

She led them down the narrow, shadowy hallway lined with doors, away from the heavy layer of scented air. Candles flickered in the gold sconces lining both walls, casting long, dancing shadows along the deep scarlet walls. Eight women worked for the madam. Eight women waited behind eight different doors and Drew couldn't help but wonder what awaited him.

Madam Allison stopped by a door with a gold 4 stenciled on it. “Viscount Danbury."

Brady gave Drew another wink. “Don't wait for me."

He shook his head at the mile-wide grin on Danbury's face. “You're incorrigible."

“Just you wait and see, old man. Just you wait and see."

Brady disappeared through the door, leaving Drew with the older woman. Allison slipped her arm through his. “Come along, then, Captain Kennedy."

He glanced down at the bony, gnarled hand curling over his forearm. Madam Allison had probably been quite a beauty in her day. She carried herself perfectly erect, her hair was shimmering silver thread caught up in an elegant chignon. Her blue eyes had faded with age, but still hinted that they'd once been a deep cornflower. Now, however, she held only the slightest hint of that beauty.

They approached a door at the very end of the hallway. Number eight. Madam Allison stopped before it and smiled up at him. “I guarantee this one, Captain Kennedy."

He returned the smile. “I'm certain you do, Madam. And, as I said, for the highway robbery you demanded, I expect the best."

Allison did not look the slightest bit abashed at his words. Instead, she merely bobbed her head and replied, “And you will not be disappointed."

With that, she turned to make her way back to the foyer, leaving him alone at the door. He stared down at the glinting crystal knob for a long moment, took a deep breath, and thrust it open. The girl sitting on the bed jumped as the door swung open. Her head jerked up and he was looking into the deepest, darkest eyes he'd ever seen.

“Oh, g-good evening,” she stammered, her face going scarlet as she got to her feet.

He closed the door and leaned back against it. “Good evening, yourself. I apologize for startling you, miss."

“No. No, please. I ought to apologize. I ought to have expected you, then.” Heather spoke slowly, as if carefully selecting each word. She held his gaze for a moment, even as a soft flush swept through her fair cheeks. “You sound American."

He smiled at the puzzlement in her voice. “That would be because I am an American."

“I see."

Tension tightened her body as his eyes moved slowly over her from head to toe. She was even lovelier than Brady had described. She was tiny, only a few inches over five feet, but most definitely striking. Her hair was dark chestnut, pulled up into an elegant fall of glossy curls. Her chestnut brows arched delicately against her fair skin, a shade lighter than the deep chocolate eyes that widened as they met his. Those dark eyes were glassy, her blush deepening, making its way into her hairline as he shrugged out of his frock coat and then pulled his shirt free from his trousers.

“Is something troubling you?” he asked mildly. Surely, this girl wasn't horrified by the thought of him removing his clothes. She was a courtesan. She must have seen dozens of men undressed.

His conscience twinged. She seemed too nervous, too innocent, to be here in a brothel. Then it troubled him that he should be troubled at all. This girl was nothing to him. She thought nothing of selling her body, so why should he be troubled by purchasing it for a few hours?

But troubled he was and it didn't sit well with him. His fingers paused at the throat of his shirt as he repeated, “Is something wrong?"

She seemed to come out of her reverie then. Shaking her head, she said, “No. No—not at all."

“Well, then. Come here."

She reluctantly circled the bed to stand before him. “Yes, sir."

Drew couldn't help but smile at her, wanting to ease her obvious discomfort. “Relax. I won't bite. I promise. I just want to get a better look at you. Perhaps even learn your name?"

She averted her eyes, glancing down at the floor as she mumbled her reply.

He frowned, catching her under the chin with a forefinger and lifting her head to meet his eyes. “I'm afraid I did not hear you, love."

“Heather, sir. My name is Heather Spencer.” She winced as her words emerged more than a mite squeaky.

Not wanting to embarrass her further, he did not so much as grin at her squeak, though it was cute. Smiling, he replied, “Well, Heather, let us get one thing straight. I am not a sir. My name is Drew, and I prefer it to sir."

“Yes, sir."

“Drew,” he corrected gently.

“Drew."

“Much better.” He trailed a finger over her cheek. “Much better, indeed.” He lowered his hand to skim a finger along her jaw and down the side of her neck. Her skin rose up into goose bumps beneath his touch, encouraging him as he continued caressing her collarbone. Tracing over her flesh, he savored the smooth, silken feel of it, and smiled as her eyes grew heavy-lidded, her head tilting slightly to one side.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing where his fingers had been on her collarbone before shifting, moving up to caress the slope of her neck. The soft, delicate lilac scent of her perfume tickled his nose, a far cry from the heavy sweetness of the foyer.

She remained stiff against his lips, unyielding as he slid an arm about her waist. He pulled away to gaze down into her eyes once more. “I promise you, you can relax. I'll not hurt you."

“I'm sorry...” she murmured.

“Don't apologize. Enough with the apologies.” He let his arm drop to his side and took a step back. “So far, you've done nothing to be sorry for."

With that, he moved around her to approach the decanter on the dressing table. He poured himself a glass and took a swallow. As he expected, the brandy was smooth and mellow. He turned back to Heather and said, “Would you care for a drink?"

He held her gaze, awaiting her response as she paused. She had yet to relax, despite his overtures, and he didn't miss how her hand came up to brush the neckline of her tawdry gown. Her fingers bent slightly about the stiff lace, as if she was fighting back the urge to grab hold and tug up her bodice. It caught and held his attention, and she must've noticed his stare, for the flush in her cheeks spread down into her neck and blossomed outward.

“No, thank you,” she finally replied, pulling her hand away from her gown to gesture to the glass in his hand. “I'd rather not, if you don't mind."

“I don't mind at all.” He finished his drink and set the glass down. It was hard to miss her muffled gasp as he reached up to the throat of his shirt to part the fabric. Her blush grew deeper still and he shook his head, saying, “I have to admit, Miss Heather, you are not exactly what I expected."

“So you make it a habit, then? Of visiting brothels, that is?"

Her sharp response sounded very much like a scolding, but the lack of force in her voice rendered it the most ineffective scolding he'd ever heard. It was impossible to do much more than grin again as he shook his head, his hands going still. “Ah, so there is a bit of fire in you. Glad to see it. But, in answer to your question, no I'm not in the habit of visiting brothels. I simply meant that you just do not look like one who should be working in such a place."

“Really, now?” She knew she shouldn't let him irritate her. Hadn't Madam Allison told her repeatedly that her opinions did not matter? She was to be pleasant and agreeable, no matter what the circumstance.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her roiling belly. After all, she knew he hadn't paid the madam for conversation, but she was uncertain as to what to do next. Should she undress herself, or would he prefer that honor? Should she simply slip her arms about his neck? Or would there be no kissing, as Sally preferred?

It was Sally who'd warned Heather about the dangers of kissing in their line of work, insisting that kissing was far too intimate and intimate was far too dangerous, as it led to grandiose notions and hopes that could never come into being. As for herself, Heather wasn't at all certain what would be the best approach for her and thusly, hadn't decided if she'd kiss a gentleman or not.

It wasn't usually a problem, Sally explained, as few of the men passing through were interested in kissing. Intimacy on that level was not high on their list of reasons for being at Delilah's.

Heather lowered her lashes so she could sneak a peek at Drew's lips. She knew she wouldn't mind kissing him. Somehow, she had the feeling he would not disappoint her. Of course, her experience with kissing was somewhat limited, so she wasn't exactly sure how he could disappoint her.

Drew cleared his throat as he stepped closer to her. “I meant no offense, Miss Heather."

“Please, do stop calling me ‘miss',” she said, looking up at him. “I mean, unless of course, you wish to."

“There is no need to play games with me.” He took another step closer. “I am not about to complain to Madam Allison. You don't have to agree with everything I say. In fact, you don't have to agree to anything you don't wish to.” He closed the distance between them.

“I don't?"

“Absolutely not."

“But, Madam has said—"

“I don't give a damn what that old crone said. She certainly does not dictate to me, especially after the exorbitant price she fetched for you. Tell me, why would you go for so steep a price, love?"

As he spoke, he traced his fingertip along her cheek again. Her eyelids drooped a tad, as if she wanted nothing more than to lean into his hand, to snuggle her cheek against it. It was quite heady, actually, feeling her surrender. That's what she did, though she most likely hadn't realized it.

It became apparent that she hadn't as she sleepily murmured, “I—I've no idea. I don't even know what she asked. Not that it matters. It is her money. Hers alone."

“You mean, you do not even see a percentage of it?"

She shook her head. “No. Not for at least six months."

Drew was certain he couldn't have heard her correctly. Why would any lady of the evening agree to such terms? “Six months?"

It was as though she'd suddenly realized what she said. Jerking her head up and away from his hand, she stammered, “Pl-please, do forget I said anything."

Lowering his hand, he frowned at her. “You are new at this, aren't you? I've a feeling a seasoned lady would not have wasted all this time with chitchat."

She felt a hint of defensiveness at his knowing tone. “I've no wish to discuss this any further. Now, sir, shall we take care of what you came here to take care of?"

Drew threw back his head and laughed. “That has to be the most succinct way of saying it that I've ever heard.” He reached for his shirt for a third time. “But, if you insist..."

This time, the breath was snatched from her throat as he parted the white silk covering his chest. What had been a hint of black hair earlier now spread out over the muscled rise of his chest, thinning down into a trail down his flat belly before disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice now husky.

She took a tentative step towards him. “Yes?"

Drew smiled again, and it was the most sensual smile she'd ever seen. Somehow, she didn't think he was a novice with women. It seemed he was quite experienced in the art of seduction. His smile sent a rush through her, a rush she'd never felt before, one that sent her toes to curling once more. Some of the terror she'd been feeling faded away as she took another step towards him.

“I wish to see what goes with this lovely face,” he said softly, drawing her into his arms.

She froze, feeling his fingers on her back, tugging the silk cord holding her gown together. A slight breeze skittered over her flesh as he parted the fabric easily. A slight tug, and the gown slipped from her shoulders. It poured from her, pooling about her ankles.

She stood before him, her hair tumbling over her shoulders—the only thing shielding her from his eyes. She fought the urge to cover herself as he stepped back and his eyes roamed over her length. She had never felt so uncomfortable in her entire life, wanting to fidget beneath that heavy, indigo gaze.

His eyes were even darker now as he whispered, “Stunning. Absolutely stunning."

Tears stung her eyes as she realized what was coming next. She blinked them back, trying to ignore her growing embarrassment, fighting not to squirm before him. No man had ever looked at her with such unabashed lust in his eyes. Until now, Heather had never really known what a lustful look was, but Drew was giving her a most powerful introduction to it.

His hands cupped her shoulders now, heat seeping into her flesh, sending another rush through her entire body. A sudden curiosity gripped her. She wanted to know what lay hidden beneath his clothing as well.

His fingers caressed her bared skin, slipping up her neck to cradle her face. He tilted her head back and her eyes closed as he brought his lips down to capture hers. If his kisses gave any indication, Heather thought she just might enjoy her time with this man. His lips were dry and warm, thoroughly enticing, as they moved against hers.

Maybe Sally wouldn't have kissed him, but she would never know how she'd deprived herself by refusing to do so. His kiss was wonderful, a gentle caress that left her feeling more than a bit lightheaded and weak-kneed.

She felt a fluttering deep in the pit of her belly, like fingers gently tickling her from the inside. Her heartbeat quickened as her eyelids grew heavy. But it wasn't an unpleasant heaviness. Rather, her limbs seemed to go buttery as warmth spread through her. His kiss was very nice. Very nice, indeed.

She started at the insistent pressure of his tongue against her closed mouth. She'd never kissed a man this way, was hesitant to let him proceed, but he was relentless. She had no choice but to part her lips and let him in, to bend to his will.

His tongue caressed hers, entwining with hers to draw it back into his mouth. He tasted faintly of mint, and of course the brandy, but it wasn't an unpleasant combination. It felt a bit odd at first, then her blood seemed to bubble through her veins. The flutterings grew stronger, spiraling outward from her core and making it difficult for her to breathe.

The pleasantness drained from her though as she felt his fingers brush her left breast. It came flooding back to her—what she was about to do with this man. She went completely still, fighting the instinct to pull away from him.

He pulled away then, slightly out of breath as he murmured, “What is it, love? You seem almost afraid of me. I've already told you, I'll not hurt you."

She shook her head. “No. It isn't that I am afraid. At least, not of you."

“Of what, then?"

“Never mind that. It is unimportant, really.” She took a deep breath, knowing there would be no turning back as she said, “Now, shall we get you undressed?"

Three

He caught her wrist as she reached for the fastenings of his trousers. “Wait a moment."

“Yes?"

He caught her beneath the chin with his free hand once more, tilting her face to his. “Why are there tears in your eyes?"

She forced herself to hold his gaze. His face was blurry, as her eyes nearly overflowed. The gentleness in his eyes did nothing to ease those tears, though. She hadn't expected her first gentleman to be so kind, and she wasn't the least bit certain what he expected now. He thoroughly confused her, making her discomfort even worse.

Of course, she could not say that, so instead she said the first thing that came to mind. “I've no idea what you mean. Now, shall we?"

He leaned forward, brushing her forehead with his lips. “Get dressed."

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, certain she could not have heard him correctly.

“I said, get dressed. I've no intention of sleeping with you."

Oh, dear. This was not what was supposed to happen. Madam Allison was going to be furious with her. How was she going to explain this? “But, Madam Alli—"

“Don't worry about the wrinkled old prune,” he told her gruffly. “It is my money and I'll spend it how I see fit. You do not belong here."

“But, I do belong here."

“Oh, do you now? Is that why you are crying? Am I so repulsive to you, then?"

She frowned. How could he possibly be serious? How could any woman find him repulsive? If anything, he was far too handsome for his own good. “I beg your pardon?"

“Does the idea of taking me to your bed bring tears to your eyes? It seems to be doing just that."

She sighed, knowing she was going to catch hell from the madam when he demanded his money be returned to him. She had an enormous debt to work off and it would never be paid if she welled up each time a man entered her room. There had to be some way to diffuse the situation, before it was too late and he stormed out. “No. It isn't you."

He grinned. “I suppose I ought to be relieved to hear that. What is it then? But before you pour your heart out to me, please, let me help you dress."

She crouched down to tug her gown back into place, allowing him to catch her by the shoulders and turn her so he could re-lace it. “I need only a moment. Then we can—"

“Do not trouble yourself about that, Heather. You look so miserable. Please, tell me, why the misery?” He lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed.

She didn't want to look at him. Sitting on the red velvet coverlet, with his shirt still open, Drew was far too desirable, despite her reservations. If only the thought of joining him didn't fill her with such terror, such shame. “I think, perhaps, we ought to—"

“Heather, enough. You have my word that I'll not demand my money be returned to me. As I said earlier, this isn't a habit of mine. To begin with I must admit, it bothers me some that I'm even here in the first place."

“Really, now?"

He nodded, clasping his hands, letting them dangle between his knees. “I don't frequent brothels."

“So, why are you here, then? I mean to say, if you don't usually...” Her voice trailed off as a fresh wave of embarrassment squeezed her belly.

He smiled as her eyes widened and her voice faded away. “A friend of mine. Now he frequents such establishments quite regularly. He told me of one of the girls here. A new girl who was so beautiful I had to see her for myself.” His eyes caught hers and held her gaze. “And I do believe I have."

Heather felt heat creep into her cheeks, but it was a nice heat. A ripple of satisfaction flowed through her. No one had ever told her she was beautiful and it did wonders for her to hear this man say he found her so. More so than she would have thought. “Now, you might be mistaken."

He shook his head. “I don't think so. Now tell me, why is it you are here?"

She hedged, not wanting to go into the sad, sordid details of how she found her way to Delilah's. It embarrassed her almost as much as being there did. “Let's simply say it is a matter of circumstance."

“I see. Six months’ worth of circumstances?"

“Something like that."

“Well, it must be a winner, whatever it is. At what Allison charged me, you must be into her for a king's ransom."

“Did she charge you a hefty sum, then?"

Drew told her how much gold had changed hands and she couldn't help her gasp. “That much?"

His eyes narrowed then, the smile melting from his face. “Are you a virgin, my dear lady of the evening?” he asked softly.

Now her face burned, growing hotter by the moment. It wasn't something she'd ever expected to be asked. Did her foolish innocence show so clearly? She couldn't meet his eyes as she whispered, “Yes."

“What the hell are you doing here, then?"

Her back stiffened. “I do not wish to discuss it."

Drew could see the color deepening in her cheeks. He'd known the answer to his question almost immediately. She was no experienced courtesan. Her movements were too hesitant, her eyes too wide, too innocent. Even with his limited exposure to ladies of the evening, he knew.

He felt the sigh rising up. She should not be here, surrendering her virginity to an unknown man. She did not belong in this tawdry little room. She appeared to be a lady thoroughly, despite her best intentions to be professional. He recognized this hesitancy, her fear-filled eyes, and knew he could not go through with bedding her.

It was disappointing, to say the least. She was so lovely, so soft in his arms. Her lips were sweet, her taste sweeter still and he had the feeling that such sweetness would only grow stronger. Still, that feeling of something being terribly wrong pervaded him. She might be willing to surrender her virginity to him in this awful little room, but Drew knew he could never relieve her of it. Not under these circumstances.

“You don't belong here, Heather. Your hands are those of a lady, your demeanor is that of a lady. In fact, everything about you all but screams lady. Why are you whoring yourself, then?"

The anger in his voice surprised her, but it also riled her own temper. “And why is it you care so much? I've already told you I will make certain you get your money's worth."

“I don't give a damn about the money, Heather. I do, however, hate to see you ruin yourself when you appear to be of a higher station in life."

“You know nothing about me."

“Oh, don't I?” he retorted, folding his arms over his chest.

“No. You don't."

He unfolded his arms, holding his hands out palm up. “Do you see these? These are the hands of one who works. Rough. Calloused. Beat to hell. Now these, on the other hand—” he grabbed her wrists, twisting her hands palm up, “these are soft, unblemished. They are hands of leisure. A lady in every sense of the word. So, why is a lady here?"

“Well over eight hundred pounds."

He whistled. “Six months, eh? In six months, you'll be quite the old hand at this, won't you? But I doubt you'll fetch so high a price."

“Thank you.” Sarcasm dripped from her dry reply.

“Eight hundred pounds, you say?"

“Yes."

He was quiet for a moment. Then, he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair. “There is a way out of this, I suppose."

Still, she found she held her breath as he said, “I could help you."

“Why would you do that?"

“I've a weakness for the underdog, I suppose."

She couldn't believe what she thought she heard. Was it possible that he was serious? Should she dare hope that he was? The flutter in her belly now was one of hope.

Of course, she'd have to be a complete ninny to think he would offer her aid without expecting something in return. Innocent though she was, Heather was not so naïve as to think he'd do this simply out of the goodness of his heart. There would be a price for her as well.

Her hopes sunk a bit as she murmured, “But I've no way to repay you."

The gleam was back in his eyes as he turned to her. “Of course you do."

Her stomach gave a lurch. “I do?"

He smiled. “Most definitely."

She wasn't so certain she liked the sound of that, nor was she certain she liked that gleam in his eyes. Still, there was nothing he could suggest that would be worse than being trapped at Delilah's, was there? There was only one way to find out. “And what might that be?"

“I'm going to be in London for several more weeks yet. I will pay your debt. In return, you will be my mistress for the duration of my stay in London."

“What?"

“I will, in effect, buy you from Madam Allison. And in return, you become my mistress while I am here in London."

She bit her bottom lip. It didn't sound like such a terrible bargain, actually. She would be free of Madam Allison for good, and being Drew's mistress might not be so horrible. He was handsome and kind, and apparently, he was wealthy enough to help her out without a second thought.

“I become your mistress?"

“Mine solely. I prefer not to share my women."

She mulled it over for a moment. Being a mistress would mean reclaiming her life, giving her some control over it once more. It was a start to getting her life back again. Glancing around the cramped little room, she knew what her answer would be.

She lifted her eyes to Drew's, one question still lingering in her mind. “Before I answer you, I need know, for how long must I agree to do this?"

He smiled as if expecting that very question. “I promise you'll not have to put up with me for more than six, possibly eight, weeks."

She took a deep breath, knowing there was no backing out now. “Very well, then. We have a deal."

Drew got to his feet. “Wonderful. I will be back in the morning. And we shall take it from there, I suppose."

A flash of panic shot through her. “You're leaving, then?"

“I don't carry that kind of money on my person, Heather. I'd be asking for trouble."

She knew that when he left, there would be no guarantee that he would in fact, return. She might be trapped there, under Madam Allison's thumb, for the next six months. “Yes, I understand that, but—"

Drew cupped her cheek in his hand. “I will be back, Heather. You have my word on that. I will most definitely be back. I've seen but a hint of your beauty. I have every intention of seeing the rest of it."

She felt the blush rise again. She knew what he expected of her as his mistress, knew that she would one day soon share his bed. Her blush burned hotter at the thought.

He smiled, leaning forward to brush her lips with a gentle kiss. “I will see you tomorrow, Heather."

And then he was gone, lifting his frock coat from the chaise and disappearing through the door. Heather pressed her hand flat against the cool wood, wondering if she would ever see the handsome, black-haired American again.

Four

The next morning, Madam Allison woke Heather before noon by knocking furiously on her door. Heather sat bolt upright, her heart pounding as she reached for her pelisse and slipped into it, rubbing her eyes with one hand.

She kicked back the covers and padded over to the door. “Yes?"

“Open the door, Heather. I need to speak with you."

Heather frowned. Madam Allison didn't sound angry, but she didn't sound happy, either. She wondered what Allison could want with her so early in the day. Even if Drew didn't return, Heather knew there would be no men until well after dark. Sunlight and strumpets simply did not mix.

She smothered a rising yawn. Madam Allison had brought no other gentlemen to her room, which she found odd. Still, despite the unexpected reprieve, it had taken her forever to fall asleep. Anticipation mingled with a hint of fear at what she'd agreed to do. She was actually going to be leaving Delilah's to become mistress to a man she barely knew. She had no clue what awaited her, but it was a heady rush all the same. That rush refused to still itself and as a result, she'd done a fair amount of tossing and turning before her mind finally relented and allowed her to drift off.

She pulled open the door to find Madam Allison beaming at her. The woman seemed happier than Heather had seen since her arrival. “I do not know what you did to that man last night, love, but you certainly made him happy."

“I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't understand."

“That young American buck what was here last eve. Whatever you did certainly made an impression. Not only did he pay for the entire evening in your company, but he was here not less than an hour ago to pay off your papa's debt.” Allison's blue eyes were practically dancing with glee.

“He was?” The rush was back, filling her with a joy she hadn't felt in ages. That explained why she'd been left alone following Drew's departure. She was free. Thank heavens, she was free.

“Yes, love. And he left this note for you."

Heather accepted the folded, sealed note, noting the elegant K emblazoned in the dollop of red sealing wax. So Drew's surname began with a K. At least she knew that much now. “Thank you, Madam Allison."

“I must admit, though, that I am sorry to see you go, Heather. You could make quite a tidy sum, based on this. Quite the tidy sum, indeed."

Heather didn't know what to say. Apparently Drew had made no mention of the fact that he didn't actually bed her. She wasn't about to inform the madam, either. If Drew wanted Allison to believe Heather had dazzled him, who was she to say otherwise?

The old woman smiled down at her. “You have two hours to gather your things, Heather. I've already arranged for another girl to come in to take your place."

“Of course."

With that, Madam Allison swept back out of the room, leaving Heather to stare at the heavy paper she held. Her hand shook slightly as she cracked the wax seal and unfolded the missive.

She moved back to her bed, sinking down onto the soft tick and smoothing the letter flat on her bed as she pored over the elegant penmanship flowing over the stationery. Her heart fluttered as she read:

"Heather,

As promised, I've settled your debt with Madam Allison. I've arranged for a driver to meet you at Delilah's for half-past two this afternoon. He will know where to bring you.

I've left word with the housekeeper—Mrs. Markham—that you will be arriving today. I've also taken into account that your wardrobe might leave a bit to be desired, so I've arranged for you to meet with Mary Cartwright. I've been told she is most competent when it comes to ladies’ fashions. You are to procure anything you need and have the bills sent directly to me. Enjoy yourself.

I will be home by half-past six this evening. Supper will be served at eight o'clock and dress appropriately. I will see you then...

Yours,

Drew Kennedy

Heather looked down to see her hands shaking. She had actually agreed to this. How could she possibly go through with this? Wasn't it as bad as working at Delilah's?

“No. It cannot be. It cannot be anywhere near as bad as this,” she whispered, rereading the note once more. Mary Cartwright, indeed. She was only the top couturier in London. She was more than competent.

She refolded the note, tucking it into the folds of a chemise as she packed her one satchel. Drew was correct, she didn't have a very appropriate wardrobe. Most of her finery had been sold to pay off IOUs all over London. She owned only two presentable gowns. One a lovely jade silk and the other, a sunny yellow day gown. They were all that remained from a wardrobe that had once been a rainbow of colors in silks, satins, brocades, velvet, and muslin.

She sighed as she lifted the satchel and left her room, deciding she'd rather await the driver in the foyer. The sooner she was out of that tawdry little room, the better she'd feel. Sally seemed to be awaiting her in the hallway outside her door, her hazel eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “Madam told me you are leaving already."

“I am.” Heather set the satchel on the red and gold carpet.

“Where are you going?"

Heather hesitated for a moment. “I—I..."

“Madam said that a gentleman was here earlier, that you were going with him. Is that true?"

Heather felt a flash of annoyance. Was nothing sacred? Did Madam Allison have no sense of discretion? She didn't really want anyone to know what her new position was. True, it was better than being a trollop. A man's mistress didn't have to hope no one ever found out about her, but it still was not a position she thought she would find herself occupying.

Still, there was no sense in lying to Sally. She had been Heather's closest friend since she arrived. “Yes. I'm afraid it's true."

“Really? The gentleman who came in with Brady St. Charles?"

“Viscount Danbury?” Heather knew the St. Charles family, had known them since she was a child, but she had no idea that the heir to the Danbury title frequented houses of ill repute. She was stunned to hear that her childhood friend had been there the previous evening.

“I believe so. According to Flora, this Brady fellow arrived with a friend. A gentleman named Drew."

“Yes. Drew. That would be him, then."

“Really?” Sally breathed. “Flora said he is an American! A very wealthy American, no less."

“Flora has a big mouth,” Heather replied bluntly.

“Oh, but he must be wealthy, to have paid off what you owed Allison. Oh, Heather, do you have any idea how fortunate you are? I would kill to have a wealthy suitor take me away from all of this.” She sighed wistfully. “It must be so wonderful."

That remained to be seen. “Well, it is only temporary."

“Still. You cannot deny what an incredible opportunity it is."

Before Heather could reply, Flora emerged from the drawing room. “Heather, there is a man here claiming he's your driver."

“Ah, yes. Well, I guess that is that, then.” Heather turned to Sally. “Take care of yourself, Sally."

Sally threw her arms around Heather's neck. “I will miss you so, Heather. Please don't forget me, then?"

Heather couldn't help but return the embrace. She would miss Sally as well. “Of course not."

After a long moment, she pulled away. “I suppose I should go, then. Goodbye, Sally and take care. I am certain I will see you again."

Sally's hazel eyes were serious as she said, “No, you won't. You don't belong here. You're not like us. Now, go."

Heather picked up her satchel and, after saying a quick goodbye to Flora, made her way down the narrow staircase to the door. The butterflies returned as she thought about what would happen once she left Delilah's. Her palms grew damp as she said her final goodbyes to the madam. It was the moment she'd dreamed of since first arriving, but fear filled her as well. The unknown loomed before her as she picked up her satchel and walked through the door.

She stepped out into a gray London afternoon to find a slender man with silver hair, dressed entirely in black, waiting on the sidewalk. An elegant black coach was also there, the horses waiting patiently.

“Miss Heather?"

She nodded. “Yes."

“I am Jameson, my dear. Captain Kennedy requested I pick you up and bring you to his residence” His gray-blue eyes were nonjudgmental as he reached for her satchel. “Allow me, miss."

“Thank you, Mr. Jameson."

“No ‘Mr.', miss. Just Jameson is fine.” He stowed her satchel and took her hand to help her into the carriage.

She sank back into the rich purple velvet upholstery of the spacious coach that would seat six people quite comfortably. The ride was smooth over the cobblestones, lulling her into a state of drowsiness. It was a welcome relief from the relentless anxiety knotting her stomach.

When they stopped, she pushed aside the curtain to peer out the window. She could see the elegant townhouse in Grosvenor Square and wondered what an American was doing claiming this as his address.

A renewed feeling of apprehension washed over her. What if she had been too naïve, too trusting? What might she be getting herself into, offering herself to this man so suddenly? It was entirely possible that she was walking into a situation far worse than the one she'd just left.

Before she could continue to second-guess herself, the door opened and Jameson said, “Allow me, miss."

She stepped down from the carriage. “This is the house?"

“Yes, miss. Captain Kennedy and Lord Collingsworth are old friends. This is where Captain Kennedy stays when he is in London."

“He knows the Marquis of Collingsworth?” She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. She only knew of the family, as her own family did not move about in the same social circle as the marquis, although she had once seen the dashing Lord Collingsworth. She couldn't help but be impressed that Drew seemed to know the right people. Little by little, she could feel her apprehension ebb away.

Jameson led her into the town house. “Miss Cartwright will be here shortly, Miss Heather. Ellen will take you to your chambers."

At that, a tall, slender woman with piercing gray eyes and dark blonde hair skinned back in a tight, prim bun, appeared. “Miss Heather?"

“Yes."

“I am Mrs. Markham. Please, do follow me, then."

Heather did as she was told, following the woman to the second floor. There she was led to a bedroom at the end of a narrow hall.

Mrs. Markham pressed her lips together as she thrust open the door and motioned for Heather to enter the room. “This is your chamber. Now, you do understand, Lord Collingsworth is my employer, not Captain Kennedy. And I feel I must tell you, I find this in highly poor taste, a man bringing his mistress into a bachelor's residence. Very poor taste indeed."

“I am sorry you feel that way,” Heather replied stiffly, summoning as much haughtiness as she could. “But, I feel the need to remind you that I am still a guest of Lord Collingsworth by association. As such, I'll not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner. You will address me with the proper respect or the marquis will receive an earful about it."

That seemed to have struck a nerve, for Mrs. Markham's back stiffened and she bobbed her head sharply, saying, “Of course, my lady. I beg your pardon, of course."

Heather ignored the last sentence, giving Mrs. Markham the sternest look she could muster. “And you will let me know when Miss Cartwright arrives, won't you?"

“Of course, my lady."

“That will be all then.” Heather waved her away with an airy hand. “You may take your leave now."

Once she was alone, she did a little dance across the room. “Oh heavens, that felt wonderful! No matter what has happened, I am still of a higher station than a housekeeper. That will never change. My blood is acceptable, even if my past is not."

It'd been quite some time since Heather felt like her old self—like the young woman who'd been raised amidst a gaggle of servants obeying her every command. It felt good, to say the least. It was a glimmer of the lady she'd once been and the one she could now hope to be once more.

She sighed, leaning back against the closed door to survey the room. It was most definitely the bedroom of a man. Dark woods, masculine colors, not a touch of feminine detail anywhere. The furnishings were simple, almost plain, really. Yet they were utterly elegant. She would wager the four-poster bed cost more than most people earned in a year. The armoire, the desk, the chest of drawers were all plain in appearance, but she knew they were most likely carved of expensive woods. The heavy dark gray draperies were tied back with heavy braids of gold cord, and white sheers fluttered in the slight breeze. The floor was bare, save for a green and gold Persian carpet beneath the bed, and waxed to a near-blinding shine.

Her eyes fell on a heavy, brown leather chair in the far corner, a man's shirt and trousers draped over its back. Beneath the chair, a pair of gleaming Hessians lay; one atop the other. She smiled, walking over to catch the fine lawn shirt between her fingers. Drew's clothes. He would be back. For the first time in nearly three weeks, she felt herself relax.

Perhaps everything would work out after all.

* * * *

The rest of the afternoon was eaten up with the arrival of the seamstress. Just as Drew had instructed Heather, so had he apparently instructed Mary Cartwright, for the woman came armed to the teeth with patterns and fabric selections. It took several hours, but when she was finished, she'd selected four gowns. Two were silk, one in robin's egg blue and one in lavender. The other was a pale peach muslin day dress. The last was an elegant evening gown of gold velvet with a shimmering gold satin skirt.

After the seamstress left, Heather summoned one of the maids to draw her bath. She soaked until the rose-scented water cooled, and then dressed for Drew's arrival in the prettier of the two gowns she owned—the deep jade silk with silver piping and embroidery along the bodice.

She stood before the mirror in the far corner of Drew's room, fussing with her hair as she tried to arrange it in a complicated series of soft chestnut curls pulled up and away from her face. She wanted to look as lovely as possible when he returned. She wasn't going to give him any reason to question his decision to help her.

At seven o'clock, while she finished her toilette, there came a soft knock at the door. She hurried over to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.

Drew smiled at her from over the threshold. “Good evening, Miss Heather. I trust that was respectful enough for your liking?"

She heard the soft teasing tone of his voice and couldn't help but smile. “Who told you?"

“Mrs. Markham. Seems you put her in her place this afternoon.” He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning up against it.

Heather felt a flush of embarrassment. She hadn't counted on the housekeeper complaining to Drew about her treatment. Perhaps her reaction to Mrs. Markham overstepped her bounds. Her feeling of satisfaction dissolved a tad. “Oh, yes. That ... well, I suppose I forgot I am a guest here."

He gave an airy wave of his hand. “I wouldn't worry about her. She's a sourpuss to begin with. I think Collingsworth tends to be a little too lenient where his staff is concerned. Mrs. Markham seems to think that she is the lady of the manor.” He lowered playful cobalt eyes to hers. “However, that seems to be your role, is it not?"

He certainly didn't seem upset. A soft laugh bubbled to her lips. Relieved laughter. “I suppose it is."

“Well, you do look lovely, Miss Heather. I almost wish we were going on the town this evening. I'd love to show you off."

“But that would not be proper, I am afraid. A man does not take out his mistress in public."

He pushed away from the door, lifting his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Ah, but I am a beastly American, remember? I can be forgiven for doing something so crass. In fact, it's almost expected that I'd do something so crass. I'd hate to be the ruination for the image, you know."

Heather smiled. “Yes, well, I don't suppose I could be ruined any further."

“You're not ruined at all, love. Unless, of course, you had another—ah—visitor after I left."

She felt the heat creep into her face. “No. I went to sleep."

“Did the Cartwright woman arrive this afternoon?"

“She did. I ordered four gowns."

“Only four?” Drew shook his head. “No, that will hardly do. You see, I fully intend to parade you about town over the next six weeks."

“Do you now?"

He grinned. “Oh, absolutely. Remember, I am a beastly American. I pay little heed to rules and the like."

Heather shook her head. He certainly seemed to be the playful sort, this large American with the sparkling cerulean eyes. “You do have a bit of the devil in you, don't you?"

“You have no idea, love.” He gestured to his cravat. “Tell me, will you look down on me if I remove this? It's driving me mad."

“Not at all."

He quickly unwound the neck cloth, leaving it to hang limply. “I never liked these things."

“Is this acceptable for supper?” she asked, smoothing a hand down the length of her skirt.

He gave her a long up-and-down look, slipping the cravat from his neck and carefully refolding it. “Quite acceptable, Miss Heather. You look beautiful."

A warm flush filled her and she couldn't help but smile. “I thank you."

He tossed the cravat onto the dressing table, pausing before the mirror to rake his fingers through his hair before turning to offer her his arm. “Shall we go down?"

She slipped her arm through his, marveling at the solid swell of muscle coiled about his forearm. “Absolutely."

Five

Supper was a most elegant affair. Drew had to admit that Ellen Markham had done a fantastic job in arranging the intimate meal. Collingsworth's dining room table could easily seat fifteen people, but the housekeeper managed to make it seem an intimate table indeed. Elegant white tapers flickered in the polished silver candelabra in the center of the table, casting dancing shadows along the pale blue walls. The crystal goblets and chandelier caught the reflections, sparkling brightly. The scent of the fresh flowers picked that afternoon from Collingsworth's gardens filled the room with their sweet perfume.

He sipped his wine, glancing over the lip of his crystal goblet at the woman sitting across from him. Miss Heather Spencer. An obviously prim and proper English lady, working in a house of sin. It made no sense. What sort of man would gamble and whore away his daughter's security, her future?

There was something so vulnerable about Heather Spencer, something that made him want to protect her. He'd felt it the moment he looked into those soulful dark eyes.

Heather told him her father owed the madam eight hundred pounds. Allison refused to accept that, claiming Matthew Spencer truly owed twice that amount. He'd gotten her down to nine hundred, and could see the greed in her eyes as he paid her in gold. It seemed a bargain to him in order to get Heather out of that den of sin.

As he sat across from her, his mind wandered back to the night before, when he could see the delicate curves of her breasts through her thick hair. The gown she wore now was quite simple—the scooped neckline giving him a slight peek at her décolletage, but nowhere near what he'd seen in the shadowy candlelight at Delilah's.

He smiled at her. “So, do tell me a bit about yourself, Miss Heather."

“Please, I must insist that you do stop calling me ‘Miss'. Heather is fine."

“I'll do no such thing. I may be a beastly American, but I am always a gentleman when with a lady."

“Now, who has told you that you are beastly?"

“I've heard mutterings behind my back.” Drew swallowed another mouthful of wine. “Is the duck not to your liking? I noticed you've barely touched it."

“Oh, no. It's quite good, actually."

“A bit nervous, are you?"

“Nervous?"

He couldn't contain his grin as her voice cracked on that one word, giving her away at once. “About what is to come later."

“Oh.” Color flooded her cheeks. “That."

He dabbed at his lips with a snowy linen napkin. “You've nothing to fear, Heather. Trust me. I've yet to turn a woman to stone."

“Oh, now that would be silly."

“And yet you blush, my lady. If you wish, we do not have to do anything tonight. We can wait until you are a bit more settled,” Drew said, setting down his silverware.

“You'd not mind?"

“I can wait a few more evenings, my lady.” It wasn't his first choice, of course, but he did not wish to rush her. He knew she was nervous enough at the thought of his bedding her. He had no desire to make the situation worse.

“I've told you my story, but you've yet to tell me about you,” she replied, poking at the carrots on her plate. “Are you in London only for business?"

He mulled over her question, absently stroking the stem of his wine goblet. “Not entirely, no. I enjoy Europe. There are some beautiful cities to visit, both here and on the Continent."

She sighed, a wistful gleam coming into her eyes. “Yes, you can say that again. When I was younger, my family used to travel quite extensively. Scotland, France, and Spain were favorite destinations. Scotland was always my favorite. It's so wild and open there, and such a far cry from London."

“I can imagine."

“Have you been, then?"

He shook his head. “No. The wild is not exactly where my interests lie. I prefer the bustle of the cities. If I wanted wild, I'd stay in America."

“I imagine that is quite the wilderness, indeed. I've never been to America, but I imagine it to be overrun with savages."

“Oh, hardly, my lady. It's quite civilized, actually. In fact, we even have cities just as London. You would be amazed.” His reply was a bit harsher than he'd intended, but for some reason he felt compelled to defend America against her misguided notions.

Her cheeks glowed pink. “I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you."

“No. It's me who should apologize. I should not get so defensive. I suppose that beastly American ideal bothers me more than I let on."

“Excuse me, Captain Kennedy?"

Drew turned to see Mrs. Markham standing in the doorway. “Yes?"

“A Mr. Walker is here to see you. He says it is most urgent that he speak with you."

“Adam is here?” Drew was surprised to hear this. Adam Walker was his father's closest friend and had been second in command of Eagleton Imports before selling his shares to Drew the previous year. Adam still involved himself in the operation, but on a much lesser scale.

“Yes, sir. I asked him to wait in the drawing room."

Drew turned to Heather, pushing his chair away from the table. “If you will excuse me a moment, my lady."

She nodded. “Of course."

He rose from his chair and followed the sour-faced housekeeper from the dining room. He couldn't help but wonder what Adam was doing in London, for he seldom sailed these days. A sudden feeling of dread struck him. He hoped Adam wasn't there as the bearer of bad news. What if tragedy had befallen his family? A sense of urgency quickened his strides down the hall, to the drawing room at the front of the town house.

Adam Walker was pacing the small, square room, pulling a hand relentlessly through his sandy blonde hair. He looked up just as Drew stepped into the room.

“Adam, what are you doing here in London?” Drew asked, not bothering with greetings. “Has something happened back home?"

Adam gave him a reassuring smile, though his gray-blue eyes were troubled. “No. Everything is fine, Drew. I know my appearance is a bit of a surprise, but I can assure you, all is well. It's simply that Warren sent me abroad to check on things at the offices here, and I think he had an inkling that you were here as well. But, since no one has heard from you in nearly a year—well, I think you can figure that out for yourself.” He halted his relentless pacing. “It's a good thing I popped into the office. There is a problem with one of the shipments."

Drew groaned. “Don't even tell me Dixon is haggling over prices again."

“I see you've had this problem with him before."

Another groan. Albert Dixon was determined to be the greatest thorn in his side Drew had ever had. It was Dixon's scheme to quote one price for a cargo, but then attempt to inflate it until it bordered on the obscene. Should the shipper not act quickly enough, Dixon would then sell it to another, but stick the first with the forfeiture charge. Drew had spent more time than he cared to recall haggling with the merchant, but Eagleton did a great deal of business with Dixon Unlimited, so he knew he'd never be rid of the man.

He sighed sharply, knowing he had no choice but to go down to the harbor now, even at this late hour. It was the last thing he wished to do. Given the choice between haggling with a greedy merchant or holding a beautiful woman in his arms, it wasn't a difficult choice to make.

He couldn't contain his impatient sigh. “I am a bit in the middle of something."

“I've no authority in the matter, Drew. You know that. Nor do I want the authority. I've dealt with Dixon far too often in the past. Since you are here, it has become your headache."

“A little revenge then, for my supposed desertion, Adam?"

“Your family is worried about you,” he replied simply.

Drew supposed he was right, but that didn't make the pill any easier to swallow. “Very well. The headache is mine, as you say, so I shall deal with it at once."

“I've a carriage waiting. I'll go with you."

“Excuse me a moment. There is something I need to take care of before I leave."

Drew returned to the dining room, where Heather looked up as he entered, a smile lifting the corners of her lips. He hated to see it fade, which is exactly what happened when he said, “I'm afraid I am needed at the harbor. There is a problem with a cargo I've been trying to secure."

“Nothing serious, I dare hope."

“Nothing I can't handle,” he assured her, crouching down beside her chair. “But, I am afraid I'll most likely be coming in late. Don't wait up. If you need anything, inform Mrs. Markham."

Disappointment flashed through her eyes, but she nodded and said, “Of course."

Straightening, he leaned over to plant a light kiss atop her head. “Tomorrow we shall dine in peace."

“Of course."

With that, he turned heel and strode from the room, the soles of his gleaming Hessians thumping soundly against the carpet. He found Adam waiting for him in the carriage out in front of the town house. “I am going to break that weasel's neck,” he growled, settling in beside him. “Interrupting a man's evening meal like this over a worn-out matter."

Adam's eyes glittered in the semi-darkness. “Yes, well, that's all part and parcel with the responsibility of running Eagleton."

“Don't even start, Adam. I am not a boy. I do not need to report back to my father at every turn."

“Perhaps not, but it isn't too much to ask that you at least let him know you are alive."

Drew sighed, stretching his legs out before him, crossing his ankles. “Let's not speak of it now, Adam. Give me the news from home instead."

“There is blessed little to report, I'm afraid. I was in Bridgeport over the winter. Darcy is tottering around now. Speaks actual words, though they are somewhat garbled. Kendall and Julian are well, planning to come down to Brunswick for a visit in July. Your brother is the same—although he is determined to sail over here himself and scour London for you. And Diana is Diana. Still most concerned with young men and fancy dresses."

“It's a relief to know some things never change.” Drew leaned his head back against the seat cushion. “Make certain to tell everyone I am alive and well and in one piece."

“Might I tell them when you are planning to return?"

Drew decided it would be worth telling if it kept Garrett from storming into London in a temper, looking for his errant brother. “Yes, Adam. Tell them I'll be home in the fall. I plan on sailing out in a few weeks."

Adam looked most pleased with himself. “Terrific. Then I have nothing to fear about returning myself. Your father is getting more and more difficult by the day.” He gave Drew a knowing grin. “I cannot say for certain, but I do believe your mother has banned him from their bedroom because he's been such an ogre these past few weeks."

Drew thought about his mother and felt a slight pang of guilt. “Well, then most definitely tell her. I don't wish her to worry any more than she has to."

The salty breeze wafting through the window let Drew know they'd reached the harbor. He stifled a sigh as the carriage rocked to a halt and he prepared to do battle with the greedy merchant and his overpriced wares.

Six

Drew hadn't returned by the time Heather went to bed. The hour was late and she could barely keep her eyes open. She hardly noticed that Mrs. Markham led her back to his room for the night. She didn't care much, either, as she crawled beneath the covers, drifting off to sleep almost immediately.

When she woke the next morning, the surly housekeeper was nowhere to be found. Heather didn't know if Drew even returned to the town house the night before. He wasn't there beside her, but the bed was so rumpled, it was impossible to say if she'd done it in her sleep, or if he'd slipped in beside her. She didn't see any of the clothing he'd been wearing the previous day, but he might also have opted to sleep in one of the other rooms.

She sighed softly, rising from the bed. One of the maids had laid out fresh clothes for her to wear, but she was on her own to dress herself. After handling that chore for the last six months, she was more than capable of doing just that.

Breakfast had been laid out in the dining room, but Drew wasn't there, either. Heather didn't feel overly hungry, but she filled a plate with eggs, a slice of ham, and a croissant just the same and brought her plate over to sit by the large window. Beyond the rippled glass, the sun was trying to break through the gloomy clouds, but she didn't have much hope it would succeed. She slowly buttered her croissant, trying not think about where Drew might be.

It was funny, but when he'd agreed to give her time to settle in, she felt relieved, but only for a moment. Then, she had to admit to feeling a bit disappointed. She knew this was as far as she would go in life now, would forever be relegated to the status of mistress. Still, it was by far better than where she'd been a little over twenty-four hours earlier. Far better indeed.

Besides, there had to be things in life far worse than being mistress to Drew Kennedy. He was handsome, he was sexy, and he seemed to be a gentleman in every sense of the word. He was in London alone, but she did wonder if a wife awaited his return back in America.

She nibbled at the flaky croissant, unable to remove the image of him in her room at Delilah's from her mind. She could still see him, standing before her, partially undressed, and giving her only a hint of the masculinity that lay beneath the fine silk and linen of his clothing. And every time that image sprang forth, the butterflies awoke in her belly.

These were not nervous butterflies, though. Rather, they were the same as the ones she would feel as a child when her birthday drew near and she knew a gift was forthcoming. The anticipation of being in Drew's arms elicited that kind of flutter. She was nervous, true, but couldn't help her smile just the same. She especially looked forward to more kissing. Even with her limited kissing experience, she couldn't deny she enjoyed the feel of his lips on hers.

She sat there for over an hour, nibbling the same croissant and staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. A second hour passed, and still no Drew.

Finally, two and a half hours after Heather had entered the breakfast room, Mrs. Markham hurried in. “You are still eating, then, Miss Heather?"

Heather jumped, dropping the remnants of her croissant on to her plate, into the pile of ice-cold eggs. “Oh, dear, I hadn't realized how much time passed,” she replied, squinting at the clock on the mantel. “Has Captain Kennedy returned?"

“Not yet.” Ellen Markham's voice was clipped as she rang the delicate china bell in the center of the table. Two maids hurried into the room and began clearing away the leftovers.

Mrs. Markham turned to her. “If it pleases you, Miss Heather, I've arranged for you to spend the day shopping in Town. Captain Kennedy has accounts set up with most of the merchants, and I was told to tell you that you are welcome to make use of them."

“Shopping?"

“Aye. Apparently Captain Kennedy is not pleased with the mere four gowns you selected yesterday. I received an earful because you did not select more. I have been given a list of items he feels you need."

Heather accepted the sheet of paper from the housekeeper. She'd thought she might have gone too far in the number of gowns she'd selected, not wanting it to appear she was taking advantage of his generosity. Instead, she'd given the housekeeper yet another reason to dislike her. “I am sorry if he expressed his displeasure to you, Mrs. Markham."

The housekeeper did not answer, but merely sniffed and stalked out of the room. Heather gritted her teeth, wanting to box the insolent woman's ears for her lack of respect. She swallowed her irritation, though, as she unfolded the list and set it down on the lacy tablecloth.

“That woman would not last a week in my house,” she muttered, glancing down at the list and gasping at the seemingly endless number of items Drew wished her to purchase. She reached up to rub her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache. The last thing she wished was to go shopping, but had no desire to spend the entire day alone with the sour Mrs. Markham. Shopping would be a much preferable choice to that, indeed. Perhaps a little fresh air would do wonders for her as well.

With that, she went in search of a light wrap, her bonnet, reticule, and gloves. Mrs. Markham appeared in the doorway of Drew's bedroom as if summoned, saying, “Jameson will take you wherever you wish to go, Miss Heather. Tea will be served at half-past three, so do try to be back by then."

“I will do my best.” Heather pulled on her gloves and roughly brushed by the housekeeper as she made her way downstairs.

Outside, Jameson gave her a pleasant smile, bending at the waist. “Good afternoon, Miss Heather. Feel up to a bit of shopping, then?"

She couldn't help but return his smile. He was as warm as Ellen Markham was cold. If her presence troubled him, he gave no indication, but treated her warmly and with the utmost of courtesy. “Not especially, but it certainly is preferable to rattling about in there with her."

Jameson's tranquil blue-gray eyes danced with mischief. “Yes, she is a cold fish, that one. But, if you are in need of a good chuckle now and again, you ought but take in the way she follows Captain Kennedy with her eyes. Quite taken with that one, she is. Quite taken, indeed."

Heather couldn't help but chuckle. Servants were often terrible gossips, but it wasn't often she was the one with whom they shared their gossip. Still, the image of the icy Mrs. Markham staring longingly after Drew did bring a smile to her face. “Is that so, then?"

He chuckled, nodding. “It's true, my lady. Watches him like a hawk watches a mouse, she does. It's rather quite amusing to see her fall all over herself the moment his eyes land upon her."

“But she gives me the impression she is none too fond of Captain Kennedy."

“Oh, she feels he is an upstart American, of course. Still, she is not immune to his face. None of the ladies are. They practically kill one another trying to catch his attention. Also quite amusing, that. I must admit, I feel terribly outnumbered because his face has no effect on me."

She laughed at that. “Oh, Jameson, you are terrible! Does the marquis know about your penchant for gossip?"

He nodded, all smiles and not looking the least bit chagrined. “Indeed, my lady. He is surrounded by women, so he is terribly grateful for my not being one.” Jameson pulled open the carriage door and held out his hand. “Up you get then, my lady."

Still chuckling, she settled into the plush seat. She did so like Jameson. He was an adorable man and Edward Stainton was quite fortunate to have him on staff. He was certainly preferable to the grouchy Mrs. Markham, any day.

Jameson told the driver to drop them in Oxford Street. Their driver did just that, following along at a close pace as they popped into shop after shop. Though she hadn't originally wanted to go shopping, Heather quite enjoyed herself. She paid visits to the perfumers, the stocking warehouse, the silk merchants. Even in shops where she bought nothing, she still enjoyed looking about.

It had been so long since she'd last enjoyed an afternoon of shopping without having to watch every shilling spent. Not that she went wild now. She followed Drew's list to the letter. If an item didn't appear, she did not purchase it.

The one exception was at the perfumers, where she fell in love with a soft, lavender fragrance at first sniff. After a brief argument with herself, she talked herself into the purchase. That bottle, her one extravagance, was safely tucked away with her other parcels.

Jameson brought her purchases out to the carriage and walked alongside her as they moved down the walkway. He made many suggestions regarding this shop, or that. In between suggestions, he provided a steady stream of conversation that put her at ease. It was a bit strange at first, thinking of Jameson as her chaperone, but she adjusted quickly. He kept her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, much like a father would for his daughter, and for a moment, Heather felt very much like his daughter. He was a sweet man and she was grateful for his company.

The driver kept close to them, though he did get caught behind the occasion wagon or another coach. Still, he managed to catch up by the time they'd emerged from a shop.

The last stop on her agenda was Mary Cartwright's shop. Drew was quite explicit in his list of what he wished her to purchase. As she scanned that missive for at least the tenth time, she realized that he was a man who most definitely knew how a woman should dress.

Jameson tactfully waited outside while Heather stepped into the shop. There was one other patron inside the seamstress's studio and she stifled a groan when she realized she knew the woman already there.

Lady Amanda Summerton, Countess of Winchester, chatted gaily with another woman, an older silver-haired woman Heather did not recognize. Amanda stood on the small block used for pinning up gowns, chattering as she turned to get a better look at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her jaw went slack as she spotted Heather in the glass, and her eyes went round.

“Heather Spencer? Is that you?” she asked, twirling about on the block to face her.

“Good day, Amanda. How are you?"

“Quite well, thank you. And yourself? What brings you here?"

Heather shrugged, crumpling the note and shoving it back into her reticule. “Doing a bit of shopping. Same as you."

“Really now?” Amanda's pale green eyes glinted. “I hadn't realized you had the funds for such frivolous spending. Paid off Papa's debts, have you, then?"

Heather bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the embarrassment rising within her. She and Amanda had once been friends, though their friendship waned somewhat after Amanda's marriage and her words were no surprise to Heather. After all, there was nothing the woman loved more than a bit of malicious gossip. The juicier the better was the rule of the ton. Though she was not considered an equal, she certainly knew how they enjoyed chewing on the latest scandalous story. Now, however, she knew what it felt like, being on the receiving end of the ton's vinegar.

Not that it mattered. She was shunned as far as all of proper society was concerned. It would not matter what bloodline she bore, the ton would most definitely find out about her brief time at Delilah's. It would not matter that she left there as pure as she'd entered. She had been employed by a house of sin. She was ruined as far as anyone would be concerned.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Everything is settled,” Heather replied, trying to force as much pride into her words as she could. “So, do tell me, how is your family?"

“We are fine, thank you. I'd ask about yours but—well—we all know the story there, don't we?” Amanda glanced at her companion and let out a silvery peal of laughter. “Oh, I don't believe you've met, have you? Heather Spencer, this is the Duchess of Marston. Your Grace, Heather Spencer."

Trust Amanda to make certain Heather knew she was in the presence of a duchess. To her credit, Danielle Marston seemed equally embarrassed as she coughed and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Spencer."

“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” Heather replied, dipping into a curtsy.

Mary Cartwright emerged from the back of her shop, smiling as she saw Heather standing there. “Miss Spencer! How lovely to see you again."

The Duchess glanced from Heather to Amanda. “Are you a relation of Susan Spencer?” she asked airily. When Heather nodded, the Duchess burst out in a tinkling laugh. “Oh, but I ought have known that!” Her blue eyes were warm as they met Heather's. “I knew your mother, child. A lady unlike any other. I ought to have known you were her daughter, as you are her spitting image."

“You knew my mother?” Heather was surprised to hear this. She'd had no idea her mother had been friendly with someone as important as the Duchess of Marston.

“Of course. We practically grew up together. My family's estate borders Waterbury."

Heather smiled, thinking of her mother's ancestral home, a gloomy estate she visited only rarely. “You lived at Stoneham? I always had the wildest urge to explore the woods over there. They were like something out of a fairy tale."

The Duchess let out another girlish laugh. “I suppose they must have seemed so to a child, but they were quite boring, actually.” She shook her head sympathetically. “Oh, but you've become a lovely young woman. I was so sorry to hear of Susan's passing. Do tell, have you a sponsor?"

Heather didn't miss the darkness flitting through Amanda's eyes. The Countess looked ready to spit nails as Heather replied, “Oh, no. I'm afraid I don't."

“Well, you will have to pay a call on me while I am in London and we will discuss that matter. A lovely young girl such as yourself ought not be deprived of a come-out, even if it is a bit late. Oh, if I'd but known your father would let this slip by him, I'd have swooped down on Waterbury and snatched you away five years ago.” The Duchess rummaged in her reticule, coming up with a pale blue card. “Here, my dear. Take this. Eric and I will be in Town for a while longer—although the Season is not what it used to be. I think we may be a bit late for this one, but there is no reason why we can't try for next Season now, is there?"

Heather took the card, willing her fingers not to tremble as she did so. It was so unexpected. Never in her wildest imaginings did she envision a duchess offering her sponsorship for a London Season.

Her happiness was short-lived though. She could never accept the duchess's offer. What would Her Grace think, once she learned that Heather had spent two weeks at the notorious Delilah's?

Amanda stepped down from the block in a huff. “I need more time to think, Mary. I shall return in a few days to look at more plates."

Mary nodded. “Of course. And as for what you've already selected? Shall I send it to you?"

A sniff. “Of course."

“Very well. A good day to you, Countess."

Amanda didn't bother to reply. She merely turned to the duchess and said, “Shall we?"

Danielle Marston's cheeks flushed as she got to her feet, as if embarrassed by Amanda's snit. “Yes, well, it was so lovely to see you again, Heather. Please, feel free to call on me any afternoon. I will be in Town for the next three weeks."

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Another curtsy.

The Duchess gave her a warm smile, patted Heather's arm, and then followed Amanda out of the shop. Heather glanced at the card clutched between her fingers, and a wave of regret crashed down over her. She would never be able to call on the duchess. Should she learn Heather's shameful secret she would also be tainted by association.

“Miss Heather?"

“Oh, I'm sorry, Miss Cartwright,” Heather exclaimed, jerked out of her thoughts by the seamstress's concerned voice.

“So, what can I do for you today?"

Heather took a deep breath. “I'm going to need to look at some more plates and more fabric, I'm afraid."

“That will be no trouble at all, my lady. Here, make yourself comfortable and I will fetch the books."

Heather sank down into the plush chair vacated by Danielle Marston. Her headache had returned, but she managed to focus her attention on Mary and begin the process of selecting a larger wardrobe.

Seven

Heather was exhausted when she and Jameson finally returned to the town house on Grosvenor Square. He had a footman bring her parcels inside at once, making certain they were stowed away before she went to upstairs to freshen up.

At the top of the stairs, Heather froze. She wasn't at all certain where she was expected to do any freshening up. True, she'd been put in Drew's chambers the night before, but that might have been an oversight on the part of the housekeeper. Eyeing each of the four closed doors, she tapped her forefinger against her pursed lips. Of course, Mrs. Markham was nowhere to be found again.

That woman is like smoke, Heather thought with no little frustration. Well, I certainly cannot stand out here in the hallway all night. I may as well return to Drew's room for now.

She turned the knob, opening the door without bothering to knock, and then halted in her tracks.

Apparently, Drew had returned. Not only had he returned, but he had also decided to freshen up, for he was in the process of dressing. Thankfully, he wore pants. But that was all, and he hardly seemed embarrassed by her sudden entrance. Instead, he smiled as he turned to face her. “Welcome home, my lady."

She stood stock-still, eyes almost popping from her head as they moved over his length. At once, heat swept through her. The cage opened, the butterflies set free again. If she'd thought the eyeful she'd gotten the other evening was impressive, it was nothing compared to the view he offered her now.

There is not an ounce of fat to be found on the his body, she thought, taking in the flat, hard belly and the chiseled muscles of his chest beneath the dark hair spreading across and down. His skin, a sun-kissed bronze, was taut over his shoulders and arms, the heavy, corded muscles bunching with each movement.

He'd been shaving. She could see the china washbasin, straight razor, and lather cup on the dressing table. She was suddenly gripped by the wildest urge to caress his newly-smooth cheek with her own.

“I'm—I'm sorry,” she finally said, averting her eyes. “I should have knocked first."

“No need to apologize,” he replied easily, reaching for the linen towel beside the silver lather cup. He patted his face dry, refolded the towel, and tossed it back onto the dressing table. “I trust Mrs. Markham gave you my message?"

“She did,” Heather replied, eyes riveted on the floor, her face growing hotter by the moment.

“And did you do as I asked?"

“Of course. You are the master."

Drew chuckled. “That's not exactly how I see myself, but I have to admit, I like the way it sounds. Master, eh?” He took a step towards her. When she'd told him of her previous purchases, he was shocked to find out how conservative she'd been. Four gowns? Even he knew they weren't nearly enough.

Knowing he would be tied up with Dixon for hours, Drew decided to remain on board his ship for the night. There, he'd drawn up the list to be brought to Mrs. Markham, along with the instructions that Heather was to purchase each item, and whatever else caught her fancy. He'd stressed that to the housekeeper, who apologized profusely for Heather's reluctance and promised to deliver the message.

It had been a long night for him. He was never more grateful to return to the town house in Grosvenor Square. He had a very special evening planned for his lovely new mistress. A very special evening indeed.

Since it didn't appear she was going to lift her gaze, and he was a bit concerned that her scarlet face might actually burst into flame, he closed the gap between them. Crossing over her to her, he caught her face in his hands, causing her to jump as he tilted her head back. “I promise you, my lady, as I've said before, I'll not turn you to stone. It's quite acceptable for you to look at me."

That brought her eyes to his. “I'm sorry."

“And again with the apologies. We are going to have to work on this, my lady.” His fingers moved over her cheeks in long, soft strokes, his eyes never leaving hers. Before she could respond, he leaned closer, his lips closing down over hers.

She had not imagined their softness that first time he kissed her. The fluttering began, wings uncurling in her belly as his mouth moved against hers sensually, caressing her lips as if they were delicate rose petals.

For one terribly awkward moment, she froze, not knowing where she should put her hands. It seemed terribly forward to place them on his bare chest, even more so to slip them about his waist. Aside from that, she didn't know what her other options were. She finally decided on his hips, so that was where they went, and she was amazed at the solid feel of the muscle stretched taut over his hipbones. He seemed to be made entirely of granite, not a soft spot to be found anywhere.

He explored her with his kiss, his tongue teasing hers in a silky caress. His fingers crept higher, pushing into her hair, to stroke along her scalp, dislodging pins to send her curls spilling over her shoulders. His fingers slid through her hair before moving lower to brush against her neck, skimming over her shoulders, before moving down her arms.

A sudden shiver coursed through her as he grazed down along the outer contours of her breasts. The heat started deep in the pit of her belly to slowly uncoil itself, like a cat waking from a nap. It spread through her limbs, her knees threatening to buckle under the onslaught of his lips. Drew slid his arms about her waist, breaking the kiss to trail his lips along her throat. Her head fell back beneath the delicious tingling sensations coursing through her, a soft groan bubbling to her lips.

She wanted to touch him, to feel his bare skin against her palms. He awoke something in her she never knew existed and she wanted to spread her fingers over the warm rise of his chest, to wrap her arms about his neck and crush herself against him. His hands skimmed down to cup her backside and she couldn't hold back her soft mewl. He lifted her, pressing her into him, bringing her into her first contact with his arousal. That most solid part of him sent a shiver tickling down her spine. It was the first time she'd ever felt a man's desire. But there it was, pressing right up into her as if seeking her out.

He eased one knee between hers and she couldn't contain her groan as the sensual frictions sent shockwaves pulsing through her. Apparently she had a desire of her own and it was just as unfamiliar to her. Until now.

Then he pulled away, and their eyes met once more. His were heavy-lidded, darkened to a smoky indigo that practically snatched the breath from her lungs. No man had ever looked at her this way, with such pure lust, and her heart thundered in her chest as he took her by the hand to lead her to the bed.

“Captain Kennedy?” Mrs. Markham tapped on the door.

“Oh, hell...” Drew breathed, pressing his cheek into Heather's hair. “I am going to recommend to Collingsworth that he fire that woman."

“Captain Kennedy? It's time for tea."

He lifted his head, scowling at the door as he growled, “Thank you, Mrs. Markham,” with no little sarcasm in his voice.

“Tea does seem to be most important to her,” Heather murmured, eyes half-closed as he nuzzled her.

“I hate that woman,” he muttered after a long moment, pulling away to gaze down at her. “She interrupted what was a very lovely moment."

Heather smiled up at him. “There will be other moments."

“Ah, there should have been. Now, however, I'm not so certain.” He sighed deeply, pulling away and moving around her to finish dressing. “That is part of the reason I was gone all night. I had a little spat with the harbormaster. Seems I'll be taking myself from these shores sooner than I thought."

“How much sooner?"

“Most likely within the next two days, while the tides are favorable."

Her stomach dropped at that. Two days? Two days and she would be left to fend for herself. She thought about the calling card the duchess had given her. Heather supposed she could accept the duchess's offer, and merely hope her secret never came to light.

Then Drew surprised her. He must have seen the look of horror on her face, for he smiled then, crossing back to take her in his arms and whisper, “Come to America with me."

Eight

She stepped back. “What?"

Drew smiled at her. “You heard me, Heather. Come with me. You can be my mistress in Brunswick just as easily as you can here in London."

“I cannot go to America! Are you mad?"

“What is so mad about it?"

She struggled to come up with a reason, waving a hand about as if it would help her think. Of course it was mad—stark raving mad, in fact. How could he think otherwise?

Still, now that she'd blurted it out, she couldn't think of a reason. What was to keep her in London? She had no family, her friends would no longer associate with her. Life as an outcast, that was what awaited her when Drew left. Whereas in America...

What would await her in America? She had no way of knowing. A fresh start, perhaps? A new life? Still, she had to be mad to even consider Drew's offer. Didn't she?

He arched one brow and her cheeks burned. Finally, she gave him the best reason she could. “Because it is,” she replied with as much dignity as she could muster.

“A perfect reason, to be sure,” he replied dryly, reaching for the midnight blue shirt draped over the foot of the bed. “I may not know much about the rules of your society, my lady. But I am fairly certain ladies from decent families do not seek employment at brothels. I am even more certain that young men from decent families would never wish to marry young ladies who've sought employment in such places. Do you wish to die a spinster?"

He was right and she knew it, and that aggravated her. She frowned up at him. “Thank you for reminding me."

“It's not as though I'm taking you away from some wonderful life, Heather. Where are you going to go once I'm gone?"

A chill settled over her. She hadn't given any thought as to what would become of her once Drew left England behind. It was far too unpleasant and far too easy to shove into the back of her mind. If she didn't dwell on it, maybe—just maybe—it would never happen. Of course, now she knew differently. “I hadn't really thought about it. I thought you'd be here a while longer."

“Well, I was supposed to be. And if I had more time, I would see you set up in a house, with a stipend and all. But I'm afraid I no longer have that kind of time."

His words surprised her. “You were going to do that for me?"

He nodded, buttoning his shirt and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. “Of course. That's what a man does for his mistress. But, since I've not the time to find a suitable residence, this is my alternative. I do not wish to see you in the gutters, love, and that is where you will end up. That is, if you do not return to Delilah's."

She shuddered at the thought. “I would never go back there."

He shrugged. “Then mine is a perfect solution."

“Drew, you met me three days ago. And now you wish me to travel to America with you? It's insane, that. How could you possibly think otherwise?"

“Of course it's insane. It's nothing less than anyone who knows me would expect of me.” Drew gave her a boyish grin. “You'll quickly learn I am the black sheep of my family."

Could this actually be happening? Could he truly want to bring her to America? Would she be a fool to trust him?

But she knew he was right. There was nothing in London for her, save a return to Delilah's, and she would much rather risk finding her own way in America than return to that horrid place.

She shuddered again at the thought of having to go crawling back to Madam Allison. She had no doubt that the woman would take her back, she seemed too convinced that Heather would bring in a fortune. That was something Heather could not believe for a moment. The other ladies working there seemed so much prettier than she was. She'd always felt rather plain compared to the likes of Flora and Sally.

He grinned at her, as if waiting for her to reply. That grin unnerved her, as if he could read what was going through her mind. She wracked her brain, trying desperately to think of something to say. The best she could come up with was:

“I suppose I would be considered the same, then. A black sheep, that is."

He chuckled. “I imagine you would, love. I imagine you would."

A sudden flush of embarrassment rushed through her. What would he tell his family when he returned home with a strumpet? What would they think of him? Or, for that matter, what would they think of her?

She paused for a moment, trying to think of a tactful way to phrase the question. Before she could say anything, though, he'd moved away and began stowing things in his sea chest.

“Besides,” he said, “this way my hard-earned money won't go to waste."

His words held no malice, but brought forth the truth of the matter. Drew had bought her. The shame she'd thought she'd left at Delilah's flooded her now. No matter how hard she tried to pretty it up, nothing changed. She had become his possession the moment he'd paid off her father's debt. Perhaps he hadn't meant it quite as she'd heard it, but there was no mistaking he was right. He owned her now. He was, in fact, her master.

“I suppose I ought to begin packing as well, then,” she replied, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“I will send Jameson out to purchase a sea chest for you, Heather,” he told her, lifting his head up to meet her eyes. “That way—” The words died on his lips and he frowned. “What is the matter?"

“Nothing,” she replied, ducking her head and turning away. She felt like such a fool, to think that perhaps she meant more to Drew than she actually did. There was no way she could ever tell him that, though. It sounded mad, even to her. He hardly knew her, never mind cared for her. It was purely physical, indeed.

He didn't press the issue. Instead, he shrugged and straightened up, pulling on his frock coat. “I suppose we ought to go down before Mrs. Markham is pounding on the door again."

“Yes. I suppose we should."

He offered his arm. “Shall we?"

Heather hesitated a moment, but decided it was in her best interest to accept that proffered arm. If a master he wished to be, then she would do her damnedest to make certain to treat him as one.

It was impossible to ignore the warmth seeping into her hand as it rested lightly on his forearm, but she resisted the urge to squeeze the dense muscle packed beneath his skin, muscle she could feel even through his clothing. Casting a sidelong glance up at him, she remained silent as they left the room to go down to tea.

* * * *

Drew sensed Heather's sudden coolness, but couldn't imagine what the reason could be for the change. She grew quiet, speaking only when spoken to, averting her eyes whenever he happened to look at her. Her brow furrowed, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Whatever might be troubling her though, she kept to herself.

He wondered if it had to do with leaving England to venture to America. He didn't know what had possessed him to invite her to go with him, but the words were out before he could stop them.

Still, he did not regret issuing the invitation. He did want her to go with him, though he wasn't exactly certain why. A mistress was not something he made a habit of keeping. But there was something about her, something that pressed him, urged him to keep her close. He couldn't simply sail off and leave her to fend for herself. Not when he knew where she would most likely end up.

The very thought of her returning to Delilah's fired his blood. Anger coiled within the pit of his stomach any time he thought of another man laying a hand on Heather. He knew possessiveness made up a fair amount of the blood of a Kennedy male, but he couldn't explain why he should feel it where she was concerned. As she'd pointed out, he'd just met her. How could he feel possessive towards her in such a short time? It made no sense, but he could not deny he felt it.

Heather said not a word as they went into the drawing room, where Mrs. Markham had set out the tea. She prepared a cup with plenty of sugar and thick cream, and sat back in an elegant red leather wing chair to take a sip. She remained quiet, eyes downcast, as she nibbled at a scone.

He sat across from her, scowling, his biscuit ignored on his plate. Heather continued to keep her eyes glued to the floor, paused to sip her tea again, and then resume chewing.

“What is on your mind, Heather?” he finally asked, shoving his plate away in disgust.

She looked up at him with wide dark eyes. “There is nothing on my mind, sir."

Once again, he was amazed by her eyes. They were the darkest brown he'd ever seen—as luminous as moonbeams and as fathomless as the ocean. A man could get lost looking into those pools. He cleared his throat. “I thought we agreed you were never to use the word sir in association with me?"

“Of course. I apologize."

As her eyes ducked back to her plate, he fought to squelch his rising irritation. Whether she chose to admit it or not, he knew there was something troubling her, and he fully intended to get to the bottom of it. The sooner, the better, he thought, for if possessiveness made up half his blood, impatience made up the other half.

“Please, Heather. Do not apologize for every little transgression,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Show a little spirit."

“Of course."

He gritted his teeth. Something was most definitely going on beneath her chestnut curls and that something was going to drive him mad.

A maid bustled into the room to clear away the dishes, hovering around him as she lingered at clearing away his place. He sighed inwardly, mentally rolling his eyes over the maid's attentions. A mite flattering, but tiresome just the same. He waved her away and said to Heather, “So, did you enjoy your shopping spree?"

She nodded. “I did."

“And I take it Jameson kept a watchful eye over you?"

“He did."

This was becoming quite tedious, indeed. “You are allowed more than two words per sentence, Heather."

His impatience was quite evident in his voice and she must have decided it would be in her best interest to comply. Lifting her gaze to his, she simply replied, “I'm sorry."

It would have been amusing, if it wasn't so damned frustrating. Resting an elbow on the table between them, he leaned towards her, growling, “Am I boring you, love?"

That got him a reaction. Her head jerked up, her eyes meeting his, and he was happy to see a spark of annoyance in them. “Of course not."

“Ah, three words. A small improvement, but still an improvement just the same. Now please, for the love of God, will you speak to me?"

“As you wish,” she replied, setting down her scone and folding her hands in her lap. Meeting his eyes, she asked, “What is it you wish to discuss?"

She was more formal than she'd ever been with him, speaking in a slow, moderate tone. Even her demeanor was formal. She sat perfectly straight, chin up, hands folded demurely in her lap, eyes focused downward once more. It sent a flash of annoyance surging through him. Why this sudden change?

“This is ridiculous,” he suddenly burst out, shoving up from his chair and moving to stand before her. “Aren't you even the slightest bit curious about America? About Brunswick? About anything?"

He could almost see the curiosity in her eyes, could swear that she was almost chewing her lips off to keep from saying more than her one or two word answers. He stared hard, trying to figure out why she was so cool. Then, she took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to his. “Of course I am, but it isn't my place to question your wishes."

“What?"

Her brow furrowed with exasperation. She'd realized he wasn't about to make it easy on her. “I said, it's not my place to question your wishes. I suppose I will find out all about America once we arrive there."

At last, he was getting somewhere. Some of his irritation left as he said, “Heather, if you wish to question anything, please feel free to do so. Why do you suddenly think otherwise?"

“I think that should be quite clear."

“Well, it isn't.” Drew shook his head. “I must admit I am a bit confused as to this sudden change. What brought it on?"

Her eyes rolled, her gaze dropping down and her shoulders sagging as if she wished he would simply let the matter drop. “It's simply how things should be."

“How things should be, eh? Very well, I suppose it'd best to leave things alone then."

“As you wish."

This was wearing on his nerves. He had no desire to keep playing games. “That is what I wish. Now, I need to pay a visit to the harbor to see that preparations are underway to set sail as soon as possible."

“Very well."

“I expect to be back in time for supper. Please dress accordingly."

“As I did last eve, when you did not return?"

It almost made him smile, seeing that hint of temper poke through her sudden reserve. “That was unavoidable. Besides, did you not just say it wasn't your place to question? Consider yourself lucky I do not request you to not dress, at all."

His cobalt eyes locked with hers and she felt the jolt crackle through her. The flush was back, creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks, disappearing into her hairline, making her entire head feel red-hot. Her eyes fell back to the table as she said, “Of course."

Drew left it at that, striding from the room. He slammed out of the townhouse, his voice sharp as he snapped, “Eagleton's office,” to the driver and practically threw himself into the carriage.

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, replaying the scene in the drawing room. What the devil was going on? Which was the true Heather Spencer? The fiery spirit who'd returned his kisses with such passion, or the mealy milquetoast with whom he'd just shared tea?

He tried to think of any reason to explain her sudden change of character. It made sense that night at Delilah's, for he was fairly certain she'd been instructed to accept whatever orders she might be given by the paying customer. It didn't make sense now, at least not to him. He had no aversion to the occasional disagreement, no aversion to her speaking her mind. He'd been raised by a most outspoken mother and a father who'd encouraged his wife's opinions. His two younger sisters had minds of their own and no qualms about using them. Why should Heather be any different?

He smiled as he thought about his mother, Samantha, and his younger sisters. Kendall, the older of the two girls, was married now, and the mother of a daughter herself. It would be nice to see them again. He had missed his family during his absence, for they were a close-knit group.

“Well, we'll be there soon enough,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “And I do not relish the questions I am certain to be peppered with regarding Heather."

How would he explain her? His family was no stranger to scandal. After all, scandal was what landed Kendall her husband. But this was different. He had no idea how they would react, should they learn how he'd met Heather in the first place. Drew didn't think his father or Garrett would be overly troubled. He certainly was not the first Kennedy to ever venture into a house of ill repute. The female portion of the family might be a different story altogether.

He'd worry about that when the time came. As for now, he had more pressing matters at hand and one of them concerned one relatively greedy harbormaster and an increasingly restless crew. He needed to settle up with the former, and round up the latter, then he could set sail for home.

Nine

The next two days were a blur of activity for Heather as her time in London drew to a bittersweet close. Anticipation mingled with a hint of regret at the thought of leaving her home, but she tried not to dwell on it.

Her spat with Drew was forgotten, since he was so frantically busy preparing his ship for their return to America. She saw little of him during those two days, but when she did, he was all smiles and kind words, filling her with a sense of relief. At least their quarrel had changed nothing.

Finally, it was her last day in London. It was a gray, misty morning and it didn't take long for her to finish what little packing she had to do.

Drew returned at noon and told her they would be leaving with the evening tide. The entire staff was busy stowing the last of his trunks, making certain he left nothing behind, and getting Heather's one trunk tucked in with the others.

When it was time to leave, Heather said a quick goodbye to the maids she barely knew, and to the housekeeper who still radiated hostility. It was only Jameson she lingered over, giving the older man a warm embrace that clearly moved him.

“Take care of yourself, Miss Heather,” he whispered, giving her a squeeze. “Don't let that boy push you around any, then."

“Oh, I won't,” she told him, stepping back and blinking back tears. She would miss the kindly old man.

“I tease you, my lady. I've known that boy for several years now and his heart is always in the right place. Just take care to watch his temper. It's fierce, but then, most of the passionate ones are. He's a good man, Captain Kennedy is. A good man indeed. He will take care of you. Good care of you, to be sure."

Heather wasn't certain how to respond to that. She was quite sure the man had no idea how she came to be in Drew's company, and she wasn't about to enlighten him.

Drew came into the front hall then. Ever the gentleman, he had dressed for the trip to the harbor in black trousers and dove gray shirt, complete with cravat and a sapphire blue frock coat. “Are you ready then, my lady?"

She nodded. “I am."

“Let us get moving, then, shall we?” He offered his hand to Jameson. “Take care of yourself, Jamie. Watch out for the ladies. They're nothing but trouble."

Jameson gave Drew a warm smile. “Of course, sir. Indeed, I might warn you of the same, sir."

Drew gave Heather a roguish smile. “Don't you always?"

“Don't worry, sir. Lord Collingsworth will be home soon to keep me in line."

“Tell Collingsworth I'll catch him on my next trip through."

“Of course, sir. Safe voyage and Godspeed."

Drew offered Heather his arm. “Shall we, my lady?"

She accepted and out they went to meet the waiting carriage. He helped her in, and as she settled back against the cushion, she couldn't help but wonder how soon he planned on returning to England. There was no chance to ask him though, for he settled in beside her and said, “You are certain you have everything?"

She couldn't help but smile. “I didn't have all that much to begin with."

“Ah, I forgot to tell you, didn't I? I had Jameson make a trip to Madam Cartwright's this morning, while you were still asleep. There are two chests tucked safely into the captain's cabin of the Aphrodite You will have plenty once we are on board."

She was touched that he remembered the wardrobe, but surprised that the seamstress could have everything ready so quickly. “How is that possible?"

He stretched out his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Gold is a powerful persuader."

She could only imagine the seamstress's response when confronted with the option of finishing the order within two days, or risk losing it altogether. Mary Cartwright must have spent those sleepless nights toiling away, most likely with several disgruntled employees toiling with her. Heather smiled again, imagining the mutterings that must have taken place. “I can imagine how happy she must have been."

Drew gave her his most charming grin. “Could you argue with this face?"

“Am I in the position to argue with you?"

“I've told you, several times now; that if you wish to disagree with me about something, feel free to do so. I like a woman with spirit. Sometimes, there is nothing quite like a good argument. The making up part is usually most enjoyable."

She wasn't entirely certain how to respond to that, but assumed the blush climbing into her cheeks was answer enough.

Drew must have thought so as well, for he threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, we do have to do something about those blushes, love. They give far too much away.” His eyes lingered on hers for a moment. “Then again, perhaps we don't. They are quite adorable."

Her blush grew hotter still and she wished—not for the first time—she hadn't been blessed with such fair skin. There was simply no hiding any embarrassment she might feel.

Drew glanced over at her again, a slight smile still twitching his lips. It was a smile that did more to warm her than any other smile she'd ever seen, setting loose a flurry of butterflies to wildly flap their wings. His leg brushed up against her, nearly jolting her clear off her seat. Just that slight touch was enough to create a fresh wave of desire that tightened the pit of her belly and made her mouth go dry at the same time. She was still apprehensive, but found her curiosity was slowly pounding any remaining fear into submission. Now she simply wanted the waiting to end, to learn what else he could make her feel and how she'd enjoy it. Still, he did no more than slip his hand beneath hers, linking his fingers through hers. It wasn't nearly enough, but it would have to do for now.

They spent the rest of the ride to the docks in comfortable silence. When they arrived, Drew exited the coach and turned to offer her his arm. She slipped her arm through his and allowed him to steer her in the direction of the berths. The air was pungent with the smells of a harbor and her nose wrinkled more than once. This was her first trip to London's docks and though she could barely stomach the smells, the various ships she saw berthed there fascinated her. She'd never seen a ship up close, nearly falling clear into the gutter as she was too busy gawking up to look ahead.

Drew caught her as she stumbled. “Careful, love."

“I'm sorry,” she said, still craning her neck to take in the sights. “It's amazing, this place. So much bustle."

“I imagine a lady, such as yourself, has not spent much time at the wharf."

“Hardly,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “It wasn't high on my list of places to spend my leisure time."

Drew moved briskly through the throng of people milling about. Heather held tight to his arm, afraid that if they were separated, she would never be able to find him. She knew that was silly, for he towered over most of the men in the crowd, but the fear plagued her just the same.

“G'day, love. Buy a drink for a lady?"

Heather twisted her head to see a heavily rouged blonde strutting towards them. The gown she wore reminded Heather of the one Madam Allison made her wear that first night. More negligee than dress, it was extremely low-cut, in the fashion of an earlier decade, and it appeared that the woman had dampened the worn muslin to make it cling to her bony figure. The woman reminded Heather of the portrait of her grandmother that hung in the drawing room at Waterbury. Helene Spencer had been something of a scandal in her day—when it was all the rage for women to dampen their muslins to make them clingier.

The woman sidled up to Drew as if Heather was invisible, slipping her arm through his and purring, “Buy a drink for a lady, love?"

He untangled her arm from his. “Not interested."

The woman pouted, refusing the let go of him. “It's only a drink..."

“Take your hand from me for if I have to, trust me, you will sail without a ship."

The woman frowned at him “No need to be nasty now.” She tossed her stringy blonde hair over one shoulder and sauntered off, calling out, “Buy a drink for a lady?"

Heather shook her head. “Sad creature."

Drew scowled. “Annoying creature. They swarm these docks, preying on sailors fresh off of ships and desperate for any sort of female attention, no matter how low."

She bit the inside of her lower lip, not wanting to remind him of where he'd first met her. It was only twisted luck what saved her from having to troll the docks as a common strumpet. Glancing up, it was to see his eyes still glittered with irritation. “You don't know the reason she is walking these slips, Drew. Perhaps she has no other means to support herself. Or—or perhaps she has children to think of."

If Drew heard the annoyance in her voice, he showed no reaction to it. Instead, he shrugged broad shoulders, as if wondering why it should trouble her, a guttersnipe such as that woman. “Or, perhaps not. You don't know either, my lady."

“Oh! Men are all alike, aren't they? It's fine for you to leap into bed with whomever catches your eye! But when a woman does it, it must be because there is something wrong with her."

“I never said that, my lady. This is your first venture into this part of London, but I pass through here on a somewhat regular occurrence. Which of us would know better?"

She stopped in her tracks. “Is that how you see me, then?” she asked crisply. “After all, I might have been in a fancier setting, but what she is selling is no different, is it?"

“What are you talking about?"

“You know exactly what I am talking about."

“You are nothing like that woman, Heather. Nothing at all."

“Oh, is that a fact, then? Need I remind you of where we were when we met?” She stared at him with hard eyes, hands on her hips.

Drew blushed at that, the color rising in his swarthy cheeks. “No,” he replied with a sigh. “No, I don't suppose you need remind me."

“So then, is that how you see me?"

“Do you truly need me to answer that? Do you think I would have asked you to accompany me to America, if I saw you as nothing more than a whore?” He knew he'd gone too far as soon as the words left his mouth and he wanted to kick himself good and hard at her pained expression. She looked as if he'd slapped her across the face. Her cheeks burned scarlet and her eyes were perfectly round, instantly shimmering with tears. “Heather, I didn't mean it that way and you know it."

“Really? I'm not so certain you didn't mean it that way. How else could you mean it? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, though. It is the truth, isn't it?"

He sighed. “Heather—"

She turned away from him to stare straight ahead. “Where is your ship?"

“Heather—"

“Your ship, please."

He swallowed a rising curse as he pointed to a three-masted vessel bobbing in the next slip over. “That is the Aphrodite."

She gazed up at the ship. Though she knew nothing about them, she couldn't help but think it beautiful. Its hull gleamed proudly, the snowy white sails billowing as the wind swept along the docks. It was alive with activity. Men were swarming on deck as they readied the Aphrodite for the voyage across the Atlantic.

Drew led her to the gangplank and she set foot on board a ship for the first time in her life. Almost immediately, one of the men came up to them. Smiling broadly, he said, “Afternoon, Captain Kennedy. Beautiful day to take to the sea, don't you think?"

Drew returned the man's smile. “Couldn't ask for better, Mr. Aldridge. Is everything ready?"

“Just about, sir. Me and Scottie have the last few crates to batten down, and then she'll be ready to go."

“Good. Get on with it, then.” He turned to Heather. “Miss Spencer, this is Bobby Aldridge. Bobby, Miss Spencer."

Bobby's keenly blue eyes lingered on her for a moment. “A pleasure, miss."

She bobbed her head sharply. “A pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Aldridge."

Drew didn't like the way Bobby stared at Heather. Didn't like it one bit. His stomach tightened, twisting into a hard knot. He glanced down to find his hand clenching into a fist. He tried to swallow his rising anger as he cleared his throat. “The crates?"

“Oh, yes. Of course, Captain.” Bobby jerked to attention as he turned back to his captain. “We'll get right on it, sir."

“Good. Now, fetch Henry and have him escort Miss Spencer to my cabin.” He turned to Heather. “I've a few loose ends to wrap up on shore. I shouldn't be gone more than an hour or so. Make yourself comfortable and let Henry know if there is anything you need.” He turned back to Bobby. “While I am ashore, keep an eye on Henry and make it clear to him that Miss Spencer is to have anything she asks for."

“Yes, sir.” Bobby dashed off to find Henry, returning several moments later with a tall, rope-thin lad who couldn't have been much older than she was.

“You wished to see me, Captain Kennedy?"

“Henry, escort Miss Spencer to my cabin."

“Aye, Captain."

Heather shrank beneath Henry's penetrating icy-blue stare. He hardly looked happy with his assignment as he said, “Come with me, my lady."

Drew caught her arm, leaning close to brush her lips with a quick kiss. “I'll return as soon as I can."

Before she could reply, he was striding across the deck and disappearing down the gangplank, leaving her with Henry. She wondered if that kiss had been for Henry's benefit, for a smirk rose to his lips and a nasty gleam lit his eyes.

“So it's like that, is it?” he sneered, all politeness gone now that his captain's eyes were no longer on him. “Well then, let's get you down, shall we?"

Heather felt a slight twinge of apprehension as she reluctantly followed him through a doorway and down a flight of narrow steps. He led her down another narrow flight and along a shadowy corridor, remaining silent the entire time, not so much as glancing back to make certain she was there.

Henry finally stopped before a closed door. Taking a brass ring from his belt, he flipped through the numerous keys until he found the one he was looking for. He unlocked the door and, with a flick of his bony wrist, swung it open. “Captain Kennedy's cabin,” he said shortly, giving her a look that was anything other than friendly. “Now, mind you, I know what all he keeps in here, and where he keeps it. So rest assured, I will know if anything disappears."

She couldn't believe the man's cheek. Lifting her chin slightly, she mustered up as much dignity as she could, saying, “And you can rest assured, sir, that you've nothing to worry about. I will, however, be speaking to Captain Kennedy about your insinuations."

He didn't look the least bit perturbed as he leaned against the doorframe. “Aye, I'll wager you will. But, I've been with Captain Kennedy for some time now. I also know what type of—shall we say, lady?—would share the cabin of a man she isn't married to."

“And how is it you know I've not married the captain, then?"

“For starters, he introduced you as Spencer, not Kennedy. Secondly, the captain isn't a marrying man. Third, you aren't wearing a wedding ring. So, you just watch your step, miss."

“And I will suggest the same for you,” she retorted, glaring at him. “You have no idea to whom you are speaking or you would surely never adopt this tone with me."

He shrugged his shoulders. “I ought to know a whore when I see one."

Heather knew she could not have possibly heard him correctly. “I beg your pardon?” she asked sharply.

He was nonplussed. “You heard me. Now, I've got work to do.” With that, he turned and stomped away, obviously put out with having to show her to Drew's cabin.

His taunt still ringing in her ears, Heather stepped into the cabin and slammed the door with as much fury as she could muster. “Of all the nerve!” She could not believe he'd said what he had. Her stomach roiled painfully, tears pricking her eyes. If he looked down on her, convinced she was a strumpet, would the others do so as well? And what about Drew's family? How would he explain her presence to them? Would they, too, take one look at her and know the truth?

“Is that what everyone will think?” she whispered. “Will everyone treat me as if I were no better than the dirt smudging their shoes?"

A heavy sigh worked its way free as she glanced around at the luxury surrounding her. Drew might not speak of his wealth, but it was most apparent in this cabin. Though it wasn't large by any means, but very well appointed and tastefully decorated.

He'd kept it simple. His desk, the dining table, the wardrobe, and the bed—all bolted to the ship somehow—were all a light colored wood she assumed to be oak. Chippendale had obviously inspired the carpenter, for the ornamentation was a perfect replica of the master's with elaborate clawed feet and delicate scrollwork.

The desk was littered with papers and charts, quills and bottles of ink. She pulled the chair away from it and sat down, sinking deep into the rich leather. It was odd, to be sitting at Drew's desk, touching his things, seeing this other side of him—the responsible sea captain. She hadn't missed the respect he commanded from his crew, hadn't missed how easily he donned the mantle of leadership.

She sunk back in the chair, running a finger over the beveled edge of the desk. It was a bit disconcerting, really, that he was not entirely as he appeared, though few people were. At first glance, one might think of him as a dandy, a wastrel interested only in drinking and wenching, completely disregarding the true aspect of his nature. He was indeed, a responsible, respected businessman and sea captain.

Her anger returned as she thought about what Henry had said to her. What nerve that man had! And what the devil did he mean—what sort of woman she was? How dare he insinuate anything! She would see that man sacked, if it was the last thing she did.

The thought made her feel a bit better, but she knew she had to confront Drew, to find out exactly what he intended to tell his family once they reached Brunswick. After all, he couldn't very well keep her a secret, could he?

Ten

It was nearly suppertime before Drew finished up his business and was back on board the Aphrodite. He checked up on Scottie and Bobby, learned the cargo had been secured in the hold, and went in search of Henry.

“Henry, a word, if you don't mind,” Drew said as he approached the younger man. Henry Donaldson had started out as his cabin boy, until he grew tired of Henry's sour disposition. However, the lad was a decent enough worker and so was allowed to stay on as the bosun's mate. The others often grumbled about him behind his back, but none had the nerve to confront Drew, finding it easier to simply ignore Henry's presence.

Henry nodded. “Of course, Captain."

“I understand you saw Miss Spencer to my cabin. Does she have everything she needs?"

“Of course, Captain. I wouldn't be doing my duty if she didn't."

“Did she ask you for anything?"

“Not a thing, sir."

“Have you at least been down to see that all is well?"

Henry shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “No, sir. I hadn't realized it was my duty to watch over her."

Drew sighed. “I assume Mr. Aldridge told you it was my order to make certain she was comfortable. Didn't you stop to think that might mean you'd have to go out of your way and check up on her every so often?"

“My apologies, sir."

“Get back to work,” Drew replied shortly, his temper flaring “Before I decide to put you off right here."

Henry shuffled off, leaving Drew to stare at his skinny, receding back, and roll his eyes. He had to think about replacing Henry. He didn't know how much longer he could tolerate the lad's insolence, which had gotten steadily worse over the past year.

He was still shaking his head when he reached his cabin. The door was closed, but unlocked, and when he rapped on it, he got no response. Opening the door, he stepped in to see Heather had fallen asleep, stretched out on the bed, and looking most peaceful. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and smiled at the sight. She looked so comfortable, her chestnut tresses spread over the stark white pillows. Her lashes were sooty crescents against her cheeks and her lips were slightly parted. At once, he had the strongest urge to cover those soft lips with his own.

Though it was nearly summer, the breeze drifting through the open window, was cool. Drew unfolded the light quilt at the foot of the bed and drew it over her. She stretched, sighing and grasping the quilt to pull it tighter around her.

It was hard to believe less than a week had passed since that fateful night. He felt as though he'd known her so much longer. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. It felt so much longer, indeed. She was unlike any other woman he'd ever met. One moment she displayed a will of iron. The other, she seemed to wilt before his eyes. He didn't understand it. It was almost as if she thought he expected complete obedience—as though she was his slave.

His slave.

He groaned softly, dropping his head to the desktop. It suddenly made sense. She knew he'd paid that outrageous sum to the madam. So, if the madam had owned her, and he paid that sum, Heather must feel that now he owned her instead. Another groan. Even he had remarked to her that he would buy her from the madam.

“No wonder she is so hesitant to disagree with me, or is so quick to refer to me as ‘master',” he muttered, lifting his head to rub his eyes ruefully.

He knew he would have to convince her, somehow, that this was not how he viewed their relationship. The trouble was, he didn't exactly know how he would describe their relationship. It certainly was not the typical relationship a man would have with his mistress. In fact, it wasn't typical of any sort, really. Then again, why should that surprise him? Things had a way of not turning out the way they were suppose turn out.

Rebecca popped into his mind. She had the face of an angel, but the soul of the Devil himself. Somehow, he couldn't see Heather ever toying with him the way Rebecca had. Rebecca's deception had hurt him more than he cared to admit. That, combined with the number of married women he'd dallied with, gave Drew a somewhat jaded attitude where the fairer sex was concerned.

Until he'd met Heather.

He heard her stir and turned to see her stretching her arms over her head. She sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes as she said, “Oh, you're back."

“I'm back. I apologize for the delay. It took a bit longer than I expected."

“Have we left yet?"

He nodded. “We slipped from port about half an hour ago. Would you care to go topside and take a last look around?"

“Might I?"

“Certainly.” He pushed himself up from his chair and walked over to the bed. He held out his hand to help her to her feet, drawing her up beside him. “How was your nap?"

“Refreshing."

He sensed she was still troubled, but it didn't seem that she was still angry with him. Still, it was probably best to get everything out in the open. That way, he could avoid any unpleasant surprises once the sun set. “I wanted to apologize for my callous remark earlier, Heather. I did not mean it the way it sounded to you."

“Really?” Icicles hung from that one word.

Then again, perhaps she was still angry with him. He sighed. “Really. Heather, you don't have to worry about how I see you. Trust me, you are every inch the lady.” He touched her cheek. Her skin was so soft, he almost couldn't help himself. It was like a reflex. “I don't give a damn where you were when we met. It doesn't matter."

“Oh, but it does matter, Drew. Do you know what your glorified cabin boy said to me?"

Cold fury welled up from the pit of his stomach as Heather repeated what Henry had said to her. Anger twisted into a tight fist in his gut. “That son of a bitch,” he growled.

She took a step back. For the first time, she saw his eyes darken for a reason other than desire. She hadn't expected him to react quite so strongly. “Drew?"

“Excuse me for a moment,” he replied gruffly, turning away to head for the door.

“Where are you going?"

“I'm going to give that boy a long overdue comeuppance."

She went after him as he left the cabin, chasing him down the narrow corridor towards the stairs. “What are you going to do?"

“Make certain he thinks long and hard before he opens his mouth again."

Drew stormed topside, ignoring the crewmen as they stopped what they were doing and simply stared. His eyes fixated on Henry, who was lounging against the bulkhead, smoking a cigar while everyone around him toiled.

The cigar went flying over the railing as Drew grabbed a fistful of Henry's shirt. Heather stopped dead as she saw Drew lift the man easily, Henry's feet dangling a good six inches from the deck. Her eyes widened, falling on Drew's arm, watching with great interest as the muscles strained his sleeve. For a moment, she was convinced the fabric would split under the pressure.

“I ought to break you in half, boy,” he snarled, oblivious to the terror filling Henry's eyes. “You ever speak to Heather again, you so much as look at her, and I will crush you, do you understand? You have any little comments, you keep them to yourself, or else I will crush you.” He glanced around at his crew, all now staring at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. “I hear anything—anything at all—derogatory about Miss Spencer and there will be hell to pay! Am I clear?"

Henry's tanned skin went ashen. “Y—yes, sir,” he squeaked.

With that, Drew sent him airborne with little effort. The bony man slammed into the deck in a heap, letting out a pathetic groan.

Moving to stand over the bosun's mate, Drew struggled to control his raging fury. He wanted to kill the smaller man, wanted to pick him and break him in two. It'd been ages since he'd last lost his temper but he was close to doing just that. Dangerously close.

He managed to tamp it down, turning to Bobby to say, “I want this sack of—” he glanced at Heather, “that is—lock him in Mr. Allen's cabin. Tell Mr. Allen he is not to let him out of his sight. Put him in chains and keep him there until we reach New Jersey."

“Aye, Captain.” Bobby motioned to one of the other men to help him as he bent over Henry and grabbed a skinny wrist.

Heather couldn't believe what had just happened, that Drew just defended her honor so publicly. No one had ever done that for her before and it was more than a little comforting to see him doing it now. She couldn't help but smile. With his sleeves rolled up over his sculpted forearms, and his hair now in disarray, she thought she'd never seen him look so masculine, so sexy. She was still smiling as he turned away from the whimpering lump cowering on the deck and strode towards her.

“I cannot believe you did that,” she breathed, stepping in front of him to halt his gait. “In front of everyone."

“I did it in front of everyone so they know damn well to watch their mouths,” he growled, his eyes still dangerously dark. “The next one just might feel the sting of the lash."

A chill rushed through her with those cold words. She didn't think he was joking. In fact, he looked dangerous enough at that moment to possibly murder the weasely bosun's mate. The moment passed though, as he took a deep breath and reached for her hand. “Now, I do believe I promised you a last look at England, didn't I?"

Without waiting for her to answer, he gave a gentle pull on her arm and led her to the quarterdeck at the stern of the ship. Heather braced against the railing, unexpected tears leaping to her eyes as they moved down the Thames. Gazing out at the lights of London, she couldn't help but feel a wave of homesickness. She never thought she would say goodbye to London. She never thought she would ache so strongly, seeing the city fade into the distance.

But ache she did. The feeling of loss filled her as she sniffed quietly, trying to blink back the tears. London was home, and to say goodbye to the city was akin saying to goodbye to a part of herself. That portion of her life, of the person she had been, was over and done with now. A new beginning dawned upon her, leaving her with a mixture of hope and dread.

A tear slid down her cheek. She made no motion to wipe it away, nor to stop her bottom lip from quivering the way it was. London was all she had ever known and, like everything else in her life, it was slipping away.

If Drew saw that tear fall, he said nothing. However, he eased his arms about her, pressing her back against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, and she simply let him engulf her. It was a small comfort, but a comfort just the same. She felt so tiny, so delicate wrapped in those massive arms. It just seemed so natural, that she should find comfort with him. The ship rocked gently beneath her slippered feet, rising and falling with the currents. Each time the Aphrodite fell, her hips bumped the railing and his hips bumped her, pressing into her back.

He tightened his arms about her, pressing her even more into his chest. His fingers brushed over her arms as he leaned forward to press his lips against the side of her neck. With an airy sigh, she tilted her head to one side, enjoying the warm caress of his lips on her flesh. It didn't matter that they were in plain view of the others. She needed the comfort he offered, needed the feel of those arms around her. And it was a comfort indeed. He nuzzled her playfully, his teeth catching her earlobe gently, and sending a fresh curl of desire unwinding in her belly.

His voice was barely audible as he murmured, “Shall we go below, love?"

She sighed at his teasing whisper. She felt so relaxed, almost as if she could go to sleep right there in his arms. She slowly turned to face him, craning her neck to look up at him. “I don't know,” she admitted, feeling more than a bit shy.

He smiled down at her and leaned in to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. At once, the familiar heat filled her, flooded her, and her shyness ebbed away. She snaked her arms about his waist, her hands flat against the planes of his back, pulling him even closer. Feeling braver than ever, she plunged her tongue between his lips to explore the depth of his mouth, emboldened by the sudden tightening of his arms about her.

He gave one last squeeze and broke the kiss. Chuckling softly, he tugged her to his chest, kissing the top of her head. “You don't mind if we stand here a moment longer, love, do you? I'd rather my crew not see me in a somewhat undignified light."

A silvery peal of laughter bubbled to her lips. “No,” she told him, her eyes sparkling as they met his. “I don't mind one bit."

Eleven

After supper, Drew returned topside, but not before promising he wouldn't be long. “I'll have Nick send down a bottle of brandy and some pastries. I just need to make certain the watches are in place for the night and I'll be back."

Heather nodded. “I'll wait up."

He gave her a boyish smile. “I certainly hope so.” He paused in the doorway. “By the by, take a look in the trunk at the foot of the bed."

And with that, he disappeared before she could question him, leaving her to laugh softly and shake her head. But, her curiosity was aroused, so she took herself to the trunk, kneeling before it to lift the lid. “He is going around the bend, that one is,” she laughed to herself. “Why should I—oh ... oh my..."

She couldn't believe what she was seeing as her eyes fell upon a neatly folded square of ice-blue fabric. Her fingers skimmed over it to find it was as cool and fluid as water. Lifting it up, Heather was amazed to see it slip from its folds like liquid.

It was a negligee of the finest silk money could buy and was the most beautiful garment she'd ever laid eyes upon. Standing, she held it up against herself. The sides were open, silk ties halfway up on either side. The lacy neckline plunged almost to her navel and the long sleeves were gathered at the shoulder and wrists, but opened along the length. “Did he purchase this for me?” she whispered in disbelief.

Glancing about, she saw a mirror affixed to the wall alongside the wardrobe and hurried over to take a look at her reflection. Holding the negligee up once more, she couldn't help but smile as she thought about his parting words. Apparently, he wished her to find the negligee to wear that evening. She smiled at her reflection once more, whispering, “Oh, why not?” She caught a glimpse of the neatly made bed in the mirror. “Why not?"

She waited until Nick arrived with the items Drew had requested. The ship's steward had a boyish face that was lit with a smile. He was pleasant, friendly, as he brought in the tray of pastries and a bottle of brandy. He didn't say much, just smiled and bobbed his head as he ducked back out the door. Then, she pulled the negligee out from beneath the pillow, where she'd stuffed it when Nick rapped on the door. Feeling delightfully sinful, she caressed her cheek with the delicate material, and hurried to don it before Drew returned.

Heather couldn't help her sigh as she sunk back into the pile of soft pillows. She'd never felt so deliciously wicked before as she did in that negligee. Some of her fear left her as she ran a hand over the cool sheer silk. She'd never owned something so lovely, that made her feel so lovely as well.

The negligee was so much more enticing than the awful red one she'd donned at Delilah's. This garment was designed to tease the senses by covering more than it displayed, all the while offering hints as to what lay below. It felt so smooth, so cool against her skin, sending shivers of delight through her.

The ripples coursing through her were unlike any she'd ever felt and she couldn't help her girlish giggle, shifting her position by drawing one leg up so her foot was flat against the mattress. The negligee spilled over her flesh, exposing her leg from foot to thigh.

She was still wriggling about, trying to find the perfect position, when the door opened and Drew filled the entranceway. Heather froze as she heard his throaty whisper of, “Dear God."

His entry was so sudden, so unexpected, and she felt incredibly foolish—being caught trying to find the most enticing position. Knowing her face had to be a steaming scarlet, she forced herself to meet his eyes, whispering, “You're back."

“I'm back.” He closed the door and leaned back against it. His eyes moved slowly over her, starting at her feet and creeping upwards. At first, she wanted to fidget beneath his heavy-lidded stare, feeling very much as though he were devouring her with his eyes. Bit by bit, though, that discomfort faded, replaced by a heady rush unlike any she'd ever felt. She was the reason why his eyes darkened the way they did, the reason why he looked very much like a man under the spell of a siren. Quite a powerful feeling, to say the least.

Reaching up, she brushed back a stray curl. Having brushed her hair until it shone, she arranged it to spill over her shoulders, to puddle beneath her, hoping she achieved the look of a practiced seductress. Judging by the darkness of Drew's eyes, she guessed she'd succeeded.

Feeling bolder still, she shifted a tad, allowing the silk to pour from her and expose a scandalous eyeful of her slender thigh. But then her boldness wavered as he swallowed hard to shatter her cool demeanor. Perhaps she was being too bold. She moved to tug the silk back over her leg, pausing as he said, “Don't. Don't cover up, Heather. You look beautiful. Absolutely stunning."

She blushed again, feeling the crimson heat sweep up her neck, into her face. Drew's gaze held her fast as he stepped closer to the bed, unwinding his cravat. She found it difficult to swallow, her mouth going as dry as dust as he shrugged out of his waistcoat, draping it over the foot of the bed. He didn't halt his stride, but moved upwards, towards the head. Almost lazily, he released his cravat, letting it flutter down atop his coat, and smiled down at her as he unbuttoned his shirt to ease it off. “Do you have any idea what you are doing to me at this very moment, Miss Heather?"

Judging by how much darker his eyes were growing and by the husky growl of his voice, she had a very good idea, indeed. Still, she remained silent, gazing up at him. He let his shirt flutter to the floor and bent over her, his mouth slashing down over hers.

Her arms wound about his neck, her fingers sliding into his hair. His mouth searched hers, his arms easing about her waist, twisting the silk about her. She couldn't resist the urge to pull him down, so she did just that, her fingers pressing into his nape as she gently tugged. He obliged, stretching out beside her, turning her in his arms so they were face to face, his length pressing into her.

His breath was hot against her already overheated skin, his hands roaming down over the curve of her backside, slipping up beneath the silk to pull her into him. She shivered as he caressed her sensitive skin, rained kisses down her neck, and teased outward, over the skin above her breasts. His fingers skittered over the back of one thigh, down to her knee. When she breathed an airy sigh, he gently lifted her leg, letting it drape over his. His hand skimmed up, closing over her hip to pull her into direct contact with him.

Her eyes closed as he pressed into her hips with his own. She could feel his evident need and desire for her. His lips moved over her breastbone, raining soft kisses over the expanse of bared flesh, savoring her as if she were a rare delicacy.

He crept lower, caressing the sensitive flesh of her right breast. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he moved further down, over her belly, and then he came back up. As he inched up, he brought the silk with him, bunching it about her waist.

Abruptly, he pulled away, but smiled as he gazed down at her. “Vixen,” he murmured, smoothing her hair away from her cheek with one hand. “Beautiful vixen."

Her embarrassment fled, draining from her as her eyes met his. She suddenly felt so bold, very much like the vixen he professed her to be. She was glad she'd put on the negligee, ever so glad Drew had the consideration to even think of it.

His fingers continued to stroke her thigh, bringing her skin to life with a series of tingling crackles. He brushed a sensitive spot just behind her knee and she shivered, a breathless laugh bubbling to her lips.

Heather did a little exploring of her own, letting her hands skim up his back. His shoulders, his back, were as smooth as polished granite, and just as solid. There was very little give beneath her fingertips as she pressed into the firm flesh, against the tightly woven sinew of his body. It was almost impossible to discern flesh from bone, he was so solidly built.

He didn't seem to mind her perusal, her roaming hands. Instead, he went still against her, nuzzling her and sighing softly as she, too, brushed sensitive areas. A patch between his shoulder blades, one below his buttocks, and still another along his neck—each caress of those areas sent him shuddering against her, sucking in his breath and laughing softly into her ear. Her lips roamed as much as her hands did. She was in no hurry as she nibbled at his ear, along the rough stubble of his neck, down one shoulder. Taking her cue from him, she did a little tasting of her own, her tongue caressing with the same curiosity as her lips, and a smile playing at her lips with each successive groan rising in his throat.

Drew grasped the tie on her right side and tugged. As the silk parted, he eased his hand between the two panels, his long fingers inching their way towards her breast. His hand covered her breast, practically swallowing it, but his fingers were gentle as they grazed her nipple, which beaded almost instantly and she shivered once more.

A burst of tingles rushed through her, starting from the nipple he caressed, radiating outward. They grew stronger with each pass of his thumb as it slowly circled about that sensitive nub. She could feel a tightness starting deep in the pit of her belly, where it swelled into a dull, heavy ache within her core. It was all so new to her, this strange ache inside. New and powerful, threatening to devour her entirely. She knew there was no going back, it was no longer even an option. Drew awoke something she hadn't even known existed and she knew that only he could soothe that blasted ache.

He pushed the silk away from her, his dark head dipping down as his lips replaced his hand. The moist heat from his tongue sent a shockwave blasting through her. Her back arched at the sensations swirling through her like wildfire. A soft cry bubbled to her lips as she tugged at his hair, releasing it just as suddenly for fear she was hurting him.

He lifted his head long enough to whisper huskily, “Don't worry, love ... it will take more than a little hair pulling to dampen my ardor."

She couldn't hold back her breathless laugh, though she did ease her hold on him. Returning his attentions to her breast, he didn't seem to notice when her fingers twisted in his hair once more. It appeared he was far too intent on teasing first one nipple, then the other, with his tongue.

Heather gave herself up to the whirling sensations he brought to life with his fingers, his lips, and his tongue. She loved what he was doing, never wanted him to stop his sensuous torture of her flesh. She ached to touch him as he touched her. It seemed so terribly brazen, but the need was there. A need she had no choice but to satisfy. Tentatively, she reached out, resting her hand against the solid rise of his chest. His skin felt so hot, she actually glanced down to see if her hand was burning.

Feeling a bit braver, she slid her hand down over that solid muscle, through the crisp mat of black hair, to the flat, hard plane of his belly. Her fingers brushed over his hipbone and she froze, ever mindful of that powerful part of him only a few inches from her hand. Did she dare?

She wished she had the courage to continue her exploration. She wanted to let her fingers roam over him, the way his did over her. She wanted to make him feel even some of the sensations he sent whirling through her.

But would that be too forward? Too improper? The image of him naked leaped into her mind, but she felt no fear of him now. All that remained was that blasted curiosity. Did she dare touch him?

Drew groaned softly at the fluttery caress, shivering against her again, only harder this time. She froze, wondering if, perhaps, she was doing something she oughtn't.

His next groan was clearly in protest and he lifted his head to murmur, “Heather?"

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, her face growing hot. “I didn't mean to be so forward."

He chuckled softly, kissing her fully on the lips. “Don't ever be sorry, love. Don't ever worry about being forward or brazen. It's quite all right. Touch me however you wish, Heather. Please, feel free. In fact, I insist upon it."

His husky whisper sent a shudder through her. Her courage rose and her fingers began moving over his belly again, but halted at the fastenings of his trousers. She simply could not make herself loosen them. Her fingers refused to obey.

Drew gave her another smile. Pulling away, he stripped off his trousers, letting them fall to the floor. He stretched out beside her once more, his fingers closing about her wrist as he guided her hand to him. She jumped at that first touch, at his sharp inhale. But he refused to release her hand. His eyes closed as her fingers brushed him and his sigh was nearly transparent in its breathiness, “Heather..."

That feeling of headiness swarmed over her as he growled softly in the back of his throat. Her courage grew, her curiosity replacing her fear and making her bolder still. His groans had become shuddery sighs when he suddenly reached down to snatch her hand away from him.

Going still, she swallowed hard. “I'm sorry..."

“No,” he breathed, shaking his head. “You've done nothing to be sorry for, love.” He kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging between her lips to devour hers.

He eased one hand between her thighs, which parted of their own and she couldn't hold back her gasp as he caressed her most sensitive flesh. Heat spiraled through her, her limbs buttery as the fever claimed her. The tingles were back now, coursing through her with fiery intensity. It began as he gently thrust one finger inside her—a wicked fire sweeping through her from that most sensitive spot he expertly teased. The tension was an almost unbearable mix of pleasure and ache, a strong coil of need clenching tightly deep inside her. She wanted to cry out at the sheer bliss of it, but was afraid he would think he was hurting her.

Hurting her? Hardly. It was the most wonderful thing she'd ever felt—that slow, sensual stroking. Her toes curled as the flames swept up to the center of her being, engulfing her in a growing wave of pure, sweet pleasure. Her fingers twisted in his hair again, grabbing a handful of it, practically yanking it from his head. Her breathing was ragged and heavy as nerve after nerve fired in rapid succession throughout her entire body. That fire threatened to consume her if Drew did not do something about the raging inferno he'd ignited.

Just as she thought she might burst into actual flames, his hand moved. She let out a small mewl of protest. He chuckled softly, whispering, “Patience, love. Patience. We have all night and I wish to make certain you are ready for me."

She opened her eyes as she whispered, “I do believe I am, Drew."

He groaned as he moved back up, settling between her hips, gently nudging her legs apart to accommodate him. She shuddered involuntarily as he brushed up against her, up against that now all-too-sensitive part of her body. Drew smiled down at her as he held himself above her, leaning over to kiss her again. “Are you ready, then?"

Am I ever, she thought feverishly. But she couldn't vocalize the words, so she nodded instead.

He began his entry slowly and she groaned softly, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders at his thickness filling her. She could not believe the ripples of pleasure shooting through her with the slightest movement. That fullness inside her snatched the breath from her lungs.

He hesitated for a moment and then thrust. Capturing her lips with his, he swallowed her brief cry of pain as he burst through her maidenhead. The pain was mercifully short-lived, a brief twinge quickly replaced by a sense of wonder as he went still. She could feel him, could feel the ebbing of the original spasm, but he'd stopped moving and she couldn't help but wonder why. It seemed to her there should be more to it than this. Of course, there was that fullness still so deep inside her and she knew she had to address that, as the shockwaves were still pulsing through her.

“Drew?” she whispered.

He lifted his head, breathing heavily as he gazed at her with smoky, deep indigo eyes. “Yes?"

“Is that it?"

He smiled. “Hardly, love.” With that, he began thrusting with almost lazy strokes. Pleasure—the most delicious pleasure she'd ever felt—built. It swirled about, eddying until her head spun with the pure sweetness of it.

That ache deep within her began to grow and tighten as she felt him moving inside her. The tingles swelled up, bursting to shoot through her with the heat of a thousand suns and rendering her incapable of holding back her soft cry. As he lowered himself against her, her lips along his neck, over his shoulder. She sought out, and found, the sensitive spots on his body, discovering what places brought forth a sigh, a shiver, and what made him thrust harder into her.

It felt so wonderful, those driving thrusts, each one so different from the last. When she gently flicked her tongue over his nipple, he responded with a deep growl. Then, increasing his pace, he gathered her close, driving to her depths with a passion that left her head spinning and her body fighting for air.

Then she felt it. A wave of fiery sensation blooming, taking on a life of its own as it crested and then broke to flood her body with wave after wave of incredible, sweet pleasure Her back arched, instinct taking over and her hips rising sharply in time to meet him. It was amazing, that explosion he created deep inside her, rendering her senseless with the glorious flash of her first climax.

He caught her lips in a deep kiss, swallowing her cry of delight as she erupted all around him. She wrapped herself around him, her legs grasping him and holding him as close as possible. He arched into her, fighting for air as he gave one last powerful thrust before finally collapsing against her. He buried his face in her neck, his voice ragged as he groaned, “Oh, God ... oh, God..."

Unexpected tears pricked her eyes as he sunk into her. She threaded her fingers through his hair, feeling as though she'd just discovered something rare and wonderful, as if she'd just given Drew a gift. A very special part of herself. She sniffed, and he lifted his head.

His eyes were tender as he whispered, “Are you crying?"

Another sniff. “No."

He leaned close to kiss her cheek, murmuring, “Try again, love. Did I hurt you?"

“No—well—a bit ... at first, perhaps."

“Then why are you crying?"

“I don't know."

He shifted to lie beside her, gathering her in his arms. “You are all right otherwise?"

She let out a sigh as that fullness inside her disappeared, but she felt wonderful just the same. Her tears were not those of sadness, she wanted to tell him. But she could think of no way to say what she was feeling without sounding silly. She gazed up at him. “I am fine, Drew. Really."

She sighed softly, as he held her tight. It felt so wonderful to be cradled in his arms. She lay there for a long time, simply enjoying the feel of him all around her. His fingers trailed lightly up and down her arm, brushing the outer curve of her breast. He then pulled her against him, rolling to pin her beneath him once more. She didn't resist as his lips claimed hers. Instead, she surrendered fully, feeling no fear as she let him lead her down the path of sinfully sensual delight once more.

Twelve

The next morning, when Heather awoke, she was alone. She yawned and stretched, smiling as her eyes fell on the blue negligee. It was on the floor beside the bed, where it had landed when Drew had whisked it from her body the night before.

She pulled the sheet up to her chin, snuggling into it as she thought about what had happened the previous evening. She felt like a new person, as if she had been reborn. She also felt a bit odd, not at all certain she would now be able to look Drew in the eye after the passion that had raged between them. She knew she would never be able to look at him in the same way again. Not after sharing the most beautiful night of her life with him.

But would he look at her differently now? Would everything change now that she was no longer a mystery to him? She hoped not. She wanted to share her sense of awe with him, her sense of being a part of something so much greater than herself.

But then she remembered. This was not something new for him. He was no stranger to a woman's bed or the pleasures to be found there. A slight pall settled over her, sapping some of the happiness she'd been feeling. The thought of sharing him in that way did not sit well with her. She didn't want to think of the others he'd known before her.

The cabin was chilly, so she tugged the sheet with her as she rose from the bed, dragging it across the floor as she moved around to her trunk. When she found what she sought, she dropped the sheet and donned a clean chemise and the first gown she could find—a soft muslin in robin's egg blue.

“I really must thank Drew for insisting I return to Madam Cartwright's that second time,” she mused, draping the wrinkled sheet over her arm and moving to return it to the bed.

As she approached the bed, her eyes fell to a dark splotch on the bottom sheet. Frowning, she leaned closer, her stomach lurching when she realized she was seeing blood. Her blood. The proof of her innocence.

“Oh, my,” she whispered as she realized exactly what she had done, what had happened between them. Her knees wobbled as the enormity of that one event seeped into her. Most of her life, she knew that her virginity was integral to her ever making a successful marriage—or any marriage for that matter. It was something she carried with her, even through those dark days at Madam Allison's, when she had no other choice. She was ruined now, would forever be relegated to the status of mistress, should she return to London.

She pushed the thought from her mind as she tossed the sheet onto the bed, covering the streaks. It didn't help. She knew she'd crossed that bridge and there was no returning to the other side. Still, she didn't regret it. Not one bit. It was merely the impact hitting her for the first time.

“Ah, you're awake."

Heather spun about to see Drew standing in the doorway. As she'd suspected would happen, heat flooded her face and she had a most difficult time making eye contact with him as she remembered the feel of his hands on her body, the way his lips caressed hers, the feel of his—

A sudden shyness surged through her as she tried to force those thoughts from her mind. Her eyes fell to the floor as she murmured, “Yes. I'm awake."

He closed the door behind him as he stepped into the cabin. “Feeling a bit odd this morning, love?"

“How did you guess?"

His laughter was soft and teasing. “Just a hunch.” Floorboards creaked as he took another step. “Heather, if you just look at me, that awkwardness just might go away. I haven't grown another head, or a third eye, you realize."

She knew he was trying to put her at ease, but wasn't as confident that she'd be able to look at him. It took some effort, but she managed to pry her eyes from the floorboards and lift her head to meet his amused look.

He cocked his head slightly. “Well? Do I still look the same as I did yesterday?"

She couldn't help but laugh then. He was the same as he'd been the day before. He was still charming, still handsome. It was she who had changed, not him.

“Still feeling shy, are you?” he asked, his voice playful.

“Perhaps a bit."

“There's no reason to feel that way. Certainly understandable, but unnecessary.” He closed the gap between them, reaching out to lift a curl from her shoulder, his eyes still holding hers. “Are you hungry?"

Food had been the furthest thing from her mind until he mentioned it. Then her stomach rumbled, loudly enough for Drew to hear as well.

He grinned. “I'll take that as a yes."

“I'm afraid I've been caught. Though, I must admit, I am a bit hungry,” she said with a smile.

“So I hear. Well, I've already taken the liberty of asking Nick to bring us breakfast."

“You mean, you've not eaten yet? How long have you been awake?"

“I'm usually up with the sun, even when I deserve to sleep in.” He gave her a devilish grin, shaking his head as a fresh blush stained her cheeks. “As for not eating, I thought I'd make the sacrifice and share your morning meal with you, especially since you woke up alone this morning.” He released the curl to touch her face lightly, murmuring, “You should not have been alone this morning, love."

She shook her head. “It wasn't a problem. I did not expect you to be here. You've a ship to captain."

“A twenty-four hour a day job, I'm afraid,” he sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “Makes me look forward to returning to Brunswick. I deserve a long rest."

“Have you a house there?"

“Not yet. I've been in Europe for the last year. Before that, I was overseeing short runs to the West Indies. I was back and forth so often that it made no sense to keep a house of my own. I stay at Shadowbrook when I'm in Brunswick. Of course, I may not be so welcome there when I show my face."

She knew the reason why his family would not be happy to see him when he'd been gone so long. She pressed her lips together, looking over his shoulder at the opened window. “Really, now?"

He gave her a long, level look, suggesting she was jumping to conclusions. “It has nothing to do with you, Heather. Nothing to do with you at all, actually."

Despite his assurance to the contrary, she couldn't help but raise her brows at him. “How can that be?"

“Because, my lady, I did have a life before you came into it,” he replied gently “This concerns something that happened before I left America, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Heather cleared her throat, feeling more a mite foolish at her implication. Of course he had a life prior to their meeting. That foolish feeling emerged as crisp irritation. Giving him her back, she sniffed, “I am well aware of the fact that you did not come into being ten minutes before you walked through that door at Madam Allison's."

“Heather, I left New Jersey fourteen months ago,” he replied slowly, as if carefully considering each word before speaking it, “and have had no contact with my family since leaving. When Adam appeared in London that last week, it was the first time I've spoken to anyone associated with the Kennedy family."

“You mean to tell me that you ran away from home, then?"

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” Drew sighed, moving over to sink down onto the edge of the bed. He clasped his hands, letting them dangle between his knees as he said, “There was a woman—"

Heather's ears pricked up at that, her stomach tightening as she whirled around. “You don't have to tell me this."

“Yes, I do. Now, be quiet and listen. I'll keep it short and sweet. I was to be married, it didn't come to pass, and I left to sort out a few things. I didn't want any of the distractions that come with being surrounded by family. I wanted the time solely to myself, with no interruptions."

Drew had been betrothed at one point? Heather felt the same pang she felt earlier, when she thought of the beds he'd probably shared. It made her uncomfortable to think he'd been in love with another woman. What if he still carried a flame for her?

She mentally shook her head. Where had that come from? She blinked the thought away, asking, “Have you such a large family, then, that you needed to run all the way across the ocean?"

“An older brother and two younger sisters."

“That must be nice. I've always wanted a sister."

He grinned then. “Spoken like a woman who was an only child. Trust me, there are times when I wish I were in your shoes. A large family is nice, but it doesn't leave a body much privacy."

“What happened?"

“I spent the last year in France, Spain, and England."

“No.” She shook her head, forcing herself to speak the words clanging about inside it. “What happened with the woman you were going to marry?"

Drew reached both arms straight up overhead, clasping his left hand about his right wrist and arching his back as he stretched. “Let's simply leave it at not working out, shall we?” He lowered his arms, slapping his palms against his thighs. “Nick should be here soon with breakfast."

She wanted to ask him again, but the glint in his eye warned her not to press the issue. She wondered if that meant he did still carry a flame for this nameless, faceless woman. She pressed her lips together, giving him a sidelong glance. She didn't know who this woman was, but Heather knew she didn't like her very much.

With that, there came a sharp rap at the door. “Captain Kennedy?” A deep voice floated through the oak door. “Breakfast, sir."

“Ah, perfect timing,” Drew said, rising to his feet and crossing over to the door. He pulled it open and smiled down at Nick. “Just put it on the table."

Nick nodded. “Aye, Captain."

Heather smiled at the young man hauling the large silver tray. He appeared to be a bit older than Drew, but showed nothing but respect for his captain as he set the tray on the small round dining table.

“Fetch you anything else, Captain?” he asked.

“That will do for now, Nick."

“Aye, then.” Nick turned to Heather, his serious dark eyes warm and friendly. “A good day to you, Miss Heather."

She was surprised he knew her name, but then remembered Drew's announcement before the crew. By now, everyone must have known who she was. Still, it came as a relief to see one man who didn't look at her with either disdain, or interest.

“A good day to you,” she replied with a hint of a smile.

Drew suddenly cleared his throat. “That will be all, Nick."

Nick looked somewhat embarrassed as he said, “Of course, Captain,” and hurried to the door.

Heather saw Drew's sudden frown, but couldn't imagine why he would be glowering at Nick. If she didn't know any better, she would have sworn she was seeing a hint of jealousy in him. But that couldn't be. Why would Drew be jealous?

After Nick hurried from the cabin, Drew swung around to face her again. “Shall we?"

“Please."

* * * *

When they'd finished eating, Drew said, “Would you care to see the Atlantic?"

“You mean to say we have left land behind completely?"

“We have. We are now out beyond the Channel and into the open sea.” He took in the thin muslin gown she wore and added, “You might wish to don a wrap, though. The winds blowing in are quite brisk."

After selecting a light shawl to toss over her shoulders, she slipped her arm through his and they left the cabin to go topside, where the sun bounced brilliantly off the water's surface, making it sparkle like gems. Heather had to shield her eyes from the glare as she caught her first glimpse of the massive Atlantic Ocean.

It was a bit unsettling, seeing nothing around but mile after mile of water. There were no birds, no land masses, nothing but the foamy whitecaps of cresting waves. She couldn't even see a hint of another ship. It was as if the Aphrodite was the only dry place on Earth and her crew the only people left.

She turned to Drew, only to find him gazing out over the water with a faraway look in his eyes. The wind ruffled his hair, tumbling a wayward lock over his forehead. He had shed his London attire for a more comfortable one, dressed in black trousers and white cambric shirt, cuffs opened and rolled back to just below his elbows. He'd gone from being the proper gentleman to the dashing sea captain as easily as he'd changed his clothes.

He stood beside her at the quarterdeck railing, hands braced against the gleaming wood as he studied the water, apparently lost in his thoughts. She wondered if he was thinking about his former fiancée, and wished he'd never mentioned having one. That would explain how he came to be at Delilah's. They'd never discussed what brought him to the brothel that night, aside from Viscount Danbury's tale of the mysterious beauty working there. She couldn't help but think it was to put the woman he'd lost from his mind.

He came out of his reverie then, smiling down at her. “What are you thinking about, my lady?"

“It's so beautiful out here.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily. She certainly couldn't tell him what she had really been thinking. He'd made it quite clear he was unwilling to discuss his former fiancée.

“That it is,” he sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms against the railing, linking his fingers. “There is nothing like being out on the ocean. Nothing compares to it."

“Are you are planning to return to London, then?"

His brow furrowed. “I'm sorry?"

“I heard you tell Jameson that you would be back."

“Oh, I most likely will be, eventually. But it won't be any time soon.” He smiled down at her. “I think I'll stay in Brunswick for a while. I need to get my family to forgive me for my desertion as it is. Could you imagine if I left six months later? They'd disown me for certain."

“Your family is close, then?"

He turned, this time leaning his back against the railing. “I suppose we are. My brother is my best friend and there is nothing I wouldn't do for either of my sisters. Of course, I don't see Kendall all that often. She's the older of the two girls. Married now. Lives with her husband in Connecticut. They have a little girl of their own now. Diana's the youngest and constantly on the lookout for a husband. She puts your debs to shame."

“Tell me about your brother. You say he is your best friend, yet you rarely ever mention him."

“Garrett? Garrett is Garrett. He's the oldest, the responsible, serious one—for the most part. He can be a bit more hotheaded than the rest of us, but,” Drew shrugged, “he's also a bit more grounded than I am. I am seen as the black sheep in my family, but they put up with it because I'm so damn lovable."

She couldn't help but smile. “They have a point."

“Think so, do you?"

“At times."

A devilish glint leaped into his blue eyes as he shifted, moving to stand behind her. He placed his hands on the railing, on either side of her, and leaned close to whisper, “Such as last evening, love?"

“You are terrible."

He nuzzled her. “You didn't think so then."

“I was not in my right mind."

His laughter was soft in her ear. “Of course you were, my lady. I had no idea so passionate and lusty a lady lay hidden beneath your proper exterior."

She sighed softly as his hair brushed her cheek. At that moment, she didn't care about this former flame. All that mattered to her was that she was there with him. His arms were around her, and those were his lips moving along her neck. She knew that, when night fell, hers would be the body Drew reached for and pulled close in his sleep. And for now, she was quite content with that.

Thirteen

After a week at sea, Heather started to lose her enchantment with the ocean. She spent a great deal of time alone, as Drew's duties took up a chunk of his time. At first, she enjoyed the leisure time. She pored over the two shelves of books above his desk. There were, of course, many ocean-related books, but she was pleasantly surprised to find several works by Homer and Shakespeare. He also owned books written by Washington Irving and James Fennimore Cooper.

His library was quite eclectic, as she discovered when she pulled down a slim volume of John Keats’ poetry. The thin book puzzled her, for he didn't strike her as the sort to read poetry. Her fingers brushed over the faded red cloth cover and, when she lifted it, a scrap of paper fluttered to the floor.

She crouched down to pick it up. It was rectangular, a shade smaller than the pages of the book, and yellowed with age. Turning it over, she saw the unmistakable penmanship of a lady:

My darling Drew,

Though we are apart, hold this close and imagine I am lying there beside you, in your arms, where I truly belong.

The paper was worn and slightly wrinkled, as if it had been thumbed over many times.

By Drew, perhaps? Her heart pounded against her ribs as she slipped the paper back into the book and returned it to the shelf. She didn't want him to know that she'd found it, as it obviously meant something to him. She turned away from the shelves, having lost all interest in reading. That love letter struck a sour note in her heart, reminding her of the woman for whom he obviously still pined. It left her feeling strangely odd—almost as if she'd been betrayed.

But that was not possible. Drew had made no promises to her, had avowed no feelings for her. He did not speak of a future together, except to say she would remain his mistress once they reached Brunswick. But, for how long? The question pricked her brain on more than one occasion. She had no way of knowing how long Drew's interest in her would last. What would become of her when it waned?

Heather plunked down in the desk chair. It wasn't the first time she'd wondered this, but it was the first time she felt a flicker of fear. What would become of her once Drew moved on? She would be alone, in a strange country, with no money and no way to support herself. Unless—

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I will not go back to a madam. Not ever."

But, would she be able to remain in Brunswick? If she found she liked the town and wanted to stay, would she be able to do so, knowing she would most likely run into him at some point? She tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine bumping into him on a walkway, seeing him with a new love and remembering the nights she'd spent in his arms. It hurt just to think about, never mind actually experiencing it. She squeezed her eyes shut to ward off the unwelcome images.

The thought plagued her over the next few days. By the end of that first week, she was ready to go out of her mind. She certainly couldn't ask Drew. Besides, she wasn't certain she wanted to hear the truth, or what she thought the truth would be.

She tried to keep busy, but there was only so much she could do. She spent two days tidying and rearranging the cabin, only to have him ranting and raving when he couldn't find an inventory sheet he needed and she couldn't remember where she'd moved it.

“I need something to do, Drew,” she complained from the corner across from him, where she was far enough out of reach as he tore through the items on his desk, muttering oaths beneath his breath.

“If you are so bored, Heather, I'll find something for you to do. But please, I beg you—do not clean for me again! Have we a deal?"

She fought to keep from cowering beneath his fiery blue-eyed glare. “Yes. We've a deal."

“Good.” He yanked a sheaf of papers from a pile on the desk, thundering, “Damn it!” as the rest of the stack teetered precariously, then spilled over the desktop and to the floor.

“Please, do let me help yo—"

He crouched to swipe them up and try to rearrange them, growling, “Thank you, my lady, but you've helped me quite enough for one day!"

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, fear washing over her as she pressed herself flush against the wall. For a brief, horrifying moment, she wondered if he might actually strike her. Lord knows he seemed furious enough to do just that. It was the first time she'd felt the sting of his temper. Suddenly, she was terrified of him, remembering how easily he'd thrown Henry across the deck. She would be no match for a man of his size and obvious strength. No match at all.

Drew looked up from the sheaf of papers and though thunderclouds still darkened his eyes, his scowl melted. His sigh was heavy, as if pulling the last of his temper from his body, and his shoulders relaxed as he set the stack right again. “I'm sorry, Heather,” he said, turning to face her. “I know you were only trying to help me out and I do appreciate it. It's simply that I have a method to my madness and now my madness is all jumbled up."

She forced her tongue down from the roof of her mouth, murmuring, “I should never have touched any of those papers. I thought I was doing you a favor."

“I know. I apologize for being such an ogre.” He dropped into his desk chair, leaning his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Come here."

Heather hesitated, not at all certain she should get anywhere within arm's reach of him as his eyes still glinted with danger. Then she figured it was probably best not to set him into a fury again.

She tentatively moved over to stand before him. He reached for her hand, drawing her down onto his lap. “I'm sorry, love.” he spoke softly, his fingers stroking over the plait hanging halfway down her back. “I need to work on reeling in my temper, I'm afraid. It's been a busy week and my nerves are stretched rather thin."

She sat stiffly, wanting to coil her arms about his neck, but didn't think it would be proper. He solved her dilemma by taking her wrists and pulling her arms to drape over his shoulders.

“You do not ever have to be afraid of me, love. I would never raise a hand to you in anger.” He continued to speak softly, pressing his fingertips into her back in small circles. “Not ever."

She could see the sincerity in his eyes and knew he was telling the truth. “I won't help you again, Drew. You have my word."

He cupped her chin in one hand. “I can't promise I won't yell again,” he replied with a devilish grin. “But, I can promise you will like my apologies."

She didn't resist as he drew her in for a soft kiss. A ripple of heat coursed through her as his lips parted and his tongue delved down capture hers. They hadn't made love since that first night—she was fast asleep by the time Drew returned to the cabin most nights and he was gone before she awoke. Perhaps that was about to change?

He slid his arms about her waist, shifting her so she now sat facing him, astride him with her legs dangling over either side of his thighs. He tugged her closer, groaning softly as her breasts pressed into his chest. Leaning close, he trailed his lips down the side of her neck and into her décolletage, while his fingers went to work on the back of her gown, parting it swiftly and drawing it down over her shoulders. Using his teeth, he tugged at the ribbon on her chemise, nudging the linen aside with one hand to bare her left breast.

The cool ocean breeze danced across her skin and her eyes were so heavy-lidded that she let them droop as his tongue swirled about her nipple. It felt so heavenly that she forgot where she was, forgot about the completely unladylike position she was in. The slight flicker of embarrassment she originally felt when he parted her chemise was gone, swallowed up by the flames of desire he stoked deep within her.

His hands dropped to her calves, his palms skimming up over the smooth curve of her legs and shoving her skirts up to her hips. The shiver she felt had nothing to do with the air wafting into the cabin, and everything to do with those rough, skilled hands stroking her flesh. Her belly tightened, the knot dropping lower as he caressed with greater urgency.

He rose up against her and her eyes snapped open. She pulled away slightly. “Here?"

His eyes were smoked sapphires as he gave her a seductive grin. “Why not?"

“You must be joking."

“I am not joking, love.” He brought both hands up to cup her breasts, giving a gentle squeeze and circling her nipples with his thumbs. “Ah, so proper, my lady. There is no need to always be so proper. Making love should be enjoyable, with all proprieties left at the door."

“But here? In a chair?” It was so difficult, forcing the blasted words to pass her lips. She didn't want to think, but only wished to concentrate on the delicious heat rising within her, brought about by those fingers on her breasts. Still, it didn't seem right, that she should be enjoying herself, that she should even consider remaining in a chair.

“Why not?” he repeated, lowering one hand to settle beneath her skirts, between her thighs, where he parted her curls and began teasing her with one gentle finger.

Good heavens, this man had no shame! Heather sharply sucked in her breath as an arrow of pleasure shot through her. His smile became sexier as he whispered, “Tell me you want me, love..."

“Drew, I—"

He shifted, pulling her down to his chest so he could ravish her lips again. “Tell me you want me as badly as I want you, love,” he whispered, his lips skimming up, nibbling at her ear. “Because, my lady, I do want you. I want to feel you all around me.” He chuckled as she groaned into his neck. “I want to make love to you the way you should be made love to, Heather. Slowly. Sensually."

His words sent a shudder through her. Her head swam with the sensations whirling through her body. The ache began, centering on where he gently stroked her. Her thoughts were even more sluggish now, words slow to rise to her lips and she had to force them out. “Stop ... Drew ... you ought not ... say ... such things."

“Says who?” he demanded in a throaty voice. “Who makes up these damned rules you feel you must follow?"

She shuddered, feeling the tingles starting to grow, to radiate out from where he stroked her with such expertise. “Drew..."

“Do you deny you want me, love? You know your body does...” He withdrew his hand to reach for the fastening of his trousers. “I know mine does."

“I—I can't..."

“You can, Heather,” he urged, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a heated whisper. “To hell with what is proper. There is nothing wrong with making love in a chair. Do you deny you want me?"

“No.” That one word emerged as the most breathless of sighs. No, she didn't deny it, but still—

He didn't reply, but instead lifted her off to set her on her feet. Confused, she watched as he rose before her and his lips lifted in that seductive, sleepy smile that made her insides melt. Before she could ask what he was about, he reached to snag two handfuls of her gown and chemise.

“What are you doing?” she asked in a breathless whisper as he tugged and both garments dropped in a heap about her ankles.

He didn't answer, but instead bent to capture her breast with his mouth. At once, she sucked in her breath, her fingers thrusting into his hair as his tongue slowly circled about her nipple. The moist heat filled her with languorous warmth and she leaned into him as her head spun from his attentions. His fingers skittered over her back as he tugged her closer. She shuddered against him as he pulled away to transfer his lips to her other breast.

“Drew, you ought not—"

He lifted his head then, smiling. “I'll not heed to any protests, sweetheart. The only words I'll heed are words of love."

“Words of love?” she asked as he straightened up to part his shirt, easing it from his shoulders.

He bent forward to brush her lips with his. As they moved over her ear, he whispered, “Words of love, Heather. Such as ‘More please, Drew,’ or ‘Harder, Drew', ‘Faster, Drew', or ‘I love what you are doing to me, Drew.'” He squeezed her closer. “And of course, ‘Do that again, Drew.’”

She couldn't hold back her laughter as his tongue dipped into her ear. “Oh, I could never—"

He cut her off. “Of course you could. And you would be pleasantly surprised by how readily I will respond to your requests."

As he spoke, his trousers hit the floor with a solid whump and his arms were around her waist, his hands cupping her derriere, lifting her against him. “Kiss me, sweetheart, and let me show you how readily I will respond."

Heather slid her arms about his neck, hoping like mad he'd not drop her. “Drew?"

He kissed her then, hard and passionate, his tongue delving between her lips to tease hers. As his mouth moved against hers, he lowered her, catching her soft sigh as he guided her over him. Her fingernails bit into his neck as he pulled away long enough to whisper, “Put your legs ‘round my waist, darling girl, and prepare to offer up those words."

Heat seared her as he pulled her firmly against him, but she managed to do as he instructed. His fingers dug into her hips as she accepted him completely and it was her turn to catch his sigh of delight. Her hold on him loosened a bit and she pulled away, smiling coyly as she asked, “And which words did you wish to hear first?"

Drew groaned, his expression one of utter bliss as he managed to smile and reply, “I care not, love. They will all drive me mad."

With that, he lowered her, sending a ripple of pleasure through her. He repeated the motion, and she couldn't help but dig her fingers in again, an airy sigh rising to her lips. “More, please, Drew."

It was difficult to discern whether he laughed or groaned. But she did know that he did as she asked, breathing out a growly, “As you wish, lady."

When he lifted her once more, Heather ran her hands down over his arms, feeling the solid bands of muscle cording them. Those muscles bulged beneath her fingers as he brought her down again with agonizing slowness. The heat became fire as he increased his speed. His eyes grew darker still, holding hers the entire time. His lips caught hers in a fierce kiss as he pulled her against him again. She savored each stroke. The knot was tightening to be sure, but the buildup was torture of the sweetest sort. Her fingers found their way back into his hair, clutching it as she took a deep breath to whisper, “Faster, Drew."

Another groan and the air erupted from her lungs in a whoosh as he suddenly turned to press her into the wall. Delicious fire shot through her at the new sensations tearing up her insides as scorching pleasure threatened to reduce her to mere cinders. She melted against him as he increased the intensity of his thrusts, holding her tight as he surged into her. Her legs tightened about his waist, her fingers twisted in his hair. Her back arched against the cool, satiny oak as the ache erupted into a fireball of bliss, engulfing her in a maelstrom of pure pleasure. When she managed to whisper, “I love what you are doing to me, Drew,” he responded with a low growl and a swift, hard thrust.

She couldn't hold back her long, throaty moan of pleasure. It felt so wonderful, those sensations roaring through her, leaving her breathless and reducing her to mush. She clasped him tight, fingernails digging into him as her climax squeezed her in a tight fist, her cry hoarse and plaintive with need as she shuddered in his arms. Her legs clamped about him as he surged into her with a powerful thrust, sending a blue flame of heat scorching through her. Her head fell forward, spinning wildly from the combined sensations of their mutual climax. She struggled to breathe, kissing his neck and managing a ragged, “Do that again, Drew?"

This time, his laugh was weak and breathless. He gathered her close, fighting to catch his own wind as a shudder rattled through his entire body with enough to force to make her wonder if he was about to drop her. He didn't, but nuzzled her, breathing deep and whispering, “For you, love? Anything."

Heather shivered against him as he punctuated his words with feathery kisses along her neck. She felt wonderfully sated, a bit drowsy, and perfectly content to remain in his arms. As his lips skimmed her neck again, he said, “Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it? Love words seem to come to your lips with the greatest of ease."

She sighed, pulling away to gaze into his eyes. “I am afraid I've become far too brazen with you."

“Never, love,” he assured her, brushing her lips with his. “You've no idea how sensual it is, hearing you voice your desire for me. How it makes me want to satisfy them. You never need be afraid to use any of those phrases, love. Not ever. Hearing them is most delightful."

As he spoke, he backed towards the chair and carefully sunk down into it, cradling her against him, kissing the top of her head as she snuggled against him. She felt so soft, so warm, in his arms, and he was most unwilling to let her leave them.

Heather snuggled closer, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by such complete maleness. Never before had she felt so safe and so cherished as he held her tight, his fingers dancing over her back, the heat from his body seeping into her.

“Ah, love,” he murmured, his fingers moving over her hair. “I could remain like this forever, holding you in my arms."

And I would gladly remain here, she thought, letting her fingers skim down his chest. She couldn't muster the energy to do much more than murmur, “Mmmm...” as she was engulfed by the most wonderful sleepiness.

With that sigh, his arms tightened about her. She felt so wonderful, so deliciously sleepy, that she would be perfectly content to drift off right there. Yes, a nap sounded wonderful. Most wonderful, indeed—

“Captain Kennedy?"

Heather couldn't hold back her groan at Jeremy Allen's voice coming from the far side of the door. No. Not now, she thought feverishly, shaking her head. Not now.

“Captain Kennedy? It's Jeremy. I need to speak with you at once, sir. It's of utmost importance."

Heaving a disgusted sigh, Drew grumbled, “Son of a ... I'm sorry, love,” and leaned around her to call, “I'll be right there."

She nodded, her voice sluggish as she replied, “It's a thankless job, being the captain."

“You can say that again.” He kissed her ear and squeezed her gently. “The last thing I wish is to move from your warmth, Heather."

“Still, your crew needs you as well.” She couldn't keep the wistfulness from her voice.

“I suppose they do. And I suppose I ought to heed that, instead of lazing about here with you."

The teasing in his voice made her laugh. Lifting her head, she met his eyes and murmured, “I am a distraction, aren't I?"

“The best kind, love,” he said, kissing her softly. “The best kind."

With that, he helped her dress again, re-lacing her chemise and pulling her gown back into place, his fingers lingering over her skin, as if reluctant to pull away from her. He sighed softly, smiling at her as he rose from the chair, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a pillow. He set her on her feet, then brushed his lips over hers. “I'll be back, and I will have something for you to occupy yourself with."

She nodded, smoothing her skirts back down as he finished righting himself as well. “Of course."

At the door he paused, a hand on the knob. “When I return, it will be to whisk you back to that bed and I'll not be leaving it until the sun rises tomorrow."

A delicate flush heated her cheeks as she said, “And perhaps I will hear some love words from you?"

“Would you like to?” he asked, grinning as her flush deepened. As she nodded, he said, “Well, rest assured then, sweetheart, you will definitely hear them from me. They're quite wonderful, the things you do to me, you know. I will be more than happy to ask you for more of the same."

Her cheeks grew hotter, but her smile never wavered as she shook her head at him. “Go."

“As you wish,” he replied, still chuckling as he left the cabin. Stepping out into the corridor, he faced Jeremy Allen, the Aphrodite's master-at-arms. “What is it, Mr. Allen?"

“It's Henry, Captain. He is refusing to eat."

Drew sighed. “Why did I think this would be a hassle-free voyage?"

“Could it have to do with the lady awaiting you in your cabin?” Jeremy asked with a sly smile, his hazel eyes alight with mischief.

“Very funny,” he replied dryly. “Need I remind you I am the captain of this vessel?"

“No, sir. Need I remind you that I've known you longer than anyone else on board this ship?"

Drew chuckled. He and Jeremy were boyhood friends and no one else on board would dare take the liberties with Drew that Jeremy took, even if they were only taken well out of sight and earshot of the others. “Very well. What does Mr. Mason have to say about it?"

Sam Mason was the ship's surgeon. Jeremy shrugged. “He said to let him starve. He'll eat when he gets hungry and there is no way to force him to do so."

“Then that is what we shall do. Is he giving you any other trouble?"

“Other than swearing revenge, no. I don't think you have to worry, though, Captain. He has no way to get out of those chains. They've been kept well-oiled and rust-free."

“Good. We certainly don't need any more trouble."

“No, sir. Although, Scottie did mention that it looks as though a storm is moving in. The skies have gotten quite gray."

Drew sighed. “Well, there is nothing I can do about the weather. Let's go up, shall we, and take it from there."

Fourteen

The storm hit that night, much to Heather's dismay. All lamps and fires on board were extinguished, windows were bolted shut, and everything battened down. She could hear the wind picking up strength as it howled outside the window. The water grew rougher, foamy whitecaps rising up and stretching out as far as she could see.

Seawater slammed against the window, streaking down the glass as Heather peered through it. She was astonished to see the sky was now pewter-gray with an ominous black hue creeping in from the distance. Lightning flashed, slicing across the odd-looking sky, and thunder rolled through the heavens like the roar of some angry mythical beast.

She moved away from the window as the ship lurched beneath her feet. The skies opened up then, and rain pelted down. She could hear it hitting the decks overhead. The wind howled, whistling in around the window every so often with a mighty gust that rattled the glass in the brass frame. One such gust actually blew the window open and the wind roared through the small cabin, sending Drew's carefully arranged papers airborne.

“Oh, dear,” she groaned, hurling herself at the window to close it. She managed to fasten the latch, turning to see the papers scattered every which way on the floor around and beneath the desk. Another groan and she hurried to scoop them up before they became even more mixed up.

She tried to organize them, but had no clue what she was looking at. The swirling wind had jumbled them all together and she tried to rearrange them, muttering, “I do so hope I can explain this before he goes in search of something again."

Finally, she got the stacks neatened, facing the same way, and set them back atop the desk. Then, she snatched several thick books from the shelf above the desk to weight them down.

“There,” she said, smiling as she stepped back. “That should do it.” She studied the piles for a moment. “Well, maybe one more book. That should do it."

Her fingers brushed the book of Keats’ poetry and she yanked her hand away as if the faded red cloth burned her fingers. She had no desire to see that love note tucked within its pages. If she didn't see it, it didn't have to exist as far as she was concerned.

She didn't know why it troubled her so that Drew kept that note pressed between those pages. There was no date on it. It could have been from a boyhood love that he had long since forgotten. If only she could make herself believe that, though. Each time she glanced at that shelf, her eyes were drawn to that blasted book, the note beneath its cover mocking her at every turn. Perhaps she was letting her judgment become clouded. Perhaps she was letting Drew into her heart in a way that she shouldn't be.

“He does not care for you, fool,” she whispered, placing the last book atop the last stack. “He bought you, just as he would have bought any woman whose room he entered that night. It's no different."

But she did wish it was different. She turned away from the desk, her brow furrowing. Where had that come from?

When she finished tidying up, she dropped into the chair at the desk, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. Why had he been at Madam Allison's that fateful evening? She certainly didn't believe it was because of some mysterious beauty, nor could she believe that a man as handsome as he was needed to pay a courtesan to satisfy his baser needs. Certainly, he must have women swooning at his feet. Of course, those women may also be constantly on the hunt for the all-important marriage proposal. Didn't Henry tell her that Drew wasn't a marrying man? But if that was the case, then why had Drew told her about his fiancée?

The thoughts raced around her brain, slamming into each other, giving her a headache in the process. She squeezed her eyes shut to try to halt them. “Stop it already,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “If you keep this up, you will surely drive yourself mad."

But the thoughts lingered, jabbing her brain like loose springs poking through a coach seat.

The ship gave a mighty lurch then, toppling her from her chair to send her sprawling across the polished floor. Lightning streaked across the sky once more. Thunder clapped, successfully knocking her troubled thoughts from her mind, as she jumped with each crash.

The ocean grew rougher still as the hours passed, tossing the Aphrodite as if she weighed nothing. The books weighting down the stacks of papers proved quite useless as the ship pitched wildly, sending books and papers sliding to the floor.

Heather groaned, her stomach roiling with every rise and fall of the cabin. This time, she didn't care about the mess. She felt far too horrid to care. “I do so hope this is the only storm we face,” she groaned.

She had dragged herself from the chair to the bed, where she lay curled in a ball, knees drawn to her chest and her eyes squeezed shut. She was terrified she was going to retch, and tried to fight off the rising nausea with every fiber in her body. The last thing she wanted to do was befoul Drew's cabin.

Several more hours passed before the door swung open and Heather forced one eye open to see Drew lurch in. He appeared thoroughly soaked and looked exhausted with dark bruise-like smudges marring the skin beneath his eyes, as if his battle with the elements had turned physical.

He staggered over to the wardrobe, opening it and rummaging through it until he came up with a towel, which he draped over his head. She watched as he vigorously rubbed his hair dry and let the towel drape about his neck as he crossed over to stand beside the bed. “Are you all right down here?"

She nodded weakly, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she would indeed be ill.

He frowned. “You certainly don't look well. In fact, I'd say you look rather green. I was afraid of something such as this happening. I'll have Bobby bring you a bucket, Heather. You look as though you might need one."

She swallowed hard against the rising sour taste in her mouth. “I'll be fine."

He smiled at her weak whisper. “I'm not so certain of that, my lady."

She took a deep breath to quell another surge of nausea, determined to put it from her mind. “How is it topside?"

He rolled his eyes. “If Hell had water, I'd think that was where we were."

“Is it safe up there?"

“Nothing on board a ship is ever completely safe, my lady. But we're taking all precautions. Supper will be cold, though, as all fires have been extinguished."

The very thought of eating made her groan. “I think I shall pass on supper, if you don't mind"

He crouched down beside the bed. “No. That would probably be a poor idea, eating before this storm blows over."

She nodded slowly. “I have to agree with that."

Smoothing her hair away from her face, he advised, “Try to sleep. It'll help. Do not wait up for me."

“Will you be all right?"

He smiled. “I'll be fine, love. Sleep now. By morning, hopefully, this will have blown over."

She wished she could be as certain. It seemed to her that they had been battling the elements forever, instead of a few mere hours. She wasn't so certain they would ever see daylight again. “What time is it?"

“Late afternoon. Now, no more questions. Try to get some sleep."

She snuggled down into the pillow. “Are you certain you will be all right?"

Drew nodded, standing upright once more. “We will come through this, Heather. Trust me. It isn't the first storm I've ever faced. I will be fine."

“If you say so."

He caressed her cheek with tender fingers. “I do say so. Now, sleep.” He bent to brush her forehead with a light kiss. “I'll send Bobby down with that bucket."

“Thank you."

“Of course."

She kept her eyes on him as he tossed the towel over the back of one of the chairs at the table and left the cabin once more. Then she sighed, tugging the blankets up to her chin. Drew hadn't even bothered with changing his clothes and she hoped he didn't catch his death from the rain. She couldn't help but worry about him, terrified that he'd be struck by the lightning flashing all around them, or he'd be washed overboard by one of the huge waves slapping up against the ship.

Horrified, she watched as a finger of frothy white foam oozed around the window frame and trickled down the wall. A wave slammed into the side of the ship, spray following that single bubbling stream. The Aphrodite shuddered, tilting so sharply that she had to grab the far edge of the bed to keep from tumbling to the floor.

She tried to sleep, but it refused to come. Every few minutes, a bolt of lightning would illuminate the entire cabin, and she knew the long, low growl of thunder would follow. The anticipation alone was enough to keep her awake. Finally, as the blackness began fading to gray, she managed to doze off.

* * * *

The storm raged on through the night, the rain driving down like nails, the wind roaring about them, and the lightning creating fireworks in the sky.

Drew tossed his wet hair out of his eyes, sending showers of droplets in all direction. He was lashed firmly to the wheel, fighting to keep the Aphrodite on course and upright. Soaked to the skin, he shivered in the cold wind. Every muscle in his body ached. All he wanted to do was sleep. He thought about Heather, tucked safely in his cabin. To hell with sleep, he thought grimly, tossing his head again. I want to be curled up in bed, with her in my arms.

Gripping the wheel tightly, he threw his weight into it to keep it from turning, but he wasn't entirely focused on his chore. Heather kept finding her way into his thoughts. It'd been happening more and more over the last week—ever since they'd made love that first night.

He thought about the chair and what it led to and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Heather had no idea the thoughts she placed in his head—thoughts that were lustier than any he'd ever imagined before. He knew he could never get enough of her.

He squinted through the rain, not seeing a drop of it. He just could not stop thinking about the delicate lady with the chestnut curls and dark moonbeam eyes. She haunted him night and day. When he was away from her, he counted the moments until he could return to his cabin. When he was with her, the time seemed to speed by like mercury.

It surprised him that he should feel this way. After Rebecca's betrayal, he vowed that no woman would ever engulf him so completely that he lost sight of himself. He would never allow himself to be so vulnerable again. He would keep his heart tucked away safely; indulging in the occasional affair but anything remotely resembling something more serious was strictly off-limits.

But he could feel his defenses wavering. Heather was there, chipping away at the wall he'd erected around his heart. She wasn't purposely trying; there was just something about her that made him want to claim her as his. She aroused every male instinct he possessed—protectiveness, lust, jealousy—they all roared to life in her presence.

He sighed, reaching up to draw his forearm over his forehead, pushing his hair up and out of his face again. What was this hold she had on him? He couldn't explain it, wasn't certain he even wanted an explanation. All he knew was that it would be a long time before he even thought about another woman.

Fifteen

It was well into the next morning when the storm finally abated. Drew freed himself from the wheel and turned to Bobby, who'd just emerged from below deck. “I'm going to get some sleep. Take over."

The first mate nodded. “Aye, Captain."

Drew pushed past Bobby, staggering towards the doorway to the stairs leading below deck. The sea was finally calm, but he still suffered the effects of his ship being thrown about, bumping up against the wall several times as he moved down the corridor.

He shoved open the door to his cabin and stumbled inside, kicking it shut with one foot. Slumping into his chair, he sighed gratefully, sinking into the deep leather, leaning his head back.

“Drew?"

Heather's voice was soft, coming from behind him. He turned his head to the side. “Feeling better?"

“Much.” She came around the side of the chair, stepping into his line of vision. “Thank you for the bucket, but fortunately, I didn't need it."

He managed a tired smile. “You're most welcome."

She gazed down at him. He looked absolutely worn out. His eyes were heavy as he peered at her through mere slits. She gathered her skirts, knelt down, and lifted his right foot.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice thick with fatigue.

“Removing your boots. They are soaked."

He offered no resistance as she tugged off first his right boot and then his left, and set both in the corner. She returned to the chair, taking in his waterlogged trousers and shirt, which stuck to his chest in several places. She paused, pressing a finger to her lips as she pondered whether or not she ought to try undressing him. Her cheeks burned at the thought, and she chided herself for her embarrassment. “Well, it's not as though I've never seen him naked,” she muttered, still staring down at him.

He opened his eyes a crack. “I can hear you, love,” he said with a sleepy smile.

The unexpected statement made her jump, but she couldn't help but chuckle at her foolishness. Of course he could hear her. He wasn't deaf, merely sleepy. “Let's get you to bed, then, shall we?"

He chuckled. “I thought you'd never ask."

“Very funny."

Drew yawned, as he sat forward and unlaced his shirt. He offered no resistance as she leaned over to help him tug it off, but he did wince at the soreness spreading from his shoulders down through his arms.

She frowned down at the red marks streaking over his chest and shoulders. “What happened to you?"

Another yawn, and he rubbed his eyes before saying, “It's nothing. Merely the result of spending the night lashed to the wheel."

Without thinking, she leaned over and brushed a kiss over each streak. When she straightened up, it was to find him giving her a quizzical look. “They look painful,” she explained with a smile.

He couldn't help but grin. “It's not so bad. I'm far too exhausted to even feel it."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, but she said nothing as she took his shirt, draping it over the rim of the brass tub in the corner. Then, she returned to the chair and stared down, faced with the task of removing his pants. With tentative fingers, she reached for the fastenings. Drew grinned sleepily, bracing his hands against the arms of the chair to lift his hips and allow her to grapple with trying to remove the wet trousers and small clothes that were now like a second skin.

She gripped them as tightly as she could and yanked. They finally gave, sending her skidding backwards across the floor. She landed on her backside with a chuckle, the wet garments plopping on the floor beside her.

It was all she could do to not stare at his nakedness. Her cheeks grew warm, though, as she couldn't resist taking a peek. His body was so magnificent and he seemed so completely at ease with his natural state. There was no shyness to be found in the man sitting before her, that was for certain. Everywhere her eyes moved, she saw thick bands of corded muscle, sharply defined beneath bronzed skin and soft dark hair. Her embarrassment replaced by awe, Heather gave up the pretense of not studying him.

He sunk back in the chair, obviously unfazed by her perusal. In fact, he held her eyes the entire time, with only a hint of a smile playing at his lips. Just when she thought she'd go up in embarrassed flames, he gave into his smile and held out a hand. “Help me up, my lady. I fear in my exhausted state I will drop to my knees if I attempt to stand on my own."

“Liar."

His smile widened. “Do you wish to take that chance?"

She wrapped her fingers about his wrist and tugged. He rose easily, but made a great showing of leaning heavily on her for support. She felt the warmth radiating off his skin, which was still damp to the touch, and was almost surprised that steam wasn't wafting up from him. But, those thoughts were shoved from her mind as he sagged against her and she quickly learned that with a man of his size, there came considerable weight as well.

“You are ... even heavier ... than you ... look,” she grunted, walking him to the bed. “You are a ... bloody giant ... Captain Kennedy."

“And you are far stronger than you look, my delicate lady. One would hardly believe a tiny slip such as yourself could hold up a—what did you call me?—bloody giant?” His voice was soft and teasing as his fingers brushed the curve of her neck. As she moved to lower him, he grabbed a handful of the lemon yellow silk gown she wore, toppling her against him as he fell to the bed.

“Drew!” she exclaimed just before her face vanished into the pillow.

He chuckled, plucking her easily out of the pillow to gather her in his arms. “Ah, my lady, you've no idea how wonderful this is. It was the only thing sustaining me last eve—the thought of lying here with you in my arms."

She didn't know how to respond to that, as it was quite unexpected. Laying there silently for a long moment, she hugged his words close and then said, “Were you up all night?"

“I was."

“Sounds quite uncomfortable."

“Believe me, it was most uncomfortable."

She lifted her head. “Would you like me to have Nick heat you water for a bath?"

Drew gave her another tired smile. “My lady, the last thing I wish to see right now is more water. Besides, if I got in that tub, I'd most likely fall asleep and drown."

“Well now, we certainly don't want that to happen, do we?"

“I'd appreciate it."

“Try to sleep, Drew,” she replied softly, reaching up to brush a black tendril from his forehead. “I think you've earned it."

“I am a mite sleepy,” he murmured thickly, eyes closing once more.

She lay beside him until he began to snore softly. Satisfied that he was sleeping soundly, she slipped from the bed and bustled about the cabin. She gathered up his trousers and small clothes to drape them over the tub, pushed the chair back up to the desk, and tidied up the papers still fanned out on the floor.

When she was finished, she turned back to the bed. Drew had relaxed in his sleep, one arm flung above his head, the other across his chest. She watched him for a moment, shaking her head as a smile played at her lips, and then drew the blanket up to his shoulders.

That done, she curled up with a book—a collection of stories by the American author Washington Irving—and it wasn't long before she lost herself in the stories.

* * * *

It was late afternoon when Drew woke to find Heather curled up in the deep wing chair, sound asleep with her head nestled to the side, and a book open in her lap. Smiling as he rose from the bed, he dressed and walked over to her. He lifted her easily from the chair, taking great pains not to wake her. Still, her eyelids fluttered and he found himself gazing into those bottomless pools of gold-flecked darkest brown.

“I'm sorry, my lady,” he whispered, his lips inches from hers. “I tried not to wake you."

“Oh, please, don't apologize,” she replied softly, smiling at him. “I shouldn't even be sleeping. I'll never sleep tonight."

He arched one black brow and her face grew hot as he said, “I don't think that would be a problem now, love. Do you?"

“Drew!"

It was impossible not to laugh. Even as she scowled up at him, he still chuckled, “You are so shockable, love. It's one of your finer qualities."

“Well, you are horrid."

“Oh, don't pout now, my lady. I was but teasing."

“I'm not pouting."

“Of course you are,” he replied easily, setting her back on her feet. “Perhaps not one of your finer qualities, but it's also growing on me just the same."

“I am so grateful to hear that,” she retorted dryly.

He didn't miss the crispness that crept into her voice. “You need to develop a thicker skin, my lady."

She spun about at that, eyes no longer tranquil pools but now blazing with her rarely-shown temper. “You think you are always so bloody charming, don't you? Well, sometimes, you might wish to think before you come out with one of those charming remarks!"

He hadn't been expecting an outburst, hadn't expected her to take offense at his teasing. That she erupted in such a fashion left him at a momentary loss for words. Then, he caught himself, clearing his throat and saying, “I apologize, my lady. I meant no offense."

A heavy sigh bubbled to her lips and she rolled her eyes upwards as if disgusted with herself. “No, I apologize,” she said. “I am going mad in this cabin, Drew. I must get out of here, even for just a short while."

“Well, you are free to leave, Heather. You are not a prisoner here, you realize."

“I cannot wander about alone."

“True. It wouldn't be a wise idea, I suppose. But, had you said something to me sooner, I think I might have been able to spring you out of here earlier."

“Please, I need to get out of here. Even for a moment."

“Losing your enchantment with the sea, my lady?"

“I only get to see the sea out the window."

He smiled. “Well, come along then. I'll re-introduce you."

Heather gave him a dazzling smile in return. “Thank you."

“There is no need to thank me. All you had to do was say something."

“I didn't think I ought to."

He sighed heavily, raking his fingers through his hair. “Heather, listen to me, please.” He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned closer. “You have to stop this entire submissive nonsense. Do you hear me? I don't want you agreeing with me at every turn, or thinking you can't ever approach me with anything, or ask me for something."

“But—"

“No.” He shook his head emphatically. “No, I don't want to hear any ‘buts'. You have a brain in your head, damn it, and the only thing I want is for you to use it."

Heather bit her bottom lip. “But, I can't."

“Why? Oh!” He threw his hands into the air, whipping around to walk away, towards the door. He was at a loss as to how to convince her that she could do just that. It was frustrating, to say the least, and he was beyond exasperated as he faced her again. “Listen very carefully, Heather. I am not your master. Is that clear? I did not buy you nor do I own you. If you think so, you are terribly mistaken."

“You did buy me, Drew. You bought me from Madam Allison."

“No, I did not!” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls around them. “Damn it! Listen to me, will you? I did not pay that outrageous sum to own you, I did it to get you the hell out of that place! You did not belong there! Did I not tell you that the first time I met you? Did I not say those very words to you that first night?” He threw a fist into the wall to release his pent-up aggravation. “You are not a whore, Heather Spencer. That woman would have destroyed you."

Her eyes shone with tears. “That's why you did it?” she asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, exasperation seeping into his words. “Is this what you've been thinking? That I wanted some kind of slave to serve me in bed?"

Her crimson-stained cheeks gave him the answer he'd expected. “I'm sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But when you said you would b—buy me ... I thought ... I thought that—"

He approached her again, cupping her face in his hands. “You were wrong, Heather.” His voice was soft now, his irritation dissolving as his eyes held hers, searching them. “You were terribly wrong. I won't say I didn't want you the moment I saw you, but that is not why I paid that debt. I could not walk out of that place and leave you there. Don't ask me why, but I simply could not do it."

Tears shone silver against the darkness of her eyes, spilling over her lower lashes. “Drew, I'm sorry ... I just thought—"

He cut her off with a tender kiss. Then, he pulled away, brushing his thumbs over the tears slipping down her cheeks. “Don't be sorry, love. I can understand it, why you might see it that way. I am sorry I didn't explain it sooner. What will it take for me to convince you that you are not a whore?” A boyish smile lifted the corners of his lips. “How many of them are virgins after two weeks in a brothel?"

Her lips curved up in a trembling smile. “Not many, I'd wager."

“None, as far as I know. You are unique, love. Very unique.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And now, I want to see that fire I sense simmering beneath this proper surface. Speak your mind. Get angry with me. Give me a good fight from time to time. Didn't I tell you that making up is the best part of a fight?"

“I do seem to remember you saying something about making up,” she said softly, tapping her forefinger against her lips as if deep in thought.

“So, would you care to?"

“To what?"

His eyes softened as he took her in his arms. “Make up."

“Now?"

“Why not? The lights don't always have to be out to make love, my lady. And I have a few new love words to try on you."

“Oh, I don't know..."

He kissed her lightly. “Think it over..."

She screwed up her face, as if concentrating with all her might. Drew laughed and began nibbling at her throat, teasingly chanting, “Think it over..."

With that, she burst into laughter, winding her arms about his neck and squeezing. He didn't wait for her reply, but lifted her easily to spirit her to the bed.

Sixteen

As she had asked, Drew found her something to do to keep her busy during the days. He brought her a basket of clothing in dire need of mending. Though she wasn't terribly skilled with a needle and thread, she learned quickly and soon became quite proficient at sewing. She spent many a pleasant hour curled up in a chair by the stove, stitching seams and mending tears for the Aphrodite's crew.

The nights were spent cradled in his arms. As they moved into the chilly waters of the North Atlantic, she was especially grateful for the warmth his body offered, and he did put out an awful lot of heat. She hardly needed blankets when she snuggled against the solid bulk of his body. It made for a most pleasant night's rest and she slept better than she had in months, perhaps even years.

They had been at sea for twelve days now, and she settled into a comfortable routine. After breakfast on that twelfth day, Drew escorted her topside to take in the sunshine. She took a deep breath, enjoying the tangy salt air and the gentle spray on her face. It made her hair stiff, but she didn't mind. She would bathe that evening and scrub off all of the salt.

Turning to him, she said, “This is so much nicer than a storm. So much better, indeed."

He chuckled, gazing out over the water. “I imagine it is to you. Sometimes though, there is nothing that compares to doing battle with the elements. Man versus nature and all that. Makes you appreciate what life has to offer."

She didn't miss the look he gave her as he said the last part. She gave him a tender smile. “Is that so?"

“Very much so. A man facing death learns an entirely new appreciation for life."

“Well, I prefer to not face death, if it's all the same to you,” she said with a pert shrug.

He laughed, pulling her close and wrapping his arms around her. “You have nothing to fear, my lady. I promise to never put you in harm's way if I can possibly avoid it."

She melted into the warmth of his embrace, not doubting him for a moment. In the time she'd known Drew, she learned his temper was fierce, but not nearly as fierce as his will to protect those around him. She could not see him doing anything that would jeopardize his ship, his crew, or her.

He kissed the top of her head. “Would you care for a tour?"

“I would love one."

“Captain Kennedy!"

He sighed as Jeremy came loping across the deck. “What is it, Mr. Allen?"

“I just spoke to Mr. Mason. Henry's been asking for food."

“Ah, so his hunger strike has come to an end, I see. I have to admit I am impressed,” Drew said thoughtfully. “I never would have suspected he had it in him to deny himself anything for nearly two weeks."

“Should I send Nick down with a tray?"

“Might as well. I would hate to pull into port with a corpse and have to explain that to the harbormaster."

“Aye, Captain. I'll see he is fed at once."

“Do so, Mr. Allen.” Drew's expression became one of concern. “But, make certain he has only one hand free at a time. And no sharp utensils. He's gotten far too unpredictable of late. I'd hate to see Sam in danger."

“Of course, Captain.” Jeremy smiled at Heather. “A pleasure to see you this morning, Miss Heather."

She returned his smile. “As it is to see you, Mr. Allen."

Jeremy bobbed his head and made his way to the steps to head towards the galley.

Heather turned to Drew. “You don't think he will cause a problem, do you?"

“Jeremy?"

She couldn't help but laugh at his puzzled expression. “No. Henry."

His brow furrowed. “I'd like to think not, but as I said, he has gotten most unpredictable. I should hate to be mistaken and put anyone in danger.” He gave her a reassuring smile and tucked her arm through his. “Now, how about that tour?"

It proved to be a most fascinating afternoon for Heather. Drew took great pride in showing her his ship and was most patient in answering even her most inane questions. She was impressed with his wealth of knowledge and by the great respect his crew showed towards him. She had the distinct feeling that these men would actually put their lives on the line for their captain, without hesitation and with no questions asked. Each man addressed the other with great formality, but she could feel the camaraderie and friendships lurking beneath the politeness and respect.

It was interesting to see what made a ship such as the Aphrodite run. Each man had a very specific duty—right down to who cared for the sails and yardarms. And each man took his job with the utmost seriousness.

The only person Heather had yet to meet was Sam Mason—the ship's surgeon. When she asked about him, Drew shook his head and said, “I don't want you anywhere near his cabin. That's where Henry has been remanded and I do not want you anywhere near that man. Is that clear?"

She didn't miss the hardness coming to his eyes and wondered what it meant. “Yes, Drew."

“It's only for your safety, Heather. If, by some chance, you need Sam, I'll bring him to you. You are not to go anywhere near his cabin."

She felt a shiver run down her spine. “Do you think something might happen? You've already told Mr. Allen that Henry is not to have both hands freed."

“As I said, he is becoming more and more erratic. I don't wish to take any chances."

“Well, of course I won't go anywhere near him.” She turned to look out over the water, remembering the hateful words he'd muttered to her. “He is the last person I wish to see."

Drew eased an arm about her waist and said, “Remember what I told you, my lady. You are not what you seem to believe you've become."

She took a deep breath. “And you need to remember where you met me, Drew. Whether I was innocent or not, people will always assume the worst. As far as anyone will care, I was a strumpet."

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “And I shall rearrange the face of anyone who dares call you that,” he replied mildly.

She didn't doubt for a moment he would do just that and that offered some comfort. She didn't answer him, but continued staring out over the water. He kissed the top of her head once more. “I do need to get back to work, love. Why don't you go down below and take a nap?” His voice grew soft. “I plan on keeping you up far too late this evening."

She couldn't help but chuckle, especially as she felt only a hint of heat in her cheeks. Apparently, she was becoming used to his teasing remarks. “Very well,” she said, nodding. “I will leave you to your work."

“Ah, today I belong to the Aphrodite. But this evening, love, I will belong solely to you."

He brushed her lips with a kiss and strode off towards the quarterdeck. She watched him walk away, admiring the grace with which he carried himself. It was no wonder he was regarded with so much respect, she thought with a smile. He automatically commanded it by his very presence.

She turned back to face the water. There was something so very peaceful about the endless ocean around her. The sunlight sparkled as it danced off the water's surface. Occasionally she would see a spout of water burst up, which always brought a smile to her face. The first time she saw such a spout, Drew explained it was a whale, and since then, she scanned the water's surface in the hopes of seeing the elusive creatures up close. But she never saw more than the spray.

She moved away from the railing, crossing the deck to the doorway leading below deck. She'd become quite adept at walking on board, something Drew referred to as getting her sea legs and now barely felt the movement of the ship. Except at night, when the gentle rocking helped her drift off to sleep.

Descending the stairs, she moved along the narrow corridor towards Drew's cabin. She was coming to know the layout of the Aphrodite quite well, but she'd never ventured beyond the captain's cabin. The corridor went beyond that, ending in a T that led to a hallway to the left, and one to the right. The one on the right led to the galley, and hold. The one to the left led to another row of cabins. Mr. Mason's cabin was down this hallway and she had no desire to venture down there. She had very little trouble making that promise to Drew. She wanted nothing to do with the sullen bosun's mate.

Lost in thought, she twisted the knob to Drew's cabin and pushed the door open. She stepped in, closing the door behind her. A nap sounds wonderful, she thought, smiling at the rumpled bed. She normally made it after rising, but this morning she'd simply felt too lazy.

She never heard the footsteps behind her, but suddenly she was hurtling across the cabin, shoved from behind. She crashed into the bed, knocking the wind from her lungs. Gasping for air, she rolled onto her back. Fear tore through her as she found herself looking into icy blue eyes beyond the barrel of a pistol.

Seventeen

Heather's stomach clenched as Henry lowered the Flintlock, an arrogant sneer curling his lip. “Happy to see me, whore?"

Dear God! How had he gotten out of the doctor's cabin? Heather's eyes tore about the room in search of an avenue of escape. But, he stood between her and the door. There was no escape. She felt her blood run cold as he spoke, and she couldn't force her tongue from the roof of her mouth to answer him. All she could think about was that closed door and the fact that Drew was far out of earshot.

“I asked you a question,” Henry snarled, taking a step closer. “I asked if you were happy to see me."

“Y-you leave me b-be,” she stammered, eyes riveted on the pistol in his hand.

“Oh, I don't think so,” he sneered, shaking his head. “You're only a whore after all. Captain won't mind sharing you. Why, I'll wager he's probably shared you with dozens of men. I ain't no different."

She lifted her eyes to his, a chill going through her at his flat, cold stare. “You are wrong. Th-there have be-been no others."

“Of course there ain't. But, you're a whore,” he replied evenly, shrugging. “Who can believe the word of a whore? I'm sure the captain jollies you along. Tells you what you want to hear. He likes to think of himself as some terrific gentleman."

“He is. He is very much the gentleman, I'll have you know."

“Please,” he snorted. “You think you're the only whore he ever brought on board? Christ, lady, you are dumber than you look. He nails ‘em all the way across the ocean, then off you go once we reach port. You ain't special to him, you know. You have no reason to think you are. I'm surprised he ain't passed you around already. It's what he usually does."

She didn't want to believe the horrid things he was saying. She couldn't imagine the gentle, considerate man she knew treating anyone so callously. Surely, she could not have misjudged Drew so terribly, could she?

Henry took a step closer. “Take off that fancy gown."

“No."

He cocked the flintlock. “Take off that gown and get into that bed before I tear it from you and take you on the floor. Make no mistake, whore. I will have you. And I will have you now."

She scooted back across the bed, pinning herself to the wall, unable to take her eyes off the pistol trained on her. Never before had a weapon been pointed at her, but she had no doubt that he wouldn't hesitate to fire.

He lunged, grabbing her by her bodice. He yanked, lifting her from the bed and sending her flying through the air. She hit the floor with a resounding thud, a scream tearing itself from her lips as he pounced on her. His knee dug into the small of her back as he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back. “Next time I give you an order, you obey me. Understand? Just like you do the captain."

Tears spilled over her lower lashes. “P-please, n-no ... d-don't..."

“Shut up, whore."

She let out a squeak as he jammed the barrel of the flintlock between her shoulder blades. A cold sweat broke out over her entire body and it was becoming more difficult to catch her breath. Dark spots danced before her eyes as the sound of tearing fabric reached her ears.

“No!” she screamed, trying frantically to throw him off of her back. “God! Someone please—help me!"

“Quiet!” Henry roared, cuffing her upside the head.

Bells clanged in her skull and her vision swam. The breeze blowing in the window skittered across her bared back. He grabbed her shoulder, tossing her over onto her back. This time he grasped a fistful of the front of her gown and tugged. Shame flooded her as the silk split in a jagged slash down the middle.

She gagged as he clamped a hand over her mouth. He hadn't bathed in over twelve days and the stench rising from his unwashed body made her choke. She managed to swallow her disgust long enough to sink her teeth into his hand.

He howled, yanking his hand away and then backhanding her with fury across one cheekbone. Her teeth rattled as her head jerked to the side, a low moan of pain rising from her. The blow stunned her, and he took advantage of it to set to work shoving up her skirts and unfastening his grimy trousers.

They both froze when someone rapped on the door. “Heather?"

A rush of relief washed over her as Drew's voice reached her ears. She struggled to crane her neck to look at the door. “Drew! Help! He—"

The knob rattled. “Heather? What's going on? Why is this damned door locked?"

“You shut up, bitch,” Henry hissed, slamming his palm over her mouth again. “I'll kill him. I swear I will. And then I will kill you."

Fury surged through her as she took another chunk from his hand. “Drew! God, help me! Please!"

“Heather!” Drew's voice rose to a shout and a series of thuds and crashes echoed throughout the cabin.

Henry scrambled for his flintlock, which he'd set on the floor beside his left leg. He grabbed it just as the door gave, shattering beneath the force of Drew's body. The splintered wood sagged on its hinges as he burst through.

“Drew, watch—!"

Her warning came too late. Henry, hands shaking furiously, grabbed the flintlock, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. Heather screamed, but Drew kept coming at them, grabbing Henry by his shirtfront, heaving him up from the floor. Henry let out a terrified squeak, which was followed by a sickening squelch as Drew's fist slammed into the center of Henry's face.

But Drew wasn't finished. He was like a madman, pummeling Henry over and over until the man was hardly recognizable. The thunderous crashes must have been audible overhead, for within moments several of the Aphrodite's crew swarmed into the cabin.

She scrambled away, backing up against the wall, horrified as she watched Drew punish Henry repeatedly. Holding her destroyed bodice closed with one hand, she covered her eyes with the other as blood spattered over the wall and spilled across the floor.

Finally, between them, Bobby and Jeremy managed to pull Drew off Henry. The bosun's mate was a bloody pulp, barely managing a pathetic moan as he was dragged from the cabin.

“I want him in chains, in the hold,” Drew thundered, drawing the back of his hand over the trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth. “I will deal with him and I alone will do it."

Jeremy looked for a moment as if he was about to argue with him, but backed down when he saw the fury in Drew's eyes. He motioned for Bobby to take Henry from the room, following behind.

Drew spun about and, seeing her flattened against the wall, he rushed to her. Dropping to his knees beside her, he gathered her in his arms, demanding, “What happened?"

“I—I don't know,” she murmured in a shaky voice. “I ca—came down here to—to nap, as you suggested, and h-he was w-waiting for m-me."

He crooked a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face to meet his gaze. A scowl darkened his features as he gently touched just below her left eye. The sudden throb made her gasp and he nodded. “You're going to have one hell of a black eye come morning, love.” Another gentle stroke, and he growled, “I will kill that son of a bitch,” he growled.

That now-familiar sense of safety surged through her and she threw her arms about his neck, tugging him closer still. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been so relieved to see someone, the last time she actually shook from fear as she did then. She clung tighter, willing the shaking to stop as she choked, “Thank God you came down here."

He wrapped his arms even tighter about her as he got to his feet, then staggered slightly, a breathless oath leaking through his teeth. His hold on her loosened and, for a moment, she thought he was about to drop her. His face went suddenly ashen and she stared in disbelief. “Drew?"

He fell back to his knees, spilling her from his arms as he grabbed his side. He pulled his hand away, staring down in horror at the blood smearing his palm.

She picked herself up, gasping as she saw the scarlet stain spreading over his shirt. Henry hadn't missed at all. His bullet had found its mark.

Eighteen

Gathering the tattered remains of her gown together, Heather got to her feet and dashed through what was left of the door to run to the surgeon's cabin.

The door to Sam Mason's cabin was closed, but she paid no heed as she pounded on it, calling out, “Mr. Mason! Mr. Mason!” between thumps.

He appeared within moments, his gray eyes serious as he said, “What is it?"

“Please, you must come at once!” She grabbed his arm and dragged him back towards Drew's cabin. “Henry had a pistol! He shot Drew!"

“How the devil—” Sam sputtered, grabbing a black leather bag. “How did he get out of the hold? Mr. Allen wouldn't tell me when he brought Mr. Donaldson to the infirmary, only that Captain Kennedy nearly killed him."

“The hold?” she asked as they hurried from his cabin.

“Yes. Scottie transferred him there this morning, since he was eating again. Oh, that boy has some explaining to do."

And that was the last of the conversation as Sam picked up his pace, now dragging Heather behind him. He burst into Drew's cabin with her right behind him.

Drew slumped against the bed, not moving as Sam knelt beside him. Heather circled around to kneel behind Drew, and she didn't miss the doctor's frown as he lifted Drew's shirt away to expose the small wound above his right hip.

Sam looked up at Heather. “Help me get him into bed."

She didn't hesitate, but looped Drew's left arm about her neck while the doctor took his right. Together they heaved, lifting him from the floor and toppling him across the bed.

Drew let out a soft, low moan as he hit the tick, his face growing whiter still. Sweat dotted his upper lip and he swore loudly as the doctor pushed him onto his back. “You lay still, Captain,” Mr. Mason ordered, his voice brooking no argument. “This is going to hurt like hell, but it's important you remain perfectly still. Do you understand?"

Heather's belly tightened painfully as Drew's tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips and he whispered, “Yes."

She could hear the weakness in his voice and it sent a rush of panic through her. Turning to the doctor, she asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?"

“Yes. You can hold him still whilst I remove the bullet and pack the wound.” Mr. Mason went to the door. “I'll return momentarily to extract it."

She nodded, moving to sit up by Drew's head. Clasping his hand in hers, she stroked his damp hair with her free hand. “Everything is going to be fine,” she murmured, blinking back tears as she gazed into his cloudy blue eyes.

“Hurts like hell,” he groaned, wincing as he shifted.

“Be still,” she ordered sharply.

He fell silent for a moment, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. Then, he whispered, “Did he touch you?"

“Aside from the bruise?” She waited for his slow nod and said, “No. You have perfect timing."

“I am going to kill him."

“Do not worry about that now,” she chided, smoothing his hair from his forehead.

He shifted again, a low hiss of pain escaping his clenched teeth. “God damn, that hurts."

“Lie still."

Mr. Mason returned then, carrying a bottle of whiskey, a pair of scissors, a bowl, and a wad of bandages. He glanced at Heather. “I need you to hold his arms down, my lady.” To Drew he said, “I apologize now, Captain, but this will hurt quite a bit. Now remember, it's very important then, that you hold perfectly still."

Drew nodded, setting his jaw as Heather pressed into him. Sweat beaded his forehead, his breathing ragged as the doctor probed about in the wound. Heather almost couldn't bear to look, almost couldn't bear to see Sam probe the wound. A hollow chill filled her, leaving her to wonder if she was about to be sick. It grew worse when Sam sloshed more whiskey over the wound, but then drained when Drew suddenly stiffened and let out a roar of agony. She could feel his body go rigid, could see the beads of sweat standing out against the waxy whiteness of his skin, and she forgot her own discomfort in her desire to ease his. Leaning over, she whispered into his ear, “It's almost over, love,” as she stroked his hair, adding, “Mr. Mason has found the bullet now and it is almost out."

Sam withdrew the scissors and her stomach lurched when she saw the bloodied, misshapen lead ball clamped between the blades. He dropped the ball into the bowl and poured more whiskey into the gaping wound. With that, Drew hissed again, and then relaxed, going limp as she whispered, “It's out."

Sam pressed a square of linen against the wound, wrapping a rough linen bandage about Drew's midsection. “We'll keep an eye on the bleeding,” he told Heather. “And for fever. I think the worst is yet to come."

Drew sank back into the pillows and she could see the fight go out of him. Inch by inch, his body relaxed and he shivered even after she drew her arms about him and held him tight. Then, with a soft sigh of resignation, he surrendered completely, sinking from consciousness.

* * * *

It was a long night for Heather. Sam stayed long enough to show her how to clean the wound and change the bandage as needed. He left her the whiskey, promising to send Nick down with another bottle as soon as possible. Then he had to leave, concerned now about Henry.

“I've known the captain since he was a boy,” he said, shaking his head. “I've never seen him lose his temper in such a manner before.” His gray eyes rose to meet hers. “I do hope he hasn't killed the man, even if he might deserve it."

She didn't give a damn about Henry's condition. As far as she was concerned, she would dance on the bosun's mate's grave, after what he'd attempted to do to her and what he had done to Drew. Drew was her only concern.

After Sam left the cabin, she changed her clothes, using her torn gown to mop off the blood still smearing the floor and wall. Then, she dragged the desk chair over beside the bed to curl into. Drew looked so pale, his skin nearly as stark as the bed linens, his black brows standing out against the pallor of his face.

Thomas Carmichael, the ship's carpenter, arrived to fix the door as best he could. Heather paid scant attention to him as she sat beside Drew. Her energy was focused on him. He was all that mattered to her.

* * * *

Several hours passed since Drew had slumped against her. His hair was damp with perspiration and he moaned in his sleep. Darkness fell and she lit the lamps in the cabin. Nick arrived with the promised whiskey, and with a tray.

“Cook sent down broth for Captain Kennedy and supper for you, Miss Spencer,” he said as he set the tray on the table, thunking the bottle of whiskey down beside it.

“Thank you, Mr. Stevens,” she replied, glancing away from Drew to look at the steward. “But, I am afraid I am not very hungry right now."

“Still, you need to eat,” he reminded her gently. “So, I'll just leave it there and pick it up later tonight."

“Thank you."

He gave her a sympathetic smile and left the cabin as quietly as he had entered it. She turned back to Drew, her brow furrowing as she reached out with a damp towel to sponge off his forehead. She didn't know how seriously he had been wounded, and Mr. Mason hadn't said, but she knew he didn't look happy when he'd left.

Drew stretched in his sleep, groaning as he did so. A fresh wave of perspiration broke out on his forehead. She touched a hand to his forehead, which was now hot. Fever had struck.

A while later, he began thrashing about, kicking at the sheet, now tangled about his legs. He shoved one pillow to the floor, the other to the far side of the bed. Heather jumped up from the chair and hurried out the door. She practically sprinted down the corridor, turning towards Mr. Mason's cabin. She skidded to a halt outside it, pounding furiously on the closed door for the second time that day.

The surgeon pulled open the door. “Yes?"

“Mr. Mason, Drew—that is, Captain Kennedy—is running a fever now."

Sam's brow furrowed. “Are you certain?"

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I am certain. I do know a fever when faced with one."

He sighed. “I was afraid of this. The only thing we can do now is try to keep him cool and hope that it breaks."

“What should I do, then?"

“I'll send Mr. Stevens up with a ewer of water. Just keep Captain Kennedy's head cool."

She simply stared at the doctor. “Is that all? I already knew to do that."

“So why are you here then?"

“Because I thought that you—a doctor—might have a better remedy.” She made no attempt to keep the exasperation from her voice.

He shrugged, looking more that a little frustrated by her insistence. “I am afraid that's the best I can do, Miss Spencer."

She didn't bother to hold back her own irritated sigh. “Very well then. Thank you."

“He is a strong man. I think it will take more than that nick to fell Captain Kennedy."

Her heart was heavy as she plodded back to Drew's cabin. What would happen if he succumbed to his injury? The thought of that happening, of never seeing him again, cut through her like a dull blade. She tried not to think about the fact that she might never again hear him laugh, or speak, or see the beautiful cerulean blue of his eyes. It brought tears to her eyes.

She returned to his bedside, sinking back into her chair. Drew was still tossing about. No sooner did she cover him, and the blankets were tangled about his legs. She spent a great deal of time tugging the covers free and smoothing them over him again.

“Oh ... God...” The low moan rose from Drew, who had gone still. “Rebecca..."

Her ears pricked up, the blankets slipping from her fingers. Rebecca?

“Why—why would you do that?” He began tossing once more. “Lies ... all lies ... should never have trusted..."

She leaned a bit closer. What on earth was he talking about? She dipped her towel in the tepid water and pressed it to his forehead.

He caught her wrist. “Heather...?"

She thought he was waking up, but his eyes never opened. He just squeezed her hand and murmured, “Heather...?"

“Yes?"

“Rebecca—why? God, I love that woman—so much it—I can't get her out of my mind...” His voice grew louder as he vehemently shook his head. “I love her ... but I can't ... I can't..."

“Shh, love,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she smoothed his hair away from his forehead with her free hand. She didn't want to hear how he still loved Rebecca. What she heard so far sent a sharp pain shooting right through her. It hurt worse than she imagined it could, worse than any physical pain she'd ever felt. Her throat tightened, tears pricked at her eyes, and she swallowed hard against both. Rebecca must have been the R of the note in the book of poetry. He did still love her. Still, she forced herself to remain calm as she whispered, “Shh..."

He calmed down then, lying quietly, leaving her to gaze down at him with confused eyes. She wanted to shake him, to ask him to whom was he speaking? Was he telling her he loved her? Or, in his delirium, did he think she was Rebecca? She wanted so much to believe he was talking to her. Her heart had actually skipped a beat when he said those words. Her mouth went dry and it all made sense now.

She was falling in love with the dashing American sea captain. She knew she shouldn't, knew she was only setting herself up for heartbreak, but she couldn't help it. She was falling in love with Drew Kennedy.

“Rebecca—so beautiful...” he groaned again, his voice now harsher “But, so perfect for me ... so perfect ... Heather?” He paused a moment. Then his moaning grew louder, more panicked. “Heather?"

She slid her arms around his neck as carefully as she could, cradling his head against her breast. “I'm here, Drew. I'm right here."

He calmed at once again, settling against her as he sighed, “I love you."

She stared down at him, tears filling her eyes once more. Only this time, a smile lifted her lips. “Drew?"

He was at peace now, his head resting against her breast. “I do so love you."

Her heartbeat quickened as she bent forward and murmured, “And I love you, my darling."

He sighed again, mumbling thickly, “Stay with me?"

“I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

But he didn't respond. He was asleep again. Still, her heart sang as she sat there, a fool's grin pulling at her lips. She couldn't believe what she had just heard.

Drew loved her.

She ignored the pain in her back from her somewhat twisted position on the bed. It didn't matter. All that mattered was what he had whispered to her as he pulled her close.

He loved her.

Nineteen

Drew's fever broke during the night. He lurched violently, let out a pitiful moan, and was almost instantly drenched with sweat.

His moan jolted Heather from her light doze in the chair. She sat up with a start to find him blinking up at the ceiling with cloudy, confused eyes. “What happened?” he asked softly, reaching up to push his hair off of his forehead.

“You don't remember?” she asked, leaning away from him to light the lamp on the small table beside the bed.

He groaned as he shifted again and a slow burn spread throughout his body. “Now I remember. That son of a bitch shot me."

She rose from the bed to fetch him a change of fresh clothing and pull fresh linens from the wardrobe. “Do you remember anything else?"

As she emerged from the wardrobe with everything in her arms, his eyes went to the bruise on her face and they narrowed. “I remember he attacked you."

Her expression remained neutral as she brought over his clothing and lowered herself onto the edge of the bed. Lifting the towel out of the bowl of water Nick had brought down earlier, she wrung it out, and pressed it to his forehead. “You were talking in your delirium."

“I just know I hurt like anything,” he replied softly. Then, his eyes caught hers. “Did I say anything embarrassing?"

“No,” she assured him with a smile. “Nothing you would not want repeated."

He groaned again, trying to sit up. Heather put a hand against his chest to stop him. “You need to lay back, Drew. Lie back and rest."

He covered her hand with his. “Are you all right?"

“I'm fine,” she told him. “It looks far worse than it feels.” It was the truth. She had forgotten about the bruise Henry had given her, her mind far too cluttered with worry for Drew.

His fingers came up to lay gingerly against her bruised cheek. “He will pay for this with his blood."

“Please, Drew, I do not care about him. I only wish to see you well again.” She shook her head. “Besides, you've already pounded him to a pulp. I don't know that there is much left of him to punish."

He sighed, sinking back into the pillows. “What did Sam say?"

“The only thing I could do was to wait for your fever to break. He really wasn't much help once he removed the bullet.” She dabbed at his face again. “Would you like to have clean linens to lie on?"

He arched an ebony brow. “I'd rather have you to lie on."

“You are terrible."

A soft chuckle rose to his lips. “It hurts to laugh."

“Then do keep your mind on the fact that you are wounded."

Catching her by the hands, he drew her down to his chest. “It's hard to forget, but I am trying."

Her eyes held his and she wished she were brave enough to remind him of what he'd said in his delirium, but she wasn't. Perhaps he hadn't meant her, but simply confused her with his Rebecca.

“What is on your mind, love?” he asked softly, his eyes never leaving hers as he smoothed a tendril of hair behind her left ear.

“Nothing. I was merely worried about you."

“I think I will live to fight another day."

“It does appear that way."

His eyes drooped again and his sigh was hollow with fatigue. “I apologize, my lady. I am sleepy."

“Sleep then. I will go down and fetch you something to eat when you awake."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Make certain you fetch something for yourself as well."

“Of course."

She waited until he'd fallen back to sleep before easing her hand from his. She sat back in her chair, chewing on her thumbnail. He did not remember what he had said to her, did not remember telling her he loved her. The happiness that had sustained her through those dark hours seeped away. Her only comfort was that he also didn't remember her reply. At least she was spared that embarrassment.

She reached for the blanket she'd used the night before, though she didn't get all that much sleep. Now that his fever had broken, some of her worry slipped away, and exhaustion crept over her. She snuggled into the blanket, her head lolling against the side of the chair, and fell fast asleep.

* * * *

Drew opened his eyes to find sunlight fading from the cabin and Heather sound asleep in the chair beside the bed. He lay back against the pillows, watching her. Even in her sleep, she was adorable, resting her head against a folded hand, the way a child would. He could hear delicate snores rising from the chair and couldn't help but smile. His lady snored.

He sat up slowly, wincing as fire burned through his midsection. Ignoring it, he pulled the soiled, bloodstained linens from the bed and replaced them with fresh. It took some doing, as he felt more than a bit lightheaded and fresh sweat broke out over his entire body. Still, he gritted his teeth and blocked out everything, concentrating solely on his task.

When he'd gotten the bed remade, he moved to the chair and carefully lifted her from it. She did not stir as he turned to gingerly place her in the middle of the tick, drawing the sheet up to her chin.

He was breathing heavily, sweat breaking out once more by the time he finished. He dropped into the empty chair to catch his wind before attempting to dress. It was slow but he managed it, leaving the cabin to make his way to Sam Mason's cabin. He pounded on the door, holding his aching side as he did so. When the doctor opened the door, Drew pulled his hand away, clasping both behind his back as he straightened. “Mr. Mason, I want to see Donaldson."

“Captain, you should be in bed. Not up and about just yet."

He waved Sam's concern aside. “I am fine. Now, where is he?"

“In bed, in manacles. Although, it will be some time before he is up and about again."

Drew brushed past him to enter his cabin. “I wish to see him and I wish to see him alone."

“With all due respect, Captain, I am not so certain that is a wise idea."

“Frankly, I don't give a damn what you think, Sam. Now, if you will excuse me."

Sam gave up on his protests and led Drew to the small alcove of his cabin where sick or injured crewmen recuperated. Henry lay swathed in blood-stained bandages, on a narrow cot. His left ankle was manacled and chained to the wall by a short tether. He began whimpering softly, apparently hearing the fall of boot steps on the planks.

“Save it, Donaldson,” Drew growled, which only made Henry whimper louder. Bracing his hands against the thin pallet, Drew clenched his teeth as he leaned over. “You are damned lucky I didn't kill you, you worm."

Henry's eyes went wide and his lips parted, revealing three broken teeth. “But, Captain, I—"

“Save it,” Drew growled again. “If I ever see you anywhere near Heather again, I will rip you to pieces with my bare hands. You think you hurt now? I did this with a bullet in me. Think of what I will do perfectly healthy."

Henry coughed and then groaned. “But, she's just a whore...” he whined weakly.

Drew snatched a handful of Henry's blood-spattered tunic, yanking him up from the cot and eliciting another pathetic whimper from the invalid. “I ought to kill you right here and right now,” he snarled, his nose practically touching Henry's. “But that would be too kind.” He slammed him back against the cot. “You think about that, whilst you are lying here waiting for the pain to stop and the bones to knit."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned heel and stormed out of the alcove. He paused by Sam's desk and said, “This time, you make damn certain he does not get out."

“I still don't know how he got out the first time. Scottie swears the manacle was locked correctly, that Henry had nothing that could be used to pick open the lock. Yet somehow, he worked open the cuff."

“You just make damn certain there is no way for him to free himself this time,” Drew said, shaking his head.

“You have my word, Captain. There will not be a second time.” Sam paused a moment. “And while you are here, why don't I take a look at the bandage?"

Drew reluctantly lifted his shirt and let the doctor prod at the bloodstained bandage. Sam nodded as he straightened up. “Miss Spencer did a fair job, but it needs to be changed."

“So change it."

Sam snipped off the dirty bandage, peeling away the small square covering the actual wound. Drew gritted his teeth, a fresh wave of nausea slamming into him as the dried blood on the bandage caused it to stick, pulling at the wound. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead and he gripped the edge of Sam's desk to steady himself.

“Captain, are you all right?” Sam asked suddenly, reaching out to steady Drew as he swayed slightly.

“I'm fine."

Sam replaced the bandages and said, “You ought to be resting, Captain. Let that girl take care of you. She'd been doing a fair enough job so far, and Lord knows she's been watching over you like a hawk since yesterday. Wouldn't let anyone near you."

Drew managed a slight smile. “I've a ship to run."

“Mr. Aldridge is doing a fine job. You need to rest. I took a bullet out of you yesterday. Try to remember that."

“And you try to remember that I am the captain of this ship. And as such—” He broke off as the room suddenly rocked and he sagged against the desk once more. “And as such—"

“You will go and rest,” Sam finished quietly, a hand on Drew's shoulder to steady him once more. “Now."

Drew nodded, gritting his teeth as he stood upright. “I will be in my cabin if anyone needs me."

“Of course, Captain."

After weaving his way back to his cabin, Drew sank down onto the bed with a low moan of pain. The room swam about him and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the movement before it made him sick.

The motion of the bed woke Heather with a start. She sat up. “Drew? Is everything all right?"

“No."

She heard the faintness in his voice. His shirt was still open and when he hit the bed, it slipped down over his ribs. Her eyes widened when she saw the fresh scarlet stain spreading over his belly, seeping through the bandage. “Let me fetch Mr. Mason."

“No. I'm all right. I simply need to rest."

“Drew, you are bleeding again."

“I merely moved too much. I'll be fine."

She frowned, cursing his stubbornness as she lifted her eyes to his face. He was still so frighteningly pale, lying there with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow and rapid. “Are you certain?"

He nodded slowly. “Positive."

She paused for moment, then sighed. “Very well. But if it does not stop soon, I am fetching him.” She fell silent for a moment before saying, “Are you hungry?"

“Not in the least. I simply wish to sleep, love."

“So sleep then."

He reached for her. “Stay with me?"

“Of course."

Pulling her into his arms, he held her tightly as he murmured in a thick voice, “Stay with me for always."

Twenty

The following days were the longest Heather could remember. Drew's fever returned, raging for two days. She hovered over him for those two days, not eating, not sleeping, not even dozing. Mr. Mason checked up on him every few hours, but there was precious little he could do.

“Miss Spencer?"

She whirled around to see Jeremy Allen standing in the doorway. “Yes?"

“I came to see how Drew is doing.” Jeremy stepped into the cabin. “May I?"

“It seems that you already have, then."

He smiled. “You sound tired, my lady."

“Exhausted is more like it,” she replied with a yawn.

“I can sit with him, if you'd like to go get some sleep. I've my own cabin and you are more than welcome to it."

“Thank you, but no.” She could only imagine Drew's reaction, should he ever find out about that. Besides, she could not leave him. Would not leave him. No matter what, she would stay by his side until he woke up, everything else be damned.

Jeremy stepped up beside her. “Drew is like a brother to me. I would never attempt anything that might hurt him."

She shoved her hair away from her face. It had pulled almost entirely from its plait and was annoying her. “Still, that's not a good idea."

“If you change your mind, the offer will still stand.” Jeremy glanced over at Drew. “Has Doc Mason been in?"

“He just left."

“And?"

“There is no change. He's still running a fever.” Tears pricked her eyes. “It's been nearly three days of fever. I don't know that he is ever going to come out of this...” A single tear streaked down her cheek and Jeremy eased an arm about her shoulders to guide her to the chair. As she sunk into it, he whisked a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, pressing it into her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes with it.

He crouched down. “It will be all right."

“How can you say that? How can anyone say that? He's been in and out of consciousness for nearly three days. He's been mumbling incoherently for almost as long. He doesn't know where he is, doesn't know who I am. And he keeps asking for Rebecca!” She dissolved into tears then, her utter exhaustion overwhelming her, shoulders shaking under the force of her sobs.

“Rebecca? Why on earth would he be asking for her?"

“I haven't any idea!"

Jeremy shook his head. “Are you certain he said Rebecca?"

“Positive."

“But that makes no sense."

She sniffed and looked into his hazel eyes. “Why? Why would he not be asking for the woman he loves?"

“Loves? Who told you that?” he chuckled, combing his thick dark hair away from his forehead. “As far as I know, he wouldn't spit on her if she was on fire."

That was not what she'd expected him to say and she couldn't help but gape at him. “What?"

“At one time he might have been in love with her. But it was a long time ago."

“So, that doesn't mean he doesn't still carry a flame for her."

“Oh believe me, my lady, that flame died ages ago. He despises her."

“Is that so?"

“Has he even told you about Rebecca?"

“No. I only know that he was betrothed before, but he never told me to whom."

“Rebecca."

The blood drained from her face and the pit of her belly to drop through the floor. “What?"

“That is who Rebecca is. And trust me, my lady. She does not hold a candle to you."

“I'm afraid I don't understand."

Jeremy smiled. “I've known Drew since we were boys, my dear. I was there through the entire Rebecca fiasco and this—its aftermath. I've seen the way he looks at you. The way he watches you when you don't know it. He knew you were in danger the other afternoon. I don't know how, but he just knew."

“Then why did he not realize he was in danger?"

He shook his head. “It mattered not to him. You were his only concern. He would put his life on the line for you, as he proved the other afternoon. Somehow, I don't think Rebecca ever garnered that sort of sentiment.” He chuckled, shaking his head again. “Not even on their best days together."

“What happened?"

“I think I will let him tell you that,” he replied evenly. “After all, it's his business, not mine. Just keep in mind, he may not realize it yet, but he cares for you. And, when he does tell you about Rebecca, you will understand why he might not realize it. Trust me."

“Why should I?"

He grinned. “Because I want that hulking giant over there—"a nod in Drew's direction—"to be happy. It's been too long since I've seen that. Since before he met you as a matter of fact. And he deserves it. You are good for him. Just be patient."

She cast a glance over at Drew, who was tossing about once more. “I can manage that,” she said thoughtfully.

Jeremy moved to the door. “Just let me know if you need anything, Miss Spencer."

“Please,” she said, giving him a smile, “do call me Heather."

She could hear his soft laughter as he disappeared around the corner, and she couldn't help but smile. Then, she turned her attention back to Drew. “So another piece has been added to the puzzle that makes you, you,” she murmured, rising and crossing over to sit on the edge of the bed. “There is so much I still have to learn about you,” she told him, shaking her head as she smoothed the blankets over him once more.

What could Rebecca have done to him? And if it was so horrible, why was he mumbling her name? It made no sense to her. No sense at all.

She continued sitting at his bedside, even as her back grew stiffer and her eyes heavier. She pushed through her discomfort, rising from the chair only to bathe his forehead, straighten his blankets, and add oil to the lamp burning beside the bed. As the first pearly light of dawn entered the cabin, she arched her back, trying to ease some of the soreness from her muscles.

Drew stirred, opening his eyes and whispering, “Heather?"

She heard the dry croak and at once forgot about her pain. “Yes?"

He lifted a hand, reaching for her. “Come here."

She did as he asked, rising and slipping her hand into his. He squeezed it, gently drawing her down beside him. “What day is this?” he asked quietly, wincing as if the act of speaking hurt.

She thought for a moment. “I am not even certain, myself. I'm afraid I've lost track."

He eased an arm about her shoulders, pulling her close. “You look exhausted."

“I am fine. How do you feel?"

He grimaced. “Like I had a bullet dug out of me. It's a first."

Snuggling against him, she propped herself up on one elbow to gaze down at him. It was so wonderful to see his beautiful blue eyes again. She knew she could never grow tired of looking into those eyes.

Touching a hand to his forehead, she was relieved to find it cool. Damp, but cool, and she breathed an inward sigh of relief. He was still so pale, but at least he sounded stronger. For the first time in days, she smiled a genuine smile. “It appears your fever has finally broken."

“Thank the Lord,” he breathed, sinking back into the pillows. “I had the wildest dreams.” He arched an eyebrow, giving her a devilish grin. “And you were in some of them."

“How could you be dreaming about—about that? I was so afraid you would never wake up."

He chuckled softly, pulling her closer. “I wasn't so certain I wanted to wake up. Aren't you even going to ask what I dreamt about?"

“I think I might be better off not knowing."

Drew nuzzled her. “The chair, love. We were in the chair..."

Heat flooded her cheeks as she glanced over at the chair in question, remembering what had happened there. She turned back to him. “You, sir, are incorrigible,” she murmured, reaching down to stroke the dark hair away from his forehead.

His smile was tired. “You bring out the best in me, I suppose."

She liked how that sounded. “You ought to try and rest some, Drew. You look terribly exhausted."

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing to you."

She lay flat beside him, tracing a finger over the dark stubble shadowing his jaw. He had nearly a week's worth of beard, but instead of making him look sinister, the growth only added to his appearance, making him even more ruggedly handsome.

They lay quietly for a long moment. His fingers absently moving over her hair, and she shifted, bringing her head to rest upon his chest. It was so wonderful to hear his heart beating so steadily beneath her, to feel those fingers caressing her hair with long, slow strokes, to hear something as simple as the sound of his deep voice. Her fears receded somewhat now, and she draped her arm about his waist, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“What's on your mind, love?” he whispered.

“Not a thing."

“Come now, there must be something going on beneath those curls,” he chided gently.

“No.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I am just thankful to hear your voice again."

“You were worried about me, then?"

“You have no idea."

“Hmm...” He fell silent once more. He had only the faintest memories of the time that passed during his fevers. He remembered everything hurt—as though pain had moved in and set up house. He could recall vivid dreams, both good and bad. Rebecca was there, forcing him to relive his most unpleasant of memories. Heather was also there, kissing him and telling him she loved him.

He recalled one very lucid dream. He was lying there, reaching for Heather. He pulled her into his arms and whispered, “I love you,” and she responded in kind, promising she would not leave him. It had seemed so real, but it couldn't have been, could it?

Drew frowned, gazing down at the top of her dark head. It must have been a dream, for she spoke no such words now. That left him with a hollow sort of feeling. He remembered how wonderful it felt, how natural and right, to hear her say those words.

He shifted. His muscles were tired, cramped, and it felt good to be able to stretch them out, to work the kinks from his joints. His side still burned, but when he peeked, he was relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped. He groaned softly as the wound twinged, sending a fresh course of pain searing through him.

Heather lifted her head at the groan. “Drew?"

“I'm fine, my lady. Just a bit sore still."

She sat up, drawing the blankets down to peer at the bandage. The blood had dried, leaving the white linens a dull, dirty reddish-brown shade. “I think the worst is over now,” she said, meeting his eyes and smiling. “You will be up and about in no time. No time at all."

“I certainly hope so,” he remarked, scratching his belly, above the bandage. “It's starting to itch."

She lightly slapped his hand away. “Do be careful then, I don't want you to begin bleeding again now."

His hand went still, his eyes remaining locked with hers. “You should get some sleep. No offense, but you look like hell."

“Thank you,” she replied dryly. “What do you expect, when I've not slept in nearly three days?"

“You've been up for three days?"

“Someone had to watch over you."

He shook his head. “You are unique, Heather. There is a surgeon on board, you know."

“I know, but I don't trust that man. I know just as much when it comes to caring for you."

“Really, now?"

“Yes."

“Well, you can rest now, love. As you can see, I am on the road to recovery.” Drew pulled her back to his chest. “Care to see how much better I am feeling?"

“You are impossible,” she burst out, shaking her head. “A man shot you four days ago and now you want to—to—"

“Make love?"

“Oh!” She threw back the blankets and jumped up from the bed. “You are mad! You would risk re-injuring yourself, another fever, bleeding to death, for that?"

He couldn't resist the grin tugging at his lips. Certainly she had no idea how lovely she was when she became emotional. Color flooded her face—flushed cheeks, deep red lips, dark eyes flashing passionately. All did nothing but add to her sensuality.

He propped himself up on one elbow, arching his brow once more. “Sweetheart, it'd be more than worth it,” he replied evenly.

“If I didn't know where Mr. Mason had pulled that mangled ball from, I would swear it was your head!"

He chuckled softly. “Well, it wasn't my head now, was it?"

“Drew."

He heard the warning in her voice, could see the anger glinting in her eyes, and relented with a sigh. “I am but teasing, Heather. I should think you would be flattered to know a man would risk death to make love to you."

“It isn't the slightest bit amusing to me, that you can joke so easily about your brush with death. I've never been so frightened before in my life and yet, here you are, acting as if it was no great hardship. I think you've gone around the bend,” she told him flatly, folding her arms over her chest.

Drew took a deep breath and sat up. What had been teasing only moments earlier was now quite serious. He rose from the bed onto slightly unsteady feet, ignoring the lightheadedness swarming over him. “Heather, are you going to make a wounded man chase you?"

“Get back in that bloody bed.” She jabbed a stern finger in the direction of the bed.

He took a step towards her. “Come here."

“I mean it, Drew. Back in bed. This instant.” She took a step backwards.

“Not alone. Come here."

She swallowed her rising irritation, unable to fathom that he wanted to pull her back into bed with him. It was incredible, that he would take such a risk. She could only shake her head at him as he continued creeping towards her. “I am not bloody joking."

“Nor am I.” Another step. “You are going to make me chase you, aren't you?"

“Drew Kennedy, do not take another step. I mean it. Not one more bloody step."

A grin played at his lips. “If you are going to scold me, love, at least use my given name."

“Well, I don't know your given name now, do I?"

He closed the gap between them, snaking his arms around her waist, ignoring the pain, ignoring the dizziness. He pulled her close, needing to feel her soft body against him. His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “Andrew."

She tried to ignore the warmth of his breath on her neck, the heat from his hands seeping into her back, how his lips tickled her ear. “A—Andrew...” she repeated in a breathless whisper, her eyes drooping as his tongue moved lightly about the shell of her ear.

“Andrew Kiernan, if I really work you into a fury,” he growled.

Her knees threatened to buckle, her fingernails digging into his upper arms as she tried to steady herself. “Stop that..."

“No."

“Drew!"

“Ah-ah, love..."

Her head fell back as he nibbled down her throat. She had so missed his caresses. She did not wish him to stop, but she also did not wish for him to hurt himself, either. “Drew, stop it..."

“Never."

He was working magic with his mouth, melting her resolve with his unrelenting kisses. She swayed in his arms, feeling a bit dizzy from the heat spreading through her. It felt so wonderful, the way he brought her skin to life. So wonderful indeed. It was harder to breathe now, and she gripped him even tighter.

“Drew, this is insane,” she managed to whisper. “You are going to kill yourself."

“I'll die a happy man, then,” came his breathless reply, his lips scorching her flesh. His hand slid over the outer contour of her breast and she shivered as the jolt rushed through her. Then, the rough edge of his bandage pressed into her and her head cleared at once.

“Drew, stop.” She broke the embrace by placing her hands flat against his chest and giving a gentle push. “Please, there will be plenty of time once you have healed."

He swayed slightly, the lightheadedness returning. “Perhaps you are right, Heather."

“I am. Please, please go back to bed."

He touched her face gently. “As you wish."

She eased an arm about his waist, guiding him back to the bed. “I do not wish to go through the last four days ever again. You have no idea how terrified I was that you were going to die.” She helped him lie back down and pulled the blankets up to his shoulders. Perching on the edge of the bed, she touched his roughened cheek and murmured, “I don't want anything to happen to you. Don't you understand that? I almost lost you once; I do not wish to lose you ever again."

“I am not going anywhere, my lady,” he replied in a sleepy voice. “You have my word on that."

“I am going to hold you to that,” she said, as he drifted off to sleep once more. She leaned over until her lips brushed his ear. “I love you, Andrew Kennedy, and I will never let you go."

Twenty-one

The Aphrodite had been at sea twenty-two days when Drew was finally able to rise from bed. Ten days had passed since Henry had pulled the trigger of the flintlock, and their journey to America was drawing to a close.

That night, Heather stood at the stern of the Aphrodite, head tilted back, looking up at the glowing white face of the full moon above. Silver light danced over the water's surface, sparkling like faceted gems. It was a beautiful night, with a cool breeze blowing in and thousands of stars twinkling merrily at her from their bed of black velvet overhead.

Drew saw her standing there, and thought back to that wild dream he'd had. It seemed so real, he would swear that it had actually happened. But she gave no indication of feeling anything for him. At least she was no longer the meek miss she'd been. Since their argument over the subject, she no longer kowtowed to his every whim. They'd had several heated spats over his injury, with her being the winner and him remaining abed until Mr. Mason gave him the all clear.

He leaned against the railing of the quarterdeck, gazing down at her. The breeze stirred her hair, lifting it from her shoulders to tumble down her back. She is so beautiful, he thought with a soft sigh. And she is mine.

Abandoning his post on the quarterdeck, he crossed over to where she stood. He came up silently, causing her to jump as he rested his forearms on the railing beside her and said, “A penny for your thoughts."

She smiled at him. “I am just admiring how lovely the sky looks."

He glanced up. “Nothing quite like a full moon on a clear night when you are at sea."

She continued to gaze up at the sky. “It's as though God had taken the finest diamonds in existence and mounted them on the finest black velvet for all the world to enjoy."

“Very poetically put, my lady,” he nodded, turning about to face her. “Very poetic indeed."

“You don't agree?"

Her eyes lifted to his and he shook his head. “I did not say that. I've never really paid much attention, I suppose."

She lowered her chin, now looking out over the water. “We are almost there, aren't we?"

“We are."

She took a deep breath, wondering if she was going to regret her next question. “What happens then? When we reach America?"

He didn't answer right away, then glanced down at her. “What do you expect to happen?"

“If I expected anything, would I ask?"

“Things will still be as they were, my lady. That has not changed."

“Am I to be your mistress still, then?"

“Are you saying you've changed your mind?"

“I think it's a bit late for that, wouldn't you say? Now that we are here and all."

“Heather, what do you want me to say?” Drew sighed, combing his fingers through his hair.

“I don't wish for you to say anything but the truth, Drew. Am I to be hidden away, where you will make midnight calls for a secret rendezvous?"

“Have I ever said I was going to hide you away somewhere?"

“One doesn't normally squire his mistress about town, though. Even I am not naïve enough to think this will be any different."

“I don't truly know what will happen. I've become rather spoiled by the way things have been. But, you have to remember, I do not have my own house here, and I know there is almost no possibility of my family allowing you to stay with them."

Heat bloomed in her face. Shame like she hadn't felt since leaving Madam Allison's flooded her entire body and she almost wished the deck would open up and swallow her. Turning back, she resumed staring out over the water. “Of course not. No decent family would allow a whore to sleep beneath their roof.” Her voice was low.

“Now, I am not doing this again, Heather. This has nothing to do with where you were. As far as I am concerned, it's none of anyone's business where we met."

“But people will ask, Drew. People will wonder and they will talk and eventually, someone will find out. What happens then?"

“I don't give a damn what happens then. I've never worried about what someone might think.” He gave her a crooked smile. “I don't give a damn where we met, either. I am simply glad that we did. You've brought much needed change to my life."

“Have I, then?” she asked softly, turning sideways to face him.

He leaned back on one elbow. “You have, my lady. You have made my life so much brighter since walking into it."

She smiled then and he knew he'd never seen a more beautiful woman. He drew her into his arms, holding her tightly. “You have no idea."

“So tell me."

He chuckled, giving her a squeeze. “You have nothing to worry about, Miss Heather. When we reach Brunswick, we will take things as they come."

What did that mean? She wanted to ask him, but was also afraid of the answer. For now, she would simply have to be content with what she had, and she rested her head against his chest. “Take things as they come..."

He kissed the top of her head, then rested his chin against it. He couldn't answer her questions, because he did not have the answers. He also wondered what would happen once they returned to Brunswick. He knew no one could ever learn where he'd met her. The ramifications would be brutal. Heather would be automatically shunned, an outcast, whether deserved or not. She would never be received in society and the gossip would be merciless. He absently stroked her hair. He would never bring that kind of pain down onto her. But he could not let her go, either.

She pulled away to say, “What is on your mind?"

He smiled. “We will figure something out when we get to Brunswick, Heather. I promise."

Her eyes widened as the sky lightened and the coastline came into view. Her first glimpse of America, and she was amazed at how much green she could see. The cliffs rose from the water like silvery-gray sentries guarding the shore. It was so different from London's harbor. It was almost like stepping into another world.

He kissed the top of her head. “If you will excuse me, love, it's time for me to return to my duties."

“Of course."

He left her then, to watch as land drew nearer, looming like a silent giant in the distance. Dawn was breaking over the horizon behind them, and she was glad she'd been awake to see it, glad that she'd been unable to sleep. It was this inability which brought her from the cabin. She wanted to see the sun rise, was eager to see her new home.

Seagulls shrieked overhead, and she could see other ships in the distance, entering and leaving the harbor. She couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation as they came closer. A new beginning awaited her. A fresh start for her life.

She glanced over her shoulder at Drew, who was deep in conversation with Bobby. She would now be able to see him on his territory and she had to admit she was quite curious about that. He'd been every inch the proper gentleman in London and the roguish sea captain on the water. Which mantel would he don now that they had reached America?

There was also a hint of sadness in her heart. She had become so accustomed to having him all to herself, but what would happen now that she had to share him? He owned half of a large shipping company, which must eat up a good portion of his time. He had a family whom, despite his fears about being disowned, would surely welcome him home and want to be with him. What would happen then? Would she only see him on rare occasions, and would that be enough for her?

Her eyes wandered to him once more, and she sighed softly as he crossed the deck to dash up the short flight of steps to the wheel. He had belonged to her for so long, would she actually be able to share him, or would she end up losing him? She had no idea what things he was responsible for here in America, what duties awaited his return.

Or what woman might await his return.

That thought did nothing to ease her worries, but she knew she did have to contend with all possibilities. He hadn't dropped from the clouds the day he met her, as he'd once pointed out. He'd never mentioned a lady who might be counting the days until his return, but that didn't mean one wasn't waiting, did it? Drew was handsome, he was charming, and he was wealthy. No doubt an enticing prospect for any young lady of marriageable age.

Heather didn't know how marriages were decided in this new land, but she knew he would be considered a most eligible bachelor in London. She had the feeling America would not be so stuffy as London was. Theirs was a completely different society. Americans held no titles, had rebelled against the very idea and broke away from a monarchy that believed very firmly in such things as title, blood, and lineage.

Of course, certain things never changed, such as acquiring wealth and property, so perhaps they approached the idea of marriage as a business arrangement of sorts. Or, perhaps they didn't, marrying solely for love. She supposed she would find out eventually.

The relentless questions made her head ache, but she refused to leave her post. Her eyes drank in all around her—the rich greens, sharp reds and blacks of the cliffs, the whites and grays of sails of other ships. There was all so much to see. She didn't want to miss a single sight.

* * * *

It was late afternoon as Drew guided the Aphrodite into the swirling gray-black waters of Raritan Bay. The docks loomed ahead, alive with activity and swarming with people. It was much smaller than London's harbor, but no less empty. There were very few vacant berths, with quite a few larger vessels anchored out on the bay itself, where men in long boats rowed their way to shore.

He bypassed a row of slips, and Heather could see large warehouses in the distance, just beyond a group of eight berths. Weathered gray from the elements, each building closely resembled the others, and most contained shipping companies. The end building bore a golden eagle painted on its side. Above it, in elegant gold lettering, she could see Eagleton Imports in an arc above the eagle.

Men swarmed all around her, preparing the lines to secure the ship to the pilings, readying the anchor to be dropped, and preparing the cargoes to be removed. She remained to one side, making certain to stay out of everyone's way.

The ship bumped against the dock with a dull thud. Several men hurled thick coils of heavy rope from the docks to the crewmen waiting on deck. She watched in amazement the precision with which these men worked. They moved in tandem, almost anticipating each other's actions.

Drew appeared then, sweeping his hair away from his forehead. “You might want to go below and gather your things together. I've sent Bobby to find us carriages to take us into town."

She smiled at him. “Aye, Captain."

He chuckled. “You are the only crewmember I've ever slept with,” he said softly, reaching out to cup his hand against her cheek, his thumb brushing over it tenderly. “Now, scat I've work to do."

She did as she was told, disappearing below deck to gather her clothing and toilette items, and stow them in her trunk. It took hardly any time, and when she was finished, she wasn't sure what to do with herself. She could hear all sorts of noises coming from above and below, as the crates were removed from the hold and brought off the Aphrodite. Above her, the crew was yelling and laughing with one another. She recognized quite a few of the voices, including Drew's, and couldn't help but feel a bit left out. The camaraderie amongst the crew of the Aphrodite ran deep and she knew it was a part of Drew's life she could never share.

She closed the trunk and sat atop it, lost in thought. What awaited her here, in this new and wonderful land? Would her future be brighter, or would she regret ever leaving London behind?

“Please,” she whispered, casting her eyes up to gaze at the exposed beams of the ceiling, “please let me find happiness here. I cannot go home again, so please let me find a new home, one with love and laughter and happiness. And please, somehow, let me find the courage to tell Drew the truth about how I feel about him."

Twenty-two

It was almost dusk when Bobby returned with the hired carriages. Drew had been gone most of the day, taking care of the cargo he'd brought back on the ship. While he was gone, Heather did one last sweep of the cabin, stripping the bed with a sigh. She was going to miss being on board the Aphrodite. It had become home to her.

She stood by the window, watching as the sun faded and twilight crept in. Her stomach fluttered when the door opened. She turned to see Drew standing in the doorway. He gave her a smile. “Ready to go, love?"

She nodded. “I am."

Stepping into the cabin, he moved to stand behind her, easing his arms about her waist. He held her close, kissing the top of her head. “I have to admit, this has been one of the most pleasant voyages I've ever had."

She leaned back into him, letting the warmth from his arms seep into her, murmuring, “That it has."

He gave her a gentle squeeze, then stepped back. “If you are ready then, it's time to go, love."

“I am ready.” She slipped her hand through his arm, gave one last look around, and let him escort her from the cabin.

As they stepped from the gangplank, Heather was agog at the activity buzzing about her. These docks were not so different from those in London. They were, perhaps, a bit less depressing, as there didn't appear to be quite as many beggars and strumpets. There were some, of course, and Drew ignored them, just as he had in London. He kept firm grip on her wrist as he plowed through the throngs of people. He kept her close as they moved towards the waiting carriages, helping her into the second, climbing in to sit beside her. He thumped on the ceiling to alert the driver that they were ready to move. The carriage rocked along the rough road leading from the harbor towards the town of Brunswick.

Heather pushed aside the dark curtain to peer out the window as they rolled down River Road, Brunswick's main street. Shops lined either side of the street, teeming with life as people bustled about from place to place. One by one, lights began to flicker behind rippled panes of glass as evening rolled through town.

They were traveling west, away from the center of town and her eyes went wide as the houses grew larger, the land more open, and the trees thicker.

“Is this all Brunswick?” she asked, turning away from the window.

“It is.” He nodded, leaning over to peer over her shoulder. “It's quite a change from London, don't you think?"

She nodded, waiting for a pang of homesickness that, surprisingly, never came. “It certainly is. We had to travel quite a distance to find estates such as these."

“Oh, these aren't estates. If you look closely, you can see smaller houses, nestled back from the road."

She pressed her nose to the warm pane, peering through the thickening darkness, nodding as she saw the cozy little houses nestled amongst the thick trees. “Oh, yes. There they are."

He chuckled, sitting back and leaning his head against the seat. “A bit of country and a bit of city all rolled together."

She didn't respond, too absorbed in the views rolling by the window to really hear him. Children played in lush green fields catching fireflies, men sat on horseback, and women relaxed in gardens, sipping drinks. It reminded her so much of home that not only did she feel the pang, but a lump rose in her throat as well.

The trees and foliage were in full bloom, rich greens and riots of colors in the wildflowers growing along the side of the road. The air was filled with the sweet scent of honeysuckle, teasing and delighting her nose. She could see hills of rolling green, and in the distance, the rise of mountains. They appeared an even deeper green, with barren patches of dark red and brown. It all looked so peaceful and serene, immediately bringing back warm remembrances of childhood days at Waterbury. Heather knew at once she could be very happy here.

Casting a sidelong glance at Drew, she let her imagination run away. She pictured them setting up a home in one of the cozy-looking houses they passed. Dark haired, blue-eyed children dashed about under their feet as they too, chased the blinking fireflies. It was a wonderful picture in her mind, filling her with a new wistfulness.

Now the houses were growing larger, more elegant, with whitewashed fences rimming spacious boundaries. Washing that had been hanging was now being taken down and she could see women in simple gowns and caps folding clothing to be placed in the large baskets at their feet.

He leaned close again, interrupting her reverie. “Take a look now."

She did and her eyes fell on a large brick house with a large round stained glass window set above a double front door of dark gleaming wood. Below the window, she could see a small ornamental balcony of what appeared to be white marble. Four white columns, two in the foreground and two in the background, flanked a large square portico. The house separated into two wings—one east and one west. Each wing was three stories high and lined with windows.

The front lawn sloped gently from the gracefully curved dirt drive to the road. Beyond the drive, there was a lush expanse of green leading to the house. It was a lovely house and she wondered who called this palace home.

She turned to see him smiling at her. “What is it?” she asked softly.

“That is Shadowbrook,” he replied. “My home."

“Is it, now?” Heather turned back to gaze out the window. It made her feel a bit closer to him, seeing where he lived, where he had been raised. She had no idea he'd been reared in the luxury he had. It was quite a far cry from what she'd imagined. She knew his was a life of privilege, but she'd naïvely assumed it would be paltry compared to the life of the British peerage.

“Not quite what you expected, is it?"

“Well, no. Not really,” she confessed rather sheepishly.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “Not quite the beastly American after all, eh?"

She couldn't help but laugh. “I suppose not."

She hadn't expected the carriage to turn up the curving drive, and they didn't. Instead, they rolled past and down a small hill. There, nestled in the trees, she could see a three-story white house. It seemed spacious, but not nearly as elegant as Shadowbrook. “Who lives there?"

“Ah, that would be Garrett,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “He started it before I left. Looks as though he's finally finished the place."

They continued on past thick trees, through which she could see a sprawling meadow of green and wildflowers. Deer grazed just beyond the trees, fireflies flashed their lights in the growing darkness, birds chirped in the treetops, and the entire scene was most soothing.

Her eyes widened as they came upon another manor house. This one was even larger than Shadowbrook, gleaming white with solemn black shutters. Three window-lined stories, flickering with light, stretched into two wings as well, but these appeared even longer than those of Shadowbrook.

“Hunter Grove,” he explained, tapping a finger to the window. “Home of the infamous Melanie Tomlinson. Whatever you do, keep your distance from that one."

“Why?” She was surprised to hear the venom in his voice and couldn't help but wonder the reason for it.

“She is a bitch, Heather. A viper with the face of an angel. Trust me, you do not want to cross her path."

“Very well. I will stay away from her."

“Trust me,” he repeated. “She tried to ruin my sister. Almost succeeded. She has a soul as black as pitch. Gossip is her middle name and there is nothing too sacred for her to prattle on about."

It sounded as though she would be right at home with the ton, Heather thought. However all she said was, “She sounds lovely,” as they rolled past that house as well.

The woods grew thicker still, the houses farther apart, until it seemed they'd left Brunswick. She turned to him. “Where are we going?"

“We are almost there,” he replied. “A friend of mine lives out here. This is where you will stay for now."

Until when? she wanted to ask, but didn't. Instead, she asked, “A friend?"

He nodded. “Jeremy's sister. He stays here when we are home. She's a widow, so it's perfectly acceptable for you to stay here for a while."

Heather wasn't so certain she liked the idea. “So you are going to simply push me off on a stranger, then?"

“Heather, this is the best solution I could think of. If I was to secure you a room at Bayside, or WindSwept, or any other inn, I would be recognized and the rumors would burn like wildfire through town. You need to remember, mine is a prominent family."

She sighed. “The rumors."

“The rumors.” He agreed with a nod. “So, we are going to tuck you away with Christina for now."

“Tuck me away?"

“In a manner of speaking."

“I am not so certain I like the sound of this."

He knew she'd be unhappy about the situation. He couldn't fault her, really. He wasn't so certain he liked it either, but there was no other way. He could only imagine what would happen, should someone see him escorting her into one of Brunswick's hotels. She would be ruined before she ever met a soul.

She fell silent as both carriages veered left into the drive. They drew up to a cozy, softly lit two-story house. It looked pleasant enough, with its gleaming whitewashed shingles and lacy curtains wafting in the gentle breeze.

The carriage rocked to a halt and the driver pulled open the door. Drew climbed down, turning to help Heather alight. Jeremy came up to them just as the front door opened and a tall, slender woman stepped out onto the porch.

It was hard to imagine this woman was related to Jeremy. He was so dark, and she had white-blonde hair. As she stepped down and walked over to them, Heather could see her eyes were a most unusual shade of blue—so pale they were almost clear—but they were warm and friendly as she smiled and rushed to her brother to throw her arms about his neck, laughing, “Jeremy! Oh, I thought my eyes were deceiving me!"

“As you can see, they aren't,” Jeremy laughed, giving her a squeeze and setting her back on her feet. He turned to Drew and Heather. “Of course, you remember Drew, don't you?"

Her eyes flicked up to Drew and she shook her head. “As if anyone could forget this scamp,” she replied, hugging him. “Welcome home, wanderer."

Drew chuckled. “Ah, I only hope I receive so warm a welcome at Shadowbrook.” He stepped back and said, “Heather, this is Jeremy's sister, Christina Anderson. Christina, I'd like to introduce you to Miss Heather Spencer."

Christina turned those crystal blue eyes to Heather and smiled. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Spencer."

“And a pleasure to meet you as well, Miss Anderson."

“Oh, please, do call me Christina,” she replied warmly.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Tina, I need to ask a favor."

“What might that be, Jeremy?"

“Well, would you be so kind as to put Miss Heather up for a few weeks?"

Christina's eyes darted back to Heather. “Why?"

Drew cleared his throat. “Well, I cannot bring her to Shadowbrook, and—"

She suddenly smiled knowingly, showing off pearly little teeth. “I understand. Of course you are welcome to stay here, Miss Spencer."

Heather felt the heat flood her cheeks as Christina gave her a knowing look. “Thank you."

“There is no need to thank me,” Christina replied, giving Drew a conspiratorial smile. “Everyone in Brunswick knows what a rake this one is."

Heather glanced up at Drew, who now looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Rake?” she asked softly.

He combed his fingers through his hair. “So, shall we get you settled?"

She resisted the urge to sigh as he turned to help Jeremy with the trunks. Now she was on his home territory, and she was learning more about him than she really wished to know. A rake? She supposed that shouldn't surprise her. As she'd thought before, he was handsome, wealthy, and unmarried. It would be perfectly acceptable for him to dally with as many ladies as he wished. But had that changed, or would he return to his ways now that they were in Brunswick?

She kept her questions to herself as she followed Christina into the small house. It was a bit cooler than outside, but not by much, and she couldn't help but notice the amount of clutter in the parlor. There was not a whit of empty space. Oil lamps flickered on tables, lace doilies draped over the arms and backs of the furniture, and assorted bric-a-brac littered the tables, mantelpiece, and shelving, creating a most suffocating atmosphere. Heather didn't know if she would ever feel comfortable amongst the neatly ordered disorder.

Christina smiled at her. “Come along, Miss Spencer. I will show you to your room.” She flashed her smile at Drew. “You might wish to follow. So you know where to find her."

He had the good grace to flush at that. “You know me too well, Christina."

She gave him a playful nudge. “I ought to."

A knot formed in the pit of Heather's stomach as she realized that Christina teased him the way only a former lover would. It didn't surprise her, for Christina was quite lovely with those amazing eyes. However, it did unsettle her, to be in the presence of a woman who knew Drew's body with the same intimacy as she herself did.

She remained silent as she followed them up the short, narrow flight of steps. She couldn't help but notice how well they fit together. Christina was tall for a woman, and slender, and her pale coloring complemented Drew's dark good looks perfectly. Heather felt tiny and insignificant compared to her. Drew would not have to worry about a crick in either his back or his neck with a woman like Christina, and she couldn't help but wonder if he would prefer that over her diminutive stature now that he had the choice.

Christina led them down a short hallway, stopping at a door at the end. “Here we are. I think this shall suffice."

Heather peered into the room. Like the rest of the house, it was small, but cozy. A vanity, a settee, a low chest of drawers, and a small, narrow bed were all crammed into the room and, like the parlor, Christina had obviously felt the need to fill every bit of space with knickknacks of some sort.

This room is going to keep me awake at night, Heather thought with an inward groan. Still, she couldn't very well say that, so she simply smiled and said, “It's really quite lovely, Christina. Thank you."

Christina set her candle on the vanity and returned Heather's smile. “Please, it's no trouble. Shall I leave you to get settled?"

“If you wouldn't mind,” Drew replied, flashing her a devilish grin.

“Now for you, Drew? Anything.” She gave him another playful nudge as she moved back towards the steps. “I'll prepare some tea."

“Thank you.” Heather stepped into the room and shook her head. “There is so much—so much—” She couldn't quite find the best word to describe the mess about her.

“Clutter?” Drew offered.

“Exactly."

He closed the door, stepping up behind her to slip his arms about her waist. “It's only temporary."

“Hmm..."

He frowned at her noncommittal response. “What is it, love?"

“How well do you know Christina?"

He knew what this question was leading to, and he did not wish to answer it. Women could get catty when faced with a former mistress, which is exactly what Christina had been. It was years ago, and the fire had mellowed into one of deep friendship, but he knew he would never be able to convince Heather that the only feelings remaining were of a platonic nature.

“I know her well enough,” he said after a long silence.

“I see."

He took a deep breath. “Heather, it was a long time ago. A very long time."

“You owe me no explanation,” she replied crisply, easing from his embrace to cross over to the window. The room overlooked the trees in front of the house, where she could just barely see a family of deer grazing peacefully in the twilight. She wished she could feel that sort of peace. Her emotions were a tangled knot within her belly.

She cast a sideways glance at Drew through her lashes. Just the sight of him sent a rush through her. Her blood warmed as it bubbled through her veins, but now she was also troubled by images she'd rather not see. It was one thing to know he had visited other beds, but it was something entirely different to be sharing a home with one of those former occupants.

He took a step towards her. “Heather—"

“Really, Drew. You owe me no explanation,” she repeated in a falsely cheerful voice.

“Still—"

“This is your home,” she went on as if she hadn't heard him, “and I suppose there are many women who will look at you with a special, shared expression that only you will understand. Or who will take liberties that a stranger would never dare. I understand that. And that is fine. Really. I ought expect it to happen quite often, I suppose."

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Jealousy does not become you, my lady."

“I am not jealous,” Heather scoffed. She turned to face him, only to see that he didn't believe her words any more than she did. “Why should I be jealous?"

“Exactly. There is no need for it,” he replied shortly. “Christina is in the past. Very far in the past."

“How far do you consider that, then?"

“Far enough."

She didn't think there was any such thing as far enough. “I see."

“No,” he broke in heatedly, “I don't think you do, Heather."

She turned away to look out the window once more. “Drew, you are free to do as you wish. I've no claim to you.” She wished more than ever she had the nerve to tell him what he'd said to her in the grips of his fever. But, as he hadn't spoken the words since, she was too afraid to find out it had been only the fever speaking and not him. She knew it would crush her to find out that was not his true feeling for her.

“Of course you do."

She whirled around at his quiet response, eyes wide as she asked, “What did you say?"

He moved to stand behind her at the window. Slipping his arms about her waist, he pulled her back up to his chest and kissed the top of her head. “I said, you can lay claim to me, love."

She twisted about to face him. “I can?"

He gave her a crooked smile. “Of course. I told you, Christina was a long time ago. Another lifetime, if you will."

His lips came down to claim hers, his arms tightening about her. Heather felt about a hundred pounds lighter as she melted into him, wrapping her arms about his waist and losing herself in his wonderful kiss.

Twenty-three

“Drew?"

“Yes, love?"

Heather smiled at his sleepy reply. Darkness had completely fallen, the shadows creeping along the walls of the tiny room, and the heat abating somewhat. They were lying on the narrow bed, the covers strewn about and the pillows crumpled on the floor.

His kiss led to his sweeping her from her feet and spiriting her to the bed, where she did not protest as he freed them from their cumbersome clothing and proceeded to make love to her with abandon. She forgot about Christina and Jeremy, and neither one bothered them, letting them alone. His fingers moved lightly over her hair now as she lifted her head. “May I ask you something?"

His blue eyes were tender as he murmured, “Love, you may ask me anything your heart desires."

“Why were you at Madame Allison's that night in the first place? The true reason, I mean."

A teasing grin spread over his handsome face. “Why does any man visit a brothel?"

“Oh ... I see..."

He chuckled at her furious blush, ruffling her hair tenderly as he said, “I am but teasing, love. And I have told you the true reason. I would not have been there at all if Danbury had not mentioned this stunningly beautiful girl working there."

Heather felt the pit of her stomach drop. “Really, now?"

He nodded, eyes closing. “When he described her to me, I had to see for myself. Brady's a bit given to tall tales, you see, and I had to know if he was pulling my leg."

She was unsure how to respond. She tried to picture each one of the women working at Madame Allison's, wondering to whom Brady St. Charles might have been referring. She wasn't at all certain she wanted to know which of the other of Allison's courtesans had caught Drew's eye. At the same time, she knew she had to know, so she reluctantly asked, “And did you get to see this one?"

“I did."

This puzzled her, for it was most unusual for any man to visit two of the women in one night. Not impossible, of course, but most unusual indeed. A small knot kinked her stomach. “It was Flora, am I right?"

“Sorry, love. Try again."

She was at a loss. Flora was easily the most beautiful girl to be had at Madame Allison's. If the viscount hadn't meant her, whom could he have meant?

Drew opened his eyes again, rolling onto his side to smile at her. “And she lays here beside me now."

His words warmed her to her core, unknotting that painful kink. She couldn't help the smile lifting her lips, or the delicate blush rising to her cheeks as she said, “Do not tease me so."

He reached out to caress her cheek with tender fingers. “I am not teasing you, love. He described this beautiful creature with chestnut hair and fathomless dark eyes. I had to see her for myself.” As he spoke, his eyes grew darker, his voice softer. “And the moment I saw her, my entire world changed. Forever."

His fingers slipped through her hair, drawing her close as his lips claimed hers. Her heart swelled with joy as he pinned her beneath him. She traced her fingernails up his back in long, feathery strokes as her lips parted to receive the velvety caress of his tongue.

His lips moved down, along her neck, into the valley between her breasts. She breathed a throaty sigh, her fingers slipping through his silky hair as he inched along. His lips tickled her belly, sweeping down over one hipbone, caressing one thigh. His teeth were gentle, nipping at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh. Her blood rushed through her veins, pounding in her ears as he crept up. A sudden gasp erupted, her fingers twisting in his hair as his tongue—

Heated embarrassment burned through her. She never imagined any man ever doing what Drew was doing to her. It horrified her delicate sensibilities and she shook her head, urgently whispering, “Drew, no...” as she tugged on his hair to pull him up.

His smoky indigo eyes met hers as he lifted his head, murmuring, “Oh, yes, love. Oh, yes...” and kissing her inner thigh with the softest of lips before moving back to where he'd been.

Her back suddenly bowed, her cry of “Drew!” almost guttural as pleasure seared through her with the force of a lightning bolt. He left her breathless, nearly mindless with want at the new sensations tearing through her. Heat scorched through her, devouring her as the now-familiar ache tightened within the center of her being. The knot tightened, then burst in a fiery shower of sparks sweeping through her. She gasped at the first eruption, her fingers twisting in Drew's hair. They held on, twisting and tightening as she went soaring out into the great beyond.

Finally, he lifted his head to smile up at her. She gave a not-so-gentle tug on him and he obliged, coming up to cover her body with his. His entry was smooth and easy. She released his hair to sink her fingernails into his shoulders. They moved together in perfect rhythm, each meeting the other's pitch. His eyes were smoldering cerulean, holding hers and she lost herself in their depths.

Drew surprised her then. Holding her close, he rolled over, lifting her easily to bring her astride him. She froze, her eyes meeting his in a silent question. He smiled up at her. “Don't look so shocked, love,” he whispered, his hands sliding down the curve of her waist to rest on her hips.

“But, I—I don't know what to do,” she murmured, leaning forward slightly to brace her hands against his chest.

At her gentle motion, he let out a husky groan. “That's a start, love. A good start."

She shuddered as he tightened his fingers on her hips and gently showed her how to move. That introduction was all she needed. Feeling bolder than ever, she braced her hands against his chest once more, letting her fingers slip through the crisp black hair spreading out from nipple to nipple and down his belly. Her natural instinct took over as she quickly found her rhythm. Glorious pleasure swept through her as he thrust upward to meet her, filling her completely, and introducing her to delicious sensations she hadn't known existed.

He groaned deep in the back of his throat, releasing her hips to cover both breasts, teasing those beaded peaks until she let out a long, low moan of delight. She covered his hands with hers, letting hers slide up over the corded sinews of his arms to his shoulders. She skimmed over his chest, her fingertips brushing each flat, male nipple.

Her feathery caresses shattered his control. He surged into her, thrusting harder with each pass of her fingertips. When she bent over to lick one, he sucked in his breath, gripping her hips as tight as he could to fill her to her limit.

At his rumbling groan, she forced her heavy eyelids to open. She held his gaze steadily, caught up in the maelstrom of incredible bliss sweeping through her. The fullness inside her was unbelievable as he plumbed her depths with each hard, upward thrust.

Drew groaned deep in the back of his throat, her release threatening to consume him. He arched, thrusting into her with blinding force, ignoring the sting of her fingernails raking his skin. He barely felt the pain, could hardly feel anything but the throb of her all around him. His release was powerful—incredible heat tearing through his body with the flash and burn of a wildfire. He gripped her close in one last, sensual thrust as he growled, “Heather!"

As she sunk into him, Drew wrapped her in his embrace, crushing her close, as she trembled in his arms. “Dear God,” he whispered, struggling to catch his wind. “Oh, dear God..."

Heather melted against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin, reveling in the feel of those strong arms around her. She felt so wonderfully content, so sleepy. Her nerves continued to fire, sending those delicious sparks of delight still coursing through her.

She nestled her cheek against him, just listening to the steady pounding of his heart beneath her ear. Her lips brushed his firm, sweat-dampened flesh and she couldn't help but chuckle as he whispered breathlessly, “Give me a moment to recuperate before teasing me so."

“I'm not trying to tease you,” she murmured sleepily.

He leaned his head to the side, smiling at her. “Well, you are sending impure thoughts through my mind with those kisses, love."

She sighed softly as he shifted his hips and the pressure within her dissipated. “I apologize."

“Don't ever,” he told her, his lips capturing hers in a deep kiss When they parted, he said, “Don't ever apologize for making a man feel wanted, love. It is a rare and wonderful thing."

“So, not too brazen, then?"

“Hell, no."

She laughed at his breathless reply, wanting so much to tell him how she felt, how she loved him so completely. Her heart slammed against her ribs at the very thought. Butterflies battered her insides as she repeated the words over in her mind. Her tongue felt glued to the roof of her mouth, which had gone suddenly dry. All she could manage was a muffled, “Mmmm..."

He held her for a long while, reveling in the feel of her, soft and warm, in his arms. It was so comfortable, he didn't want to move, didn't want to let her leave his embrace. Instead, he wanted things to remain as they were, with her in his arms forever. However, as the shadows grew thicker, Drew knew he had no choice but to break the spell. He groaned softly as he shifted, moving back onto his side of the bed. “I suppose we ought to think about dressing,” he said.

She sighed as he sat up and reached for his trousers. “Where are you going?” she asked, tugging the sheet up to her shoulders as she sat forward.

He eased into his trousers, rising from the bed and tugging them up in one fluid motion. “I do have to make my way to Shadowbrook eventually. However, I think I'll pop in and surprise Garrett first."

Disappointment crashed over her, weighing her down and pulling the erstwhile joy from her heart. “You are leaving?"

“Heather, I have no choice.” He rose from the bed, slipping into his pale green silk shirt and tucking it into his trousers. “As much I would like to stay, I can't."

“Of course. Your family would like to see you, I'm certain."

He gave her a rueful smile. “I am not as certain as you, love. They just might show me the door. Why do you think I am stopping at Garrett's first? I'll take him for protection."

She couldn't help but smile. She wished she could go with him, wished she didn't have to hide out at Christina's. Things should have been different, would have been different, if her father had not ruined everything. Heather ducked her head as sadness overwhelmed her and unexpected tears flooded her eyes. “Of course,” she repeated softly.

Drew perched on the edge of the bed. “Heather, look at me."

When she refused to lift her head, he caught her beneath the chin with a crooked forefinger, forcing her to look up. “Heather, I will be back. And, as soon as I make certain I am not about to be disowned, you will be accompanying me to Shadowbrook."

The sadness abated a tad. “I will?"

“Of course, love. Do you think I am going to keep you hidden away out here in the woods?” A smile played at his lips as he said, “I keep telling you, it matters not where we met and I have no intention of keeping you a secret."

“But it does matter where we met,” she replied, her voice tinged with doubt. “It will matter quite a bit to your family, I'd wager. Somehow, I cannot imagine they wished you to bring a—"

“If you so much as whisper the word whore, I promise you I'll take a switch to your backside, my lady,” Drew growled, frowning at her. “Do you understand? I do not ever—and I do mean ever—want to hear that word in conjunction with your name for the rest of my days. Is that clear?"

A glimmer of hope shone through the fog of sadness enveloping her heart. “Yes, Drew."

He brushed her lips with a quick kiss. “I'll be back.” He reached for his frock coat. “I promise."

He went through the doorway and she sighed, hearing the thud of his boots on the floorboards dying away. She rose up from the bed, moving to the window to see him emerge from the house. He was whistling softly as he climbed into the carriage and the horses clopped down the drive.

She slipped into a pelisse and turned to cast a look at the rumpled bed. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she had not eaten since breakfast that morning. But, with as dark as it was outside, she had a feeling they'd missed supper as well.

She sank down onto the bench beneath the open window. Drew's scent still hung in the room, making her sense of loneliness even stronger. It was the first time in weeks that they were apart and she hadn't realized how accustomed she had become to being in such close proximity to him, how knowing he was always right there comforted her to no end.

She let out a shuddery sigh, feeling very much as she had that first night, when he left Delilah's. She hated the emptiness, hated the solitude, and wished more than anything she had met him at a ball, or a garden party. Perhaps then she would be beside him in that carriage, instead of being squired away to the woods, where he wouldn't have to face any uncomfortable questions about her. She wished more than anything that she had never set foot in Delilah's.

“No, that is not true,” she whispered, feeling her throat tighten as the tears returned to her eyes. “I am forever grateful for that horrid place. If nothing else, it was there I met Drew and there I fell in love with him. I only wish I had the nerve to tell him that. Perhaps then there might be a future for us."

She turned to stare out the window, into the darkness. The velvety blackness reminded her of those nights at sea, when there was nothing around but miles of black water. Only then, at least she knew she wasn't alone.

Twenty-four

When Heather opened her eyes the next morning, her first instinct was to reach for Drew. Then she remembered. He hadn't returned to the house the previous evening. She sat up with a sigh, the hollow feeling returning as she found herself wondering where he'd spent the night. Or, more importantly, with whom had he spent the night?

“No,” she told herself, shaking her head. “He wouldn't do that. Would he?"

More than anything, she wanted to believe he had simply decided to return to Shadowbrook and spent the night there. But, she couldn't help but remember Christina's knowing look as she said, Everyone in Brunswick knows what a rake this one is.

Still, she refused to dwell on it as she dressed in a light muslin gown of pale apricot, and went down below. Jeremy and Christina were both awake, talking softly over breakfast in the dining room.

Jeremy smiled as she stepped into the room. “Well, good morning, Miss Spencer. Drew still abed?"

She felt a blush work its way to her cheeks as she was forced to admit, “No. He—ah—has not returned yet."

Christina looked unconcerned as she chewed a mouthful of eggs. “I have a feeling Miss Samantha will not be too wild about the idea of letting him out of her sight for some time to come. He has been gone quite awhile now, and without so much as a word to any of them. I'm quite certain you've nothing to worry about."

Jeremy sipped his coffee. “Ah, yes. You are probably right there, Tina.” He turned his dark eyes to Heather. “I'd wager that's exactly where he is."

Christina smiled at her. “So tell me, how did you meet Drew?"

Heather took a seat at the small round table, her stomach lurching as she accepted the cup of tea Jeremy pushed her way. “In London,” she replied, pouring cream into her tea.

“He is a rascal, isn't he? But, he is a sweetheart deep down.” Christina pushed the sugar bowl towards her. “It's funny, really. Women have always chased Garrett, but Drew is actually the catch in that family."

“Is he now?” Heather asked, surprised to hear this, as it was unusual that a younger son was truly the most eligible bachelor in a family.

“Most definitely.” Christina nodded as she broke off a sliver of bacon. “Garrett is handsome, no doubt. But he is far too serious, more hotheaded. His temper is something of a legend around here, whereas Drew is so much more slowly riled. Still, the Kennedy brothers are quite skilled at getting tongues wagging—both too big and handsome for their own good.” She laughed softly. “The two of them often joke about how Garrett is the elder, but Drew is actually the bigger brother. And, he is also the more carefree one. More playful. Devil-may-care is a phrase meant for him."

Heather stirred sugar into her tea and took a sip. It didn't surprise her to hear this about Drew. She knew intimately how playful he could be. There were a few things he took seriously—such as his ship and Eagleton—but mostly he was, as Christina remarked, devil-may-care. It was one of the things she loved most about him in the first place.

Jeremy was smiling at her. “Would you care for some eggs or bacon, Miss Heather?"

“No, thank you.” She wasn't the least bit hungry. Her stomach felt a bit unsettled and the very aroma of the breakfast fare was making her nauseous.

“I wouldn't worry,” Christina was saying as she pushed her plate away. “Drew said he would be back, and be back he will. He's not one to break his word, you know."

“Of course he will,” Jeremy seconded, wiping his mouth. “In the meantime, would you care for a tour?"

“Of the grounds here?” Heather was a little confused. From the brief glimpse she'd gotten the night before, it didn't appear that there were grounds enough to warrant a tour.

“I was thinking more of Brunswick. I'd be happy to show you around."

“No, thank you. Actually, I am not feeling all that well. I think I will go and lie down for a while."

Jeremy's dark eyes filled with concern. “Would you like me to fetch you a doctor?"

“No, thank you. I just wish to lie down. I'll be fine. I am sure it's merely a lack of adjustment to being on land again.” She pushed the teacup away and rose to her feet. Her legs seemed shaky as she made her way back upstairs and into her room, where she stretched out across the bed, resting her head on the thin, though not uncomfortable, pillow.

Birds chirped just beyond the open window, and the air was heavy with humidity. It was July, and New Jersey was apparently quite steamy in the summer months. It did little to soothe her queasy stomach. The sunlight streaming in the window splashed across the bed and she could see dust motes swirling through the beams.

Where could Drew be? She thought back to Christina's words. Had she been trying to reassure her, or raise more questions? She seemed to be trying to make her feel better about his disappearance, but Heather couldn't help but be suspect. After all, Christina had once been where she, Heather, was now. Was it possible she was happy enough with her current friendship to not feel any animosity towards Drew's current paramour?

She sighed. The questions made her head ache and her stomach churn even more. Perhaps a nap was all she needed, she thought with a sleepy nod. Yes. A nap was all that she needed.

Twenty-five

“Miss Heather?"

She rolled over, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she lifted her head to find Jeremy standing in the doorway. “Yes?” she mumbled thickly.

“I came to see if you were feeling better? Perhaps you'd like that visit into town now?"

“What time is it?"

“Nearly half-past one."

Her stomach clenched. She had not seen Drew in over sixteen hours. Now she was more than a little perturbed. The nap did little to ease her roiling stomach, the nausea worsening as she sat up and said, “No, thank you, Mr. Allen. I still don't feel quite right."

He stepped into the room. “Please, do call me Jeremy. I find this formality a bit forced."

She reached up to rub her tired eyes. “If you don't mind, I think I'll just lay here a bit longer."

He crossed over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you look a bit peaked."

“I'm certain it's nothing. In a day or so, I will be fine."

“You aren't still worried about what Drew might be doing, are you?"

“Of course not,” she replied with an easiness she only wished she felt.

He smiled then. “You are lovely, Miss Heather. Drew is a lucky fellow."

“Thank you."

“If I was him, I'd never let you out of my sight."

She shifted, the nausea combining with a distinct feeling of discomfort. “Mr. Allen, please—"

“Jeremy.” His voice dropped to a low, throaty whisper as he brought a hand up to caress her cheek.

She pulled back. “No, Mr. Allen. You must not do this."

“Drew is a fool if he is out dallying with some bar wench, as he is wont to do on occasion. You are far lovelier than any female in the whole of Brunswick.” As he spoke, he inched closer. She recoiled, scooting back to the far side of the bed, until she had no room to move further. Jeremy was relentless, though, leaning into her until his lips came down to capture hers.

She reached behind her, flailing to grab hold of the wall, the bedside table, anything she could use as leverage to brace herself so she could use her free hand to shove against his chest. She tried to turn away, but he was insistent on kissing her, trying to force his tongue between her clamped, still lips and clenched teeth. Memories of Henry's attack erupted and panic swelled. This time though, Drew was not there to rescue her.

* * * *

Drew patted Samson's neck. “Feels good to be running again, doesn't it, fella?"

The black gelding nickered, his ears twitching as Drew pulled him up to a walk to cool down. He threw back his head and laughed. Everything seemed to amuse him now. The sun seemed to shine brighter, the leaves seemed greener, everything seemed so much more vibrant.

His family had not disowned him after all, but welcomed him back into the fold. As he caught up on the last year of their lives, he was surprised to learn he had gained a sister-in-law, Andie. Garrett had married the lovely English girl only weeks before. It was the only family surprise, but one Drew least expected.

It was early morning and he was on his way to Christina's, a smile playing at his lips as he urged Samson into another trot. He was anxious to return to Heather, to pull her into his arms. He couldn't believe how urgent his need was to be with her once again.

He slowed Samson down, walking him the last half mile to Christina Anderson's house. After dismounting, he looped Samson's reins about the front porch railing, and made his way inside. The first floor was empty, so he mounted the steps, prepared to burst into Heather's room and surprise her.

Just beyond her closed door, he heard voices coming the other side. A knot twisted in his stomach. One of the voices was that of a man.

Throwing open the door, he felt the blood draining from his face as his eyes fell on Heather in Jeremy's arms, and his lips on hers. “What the hell?"

Jeremy jumped away and Heather felt relief wash over her as, once again, Drew arrived in the nick of time. She scrambled away from Jeremy, ignoring the wave of rising nausea as she leaped off the bed to hurry to Drew, gasping, “Thank God!"

Halfway to him she froze, aware of the thunderclouds she saw brewing in his cobalt eyes. “What is it, Drew?"

He folded his arms over his chest. “I think I ought to be asking you that, Heather. What goes on here?"

She cast a glance at Jeremy, who'd backed into the far corner, now staring up at Drew with terrified eyes. Then she turned back to Drew. “I was in here, taking a nap, when he—he—"

“When he what?"

Her stomach churned, giving her the distinct feeling something was wrong. He looked furious, his voice holding an icy tone she'd never heard him use before when speaking to her. But the greatest surprise came in the realization that his anger was directed at her. “He kissed me—Drew, what is it?"

He shook his head. “You are all alike, aren't you? Each and every last one of you. Perhaps I ought to start treating women the way Henry does, or the way most men do. Perhaps then I'll not be the fool."

This time, she shook her head. “What are you talking about? Do—do you think I—I am a willing participant here?"

He didn't answer her. Instead, he pushed by her to grab a handful of Jeremy's shirt. He lifted the younger man clear off the ground, spinning about and hurtling him into the hallway, where he landed with a loud whump. Then, he slammed the door shut on Jeremy's surprised expression.

He turned back to her and she nearly recoiled at the fury swirling in his eyes as he snarled, “Perhaps I should have stayed away a bit longer? Then you could have bedded him completely."

She gasped, blood rushing to her face. “How could you say something so—so horrid? I've done nothing wrong! I was here—minding my own business—and he came in—"

“Of course. And I fell for it the first time. And nearly killed one of my crewmen in the process."

“Fell for it? There is nothing to fall for, Drew. I am telling you—"

“That men simply attack you at every turn?” he sneered, unable to ignore the red-hot, bubbling rage coursing through his veins. “I find that a mite hard to believe. No woman is that irresistible."

She couldn't believe he was accusing her this way, that he would not believe her. “I never said that—"

“You don't have to. Your actions say a mouthful."

Her own temper flared, erupting like a geyser to soak him in her fury. “I've no idea what this is about, Drew, but you are being an ass! I was simply up here, minding my own business, taking a nap. I've been feeling a bit poorly, you understand. You had yet to return. I woke from my nap to find Jeremy standing there in the doorway. Then he kissed me."

“Oh, from the doorway?"

“No, you fool!” she retorted sharply. “He and I were talking, and then he was kissing me. I tried to push him away, but I couldn't."

“Of course not,” he sneered.

“Oh, this is madness! You are angry at me for something one of your friends attempted? This is utter madness, indeed!"

“Is it?” he countered, his eyes slivers of sapphire ice.

“Why don't you believe me?” It dawned on her then and her eyes went wide. “You are thinking about Delilah's, aren't you? Oh, my...” Fury churned through her as he didn't correct her. “I knew you would do that. I knew you would throw that up at me eventually, despite all that nonsense you spewed about it not being important, about how you didn't care. You do think I am a—a—” She couldn't bring herself to say the word as those tears spilled over her lower lashes. “How could you?” Her voice became a broken whisper. “How could you?"

“By what I see.” His voice was flat. It matched how he felt—flat and lifeless. The world had gone gray now, all color sucked out of it the moment he threw open that bedroom door.

She threw her hands into the air. “You did not see what you think you did! You are only too stubborn to admit it."

He shook his head. “No. I am seeing very clearly now. And to think, I came here to tell you—oh, never mind. To say it would be to make the biggest mistake of my life."

“Oh, is that so? Well, I take it I am nothing like your precious Rebecca, then?” The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, but she was so frustrated by the entire conversation, that she almost looked forward to the argument she knew was to come.

Darkness hardened his eyes. “What about Rebecca?"

“Oh, you heard me. I am nothing like her, am I?"

“She has nothing to do with this."

“Ah, and again you won't discuss her!” She threw her hands into the air with a shriek of frustration. “And now you are growing angry at me for bringing up her name. I know she was your fiancée, so I can only assume you to still be in love with her, then."

“Oh, you do, do you? And how, pray tell, do you know so much about me? Who have you spoken to about it?"

“I've spoken to no one."

“I know I've never mentioned her by name, so someone else obviously has."

“It does not matter now, does it? Tell me, is she the one you spent last evening with?"

He threw up his hands. “I find you in the arms of another man, and yet you accuse me of dallying with another? Not only that, you have the utter gall to be upset by it? That's a bit of nerve you've developed, isn't it?"

“Of course I am upset! And I was not in his arms, you bloody dolt! I was fighting to get out of them!"

“If that is your story—"

“It's not a story! It's fact and if you are too bull-headed to see that, then perhaps you should just leave now! Before it's too late!"

His eyes darkened further until they appeared almost black. “It's already too late, Heather. I rue the day I ever asked you to accompany me back here!"

“And I rue the day I ever said yes!” she shrieked, swiping a china knickknack from the bedside table and hurling it at him. She missed by a great distance and the delicate china smashed into the wall, spraying shards in all directions.

Drew didn't say a word, but merely turned and stalked from the room. She heard him storm down the stairs, then heard the crash of the front door being slamming.

“Oh!” she gritted, marching to the bedroom door to slam it as well. The fight rushed from her then and she sank down onto the bed, a hand pressed to her mouth as she realized what had just happened. He was walking out of her life—possibly forever.

“Oh dear God,” she whispered, her tears beginning to fall in earnest. “What have I done?” She jumped up and flew to the window in time to see him launch himself into the saddle of a black horse and take off in a cloud of reddish dust.

Twenty-six

Heather spent the next week secluded in her room at Christina's, ignoring both Christina and Jeremy as they took turns banging on the locked door. She remained by the window, hoping in vain to see Drew racing up on his beautiful sleek, black horse. But it wasn't to be and, after a week, she gave up hope.

She sighed, watching the rain sluice down the rippled windowpane. “I suppose that is that, then,” she murmured, turning away from the window. “Of course, I've no idea what I am going to do. I've no money, no way to return home."

She wasn't too surprised that she viewed her dilemma with such calmness. After all, it wasn't her most pressing trouble. She'd finally discovered the cause of her never-ending nausea.

She was pregnant.

At first, when she calculated her dates, realizing she'd skipped the last month, she tried to deny it. She blamed her sickness on everything from readjusting to life on land to the strange foods she'd tried since arriving in America. Finally, there was nothing left to do but admit the inevitable.

She was going to bear Drew's child.

The fact brought tears to her eyes, but surprisingly, they were not tears of regret. If anything, her condition suddenly made her feel closer to him, even though she knew he was not coming back.

She missed him terribly. It was like a phantom pain in a missing limb, constantly there, always aching, and with no relief forthcoming. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him as he was that last night she'd spent with him.

Now, as she sat by the window, she pressed her fingertips to her lips, remembering the joy of his kisses. She loved him. She missed him. And she knew she would most likely never see him again.

There came a gentle rap on her door. “Heather? Please, open the door."

Rising with a sigh, she crossed the room to twist the key. “Yes?"

Christina's crystal blue eyes filled with concern. “Won't you please come into town with me? It would do you good to get out."

“I've nothing to get in town,” she replied dully.

“Perhaps we can find Drew and you two can talk this out."

“There is nothing for us to discuss,” Heather said, shaking her head.

“Of course there is. Heather, this is madness. You need to talk to him."

She sighed softly, shaking her head. “No. I don't, Christina. He made himself quite clear. He has nothing left to say to me."

Christina moved to sit on the edge of the neatly made bed. “Heather, I know I have not known you that long. And I'd wager you view me as something of a rival, do you not?"

Heather sighed. What did she have to lose? She'd already lost the most important thing to her. What was left? “Yes I suppose I do, in a way."

Christina gave her a knowing smile, smoothing a hand over the flowered chintz quilt covering the bed. “I thought as much. I would most likely feel the same. But, I can assure you, I am no such thing. Drew and I share a history, that is true, but now it's friendship only and that'll not change. We were young and impulsive and quickly learned we were much better suited as friends."

Heather relaxed upon hearing that. It was always possible Christina was pulling her leg, but she didn't think that was the case. She seemed far too sincere to be telling anything other than the truth. Heather pulled out the vanity bench, a lovely embroidered tapestry thickly stuffed and quite comfortable to sit upon, and did exactly that. “You don't understand, Christina. He does not want me."

“Of course he does! What on earth would make you think otherwise?” Christina looked shocked that she would even suggest such a thing. “Anyone would have to be an utter fool to suggest something so ludicrous."

Heather remembered his heated words, the way he stormed out of the house in a fury. “No. You did not see him. It's too late. Those were his exact words. He despises me now."

“Well, I find that hard to believe. What could possibly have happened to make him turn in such a manner?"

She felt heat creep into her cheeks. “He caught Jeremy trying to kiss me."

Christina's eyes went perfectly round and her jaw went slack. “Jeremy did what?"

With a heavy sigh, Heather explained to her what had happened that terrible afternoon. Christina's face reddened with fury as she muttered, “I will kill him. I will absolutely kill him. What on earth was Jeremy thinking, that fool horse's ass?"

This surprised Heather, for she'd assumed Christina would side with her brother, no matter what. It seemed in this case, however, blood was not thicker than water.

“And Drew walked in to see this?” When Heather nodded miserably, Christina let out a low whistle. “Well, now it makes sense. Absolutely perfect sense, actually."

“Why?"

Christina gave her an odd look. “Well, Rebecca, of course."

“Rebecca? What does she have to do with it?"

She took a deep breath. “Hasn't Drew told you about Rebecca?"

“No. He's always refused to discuss her. Jeremy started to tell me, but then said it wasn't his business and that I ought to hear it from Drew. But Drew would only say that he had been betrothed to a woman and that the betrothal had been broken. He would not so much as tell me her name. I only learned it when Jeremy told me.” Heather lifted the heavy gilt hairbrush from the vanity's gleaming oak surface and brushed some imaginary dust from its back. “And since he would not say a word, you can imagine how much I know about her. I know he loves her. I found a note in his cabin on board the Aphrodite from her that he kept tucked into a book."

“Heather, I'm not entirely sure how to make you believe this, but Drew does not love Rebecca. Of that, I am certain."

“That is exactly what Jeremy told me, but how can that be possible if he is keeping notes from her?"

“Are you certain he even knew it was there? Rebecca was a sneaky trollop, you know. Sneaky and rotten and you are sorely mistaken if you think he still carries a torch for her. Sorely mistaken indeed. He despises her, if anything."

This was news to Heather and it made her sit upright, the brush forgotten in her lap. “What?"

Christina nodded, smoothing the wrinkles from the pale blue, violet, and pink quilt. “Oh, yes, Heather. I am surprised he never told you. At least then you would know why his catching you and Jeremy should upset him so."

“He is being a stubborn mule,” Heather muttered, setting the brush back on the vanity. “He wouldn't let me explain. Simply refused to listen."

“I can't say I blame him.” As Heather began to protest, Christina held up a hand. “Now, that is not how I meant it. Let me explain the scenario to you and you can draw your own conclusions."

She listened patiently as Christina said, “For his entire life, Drew has always been in his brother's shadow, Garrett is older and was considered by most to be the most eligible bachelor in Brunswick. At least, he was up until he married last month. I don't think it ever really troubled Drew, until he met Rebecca."

Christina shook her head slowly and Heather could hear the anger in her voice as she said, “She was so determined to marry into the Kennedy family, no matter what. Now, she did succeed in getting Drew to propose to her, but he didn't know that he'd been her second choice."

“What?” Heather couldn't keep the surprise from her voice.

“Exactly. They were at a ball, celebrating their upcoming wedding, which was only a few weeks away at that point. He overheard her boasting to her friends that she didn't mind having to settle for him. At least she would bear the Kennedy name. Her cap had been set for Garrett, but he wasn't at all interested. And because Drew wasn't her first choice, she had no intention of giving up her other lovers for him. Lovers he knew nothing about."

“She actually said she had to settle for him? And she was toying with him the entire time?” Anger shot through Heather like a sharp knife. “And he heard this, did he?"

Christina nodded solemnly. “That he did. Of course, he got his revenge and it was sweet, but it did nothing to soothe the fact that she'd taken him for a fool. That she thought nothing of using him. He put his trust in her and she threw it right back in his face."

“Oh, my,” Heather whispered, fingers pressed to her lips. “And then when he came in here...” She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

Christina nodded. “And he saw you with Jeremy—well, I'd say he reacted based on what had happened in the past."

Heather chewed on that for a moment. Could it be possible? Could he really think she would betray him in such a vile manner? Anger, swift and unexpected, swept through her then. How could he have so little faith in her to think she would ever do such a thing? “I ought to box his ears,” she muttered, shaking her head. “How could he think that about me?"

“I think it's a bit understandable."

“Do you, now? He wouldn't even let me explain. He just grew furious and stormed out of here.” Heather got to her feet and jammed them into her sturdy walking boots. “Well, I will simply have to set him straight, then."

Christina smiled as she rose from the bed. “That is the spirit. Shall we go into town then? The rain has stopped and the sun has come out. We can stop by Eagleton Shipping and see if he is there."

Heather paused. Stop at Eagleton? It seemed so forward, seeking him out. “Are you certain that is a good idea?"

“There is nothing improper about it, if that's what you mean. I am a perfectly acceptable chaperone, don't you think?” Christina gave her a wicked smile. “I am a respected widow, after all."

“Well, I suppose it would be acceptable, then,” she replied slowly, drawing on her spencer.

Christina gave her a quick hug. “Everything will work out, Heather. You will see. Things always have a way of working themselves out."

Twenty-seven

Drew stepped into the library at Shadowbrook, where he found his mother curled up on the blue damask sofa, a book in hand. Samantha Kennedy smiled up at her youngest son as she closed the book, placing it on the rosewood table in front of the sofa. “What is on your mind, Drew?"

He sank down into one of the rich leather chairs on the far side of the table. “Nothing, Momma."

Her blue eyes narrowed. “It doesn't look like nothing to me. You've been moping around here ever since you returned from England. I thought you wanted to come home?"

He glanced around the room, which was quite easily the most comfortable one in the house, with its warm yellow walls and stained maple exposed beams. Three of the four walls were built-in shelves, also of stained maple. Most of the space on the shelves was taken up by rows of books with rich leather bindings, their titles in gold along the spines. Among the literary treasures were miniature oils of the four Kennedy children at various ages, all in gilt frames, along with various other collectibles gathered by the three generations of Kennedys who'd occupied Shadowbrook.

During the winter, a fire was almost constantly crackling on the large stone hearth, bringing to life the bold accents in the blue and gold Persian carpet in the center of the room. Around the room's perimeter, the floors were left bare—satiny maple also stained a rich brown.

Along with the sofa, table, and two wing chairs, there was also an escritoire, carved of the finest cherry wood, before the large square window overlooking the sloping front lawns of Shadowbrook, and a sturdy cherry buffet along one wall.

“I did wish to come home,” he said to his mother now, drumming his fingertips on the armrest of the chair.

“So why the moping then?” she asked quietly, leaning forward to lift the silver tea urn and pour herself a cup. “Would you care for a cup?"

“Thank you, no."

She didn't press the issue as she dropped a lump of sugar into her delicate china cup, a splash of cream, and dipped a silver teaspoon into the brew. As she sat back, she studied him carefully. He'd aged in the time since he'd left home, and it suited him, just as it had her husband.

His eyes had lost a bit of their devilish glint, though, she thought with a pang. They had taken on a somewhat haunted look, which troubled her to no end. He had always been the black sheep, but a lovable black sheep who kept life from becoming too dull, too monotonous.

Now, however, she could see no sign of that recklessness that always worried her so. And that worried her even more. She missed his devil-may-care spirit, cursing Rebecca Monroe each day since the broken betrothal for destroying that which made Drew so special. Of her four children, he was always the one to be counted on to lighten a mood, or break a tense moment, and she found herself wondering if that man was ever going to return.

But she kept these thoughts to herself as she said, “So, are you going to tell me? Or do I have to guess?"

He gave his mother a weak smile. He had no intention of spilling his problems to his mother. His father? Perhaps Garrett? Most likely. But he didn't feel comfortable sharing his feelings with his mother.

It had been a terrible week. One of the worst he could remember. And the dull ache he constantly carried within his heart refused to abate. He couldn't think about anything other than Heather. She hounded his thoughts and haunted his dreams. Several times, he found himself on Samson, heading in the direction of Christina Anderson's house, but always stopped before he was even halfway there. He doubted Heather would receive him, and he couldn't say he would blame her.

“It's nothing. Honest."

She frowned. “It does not sound as though nothing is wrong, dear. You've been dragging about like you've lost a limb and I know that isn't the case."

He sighed. “I just don't really know what to do with myself, I suppose. We've a shipment of rice coming up from the Carolinas, but that won't be here for another week or so. Then I have to see it off to London. Aside from that, it's quiet right now."

“Well, that always happens this time of the year. Things will pick up once the fall arrives. But, I get the feeling that is not what is lying so heavily on your mind."

“Momma, if you don't mind, it's nothing I wish to discuss right now."

She sighed, setting her cup in its saucer. “Ah,” she said with a knowing grin, “those sort of problems. I see."

He had the uncomfortable feeling his mother knew exactly what his problem was. She always seemed to possess a sixth sense where her children were concerned. He shifted in his chair, as if that would make her sense less accurate.

When he didn't answer, she shook her head. “Very well. I suppose you will work it out on your own, eventually. But, if you ever feel the need—"

He finished her sentence for her. “I know where to find you. I know."

“Mister Drew?"

He turned to see Effie in the doorway. “Yes, Effie?"

“Mister Allen to see you."

“I'm not here.” Jeremy was the last person he wished to see right now. In fact, he didn't care if he ever spoke to Jeremy again. The hurt was still too raw for him to even contemplate. Each time he thought about his former friend, he could see Heather in Jeremy's arms, and fury surged through him again.

“He says it's important, Mister Drew.” Effie gave him a rueful smile. “Boy looks close to tears, to tell you the truth."

He sighed. “Very well, Effie. I'll be right there."

Samantha's blue eyes lit up suddenly. “I can ascertain that Jeremy Allen has something to do with this."

“Please, let's drop it, shall we?” He pushed himself up from the chair and moved to the doorway. “Don't trouble yourself, Momma. Eventually it will all fade away."

That was what he kept telling himself, he thought, as he made his way out of the library and down the narrow hallway to the entrance. Eventually, the dull ache would fade. Eventually, his arms would not feel so empty. Eventually he would forget Heather Spencer ever brought such joy and brightness to his life.

Like hell he would.

He scowled as he caught sight of Jeremy standing by the front door, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. When he looked up and saw Drew, his face went ashen.

“What do you want?” Drew asked shortly, stopping just out of arm's reach of Jeremy. Any closer, and he was afraid he would not be able to resist the urge to punch his face in.

Jeremy cleared his throat. “Drew, I—I just wanted to explain what you saw the other afternoon."

“There is nothing to explain. I know what I saw."

“No,” Jeremy said softly, shaking his head. “You only know what you think you saw."

Fury poked up its ugly little head once more. Drew's hands unconsciously curled into fists and the muscles in his arms tightened. “Is that a fact?"

“Yes.” Jeremy's voice faded a bit and he licked his lips as if trying to buck up his courage. “Drew, Heather—"

“Do not even speak her name to me,” he growled, taking a step closer to Jeremy, who recoiled.

“You need to listen to me. Heather was innocent. She did nothing but try to push me away."

“Is that so?"

“Y-yes."

He snatched Jeremy up by his shirtfront, hauling the much smaller man off his feet. “I'm afraid I don't see it that way, Jer."

Jeremy's eyes went wide, and he let out a pathetic squeak. “But it's the truth, Drew,” he whispered, his feet dangling a good three inches from the floor. “She kept saying no, scooting away from me, trying to find some way to push me away.” The words came out in a rush, tumbling one over the other in his hurry to explain.

“Why would you do such a thing?” Drew growled, yanking Jeremy closer, so their noses practically touched.

“I'm sorry.” Jeremy's voice was a faint whisper. “I-I don't know what I was thinking. I-I felt s-sorry for her, I suppose. She seemed so ... lost..."

“You son of a bitch.” Drew didn't hesitate as he reached for the doorknob with his free hand and yanked open the door. Jeremy went airborne, hitting the top step of the portico and hurtling down the remaining three steps to crash into a heap in the dirt of the drive.

“You touch her again, and I will kill you,” Drew growled, stalking out the door, down the steps, and towering over Jeremy, hands on his hips as he glared down at him.

“That's why I am here,” Jeremy whispered, looking shaken as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. “She is miserable, Drew. Why would you do that to her? Why not believe her?"

“That is none of your concern."

“Of course it is,” he replied, brushing the reddish-brown dust from his frock coat. He pulled himself upright, boldly adding, “You are an ass. Not every woman is Rebecca. Heather is the farthest thing from Rebecca as you can get, but you are too bull-headed to see that for yourself! She doesn't want anyone else, Drew. Not me, not your brother. For some strange reason, she seems to care for you. Why, I might even say the girl loves you. But you simply cannot accept that, can you?"

“You have no idea what you are talking about, Jeremy, so I will suggest you shut your mouth before you say something you regret."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “You are unbelievable. Do you hear what I am saying? She is miserable. Absolutely miserable. Sits in her room, by her window all day. Won't come out of her room. Won't eat. Just mopes about all day long. She loves you, you jackass, and you are throwing that away because you are too proud to admit that you just might be wrong about something. Well, you are wrong. She is not Rebecca. She does not care about anything but you and you are simply going to let her slip away."

Drew paused and his shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Are you certain about this?"

“Drew, I was an ass for even trying to kiss her. I don't know what I was thinking. But, she made it perfectly clear. You are the one she wants. The only one. Now, go to her and admit why you reacted the way you did. Tell her about Rebecca, will you already? For once and for all, clear the air. For God's sake, don't let her get away from you. You will regret it for the rest of your days if you do."

Drew's anger left him as what Jeremy was saying sank in. He knew he'd made a terrible mistake. Understandable, perhaps, but terrible all the same. He hadn't even given her the chance to explain. He was so determined that he was right, that nothing else mattered. He knew he'd been an ass, as Jeremy had been kind enough to point out. He had hurt her deeply with his lack of faith. The question was, would she even be willing to listen to him now?

He cringed, remembering the look of horror, of fury, on her face at his accusations. He groaned, rubbing his forehead with one hand as he sank down onto the top step. “I already regret it."

“Then go to her. Tell her."

“I am not at all certain she will even receive me."

Jeremy sat down beside him. “She and Christina were going into town. Go. Now."

Drew sighed softly. “I hope you don't expect me to apologize."

“Not at all. I deserve a thrashing for what I did.” Jeremy gave him a sheepish smile. “And why are you wasting time sitting here? Go."

Drew didn't reply, but got to his feet and hurried around the house to the stables, where Samson was waiting.

* * * *

Brunswick's waterfront was bustling with activity. Heather's stomach twisted as she gazed up at the weathered gray building housing the home office of Eagleton Shipping. She turned to Christina. “Would you mind waiting here?"

“Not at all. Now go. Before your courage fails you."

Heather stepped down from the coach, out into the hot sun. Tightening the ribbons of her bonnet, she walked towards a door with a sign above it reading Eagleton Imports Office, in elegant gold letters.

The rain had done nothing to cool the air. If anything, it only added to the moisture already in it. She could feel the dampness on her face and it did nothing to ease the discomfort she already felt. Her stomach was still rolling about, the heat sapping every last bit of energy right out of her.

She opened the door to face a steep flight of narrow steps leading to the top floor of the warehouse. She mounted the steps slowly. As she drew nearer to the top, she could hear voices, but did not recognize any of them.

Another door awaited her at the top, propped open with a large gray rock. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through the doorway and into the main office. Two men sat within the small, square room, one on either side of a small oak desk. They both looked up as she crossed the threshold, halting their conversation as she entered the room.

“May I help you?"

Heather knew at once she was speaking with Garrett Kennedy. The resemblance was striking, though Garrett was neither as tall nor as broad as Drew. He was just as handsome though, with his wavy black hair and cobalt eyes.

The other man, however, could only be described as breathtaking. He was not as tall as Garrett, nor was he as broad, but his features were so perfect that she couldn't help but stare for a long moment. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and his eyes were even darker. They reminded her of polished black opals, they were so dark. Both were looking at her now with a mixture of confusion and surprise, and Garrett repeated his question.

“Oh, yes. Of course. I apologize,” she began, the nervous kinks tightening in her stomach, threatening to cut off her air supply. She couldn't believe her own daring, being there without a chaperone. Still, desperate situations and all ... She took a deep breath. “I am sorry to interrupt, but I am looking for Drew Kennedy. Might he be here?"

Garrett smiled, a knowing look in his eyes as he rose from his chair to lean over the desk. “You must be Heather Spencer. Am I right?"

“Yes, I am.” She was surprised that he knew her name. “But how did you know?"

His dark blue eyes danced with the same mischief she had seen so many times in Drew's eyes. “My brother's spoken of you. It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

Drew had told him about her? She couldn't help but wonder just how much Drew had told him. Still, she returned his smile. “And you must be Garrett, then. Am I right?"

“The very same.” He turned to the man across from him. “Julian, Drew's told you about Miss Spencer, hasn't he?"

A glint of recognition shone in Julian's eyes. “Yes, I do believe he has.” He also got to his feet. “A pleasure, Miss Spencer."

“Miss Spencer, this is my brother-in-law, Julian McCallister,” Garrett told her. “I'm sure Drew must have mentioned us at some point."

“Of course he did. He spoke of his family quite often."

“Yes, well, I'm sorry to say that he is not here at the moment. I haven't seen him all morning, to be honest."

Disappointment swelled in her heart. She had been so certain she would find him here. She wanted to cry, but swallowed hard, forcing a smile to her lips. “Oh, well. Thank you, then. I'm terribly sorry to bother you."

“No. It's no bother at all. Is there a message I can give him for you?"

“No, thank you."

She turned to leave, only to have Garrett come around the desk and stop her by placing his hand on her arm. “Is everything all right, Miss Spencer?"

“Everything is fine, thank you.” She couldn't help but stare at him. He and Drew looked so much alike, it was uncanny. Up close, however, their differences became more pronounced. Garrett's eyes didn't dance with the light of the devil quite the same way. His were much more serious. His smile was the same though, and she felt a pang, wondering if she would ever see that wonderful smile aimed in her direction again.

“Are you certain? Julian, why don't you ride out to Shadowbrook and see if he is there?"

“Certainly.” Julian shrugged his broad shoulders. “I'll go straightaway, if you wish."

“No, please,” she laughed nervously, eyes darting from Garrett to Julian and back. “That is really not necessary. It's not important. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, please. My chaperone is waiting in this heat for me. In a rather stuffy carriage, no less."

Garrett released her then. “Of course, Miss Spencer. But I will be sure to tell him you came by. I should be seeing him later today."

“Thank you. I do appreciate it.” She moved back to the doorway and cast one last look at Garrett. “I thank you again."

He gave her a slow grin, reminding her so much of Drew that she felt that pang again. She swallowed the sadness rising in her throat as she gave him a small smile in return and left the office.

Returning to the coach, she found Christina fanning herself with a lacy blue fan. She lowered it as Heather climbed in beside her. “Well?"

She sighed, flopping into her seat and shaking her head. “He was not there."

“Oh, damn.” Christina shook her head. “Well, I am sorry about that, Heather. But, we will track him down eventually. In the meantime, would you fancy a bit of refreshment?"

“I would love something. It's so hot, I am most parched."

Christina tapped on the carriage roof. “Croft's, please,” she called out to the driver.

Heather sank back into her seat, staring out the window. Her heart had never felt so heavy. The frustration was crushing. She had been so certain she would be able to see Drew, to finally be given the chance to explain what had actually happened with Jeremy.

She remained silent as they arrived at Croft's Café and Christina led her inside. It seemed they were not the only ones with the need for cool refreshment. Sunlight poured into the crowded café, dotted with a dozen white wrought iron tables with matching iron chairs around them. Over half of the tables were filled, but Christina brought her to one in the far corner.

“Let me fetch us lemonades,” she said, chuckling as Heather opened her mouth to protest. “Simply sit here and think cool thoughts. I will return in but a moment."

Heather couldn't help but smile. Since she'd arrived in America, Christina was rapidly becoming her best friend. She was a great comfort, as the loneliness seemed to pervade Heather's every waking moment. It had been a long time since she'd felt that sense of friendship, and she was grateful for Christina's generous spirit.

She faced the window, so she sat back in her chair, just watching the people pass before the glass with the words Croft's Café in thick black script lettered in its center. It was enjoyable, seeing the different shapes and sizes of the population of Brunswick. Her spine stiffened as Drew passed by the café, her heart lurching when he paused before it, as if debating whether or not to enter. She couldn't control the jumping in her stomach, or the fluttering of her heartbeat as she waited for the door to open and him to enter.

Her joy was brief though, for he was not alone. She felt tears sting her eyes when she saw the beautiful blonde woman sidle up to him and slip her arm through his.

Twenty-eight

Drew froze as Rebecca Monroe slipped her hand into the crook of his arm and purred, “Good morning, stranger."

“Rebecca? What the—what do you think you are doing?” he asked, glaring down at her.

“I thought it was you I saw as I was coming out of MacDowell's,” she replied, seemingly unperturbed by his less-than-friendly greeting, as she gave him a coquettish smile. “And I thought I'd come over and greet an old friend."

He faced her, pulling free from her grasp. She was the very image of fashion, dressed in a becoming gown of pale yellow muslin that perfectly suited her tall, slender frame. Her golden blonde hair was pulled away from her face in a series of complicated ringlets and covered by a most fashionable bonnet of pale yellow, and she was slipping white silk gloves from her slim hands.

He didn't return her smile. In fact, he felt nothing as he simply stared at the woman he'd almost married. She was as beautiful as ever, but he found himself thinking about a tiny slip of a woman with chestnut hair and luminous dark, gold-flecked eyes, wishing she stood before him now.

“An old friend, you say?” he replied dryly. “I think that might be stretching it."

She twirled her pale yellow parasol as she said, “Oh, I know I did a terrible thing. But we all make mistakes, don't we? We were so good together, don't you think? And now that you are back, I thought, perhaps, you might—Drew, you are not even listening to me!"

He turned away sharply as he caught sight of Heather out of the corner of his eye. His heart quickened as his eyes met hers. Then hers narrowed, and he swore under his breath. Of course, she could see Rebecca standing there with him. He could only imagine what she must be thinking. The pit of his stomach dropped painfully.

“Excuse me,” he told Rebecca shortly, attempting to step away from her, reaching for the brass door handle.

But she was not about to give up so easily, lunging for his arm once more. “But, Drew—"

“No!” He ignored the heads swiveling in their direction at his raised voice. “No, Rebecca. Hear this and hear it well, my dear lady. You are poison. Absolute poison. Now, do release me, or suffer the embarrassment when I shove you into the street."

“Oh, now, that's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

He couldn't believe her gall. He shook his head, a grin playing at his lips as he said, “You are unbelievable. Do you honestly think I would ever go that route again? I washed my hands of you and they will stay clean."

She pouted, thrusting out her full lower lip. “Now, that is not fair, Drew."

“Fair?” He cast another glance into the café, only to find Heather still staring, as if in shock. His patience eroded until nothing remained but anger. He turned on Rebecca with, “You expect me to treat you fairly? Why is that? Because you were always so straight and honest with me?"

“I never meant to hurt you."

“Just because your words were not meant for my ears does not mean I can forget they were ever spoken. Nor does it change what happened. You are a bitch, Rebecca. A cold-hearted, gold-digging bitch. I almost pity the man who winds up trapped with you. He won't know anything but sheer misery."

“Well, now,” she sniffed, a cold hardness coming to her eyes. “You wouldn't say that if I gave you the one thing you were always begging me for now, would you?"

He laughed then, yanking his arm free and stepping away from her. “Honey, I've a feeling that you've been around that block so many times that you'd never even know if I was near you, never mind actually inside you."

“Oh!” She gasped, her cheeks a mottled red. “You are terrible."

“What I am is honest. It's one of my faults, I suppose.” He grasped the door handle and tugged the door open. “I'm not interested, honey. Not now and not ever. I finished with you a long time ago and I have no intention of ever traveling that road again.” With that, he stepped into the café, striding purposefully towards the table in the back.

“May I have a word with you, Miss Spencer?” he asked in a stiff voice that belied the emotions warring within him.

She looked up at him through wide eyes, looking every bit at a loss for words. He stood there, feeling no little sense of discomfort as she allowed his words to simple hang in the air, almost visible for everyone around them to see. She wasn't going to make it easy on him and he couldn't fault her.

Then, she sniffed with disgust. “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Kennedy."

Though he knew he deserved her contempt, he was stubborn enough to refuse to give up at one rebuff. As she turned her gaze downward, he crouched to bring himself even once more. Lowering his voice, he said, “Heather. I don't blame you for being angry. But please, please just give me a moment."

Her eyes flicked up, focusing in on something beyond his left shoulder. Her silence stretched out even longer than the last, and he had the sinking feeling that she was about to refuse him again. Then she turned back, taking a deep breath and saying, “Very well."

His relief was tempered by the fact that she didn't look at all forgiving, but he took her by the hand just the same, helping her to her feet. Ignoring the stares of the other café patrons, he guided her through the milling crowd and back out into the stifling heat.

He didn't say a word as he hurried her along the walkway, around to the side of the small blue building. Then, without as much as a ‘how are you?', he pulled her into his arms and his mouth came down to claim hers.

She stiffened against him, her lips still against his. Her defense lasted only a brief moment before she melted into him, her arms easing about his waist. Pulling her closer still, he didn't give a damn who might be watching. All he cared about was that she was in his arms again. It was all that mattered, putting things right between them and that damned kiss was a promising start.

Reluctantly, he broke the kiss, sweeping his lips over her temple as he whispered, “I am so sorry, love. I am an ass. A complete and utter ass."

“You wouldn't even allow me to explain,” she began softly, pulling away to gaze up into his tender eyes. “You were so angry..."

He cupped her face in his hands. “I am sorry,” he repeated, gently kissing her forehead.

Again, she pulled back. “Who was that woman?"

“That, my love, was Rebecca."

“Oh?"

Drew felt her stiffen and he silently cursed the fact that Rebecca still had the power to disrupt his life. All hell was going to break loose now and he laid the blame squarely at her feet. “Now, Heather, before you become upset—"

“Before I become upset? Now why would I become upset?"

Anger flashed in her eyes as her voice rose sharply and he knew he was about to get what he deserved. But that didn't mean he couldn't attempt to diffuse her anger. “Heather—"

She shook her head, all of the pent-up hurt and frustration poured into her voice as she lashed out with, “You turned on me, would not so much as listen to me! And then, the next time I see you, it's with a woman you supposedly despise!"

That wasn't what he'd expected her to say. How could she know anything about Rebecca? He couldn't recall ever mentioning her by name, could only remember discussing her in passing. His brow furrowed as he shook his head. “Now, wait a moment. How do you know about Rebecca?"

“Christina told me. She has become quite a good friend to me, you know, since you brought me here and then abandoned me.” She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “I suppose that was to be expected, though, as your invitation was the worst mistake of your life, now, wasn't it? I do believe those were your words, Drew. Were they not?"

Thought he'd been waiting for that, he couldn't help but wince. With a sigh, he said, “I was angry, Heather. I spoke without thinking. I know that doesn't make it any better, but it's the truth."

“It hurt all the same,” she replied softly, dropping her gaze as well as her voice. The breeze picked up, rippling her skirts as she added, “You simply cut me out of your life."

“I did no such thing."

“What would you call it, then?” she asked. “You did not even give me the chance to explain. Did not want to believe that I might be telling you the truth, then. You were so determined to believe I would do to you what Rebecca did. That I could do something so vile, so—so absolutely foolish."

Damnation, this wasn't going at all how he'd envisioned it. They were supposed to make up, not argue about such idiocy. “You know nothing about what happened with her,” he shot back.

“Of course not. Not from you, anyhow,” she retorted, lifting her eyes to meet his once more. “You refused to ever discuss her with me. You were so afraid that I might do the same thing. You had so little faith in me ... Why, I might never have even known she existed, had you not run that fever after Henry shot you!"

His confusion grew tenfold. What did Henry have to do with anything? His gut twisted and he crossed his arms, squinting down at her as he asked, “What?"

“You spoke of her. Several times, in fact."

This was the first Drew knew he'd mentioned Rebecca. He shook his head. This was all going so horribly awry. Instead of putting things right with Heather, he was making them worse. Trouble was, he wasn't even certain how to right them now. Still, he had to know, had to try to make some sort of sense out of what she was saying. Although he wasn't exactly positive he wanted to know what his words were, he still asked, “What did I say?"

“You were never clear as to whom you were talking about. But I know you called her by name, then. But that matters not at this moment. What matters is that you were so determined to keep me away that you would not even trust me enough to tell me what it was she did that was so horrible.” She shook her head, her eyes now shimmering with tears. “And now I am stuck here in America—with nothing, I might add—and you simply walked out the door without a second thought!"

“I was angry.” He managed not to wince this time, even though he knew it was the most pathetic of excuses. It was the best he could offer.

“You were afraid!” she shouted, throwing her hands into the air as her frustration boiled over. “And instead of trusting me, you lashed out at me! And now you kiss me and tell me you are sorry and that is supposed to set everything right again?"

He couldn't resist a grin as he said, “I was hoping so."

“Well, it doesn't.” She was crying now, hating herself for giving in to her tears, but unable to stop them. “And here I am! Alone in America and going to have a baby besides!"

His blood froze in his veins as those words reached his ears. It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from her. The last thing he'd ever expected to hear from any woman, though he knew he shouldn't be surprised. He was no boy. He knew full well the consequences of bringing a woman to his bed. Until now, he'd never been confronted with those consequences.

A slow smile lifted his lips. A child. He never thought he would see the day when hearing that he was going to be a father brought a smile to his face.

Heather had spun away from him, burying her face in her hands as she dissolved into shoulder-wracking sobs. He stepped up to her, slipping his arms about her to pull her to his chest, wrapping in her in an embrace meant to take every last tremble, every last quiver, from her body. Kissing the top of her head, he murmured, “A child, Heather?"

She continued sobbing, but managed to nod and choke out, “Y-yes."

Slowly, he turned her about to engulf her in his arms. He tilted her face upwards, smoothing his thumbs over her cheeks, kissing her forehead again and whispering, “This makes you sad? You and I created this—a new life—and yet you shed tears over it?"

She lifted red, puffy eyes to his. “Y-yes and n-no,” she sniffed.

He smiled again, his thumbs moving lightly over the tears still sliding down her cheeks. “I think it's wonderful, love. We are going to bring a child into the world. That is cause for celebration, don't you think?” He didn't wait for her to reply, but kissed her tenderly on the lips and murmured, “Will you marry me, Heather?"

“What?” Her voice rang with obvious disbelief.

Drew nodded, finally feeling as though he were doing the right thing this time. “You heard me, love. Will you marry me?"

Her eyes still shone with silvery tears, but they had to be those of joy, for a slow smile spread across her face, lighting her from within. A slow bob of her head, and she whispered, “Yes."

Twenty-nine

“Heather?"

She pulled open her bedroom door to find Jeremy on the far side of the threshold. “Yes?” she asked, unable to keep the wariness from her voice. She hadn't felt comfortable in his presence since that awful afternoon he'd tried to kiss her.

“Your knight in shining armor is here."

“Thank you, then."

She closed the door again, moving to take one last peek at her reflection in the mirror. Her stomach roiled, a combination of a morning sickness that lasted all day for her, and nerves. Tonight she would be meeting Drew's family for the first time.

It still didn't seem possible that he had proposed to her. She couldn't keep the smile from her lips as she turned away from the mirror. Her spirits felt higher than ever before, despite her nervousness.

The nausea rose sharply, forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed for a moment until it passed. She almost wished she would simply retch and be done with it, but it never happened that way. Instead, she carried the awful queasiness with her throughout the day, and had done so for the past two weeks. She took a deep breath, swallowing hard against the brackish taste rising in her mouth. The last thing she wanted was to feel so ill at supper. Drew's parents were bound to notice and wonder about her condition.

“Well, I don't suppose I can put this off much longer,” she murmured, slowly getting to her feet and moving to the door. Gritting her teeth, she willed away the sick feeling as she made her way down the stairs and towards the parlor. She could hear Drew and Christina talking, and her belly curdled a bit. Still, she told herself she was being silly, and forced her feet to keep moving.

She stepped into the parlor, smiling as Drew immediately turned her way and his eyes softened. In the golden glow of the candlelight, he looked as handsome as ever, in black trousers and a white cambric shirt, and she still couldn't believe he was going to be hers forever.

Of course, that didn't change that she felt so awful. Her queasiness must have shown on her face, for as Drew neared, he took by the hand and leaned in to murmur, “Is everything all right, love?"

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head. “Not exactly. But I will be fine."

He frowned. “You don't look fine. In fact, you look as though you are about to retch right here.” He eased an arm about her waist, guiding her to his vacated chair.

Christina's eyes narrowed. “Heather? What is it?"

“Nothing,” she replied softly, digging her fingernails into the arms of the chair as she fought down the rising tide. “I am simply a bit nervous, I'm afraid."

“May I fix you a cup of tea?"

“That would be lovely. Thank you."

As Christina left for the kitchen to brew the tea, Drew crouched down beside Heather, covering her hand with his. “Feeling sick, love?"

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Terribly so."

“You're starting to look a bit green.” He brushed her hair away from her face. “Do you wish me to fetch a doctor?"

“No. I'm certain it will pass. I have barely eaten today."

“The babe?"

“Yes. Don't look so worried.” She tried to make her voice playful. “This is nothing to worry about. It's perfectly normal, I'm sure."

He didn't look convinced, but took a deep breath and said, “Very well. We can reschedule supper, if you wish."

“No. That won't be necessary, Drew. I think I am a mite nervous as well, which does not help."

Christina returned several minutes later with the tea. Sinking into the chair across from Heather, she asked, “Do you need Dr. Morrison?"

Heather accepted the cup, blowing gently at the steam curling away from the honeyed surface. “Thank you, Christina, but no. That's not necessary. As I said, it will pass.” She lifted the cup to her lips to sip the hot brew a bit at a time.

Her nausea abated as she continued to sip the tea. When she finished, she placed the cup on its saucer, the saucer on the table, and got to her feet. “We should be on our way, Drew. I should hate to be late."

“There is no hurry, love. Take all the time you need."

“I am fine. Really. Now, shall we?” She eased her silk gloves over her fingers and turned to him. “I just wish to have this over and done."

He grinned. “I assure you, Heather, you have nothing to fear. They are not ogres, you know.” Turning to Christina, he added, “Please tell her what my family is like."

Christina gave her a reassuring smile. “They are perfectly lovely people, Heather. You are working yourself into lather for nothing."

Surprisingly her reassurance did just the opposite to Heather, troubling her instead. Though she knew Christina was not a rival, by any means, she was not as comfortable with the situation as she originally thought. Perhaps it was because of the pregnancy, and the way her moods seemed to be so mercurial these days. Suddenly, she burned with jealousy over Drew and Christina's relationship. Oh, they might both claim that no feelings remained, Heather couldn't help but wonder if that would be the case, once she grew big and round and clumsy.

She tried to shove the uncomfortable thoughts from her mind. Though he'd not yet spoken a word of love for her, he had proposed to her, so she shouldn't be jealous. He must feel something for her. She knew that, but still could not control the rush of green-eyed irritation flashing through her.

Drew put a hand at the small of her back. “Shall we, then?"

“Yes. Good evening, Christina."

Christina gave her a warm smile. “Good luck, Heather. And smile. They will love you."

* * * *

Heather's palms felt clammy through her white gloves as they rolled up the drive to the front door of Shadowbrook. The windows blazed with welcoming golden light, but it did nothing to ease her nervous stomach.

Drew curled his fingers about hers, lifting her hand to his lips. “Are you certain you do not need a doctor?"

No, she wasn't certain at all. She had no idea if she needed a doctor, though she had heard of morning sickness. Hopefully, that's what her never-ending queasiness was, and hopefully it was perfectly normal. Either way, she didn't want Drew hovering over her any more than he already was. It would be a dead giveaway and she wanted to keep her condition a secret until after they were safely wed.

“I am fine, Drew. Now please, do stop fussing so. You are going to raise eyebrows if you don't."

They rocked to a halt and he reached for the door handle. “I apologize, Heather. This is all new for me as well.” He spoke as he climbed down from the coach and turned to offer his hand.

She accepted as his admission brought on a sense of relief. It was nice, knowing she was the first for something where he was concerned. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to help her down. She looked up at the imposing edifice of Shadowbrook and her stomach turned over painfully. Still, she did not hesitate in her steps as Drew strode up the brick walk to the marble portico.

He thrust open the door and they stepped into the front hallway. Her eyes widened as she looked up at the beautiful crystal chandelier, aglow with flickering white candles bathing everything in buttery golden light. Beneath her slippers, satiny oak floorboards gleamed just beyond the small, square mat on which she stood.

A narrow staircase loomed directly across from the double front doors, and Heather looked up to see a petite, dark-haired woman carrying a young girl down the stairs. The woman paused when she saw them, a devilish smile lifting her lips.

“Drew, I was wondering what this family supper was all about,” the woman said in a light, teasing voice as she descended the remaining steps. “Darcy, give Uncle Drew a kiss."

The dark-haired girl smiled, her even darker eyes luminous as she reached for him. “Unca Drew!"

He laughed as he accepted the little girl, squeezing her and crooning, “How's my little angel?"

Heather couldn't help melting as she watched him with the child. He seemed so comfortable holding Darcy, and the little girl certainly seemed enthralled by her uncle. She screeched with delight as he tossed her into the air, catching her easily and blowing into her neck.

“Who that?” Darcy demanded, pointing at Heather.

He ruffled his niece's hair. “That, princess, is Miss Heather.” His eyes flicked to Darcy's mother. “Kendall, I'd like to introduce you to Miss Heather Spencer. Heather, this is my sister, Kendall McCallister."

Kendall's smile widened as she turned to Heather. “Ah, finally! It's about time he's brought you by. I've been going mad with curiosity about you. Simply mad. It is wonderful to finally get to meet you!"

She couldn't help but return that smile. Kendall seemed so warm, so friendly, that Heather felt at ease with her at once. “I must admit, I feel the same. He has told me so much about his family, I feel as though I already know you."

“Well, at least he wasn't tightlipped about us. He certainly has been about you. If it weren't for Garrett, we most likely wouldn't know you even existed.” Kendall's eyes, the same deep blue as both of her brothers, danced with merriment as she turned to him. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Drew, for not bringing her around sooner."

He chuckled, tossing Darcy once more. “I wanted to surprise everyone."

“Well, mission accomplished,” she replied, linking her arm through Heather's. “Come along now, and don't be shy. Everyone is waiting in the parlor and I do believe they're all growing a bit grouchy.” Her laugh was clear and bright as she gave Heather's arm a conspiratorial squeeze. “Not that they'll blame you. Especially as everyone is almost bursting with curiosity over your existence. All Garrett would say was that he'd met you."

“That's because I threatened him with a permanent rearrangement of his face if he said anything more,” Drew replied mildly.

Kendall nodded knowingly, winking at Heather. “I had a feeling it was something of that sort. Well, no matter now, I suppose."

Voices came from a room just off to Heather's right. The parlor. Where the entire Kennedy family gathered to await her appearance. Trying to calm her roiling belly, Heather concentrated on the way the chandelier sparkled from the flickering light of what seemed like thousands of candles. As those voice grew louder, it became more and more difficult, so she gave in with a sigh, turning her thoughts into prayers that Drew's family would not despise her on first sight.

When Kendall steered her into the parlor, Heather thought her heart was about to stop beating. It was an elegant room, with polished mahogany furnishings and sedate leather armchairs. Almost every seat had a body in it, and Heather felt her mouth go as dry as the ash still lingering on the darkened hearth.

Drew gave Darcy one last kiss before passing her back to Kendall. Then, he pressed a hand into the small of Heather's back as he said, “Good evening, all."

A dark-haired man with equally dark eyes sat in one of the dark maroon leather chairs, a book in his lap. He looked up, smiling as he said, “I was beginning to wonder if you'd gotten lost on the road here."

Drew had the grace to flush at that. “I'm afraid we were a bit delayed, as you can see. I apologize for our tardiness.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone, I would like to introduce you to Miss Heather Spencer.” He smiled down at Heather. “Now, pay attention, Heather. You will be tested on this later."

She cast a glance around the room, recognizing both Julian and Garrett from their encounter at the Eagleton office. On the small velvet-covered chaise sat a slender young red-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar, but Heather couldn't quite place her. She assumed the man who'd greeted them was Warren Kennedy, but couldn't be certain. The rest were strangers.

Drew pointed to each family member, starting with the man in the armchair. “My father, Warren Kennedy. The young lady seated on the chair arm beside him is my sister, Diana. You've just met Kendall and her daughter, Darcy. Garrett's wife, Andie, is there on the chaise."

He smiled at the woman sitting on the elegant brown leather sofa nearest the fireplace. She was petite and slender, with gold hair and the same cobalt eyes as her sons. “My mother, Samantha. My brother, Garrett. Kendall's husband, Julian."

Heather gave them a pleasant smile as she said, “It's wonderful to finally meet you all. Drew has spoken of you so often, as I said to Kendall, I feel as though I already know you."

Each one of them replied in kind, with a friendly—if curious—smile. Drew guided her towards one of the remaining leather armchairs, gesturing for her to sit. Once she was settled, he perched on the arm, much like his youngest sister did next to Warren. Heather felt her belly calm as the smiles remained friendly and the questions began. It didn't take long to learn that the Kennedy family was a noisy one, with playful arguments and frequent admonitions from the elder members of the family.

At half past six, a servant came to the doorway to announce supper was going to be served. Heather hesitated for a moment, then Drew caught her by the hand to guide her towards the dining room. In the formal room, he led her around the oval table to a chair, pulling it out for her.

As the rest of the family settled in as well, Andie leaned over to nudge her. “Interesting group, wouldn't you say?"

She smiled at the willowy redhead. Andie looked so very familiar to her, but she still couldn't quite place her. Still, she recognized the soft English accent and said, “Where are you from?"

Andie's smile was wistful. “London. I've only been here just under a year. And you?"

“London as well.” She held her breath, hoping that would be the most personal of questions she'd be asked that evening. Her mind still whirled with what she would say, should someone ask her how she came to be in Drew's company. Glancing around at the warm, friendly faces, she vowed not to dwell on it. Something would come to her. It had to.

With that Samantha Kennedy set down her wine goblet as she turned blue eyes to Heather. “So, Miss Heather, how long have you been here in Brunswick?"

She turned to Drew's mother. “Only a few weeks now. It's quite a change from London, but it's quickly becoming home."

“And where are you staying?"

“I've been staying with Christina Anderson. She is a close friend."

Samantha nodded, glancing up as a large woman with white hair bustled into the room. “Ah, Effie, wonderful."

All talk ceased as serving bowls and platters were passed around the table. Silverware chinked against the fine china dishes and plates as everyone prepared their evening meal.

Though her stomach protested at the very thought of eating, Heather made a good show of placing a slice of rare beef, a helping of roasted potatoes, and a spoonful of carrots on her plate.

“So, Drew, do tell,” Diana said as the serving dishes were set down for a last time. “Why the need to gather all of us together?"

Drew gave Heather a knowing smile loaded with meaning only she understood. “I wanted everyone to meet Heather. After all, in Brunswick, it won't take long for everyone to find out about her."

Warren's eyes narrowed slightly. “Find out about her? What the devil does that mean?"

Drew grinned at his father, and then at Heather once more. “Well, find out that I've asked her to marry me, of course."

Silverware clattered onto plates in unison, jaws went slack, and eyes bulged from sockets, all training on her. She felt her face grow hot at the stares, her stomach churning even more violently now.

Samantha broke the silence as she turned to Heather. Tears glistened in her cobalt eyes as she said, “And I take it you've accepted this proposal?"

She nodded, unable to hold back her own smile as her eyes met Drew's. “I have."

“That is wonderful,” Samantha gushed, clasping her hands over her mouth as she rose from her chair to embrace her son. “Oh, Drew, congratulations!"

He returned the hug. “Thank you, Momma."

She scurried about the table to engulf Heather in a crushing embrace. “Welcome to our family, Heather."

That set off the flood of congratulations and best wishes. Everyone seemed shocked by the announcement, but also seemed genuinely thrilled by it as well. All except one person.

Warren Kennedy remained in his seat, a frown playing at his lips as he turned to his son. “Might I have a word with you, Drew?"

Drew turned to his father. “Why?"

“Alone, please."

“Very well.” He turned back to face everyone at the table. “If you will excuse me a moment."

Warren pushed back from the table to gesture to the door. Drew also rose and followed him into the hallway.

Heather tried to ignore her growing apprehension as she watched Drew leave the room. Somehow, she didn't think his father wanted a private moment to congratulate him. Her belly turned over with a sickening splash. Any moment now, Warren Kennedy was going to come storming into the dining room to announce to the family that their son and brother had betrothed himself to a whore.

The nausea rose sharply and she swallowed hard to keep the contents of her stomach where they were. Her pulse pounded sharply in her ears, throbbing through her temples as she anxiously awaited her undoing.

It never came, though, for only moments later, Warren and Drew returned, Warren's arm firmly about his son's shoulders and a beaming smile on his lips as he thundered, “I do believe this calls for a celebration, then. Let me have Effie open a bottle of champagne and we shall all drink a toast to a happy marriage for the one we thought would never settle down!"

* * * *

After supper, the family retired to the library, where champagne was opened and crystal flutes filled to be passed around. Drew and Heather were toasted repeatedly by each member of the family. Samantha immediately began discussing plans for a celebratory ball.

“We should set to work at once. I'll have to go over my guest list,” she said to Heather, sipping her champagne, “And have invitations readied, but I think we can manage to pull it all together in no time. No time at all"

Heather smiled at Samantha, who seemed genuinely happy for them. She wasn't so certain about Warren, though, for he seemed a bit wary at the thought of his youngest son marrying. She supposed it had something to do with the debacle with Rebecca, but still it did nothing to make her feel any better. However, she had to admit, overall they were a warm, loving family and she found herself looking forward to being a part of it.

Thirty

Drew sighed softly, his fingers moving lightly over Heather's hair as she lay quietly in his arms. It was night and they were lying on the banks of the Raritan nestled in the woods behind Shadowbrook, enjoying the peaceful solitude. They had a bit of time before they were to arrive at Shadowbrook for the ball celebrating their betrothal, so he had whisked her from Christina's for a romantic interlude. Things would soon grow most hectic for them, so he was determined to enjoy the calmness they had now. Once they made their official announcement, bedlam would ensue.

It was a beautiful night. A full moon glowed overhead and thousands of stars twinkled against the blackness of the sky. A gentle, warm breeze wafted over them as he tugged the light blanket over them. She stirred, lifting her head from his chest to murmur, “What are you thinking about?"

He smiled. “Truth?"

“Truth."

“You. How beautiful you look, lying here beside me in the moonlight. How your eyes remind me of that sky above—so deep and endless. A man could lose himself in your eyes, Heather. And I can think of no better place to get lost."

She giggled softly, even as she felt a tiny shiver of delight surge through her. “You are good, Drew. Very good."

He sighed, folding his fingers over to brush them against his chest. “Thank you. I've had years of practice."

“Why am I not surprised?"

He held the blanket in one hand as he rolled over to pin her beneath him. “You have nothing to worry about, Heather Spencer. Those days are far behind me now.” He brushed her lips with a soft kiss. “Far, far behind me."

“Are they, now?” she murmured, trailing her fingernails up over his back.

“Most definitely.” His voice became the softest whisper as he continued with, “I am in love with you, Heather. I have been since the moment I pushed open door number eight and saw you jump up from your bed in that dark red nightgown, terrified at the thought of what was to come."

Her fingers went still, her eyes widening as she said, “What?"

“I love you, Heather. I should have said it sooner, I know, but you were right earlier. I was afraid. Terribly afraid."

She gazed up at him and knew the time had come. Finally, she had the nerve to tell him what he'd said while in the grips of his fever. “I know. I know what happened with Rebecca. And you have nothing to fear, Andrew Kennedy. I will never hurt you.” Her eyes held his as her heart took flight. Taking a deep breath, she said, “When you were in the grips of that fever, and you first told me you loved me, it made me so happy. And then, when your fever broke, and you never made mention of it again I thought, perhaps it was Rebecca you meant."

His eyes clouded for a moment then cleared to a deep, sparkling cerulean. “Then it wasn't a dream?"

“What?” she asked.

He smiled at her. “I had this incredible dream that you were there, holding me in your arms. I told you I loved you and you said it right back.” He shook his head slowly. “But, it wasn't a dream, was it?"

“Hardly."

“All this time, I thought it was just a wonderful dream I'd had.” He leaned close to caress her neck with his lips. “Why didn't you say anything?"

She sighed as his tongue moved over the shell of her ear. “Mmm ... You were not the only one who was afraid. I was too afraid to say anything."

“You've yet to say it at all, sweetheart,” he murmured teasingly.

She smiled, feeling him rise up against her. It felt so perfect, so right and she threaded her fingers through his hair as she whispered, “I love you."

“Say my name,” he commanded in a husky whisper, nibbling at her earlobe.

“Drew."

“Uh-uh, love. Try again."

Her laughter was rich and husky as she tilted her head back to accept his lips along her throat. “I love you, Drew."

He inched down, his lips burning a damp trail between her breasts. He looked up, his eyes scorching her with their intensity as he locked gazes with her. She gasped softly, her fingernails biting into his shoulders as he let his fingers trail over the rise of her breast, down the slope of her belly, and out of sight. Those fingers teased her into a mindless want and she ached to touch him the same way.

She did just that, her fingers brushing him, timidly at first, but then with a boldness she never knew she could feel. She was fascinated by him, by his body, especially by that part of him that gave her such incredible pleasure, that part that was so silken and so steely at the same time.

It was Drew's turn to sharply suck in his breath as her fingers brushed him. He jumped as if stung, only to laugh as she froze. Wondering if she was being too bold, she pulled away, whispering, “I'm sorry."

Her belly gave a mighty leap as he caught her wrist and brought her back. “It's all right, love,” he chuckled, groaning softly as she carefully resumed her caress. “You simply surprised me, that's all."

“I thought, perhaps, I'd hurt you. Scratched you or the like."

“Not at all. And even if you did scratch, it wouldn't be serious. As I've told you before, touch me all you wish, however you wish, whenever you wish. All women should be so bold.” Drew kissed her deeply, his tongue entwining with hers as his body responded to her innocent explorations.

Emboldened by his whispered words, by his most obvious response, she continued familiarizing herself with him all over again. After all, she thought, this man was going to be her husband. It was only proper to make certain he never had the need to dally outside of their marriage bed, wasn't it?

He growled deep in the back of his throat, his eyes squeezing shut as if in mortal pain. A shiver rumbled through him and he reached between them to catch her hand, to tug it away as he managed to grit, “Your innocence is pushing me far too close to the edge, love,” and flipped her onto her back.

His mouth seized hers in a scorching kiss as he covered her body with his, surging deep inside her. She cried out at the delicious fire engulfing her as he lifted her hips to accept him completely and, with a powerful thrust, spun her into another world entirely.

He made love to her, there beneath that creamy moon, with the world fading into nothing, leaving only them. For Heather, it was magic, slow and sensual, thought and feeling combined as they reached that blissful crescendo and peaked together, each one clinging to the other. Their voices rose together to split the peacefulness of the still summer evening. For that one perfect moment, they had truly become one.

* * * *

Heather couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so wonderfully sleepy as she did lying there wrapped in Drew's arms. Everything was so perfect. She had everything she'd ever hoped for and more than she'd ever dreamed possible. She opened one eye a crack to peer up at him. Her heart felt so light, she wouldn't be the least bit surprised to see it take wing and fly off into the balmy summer night. He loved her. She only wished she'd had the courage to speak her true feelings long before now, that she could recapture some of those moments on board the Aphrodite and make them even sweeter.

She couldn't help but smile as she studied his profile through lowered lashes—that wayward lock of black hair that constantly tumbled over his forehead, the dark brows he could arch at will and send a shiver racing down her spine with, the proud, straight nose, and soft lips that caressed her own with such gentleness. This handsome, sexy man lying beside her loved her and she could now truly claim him as hers. Who would have thought a virginal strumpet could ever find such magic in a place such as Delilah's?

“Drew?"

“Yes, love?"

She thought she would never grow tired of hearing him call her that. She propped herself up on one elbow. “What happens next?"

He smiled sleepily, which only added to his seductive appeal. “Well, as much as I hate to say it, we have to take ourselves from here eventually. Eyebrows will be raised if we absent ourselves from this. Not to mention, this is to celebrate our impending wedding."

“I meant, after tonight. When do you wish to be married?"

“As soon as possible."

“Well, yes I know that.” She sighed softly. “Otherwise, people will speculate if this child is born too soon after our wedding."

He chuckled, stroking her cheek with a gentle forefinger. “I'm not even thinking of that, love. I just wish to make you my wife. That is all. I want you to be mine officially."

She smiled up into his eyes. “You know, it's amazing, really, how much you and your brother look alike."

His smile faded as he said, “I hear that quite often."

“Oh no, don't go into a snit now.” She snuggled up to him, draping her arm over his hips. “If you ask me, I think Rebecca was mad for desiring him, or anyone else for that matter, instead of you. There is no comparison. None at all."

“Well, there is no accounting for taste, I suppose."

She heard the tightness in his voice, and gave him a gentle squeeze. “I would never make so foolish a choice. Your brother might be handsome, but he lacks your charm, your sense of humor."

“Ah, I am unique.” The teasing note had returned to his voice.

“Yes, you are. And I am so glad for that. It's nice to know there is no one else like you in the world.” She ran a hand over her belly. “At least, not yet."

He smiled, a soft laugh bubbling to his lips. “That remains to be seen, love.” He bent forward to nuzzle her softly.

She sighed contently, remembering how comfortable he looked with his niece in his arms. “You are going to make a wonderful father. I don't doubt that for a moment. This child is incredibly fortunate to have been sired by you."

He brushed her lips with a kiss. “I suppose we should dress and make our way up to Shadowbrook."

She glanced at the mighty river, rushing along like a black ribbon with its swift currents. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea,” she muttered, turning back to him. “I am going to make quite the entrance, with my hair all mussed and my gown crushed. It will create quite the fuss, you know."

He reached for his trousers. “Hardly. I took the greatest of pains to make certain nothing was too badly damaged.” He got to his feet and walked over to a square of checked oilcloth spread out on the ground, where he'd spread her elegant ball gown to keep it from becoming stained and crumpled. “See? It's in perfect shape."

She wriggled into her silk chemise, pausing as she heard a series of snaps and crackles in the distance. “What is that?” she whispered, feeling her heartbeat quicken.

Drew shrugged, apparently unconcerned as he finished dressing and turned to help her into the lush gown. “Most likely an animal bringing supper home to its family."

“Oh."

She dressed as quickly as she could. It was one of the gowns he had sent her back to Mary Cartwright's for and she had been saving it for a special occasion, such as this. Sewn of a beautiful rose-colored taffeta, the skirt split down the middle to show the deep ruby silk underskirt. The sleeves were slightly puffed, rose with ruby silk ribbon accents woven through the hems. The bodice was also the same shade of rose, with ruby ribbon laced vertically along the boning. It was snug, a bit low-cut for her tastes, but Drew assured her she looked most beautiful in it.

She wasn't so certain about her hair, though. Luckily, since she'd had to style it herself, it was a most simple chignon, but she couldn't help but worry that it had gotten hopelessly destroyed by his manhandling. Still, she wished she had a mirror to peer into as she reached up to tuck a stray wisp back in place.

“Trust me, Heather. It looks fine,” he told her, pressing her ruby satin slippers into her hand. “No one will ever suspect you spent the earlier part of the evening making love on the banks of the Raritan."

Her cheeks flushed with satisfied heat as she eased her feet into her slippers. Even if they did suspect, it was absolutely worth the embarrassment, in her estimation. Still, she shook her head. “I hope not."

He grinned. “My lady, in a few months everyone will know what I've done to you, so you had best prepare yourself for it."

She couldn't help but chuckle. “I don't suppose I might argue that point."

He fastened the gown for her, leaning forward to brush her nape with a feathery kiss. “Don't ever lose those blushes, Heather. Not ever. I love them as much as I love you."

She turned to face him. In the pale silver moonlight, he looked more handsome than ever. His trousers were black, his silk shirt and stock were stark white, and he wore a dove gray waistcoat that made his eyes seem even bluer. He shrugged into a midnight blue velvet frock coat accented with dove gray and tugged on his dusty Hessians. “I'll brush them off when we reach the house."

She helped him gather the blankets from the ground, folding them and draping them over Samson's saddle. “Does your family host these parties often?"

He held Samson's reins in one hand, offering his free arm to her. “Not as often as my mother would like. Of course, that will change, as Diana is now old enough to receive suitors. I've a feeling we will be attending many such balls."

She sighed, slipping her arm through his. It felt so comfortable, strolling through the woods as they made their way back towards the main house at Shadowbrook. Her stomach was still a bit unsettled, but it felt a bit better than it had been feeling and she was hopeful that the awful morning sickness would soon abate completely.

As they neared the house, Heather could see lights blazing through the thinning trees. Her eyes were drawn to the east wing of the house, to a row of French doors overlooking a sumptuous garden. The room shone gold with light, the doors opened and the sounds of an orchestra tickling her ears.

“The ballroom,” Drew explained as they turned away from the house, heading west, towards the stables. “Let me drop Samson off and I'll be right back."

“You wish for me to wait here?"

“You're perfectly safe here. I won't be but a moment."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he didn't wait to hear it, as he swung up onto Samson's back and galloped off towards the dark shadow of the stables. “Well, of all the nerve,” she muttered, tapping her foot against the solidly packed earth. “Leave me here alone, in the dark, will you?"

She wasn't truly angry though, for she was still feeling the warm glow that came with hearing Drew tell her he loved her. She doubted she would ever grow tired of hearing him say those words. She smiled in the direction he'd gone, shaking her head slowly. Somehow, she didn't think anything could upset her this evening. With as wonderful as she felt, Heather was quite certain nothing would ever bother her again.

Thirty-one

The ballroom at Shadowbrook overflowed with people. It seemed almost all of Brunswick's population had come out to celebrate the upcoming marriage of Drew Kennedy and Heather Spencer. Servants bustled about, bearing silver trays of refreshment and pastries while the orchestra played quietly in the background.

Heather and Drew stood in the narrow hallway, just beyond the threshold. She slipped her arm through his, smiling up at him. She was nervous, although this was hardly her first ball. Still, as it was her first foray into Brunswick society, she was anxious to make a good impression for Drew's sake.

She scanned the faces all around them. Her fingers tightened, pressing into the solid bulk of his forearm as she thought about having to step into that room.

He smiled down at her. “You needn't look as though you are going to your execution, love,” he whispered in a teasing voice. “Simply think of it as practice for our nuptial ball."

Her feet felt leaden as she reluctantly allowed him to guide her into the large, rectangular room. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, the flames of hundreds of small, white candles bathing everything in a creamy ivory light. She spotted Warren and Samantha Kennedy chatting with several other couples and relaxed a bit, thinking, This isn't going to be so terrible.

As she stepped further into the ballroom, several heads turned to see who was on Drew's arm. Heather couldn't help but smile up at him as they cut easily through the throng. He seemed so at ease in the crowd, absolutely unaware of the eyes on him.

Samantha smiled as they approached. “Good evening, Drew, Heather. I was beginning to wonder if the two of you were ever going to show up."

He leaned forward to brush her cheek with a kiss. “As you can see, we have arrived,” he said with a grin. “Tell me, is everyone else here already?"

She nodded, glancing around the room. “It does appear that way.” She smiled out over the crowd. “Diana has already begun filling her dance card, I see. Warren, do stop glaring."

Warren, who had indeed been glaring at the young man chatting with his youngest daughter on the far side of the room, shook his head and cleared his throat. “Sorry. It's a habit I cannot break."

She laughed, shaking her head. “Always the guardian, aren't you. Funny, I've never seen you watch your sons quite the way you watch your daughters."

Warren grinned at Heather and then his wife. “Now, that would be silly, wouldn't it? Drew, did I ever have to worry about you or your brother?"

Drew chuckled wryly, saying, “No, but I'm fairly certain plenty of other fathers lost a bit of sleep."

Both men laughed over this, which earned them glares from both women. Still, Heather couldn't help but feel as though she had been accepted into their family. It was quite the pleasant feeling, really. It had been a long time since she'd felt a part of any family. Even when her father was still alive, they never shared this type of affectionate closeness. Matthew Spencer became a mere shell of what he had been before his wife's death, his grief leaving no room in his heart for anything else, including his only child.

She pushed the troublesome thoughts away. She did not want to think about her father right now. It would only serve to make her angry, to remind her of why she had to lie about how she'd met Drew. Anger was the last emotion she wished to feel at that moment.

Samantha reached over to swat Drew's arm with her ivory fan. “Oh, that will come back to haunt you one day. Just you wait and see. You will be the father losing sleep."

He had the grace to blush at that as he slipped an arm about Heather's waist, giving her a surreptitious squeeze. “But I am proud to say, those days are behind me now."

Heather gave him a loving smile. “I should certainly hope so."

He gave her another squeeze. “So, in all seriousness, I suppose now that we are here, the festivities can begin."

Samantha nodded, turning her smile to them. “I think it only fitting that we finally begin, as we've been waiting on your arrival. And, since this is your occasion, I think it only fitting that the two of you lead everyone in the first dance."

Drew gave Heather another gentle squeeze. “I do hope you don't mind being the center of attention. All eyes will be on you, you know."

Heather was well aware of the eyes already upon her. All around, she could see heads swivel in her direction, could hear the whispers and see fingers pointing at her. Still, despite the nervous knots in her stomach, she was able to smile up at him. “I'll try not to blush too badly, then."

Samantha reached out to touch her shoulder with a light hand. “You will adjust fine, dear. Simply pretend that they are not there. I find that to work for me."

Drew was smiling down at her as he said, “You've nothing to worry about, love. Ignore them, or simply imagine them all naked."

“Drew!” Samantha gasped, her eyes wide with horror but a smile tugging at her lips. “What a thing to say!"

Warren covered his smile with a hand, but could do nothing to stifle his chuckle. “Actually, I think he might have something there. Some of the ladies in this room would blush even more than our Heather here, were it to be true."

Samantha tapped her husband's arm with her fan. “You are incorrigible, just like your son."

Warren shook his head as he draped his arm about his wife's neck and drew her close. “You've that backwards, sweet. He is incorrigible just like his father."

“Be that as it may,” Drew broke in, clearing his throat. “I suppose we ought to make our way out there, shouldn't we?"

“Most definitely,” Samantha said, nodding again. “I will go alert the orchestra that it's time to begin."

Heather swallowed down her rising nervousness as Drew covered her hand with his and swept her out onto the dance floor. The orchestra fell silent and all talk ceased. Heather felt the heat in her cheeks as Drew brought his right hand down to rest upon her hip, catching her hand in his left. As the silence descended, he smiled and winked at her and she relaxed at once.

All around, she could hear the whispers, could practically hear the who is she? questions reverberating through the spacious room, but the soft buzz faded into nothingness as the orchestra resumed playing and she lost herself in Drew's blue eyes.

His hand on her hip didn't remain still, his fingers pressing lightly into her as he pulled her closer, murmuring, “Come, love, I've no desire to feel any space between us."

“Drew, you are being most improper,” she scolded, unable to keep the smile from her face. It was hard to truly care about creating a spectacle when his body felt so very nice against hers.

“Ask me if I care. Even before the announcement is made, I wish everyone in this room to know that you belong to me and that I belong solely to you."

“Is that so?” she asked as he whirled her past a cluster of young women who appeared more than a bit crestfallen.

“Lady, if you keep doubting me, I am going to kiss you right here, in front of all these oh-so-proper people."

She didn't doubt for a moment that he'd make good on his threat. Then again, she didn't doubt for a moment that it wouldn't make her the least bit angry. Squeezing the hand that held hers, she whispered, “Would I be terrible if I confessed I'd not mind that at all?"

His slow, sensual grin almost melted her into a puddle on the floor. Leaning close, he whispered, “Of course you would, love. Terribly brazen. You ought not tell me you'd not mind, as I might think you serious."

She couldn't hold back her laughter. It had been a lifetime since she'd last felt so happy, so carefree, as she did right then. Drew's eyes grew tender at her first peal, his voice a low growl as he said, “I only hope I can keep that laughter in your voice, Heather. It is the sweetest of sounds to my ears."

“Oh, Drew, you are good,” she teased, giving his hand another squeeze. “Keep saying things such as this and I highly doubt I will ever stop laughing."

“As it should be. Just you wait, lady. When it's our actual nuptial ball, I am going to take every liberty I might get away with. You are in trouble."

“Ah, but we'll be married then and there'll not be a whit anyone will be able to do about it."

After that first dance, the crowds gathered along the perimeter of the room slowly made their way out to pair up. Heather remained in Drew's arms, quite unwilling to move from them. Andie and Garrett joined them, as did Kendall and Julian. Heather felt every bit a part of the family as, after the waltz ended, both Julian and Garrett came up to grab Drew by the arms, tugging him from her.

“Enough with the women,” Garrett said, giving his brother a devilish smile. “It's time to celebrate the waning days of your bachelorhood the way they ought be spent."

“With other men,” Julian broke in, bowing low to Heather. “If you'll excuse us then, Miss Heather. We promise to return him in one piece."

“More or less.” Garrett grinned over one shoulder as he and Julian dragged Drew in the direction of the bar.

Kendall rolled her eyes. “Well, if that isn't just like a man—seeing marriage as the kiss of death."

“Oh, I'm not so certain about that,” Andie said, shaking her head as she turned to face them. “You need to remember, Garrett missed out on this particular rite."

Kendall smiled. “As did Julian."

Heather looked from one to the other. “Why?"

Kendall slipped her arm through Heather's. “Think you we should tell her the sordid stories of our past?"

Andie chuckled, slipping her arm through Heather's free one. “Speak for yourself, Kendall McCallister. My story is not sordid at all."

As the two women bantered, they tugged Heather in the opposite direction that Drew had gone, leaving her helpless to do anything about it but laugh.

“Now, I'd not say that if I were you,” Kendall was saying, shaking her head as she vanished behind the second bar set up in the opposite corner of the room and coming up with a bottle of champagne. “Seems to me you were a barmaid when you met my brother. Or is that another woman I am thinking of?"

“Very amusing, that,” Andie retorted, snatching three crystal flutes from the very flustered-looking bartender and giving him a pert smile.

“Where are we going?” Heather asked as Kendall steered them towards the French doors along the exterior wall of the ballroom.

“The Kennedy gardens are not only the nicest in all of Brunswick, they are also some of the more secluded—a perfect spot for a bit of lady-talk,” Kendall declared as they stepped out into the balmy night.

Heather thought that sounded wonderful. It had been so long since she'd had friends with whom she could giggle and gossip. “Lady-talk?"

“Yes.” Kendall plunked down on a white, wrought iron bench beside some lovely rose bushes and proceeded to struggle with the champagne. “Bloody hell ... Julian always makes this look so easy,” she grunted, tugging at the cork.

“Give it over, Kendall.” Andie reached for the bottle and expertly popped it open. “And you think my being a barmaid was a blotch on my past."

Kendall shook her head as she held out one flute. “I never said that. What I said was that you married my brother for his money."

“Ah, yes. You did, didn't you?” Andie filled a second flute and passed it to Heather before filling her own. “Well, as you can see, I did nothing of the sort."

“Why would you think that?” Heather asked, sipping the sweet champagne and trying not to flinch as the bubbles went right up her nose.

“Because I was Garrett's parlor maid. For a few weeks, anyhow."

“Then what?” Heather asked.

Andie smiled. “I gave in. He chased me relentlessly.” She took a small sip of her champagne. “And then he told me I was marrying him."

“And now they are in love,” Kendall sighed with exaggerated joy, batting her lashes. “And I've never seen either of my brothers as happy as they've been these days. I thank you both for that.” She held up her glass. “To sisters and happy men!"

Andie clinked her glass against Kendall's. “Happy men who know how to treat their women."

Heather smiled as she added her own flute to the toast. “Happy men who seem to have forgotten that other women even exist."

“Ah, don't you know?” Kendall took a swallow of champagne and leaned back against the iron. “Kennedy men are an odd lot. They run like mad from any sort of entrapment for most of their lives. But when they meet that one they are supposed to be with, that all goes right out the window."

Heather smiled. “And does the same go for McCallister men as well?"

Kendall nodded emphatically. “Oh, most definitely. Think you Julian's head would still be attached to his shoulders if it wasn't?"

Heather sighed, also leaning back and gazing up at the clear night sky. She thought about how she and Drew had spent the earlier part of the evening and said, “I do not think I've ever felt so happy."

Kendall reached down to pat her knee. “That's a good thing, since you've already agreed to marry Drew."

Andie also leaned her head back, turning to smile at Heather. “They are charming, the Kennedy boys, aren't they?"

“That does not even begin to describe it."

Kendall poured more champagne for them. “Do tell. I never have the opportunity to find out the details where my brothers are concerned."

Andie chuckled. “Nor will you find them out now, I'm afraid. That's a bit personal, don't you think?"

“Oh, at least tell me they are both skilled and generous. I should hate to think of either of them as selfish boors."

Heather caught Andie's eye and couldn't help her giggle. “Very well. I will concede that much."

“As will I,” Andie agreed, lifting her glass once more. “To skilled, unselfish men."

“Ah, ah, call them what they are, my English sisters,” Kendall laughed, holding up her glass. “Rakes."

“Reformed rakes,” Andie and Heather chimed at the same time before dissolving into giggles.

“They are the stuff of which dreams are made,” Kendall sighed, as they all three clinked glasses once more. “But, I have to admit, the two of you are quite fortunate in that you knew what you were getting before your marriages. I had to hope for the best."

“And did it work out for you?” Andie wanted to know, trying to keep the smile from her face, but failing miserably.

“What do you think?"

Heather laughed softly, the warm feeling of friendship, of sisterhood, sinking into her as she felt both Andie and Kendall's acceptance of her. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she said, trying to sound stern as she shook her head. “Drew's not laid a hand upon me."

Both Kendall and Andie snorted, then burst out laughing. “Of course, just as Garrett laid not a hand upon me, either,” Andie managed between peals of laughter. “Please, think you either one of us believes that?"

Kendall filled their glasses a third time, tossing the empty bottle into the bushes with a laugh. “Even if I were inclined to believe that—which I'm not, by the by—you should only see how red your face is, Heather."

Heather frowned. “Drat it all, am I blushing again?"

“Trust me, I think no less of you. Just as I think no less of Andie and I know she knew Garrett well before they were married."

“What's that supposed to mean?” Andie demanded, taking another sip.

“Please,” Kendall sniffed. “I knew almost as soon as you went to work down there."

“Well, for your information, it didn't happen for several weeks."

Kendall looked impressed. “You resisted my irresistible brother for that long?"

“I did.” Andie's face melted into a smile again. “Because I cracked a bloody rib on a bloody boot and could barely walk upright!"

All three women dissolved into giggles again and Heather found herself wishing the night would never end. It was so perfect, in so many ways, and she wanted it to last forever.

Thirty-two

They were making their way back into the ballroom when Kendall suddenly grabbed Heather and Andie by the arm and said, “Careful, ladies, we are about to be pounced upon."

Heather looked up to see an older woman with sharp blue eyes and iron-gray hair striding towards them. Kendall swore under her breath, then pasted a smile on her face. “Miss Josephine! How lovely to see you!"

Josephine Kelly tapped her arm with her black lace fan. “I say, Miss Kendall, how lovely to see you this evening.” Her eyes went to Andie. “Miss Andie, you are looking quite lovely as well."

Heather had to fight to keep from fidgeting as Josephine's blue eyes fell on her and the matron frowned. “I am afraid I don't know you, dear. I don't believe we've met. I am Josephine Kelly. And who might you be?"

Heather felt a brief flash of panic. “I am Heather Spencer, Miss Kelly. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Josephine's eyes clouded somewhat. “Spencer ... Spencer. I am afraid I am most unfamiliar with that name, dear."

With that, Andie linked her arm through Heather's. “She is Brunswick's best kept secret, Miss Josephine. Now, you must keep this quiet for now until Mother Samantha makes her grand announcement, but—” she lowered her voice, leaning close to Josephine, “she is Drew's intended."

Josephine gasped, a smile spreading over her lined face. “You're the girl everyone has been whispering about? Oh, how lovely to meet you, then!"

Everyone had been whispering about her? Heather's mouth went dry as she forced out, “It's lovely to meet you as well."

“Josie! What are you gossiping about now?"

Heather groaned as another woman joined them. She was close to Josephine's age, with silver hair and deep green eyes. Josephine turned to the woman and said, “This is the child what stole Drew Kennedy's heart, Maddie."

“Oh, my! So that wasn't just another baseless rumor! She truly does exist!"

Heather felt distinctly uncomfortable as both women turned to stare at her. Josephine elbowed Madeline. “Isn't she just the loveliest thing you've ever laid eyes upon? Oh, it's no wonder that boy went so mad for her!"

“Oh, she certainly is. And such a nice breath of fresh air after that horrid Monroe trollop he was so fond of!"

“Yes. Yes, indeed. You have said a mouthful there, Maddie."

Madeline fanned herself with a sapphire lace fan that perfectly matched her ball gown. “Oh, absolutely. But then, it does not surprise me in the least. Kennedy men do not settle for anything less than beautiful young misses."

Kendall rolled her eyes at that and Heather had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Neither of the older women seemed to have noticed, as they were still too busy gushing over her and the fact that they were the first to actually speak with her.

Andie cleared her throat. “If you will excuse us, Miss Josephine, Miss Madeline, but I do believe our husbands—” she cast a grin at Heather, “and husbands-to-be are looking for us."

Josephine nodded. “Oh, of course. Maddie, Abbie Tomlinson is simply going to go pea-green when she hears. I can hardly wait to tell her."

“Remember,” Kendall warned over one shoulder as she, Andie, and Heather started towards the dance floor, “this is to be kept to yourselves. Not a word until Momma makes her announcement. You know how she loves to surprise people."

Both women hastily swore to keep the secret and Kendall smiled as she gave a gentle tug on Heather's arm, muttering, “I'll wager that everyone knows before this evening is over, whether Momma's made that announcement or not."

Heather smiled. “It's hardly a secret, though. I thought that was the reason for this ball in the first place?"

“Oh, it is. But Momma didn't put that into the invitations. She merely requested everyone attend a run-of-the-mill ball. You will see soon enough. My mother loves to spring surprises on people. She thinks it's such great fun to get one over on everyone."

* * * *

As the hour grew late, those who would be staying over began retiring to the second floor for the night. Heather knew Drew planned for them to stay as well, but she had no idea where she was to sleep. Drew had disappeared with his brother once more, and she wasn't the least bit certain whom to ask.

Kendall solved that problem for her, crossing over to lean up against the wall beside her. “I think I am just about done in,” she sighed, smothering a yawn. “Andie's already gone up to Garrett's former room. How are you faring?"

“I am afraid I am just about done in as well,” Heather replied, smothering a yawn of her own. She was suddenly terrifically exhausted, feeling as if she'd been up for days. “Oh, excuse me,” she said, covering her mouth with a delicate hand. “I am just so sleepy."

Kendall linked her arm through Heather's. “I can imagine all of the whirlwind of the past week has been most hectic for you. Let's get you settled then, shall we? Forget Effie. I know where you can sleep."

She didn't protest as Kendall steered her out of the ballroom and along the hallway towards the front of the house. From there, Kendall guided her up the narrow staircase to the second floor.

Kendall smiled. “Be very quiet now, and follow me."

Though she was incredibly curious, Heather remained silent as Kendall pulled her along the narrow hallway, to a bedroom at the very end. She pushed open the door and gave Heather a gentle push.

She knew without having to be told that she was in Drew's chambers. She turned to her and said, “Oh, no, Kendall. This is not a good idea. Not a good idea by half."

Kendall waved away her protest. “Oh, pish. It's a fine idea. My room is right across the hallway, and the room next to this is Garrett's, so you will have plenty of privacy. Nobody comes to wake Drew, so it's perfect.” Kendall gave her a knowing smile. “Besides, I assume that you would prefer snuggling up to him than up to just a pillow."

Heather felt the flush creep into her cheeks. “Well, I..."

“Please, I can completely understand. Now go. Make yourself comfortable. Besides, what is the harm? The menfolk'll be gone for hours if they found another game of whist. It'll be at least dawn before they turn in for the night."

Before Heather could protest any further, Kendall pulled the door closed, leaving her alone in Drew's inner sanctum. She turned to lean back against the door, her eyes slowly moving over her surroundings.

His room was at the front of the house, in the eastern corner. Both the north and east walls were mostly windows, with cranberry red draperies, which were now tied back to let in what little breeze the humid air would cough up.

The floor was bare beneath her feet, with only a small, colorful area carpet beneath the mahogany four-poster bed. The bed caught her eyes immediately. It was a work of art, the mahogany polished to brilliant shine, piled high with plump pillows, covered with a cranberry and hunter green quilt and matching hangings.

She wandered slowly about the room, laying a hand on the mahogany Chippendale wardrobe, the lower chest of drawers, a solid looking desk, the bedside tables. In the eastern corner, between the windows, was a comfortable chair, an ottoman and small table, upon which a book lay, open and facedown.

The battered leather cover was worn smooth and she smiled as she read the title. Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Sinking into the well-worn chair, she lifted her feet up onto the ottoman and sighing softly. This must have been Drew's preferred spot in the room, for she could smell his unique scent wafting up from the fabric.

It felt odd, being in his bedroom. It was such a personal area that she almost felt like an intruder. After a few minutes, she rose from the chair to peruse the barrister's bookcase beneath the windows. No books of poetry to be found here, she thought with a smile.

She paused at what would have been a vanity table, if he was a woman. There were the usual trappings to be found—comb, brush, Massacar oil that she couldn't remember ever seeing in his hair, a razor, and colognes. Her eyes fell on a small crystal dish holding several pairs of cufflinks and a curious gold medal on a fine gold chain—something else she couldn't recall ever seeing on him.

A mirror was mounted above the dressing table and she could see scraps of parchment tucked into its frame. A small sketch had also been tucked in amongst the notes. She frowned, leaning closer for a better look. “Oh, my,” she whispered, realizing she was looking at a drawing of herself.

She plucked down the small square of paper to bring it closer still. It was definitely her, in Drew's cabin on board the Aphrodite and she was amazed by the detail in the drawing. It was good. Quite good, indeed.

“I had no idea he was an artist,” she whispered, feeling unexpected tears prick at her eyes. She suddenly felt even closer to him, discovering yet another side of him. It touched her, that he'd taken the time to draw her, even more so that he'd brought it from his ship and kept it tucked into the mirror.

She yawned again, that feeling of exhaustion washing over her. “I need to sleep,” she murmured, turning back to face the bed. A smile played at her lips as she undressed down to her chemise and pulled down the bedclothes. “No memories here to compete with."

She slipped beneath the light linen sheet, her head sinking into the fluffy pillows. It was like being embraced by the very essence of him, lying there in his bed, with his sheets pulled up around her, and it was not long before she drifted off to sleep.

Thirty-three

Heather woke with a start as the bed suddenly dipped. She gasped, yanking the sheet to her chin as she sat upright.

“What the devil—?” Drew sputtered.

She squinted as the room was suddenly ablaze with light, looking up to see him standing above her. Her cheeks burned as she realized he'd removed every stitch of clothing and was about to climb into the bed.

“Heather? What the devil are you doing here?"

She shielded her eyes. “What are you doing here?"

“Well, it is my room,” he chuckled, slipping into the bed beside her. “But I was not expecting to find you here."

“It was your sister's idea."

“Why am I not surprised?” He extinguished the lamp and lay back, draping an arm about her as he murmured, “My parents would explode if they knew you were in here, you know."

“Then, perhaps I ought to go."

He held her as she tried to sit up. “Oh no, love, I don't think so."

“Drew!"

“Shh...” His voice became a throaty whisper as he pinned her beneath him. “Let's live dangerously, shall we?"

She couldn't help but laugh. “I thought you were going to be gone all night. Kendall seemed to think that's what would happen, if you men found something to compete over,” she murmured, trailing her fingertips up over his back.

“Ah, Kendall only thinks she knows us all so well. Actually, she's most likely right, save for the fact that Julian and Garrett were both in a bit of a mood."

She gave him a confused look. “Fighting, were they?"

He arched an eyebrow and grinned. “Not that sort of a mood, love."

She felt him rise up against her thigh and slowly nodded. “Oh, I see. That sort of a mood."

He leaned over to nuzzle her. “They are not the only men in this house in that sort of a mood."

Her eyes closed at the gentle brush of his lips against her neck. “Oh, that feels nice,” she whispered, wishing she weren't quite so sleepy. “But I am afraid I am simply worn out, Drew."

Pulling away, he brushed her lips with a tender kiss. “Motherhood already taking its toll, is it? Ah, well, more's the pity, I suppose.” He shifted to lie beside her once again, propped up on one elbow, his hand coming down to press against her belly. “It is hard to believe, Heather, that a child sleeps here."

“Give it another month or so. Then it will become real."

He nuzzled her again. “You will look adorable when you become all round, you know."

She gazed up at him in the darkness. Would he truly think so when the time came, or would his head be turned by the beautiful young ladies without any roundness to their figures? “I certainly hope so."

“Ah, trust me, love. You will. I cannot imagine a more beautiful sight to behold than you round with my child,” he said, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. “So tell me, how much snooping did you do up here?"

“I did no snooping,” she told him. “I looked about perhaps. But no snooping took place."

“It's quite all right if you did, love. I've no secrets."

“Well, I wasn't snooping, but I did see the drawing tucked into your mirror. It was quite the surprise, I must admit."

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What did you think?"

She snuggled into his arms. “I think it's quite good. I didn't know you were an artist."

“I think artist would be stretching it. The subject matter fascinated me."

“Still, I'd love to see anything else you've drawn."

“That is about it, love. I don't keep many of my scribbles. They don't quite fit the image I wish to convey to the world."

“And I suppose no one would ever see you tossing your niece about either, then?"

“I hardly keep that a secret. Children reduce me to mush. I love them. Always have, always will. You'll see soon enough when ours arrives. Everyone will think I've gone completely mad."

“A bit of good news to hear, that,” she said teasingly, rolling onto her side. Then she sighed. “There is still so much about you that I don't know, Drew."

“Ah, but think of the fun you will have getting to know me,” he replied softly, his eyes glittering in the faint moonlight spilling into the room. “Now, you are sleepy. I am sleepy. The sun will be up in a few hours.” He lifted one arm to slip about her shoulders, holding her close as he covered her hand with his. “Don't let me keep you awake. You need sleep much more than I do. I don't think I've seen anyone yawn as much as you are now."

“I apologize."

“Don't. Simply sleep.” He twisted slightly to kiss the top of her head. “I'll wake you in the morning before anyone else rises and we can sneak you out of here."

“Hmm...” she sighed, snuggling closer still. “That does sound nice..."

Thirty-four

It was still dark when Drew woke. He lay there for a long while, listening to Heather's deep, even breathing beside him, and realized how much he missed those nights on board the Aphrodite. He missed falling asleep with her in his arms every night, missed waking to find her beside him every morning.

They could not be married soon enough, he thought, as he tossed back the covers and rose from the bed. He got up and dressed, then lowered himself into his favorite chair, watching her as she slept.

It amazed him to think that she carried his child and he found himself continually looking for any changes in her body. Though he knew not to expect anything for some time, he couldn't help but look at her in an entirely new way. She had become so much more than a mistress, in ways he'd never dreamed possible. A child only added to the ever growing happiness he felt. It was a happiness, a peace, he hadn't felt in a long time and he had her to thank for it.

Finally, as the dawn broke over the horizon and the darkness faded to gray, he knew he had to wake her. He hated to do it, for she looked so peaceful. But he couldn't take the chance that she might be caught in his room. Betrothed or not, he knew his parents would be most upset to find her there.

* * * *

After breakfast, Drew crept up behind Heather, easing his arms about her waist and letting his lips brush over her neck.

“What brings this on?” she asked, leaning back into his warmth.

“I have a surprise for you, love,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear.

“A surprise?"

“Let's find you a bonnet and your gloves and go into town, shall we?"

She turned to face him. “What do you have up your sleeve?” she asked, giving him a smile.

“Ah-ah, love. You'll not drag it from me.” He walked her towards the front hall and gave her a gentle push towards the stairs. “Make yourself presentable, that you might find out what it is I've got up my sleeve."

She frowned at him. His eyes glinted with a mischievous light she knew far too well and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Still, she knew he'd not give over and tell her. Swallowing an annoyed sigh, she hurried up the stairs to fetch the items needed for a trip into town, all the while wondering how on earth he could possibly be planning to surprise her.

She came down to find him pacing the front hallway. He stopped when he saw her and smiled. “Come with me, love. I can hardly bear the suspense."

Her brow knit as she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I am almost afraid to find out what you're all about, Drew. You are making me a mite nervous."

He patted her hand as he led her out to the waiting coach and helped her into it. “Now, now. I promise you, love, this is a good surprise. A good surprise, indeed."

She settled into the coach, sinking back into the rich burgundy velvet. Drew made himself comfortable across from her, his smile never fading. He seemed a mite fidgety, his right leg jumping almost constantly as the carriage rocked along towards Brunswick proper.

Try as she might, Heather simply could not imagine what he might have planned that would put him so on edge. Each time she tried to ask, he'd only shake his head and say, “You will simply have to trust me, love."

No matter how many impatient sighs she let leak through her teeth, he still refused to tell her where they were going, or what lay in store for her when they arrived. All he would say was, “You will have to wait and see."

The coach rocked to a halt and, as she went to step down, he caught her, drawing her back into the carriage.

“Drew, what is going on?"

His laughter was soft in her ear as he said, “You will see. You will simply have to trust me."

With that, he brandished a long strip of silk. She watched him fold it over, then bring it up to cover her eyes. “Now, trust me,” he whispered, knotting it at the back of her head. “No trying to peek, either."

“Drew, what do you have up your sleeve, then?” she asked, instinctively holding both hands, palm out. It was a little unnerving, not being able to see anything but blackness.

He didn't answer, but took her by the hand and brought her to the door of the carriage, holding her in place as he stepped down. Then, she felt a whoosh in the pit of her belly as he swept her up into his arms. A girlish giggle escaped through her lips as she linked her fingers behind his neck. She felt almost giddy as he gave her a gentle squeeze. “This had better not be a prank you are playing on me."

He smiled. She was being quite the good sport. “I can assure you, sweetheart. It's no prank. Trust me."

“You say that so often I'm not so certain I should.” She sank against him, swinging her feet playfully as she relaxed in his arms. Despite her warning, she wasn't really afraid of what he had in store for her. Rather, she enjoyed simply being able to play with him this way. Her devil-may-care husband to be. How incredibly blessed she felt, to have Drew Kennedy come into her life.

“Oh!” she gasped, a flutter streaking through her belly as he stopped and suddenly lowered her to her feet.

He eased his arms about her shoulders, pressing her back into his chest, and murmuring, “Welcome home, Heather,” as he whisked the silk from her eyes.

She blinked at the bright light stinging her eyes. The rain had stopped and it was still cloudy, but it was a bright cloudiness that temporarily blinded her. As her vision cleared, she gazed up at the cozy, two story house nestled between two towering red oaks. “Drew? What is going on?"

He was grinning like a fool as he gestured to the house. “What do you think?"

“I think it's adorable. Why?” She turned to him. “Drew?"

“It's ours."

“What?"

He smiled. “You heard me. This is where we will live once we are married."

“Ours, you say?” That giddy feeling returned. It was exactly as she'd pictured her first night in Brunswick. She hadn't thought it possible to be happier than she already was, but she discovered how wrong she'd been. Happy didn't even touch the surface of the elation she truly felt.

He nodded. “Ours, love. What do you think?"

“What do I think? I think it's wonderful,” she murmured, eyes glassy with unshed tears as they met his. A slow smile spread over her face as she threw her arms about his neck. “When did you do this?"

“I signed the final contracts yesterday afternoon.” He gave her a squeeze, lifting her up to meet his lips easily. “Care to see the inside?"

“I would love to."

He set her back on her feet. “Shall we?"

Heather slipped her arm through his as they walked up the stone steps to the wide veranda. He unlocked the front door, a shimmering slab of polished golden oak with a delicate oval shaped inset of red, green, and blue stained glass, and thrust it open.

She gasped as she stepped into the front hall. To her left, she saw a small, square parlor—to her right, a dining room. Straight ahead, a narrow staircase led to the second floor. She ran her hand along the sleek banister; a foot paused on the bottommost step. It was beautiful. Beautiful and simple and she already felt no little pride as she looked around their home. “This is ours? Absolutely ours?"

Drew nodded. “It is. Lock, stock, and empty rooms. All it needs is furnishing. I trust you will have no trouble with that."

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “Do you trust me?"

He leaned back against the closed door, arms folded over his chest. He'd never seen her look more beautiful. She was positively glowing, her face alive with joy. He didn't know if it was because of her condition, or because of the house, but he did know he would do whatever he could to make certain she never lost that light.

“Of course I do. Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

She didn't answer, but her silvery laughter echoed throughout the empty rooms as she ascended the stairs to the second floor. There, the floors gleamed in the growing sunlight, dust motes swirling up as she moved from room to room. It was perfect. Absolutely perfect, and she could hardly wait until they actually set up house.

She made her way into the front bedchamber, the largest one by far, and walked over to the window. The sun was slowly burning off the morning rain, and she wanted to see the view. Pausing at the window and pressing one hand against the cool, rippled pane, she sighed. The room overlooked the narrow street just off Brunswick's main street, and was lined with cherry trees and leafy oaks.

“Drew! You must see this!” she called, peering up and down the street at the cozy houses that would soon be her neighbors. It was everything she'd imagined, and she looked forward to making new friends and starting her new life. Finally, the future seemed as bright as the sun now.

A creak rose from behind her and she turned to see Drew leaning against the door frame. “I take it then, you approve?"

She nodded. “It's perfect, Drew. I love it."

He crossed over to her, slipping his arms about her waist and kissing the top of her head. “Take a look to your left, love."

She turned to see a narrow door. “Yes?"

“Go through it."

She pulled away to cross to the door. Turning the handle, she opened it and poked her head into the small room on the other side. Turning back to him, she smiled, murmuring, “It would make a wonderful nursery"

“Exactly."

A warm feeling fluttered through her and she almost hugged herself from it. Not only did she love the house, but it seemed as if Drew truly shared her excitement. He seemed so truly at ease with his impending fatherhood, but she still couldn't help but wonder if he would remain so. After all, his was a wandering spirit at heart—taking to the sea when so moved. It was the first true responsibility he would be undertaking. Would fear set in? And if so, would the oceans whisper to him once again, luring him away from dry land?

A sudden sadness engulfed her. It wasn't not so unusual these days. Her emotions ran the gamut and didn't always make sense to her. She would cry over the silliest things lately, or grow short-tempered more quickly than usual.

Still, as she stood there, looking at him, she couldn't help but see him as other women must. He was so handsome, so sexy. He would always cause female heads to turn twice, would most likely always have to fend off advances. He had never committed himself to one woman, though. What would happen once he had a wife, a child?

“What is on your mind, love?” he was asking, walking over to her.

She shook her head, trying to knock the disturbing thoughts from her brain. “I was just envisioning how it will look, once we've furnished it."

His forehead creased and he frowned. “If you don't like it, we can find another."

“No, Drew. It's fine. It's perfect, actually."

“So why the long face, then?"

“Just thinking, I suppose."

He caught her face in his hands, tilting her head back to meet his steady gaze. “About what?"

She couldn't bring herself to tell him the truth. “I am merely thinking about how much things have changed in the past few months. It's been much in a short period of time."

“That it has."

“And terrific changes besides,” she hedged, averting her eyes from his direct gaze.

“What is it you are trying to say, Heather?” he asked softly, his thumb stroking her jaw lightly.

“I'm not trying to say anything,” she whispered, still unable to meet his eyes.

“Look at me, Heather.” His voice brooked no argument. As her eyes finally met his, he said, “Tell me the truth. What is on your mind?"

She sighed, knowing she was caught. She'd never been able to hide her feelings. “Are you certain this is what you want?” she finally asked.

“The house?” he asked quietly, stepping back from her. “Or you?"

“Both. You did not come to London to find a bride, Drew. You did not come to Delilah's to find one either."

He sighed after a long moment. “No, I don't suppose a man goes into a brothel in search of a wife.” He gave her his boyish grin. “I did, however, go there with the intention of meeting you."

“Yes, but—"

“Let me tell you something, Heather. I will admit; the babe took me by surprise. Though, I don't know why it should. I knew perfectly well what the consequences could be. But, I did not propose simply because of the child. I love you, Heather, and not just because you carry my child.

“I asked you to marry me because I cannot see anyone else by my side. You are the last thing I think about before I go to sleep at night, and the first thing I think of when I wake each morning. I close my eyes, and you are there. I want you to be my wife, and I want us to spend the rest of our years driving each other mad."

His words lifted her spirits a tad, but still did not erase the main question from her mind. The sea had been his mistress for most of his life. Would he be able to give her up? She took a deep breath. Better to hear the truth now, than to find out a year from now. “Are you planning to keep sailing?"

He was quiet for a moment and she could almost see him mulling it over. Then, he sighed softly, saying, “I haven't really thought about it, Heather."

“It's all I can think about."

He shook his head. “There is no need for you to concern yourself, love."

“Of course there is.” She stepped back from the nursery, closing the door firmly. “There is plenty of cause for concern."

His expression darkened. “I see."

She didn't miss the tightening of his jaw, or the sudden hardness in his eyes. She knew she would regret her next words, but they were out of her mouth before she could stop them. “You thought you were ready to settle down with Rebecca. Then you left for Europe. You were gone for over a year. How am I to know that the urge to roam won't strike you again?"

“The situations are nothing alike. It's not as though I merely up and decided to leave on a whim. The circumstances were much different.” A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. “I suppose, my lady, you will simply have to trust me."

His voice had dropped to a low, cold growl. Her stomach knotted at the anger emanating from him. Heather wished she hadn't said anything. Now the pleasant mood was ruined and she had also spoiled his surprise. Turning away, she muttered, “I'm sorry."

“I am, as well, Heather. I've given you no reason to doubt me."

“Tell me though, would you still wish to marry me, if there was no child?” Her voice was hot, her words clipped.

“I cannot believe you would ask such a thing.” His words were icy, bitten off to hang in the air.

She faced him again, dark eyes glowing with frustration. “That is not an answer."

He threw his hands into the air. “What do you want me to say? What is it your ears wish to hear?"

“The truth."

“The truth, eh? Why? You seem to be determined to doubt me at every turn. And, no matter what I say or do, you cannot seem to get past Rebecca."

“She is always there. Hovering like a specter."

“Only because you refuse to let her go, Heather. I've not brought her into conversation, unless initiated by you. I apologize for having a past, but you need to let go of that past and trust the man standing before you now. He is not the same one.” Drew shook his head, a frustrated sigh hissing from him like steam from a boiling kettle. “I cannot say I will never set foot on my ship again, Heather. That's my business, my livelihood. But, that does not mean my head will be turned by the first woman I see in a port. I don't know what else to tell you but that."

“Flirting, seduction—they both come so naturally to you,” she replied in a soft voice. “You do both without even realizing it."

“Be that as it may, it does not mean I will always act upon it. I do have a whit of self-control, you realize. It has never been in my nature to simply attack a woman, you know. I don't make a habit of it."

Her throat closed at the heat in his voice. He was angry now, angrier than she had ever seen. He didn't raise his voice, but it was scorching all the same and she had the feeling this could grow way out of control. Still, her own hackles were raised now, claws and teeth bared for the battle.

“You have no idea, do you, the effect you have on a lady? Without saying a word, you have the ability to reduce one to a blob of jelly and, you forget, I know these sorts! I know how tempting they might be! That's how they survive!"

“Of course you know!” He was shouting now. “You won't let me forget, and I know you sure as hell won't forget! But that doesn't mean I intend to bed every female whose path I cross! And, if you think I am that clueless—"

“Of course I cannot forget!” Now she was also yelling, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “How can I forget? I have to think of it anytime anyone asks me how I met you! I certainly cannot tell them the truth now, can I?"

“I don't care what you tell anyone, Heather. I do not give a damn what anyone thinks."

“Oh, you say that now. But mark my words, should it become known, I don't think you'd take that same attitude.” She sighed softly, leaning against the wall. “I don't think your family would be so happy to learn that their son met his wife in a—a whorehouse."

He opened his mouth to argue, but then sighed, his shoulders slumping as he sunk down onto the sloped pine floor. “You are right, Heather,” he said after a long silence. “You are absolutely right."

She could see the emotions flit across his face as he raked his fingers through his hair, leaning his head back against the wall, eyes closed. The fight left her as she sighed heavily. “I am so sorry, Drew. I wish it was different."

He opened his eyes to look at her. “I don't.” He held up one hand. “Come here."

She walked over to him, slipping her hand into his. He drew her down to sit beside him on the slightly warped floor. Easing an arm about her shoulders, he said, “I would not change a thing, love. I don't care where you were or what you were doing. Remember, I know the truth. I'd wager those sheets are still bloodstained if anyone really wished proof.” He nuzzled her playfully, adding, “I love you, Heather. And yes, I would have proposed whether you carried my child or not. I just wish to marry you. You might be surprised, but it is that simple."

She leaned against him, suddenly very tired. “I only wish everything were that simple."

He kissed the top of her head. “I know, love. I know."

Thirty-five

Melanie Tomlinson had always enjoyed lording over the younger generation in Brunswick. She was strikingly beautiful, with long sable brown hair and eyes like the darkest chocolate. She was spoiled and pampered by those around her. The only child of Brunswick's wealthiest family, she should have been a prime marriage candidate.

Trouble was; her beauty ran no deeper than her fine porcelain skin. She was a spoiled gossip. No story was too scandalous, and if wasn't scandalous enough, she was not above adding spice where needed. Her peers had long ago learned it was a matter of survival to keep Melanie from learning anything that might come back to haunt them. She was responsible for the ruination of couples, as well as several forced marriages—such as Kendall Kennedy and Julian McCallister. It was Melanie's rumors regarding a nonexistent tryst that had resulted in their marriage. Melanie had set her cap for the dashing sea captain from Connecticut and attempted to ruin Kendall in order to snare him herself. The plan backfired, though, as their union became a love match and Melanie's treachery was exposed.

And yet, her social standing never suffered. People still angled for invitations to Tomlinson balls and parties and very few families—namely the Kennedys—crossed her name from their registries.

And so, she was still admired and envied by the other young women, and desired by Brunswick's male population. Or so she preferred to believe. She had no qualms about trying to snatch a beau out from under the noses of her even closest friends. But she was a Tomlinson and, as such, she was readily forgiven time and again. Men found it hard to resist her beauty and her wealth, with the exception of the two men she'd chosen to set her sights on—the Kennedy brothers.

She paid scant attention to the rumors swirling about Brunswick regarding a lovely young woman newly arrived from England. It mattered not to her. The girl was nothing as far as she was concerned. After all, the stranger was living with Christina Anderson, on the western outskirts of Brunswick, so she might as well not even exist.

Then she heard the terrible rumor. Drew and this mystery woman were betrothed, that it was a love match, indeed. The Tomlinson servants could hear the crashes and muffled shouts from Melanie's lavish bedroom, and couldn't help but snicker at the fact that, once again, her self-centered actions had led to nothing.

Now, as she stood in MacDowell's Emporium, perusing a selection of fine Parisian lace, her thoughts were a jumble. Shopping was always the best cure for troubled thoughts, so she left MacDowell's and made her way up the walkway towards yet another shop.

“Miss Tomlinson?"

She didn't halt her stride as the tall, bone-thin man fell into step beside her. Instead, she ignored him, lifting her chin and staring straight ahead.

He didn't take the hint, though, loping along as he spoke louder. “Miss Tomlinson!"

A sigh leaked from between her clenched teeth as she stopped and affixed the man with her steeliest glare. “Yes?” She fought the urge to grimace as she looked him over. He was taller than she, and very gangly, arms and legs as limp as old rope. His eyes were sharp, though, and the coldest icy blue she'd ever seen. “Do I know you?"

“I doubt it. Name's Henry—"

She sniffed, setting her jaw. “Well, Mr. Henry, if you will excuse me. I have much to do this morning and no time to waste on the likes of you."

If her rudeness fazed him, he didn't show it. Instead, as she resumed her pace, he hurried after her. “Now, you may rethink that, when you hear what I have to tell you."

Irritation shot through her. She could just imagine what anyone would think, should they see her standing in broad daylight with this ragamuffin. There was no way she could let that happen. People didn't gossip about her. They were too busy being envious of her. Still, she had to admit, she was curious. So, despite her better judgment, she halted her steps and faced him again. “And what is it you have to tell me that I could possibly be interested in?"

“Captain Kennedy.” His expression was one of extreme smugness as he folded his arms over his sunken chest and lowered his almost non-existent sandy eyebrows.

He was right, she was interested. “What about him?"

He glanced around. “Not here. I wouldn't want to be overheard."

“Well, you are mad if you think I am going to accompany you anywhere without a chaperone,” she replied in her haughtiest tone. “You're fortunate I am even speaking with you here, on the street, in front of everyone."

He rolled his eyes. “Very well. I suppose I can simply keep this to myself. Although, I know it's something you would be most interested in hearing."

Her curiosity was aroused now, but so was her impatience. “I do not have to stand here and bicker with you, you know."

“Then come with me."

Her eyes widened and she let out a rather undignified squeal as he wrapped skeletal fingers about her wrist to pull her around the corner of MacDowell's. The strength in those skinny fingers took her by surprise. He certainly did not look that strong. Rather, he looked as though a slight breeze might sweep him down the street.

Once they were off the main street, Melanie yanked her arm free, staring at him with as much cold superiority as she could muster. “What is this all about?” she demanded, casting a quick look about to make certain no prying eyes were upon her. Beech Street was deserted, though. There were several tiny shops tucked in amongst the small houses, but none seemed to be doing much business this morning.

He gave her a chilly smile. “What is it worth to you, Miss Tomlinson?"

“It's worth nothing,” she replied with equal coldness. “I don't know what this is all about, so why should it be worth anything to me?"

“Spare me, Melanie. We both know you would sell your own mother for a juicy bit regarding Drew Kennedy."

She swung her reticule slowly. “Is that a fact?"

“Ask anyone in town."

“Very well. What do you wish in return?"

He smiled again, folding twig-like arms over his skinny chest. “Enough gold to purchase my own ship."

“You are insane. Good day."

Henry held up his hands as she turned to march away. “Very well. I would settle for a commission on another ship. I can find no work without a recommendation from Kennedy and he'll not give me one."

“Why?"

“Very well. If you are not interested, I will find someone else who is. I don't have time for these inane questions."

“You have to admit, it's a perfectly logical question,” she said. “You have been with him for years. Everyone knows that. Why turn on him now?"

“I am fed up with taking orders from him. Of his thinking that simply because he can captain a ship and bank off his father's name, that he is second only to God."

The vehemence in his words startled her. “Well, what do you have?"

He gave her a sly smile. “I have a little information on a certain Miss Heather Spencer."

That most definitely sparked her attention. “Do you now?"

Henry didn't miss the gleam in her eyes. He knew he'd been pushing it with trying to get something in return, but the truth was he didn't care much. He just wanted to strike back, to cause Drew as much pain as Drew had caused him.

Though he was in the process of healing, he still couldn't move without pain. It was a constant reminder of the pummeling he'd suffered at the captain's hands. He was also unemployed now, and could not get a recommendation for another job. That thought sent a fresh wave of fury surging through him. He knew he could never confront Kennedy directly. He was no match for the man's size and physical strength. But, he knew Kennedy's weakness.

He knew how Drew had met Heather.

Melanie was frowning at him now. “If you tell me what this great secret is, I can make certain you find work on one of Markson's ships."

Markson Shipping was the second largest shipping company in Brunswick. Henry's eyes gleamed at the thought. “That would suffice."

“So?"

“Oh, no. I want this in writing first,” he countered, eyes narrowing slyly. “How do I know I can trust you?"

Melanie gripped her reticule so tightly her knuckles turned white. “You will simply have to take that chance, I'm afraid."

“Very well,” he sighed. “I happen to know that the son of one of Brunswick's most esteemed families met his bride-to-be at an establishment known as Delilah's."

“And that is important, because...?"

The sly grin was firmly in place. “Ask any sailor who's been to London about Delilah's. It's one of the city's more prominent whorehouses."

“What?” she gasped, a triumphant smile rising to her lips. “Do you mean to say—?"

“Miss Heather Spencer belonged to none other than Madam Allison, the house's proprietress. She was working there."

She could not contain her glee. “You are joking!"

“I am not. Heather Spencer serviced him. And God only knows how many other men."

She clapped her hands like a gleeful child given the greatest gift in the world. “Oh, that is fantastic! Drew Kennedy is marrying a—a—” she couldn't bring herself to say the word aloud.

“Whore.” Henry supplied readily.

She could not believe this piece of news. It was even better than a story, for if it was the truth, there was no way either Drew or his intended could deny it. The sun seemed to shine brighter now, as she pictured the looks of horror and shock when the news made the rounds of Brunswick. And it would, most definitely make the rounds.

She gave Henry her most captivating smile. “You shall have your commission, sir. I will see to that at once."

Thirty-six

Within days, the news had spread like wildfire throughout Brunswick. People whispered and snickered, speculating and wondering. Henry had been given his commission, setting sail on the Triton by sunset the day after letting Melanie in on the secret. The last thing he wanted was to be in Brunswick when the stories found their way to Drew Kennedy's ears.

Garrett was at his desk, on the top floor of Eagleton's warehouse, when he heard the thunder of booted feet racing up the stairs. The thuds echoed through the small, open space, causing him to start, which in turn sent his quill airborne.

A moment later, the door crashed open with a resounding bang as it met the wall. Garrett was on his hands and knees, under the desk in search of his lost quill when the door banged open. He jumped again, smacking the back of his head against the corner of the oak desk. Peering over the desk's beveled edge, he glared at the panting man rushing towards him.

“Damn it, McCallister! Must you make an entrance every time you make an entrance?” he grumbled, grabbing the wayward quill and standing up, rubbing the knot now forming on the back of his skull.

Julian didn't answer immediately, but dropped into a chair, tugging at his stock. “You—will not—believe—the story I—just heard—” he panted, yanking his stock from his neck and using it to mop his sweaty face.

Garrett's brow furrowed as he took in his brother-in-law's disheveled appearance. “What is it, then? You look as though you just bumped into the devil himself."

“I think I did. Or at least a human incarnation of the devil.” Julian bent over, pressing his hands to the floor as he struggled to control his breathing.

“What is going on?” Garrett demanded, the ledger in front of him forgotten.

“I just bumped into George Hadley and you will not believe what he had to say."

“Regarding what?"

“Your brother."

Garrett groaned, dropping into his chair, head back and eyes closed. “What did he do this time? I know for a fact the Aphrodite is still in her berth."

“No.” Julian shook his head “It has nothing to do with leaving. Although whomever started this nugget might find it healthier to take to the sea."

“Then what?"

“Well, for starters, what do you know about Miss Spencer?"

Garrett jerked upright, wincing as a pain went streaking through his temples. “Why?"

“Just answer me."

“He met her in London. At a party, I believe my father said."

“Are you so certain of that?"

“Why wouldn't that be the case?"

“Well, according to George, that is not at all where they met."

“And this is cause for concern because...?"

Julian took a deep breath. He did not want to be the one telling this to Garrett. He was the Kennedy with the fiercest temper—something Julian had tangled with in the past and had no desire to do again. He shifted back in his chair, making certain he was not within arm's reach of Garrett, in case he decided to smash the messenger.

“You've been in London before, haven't you?"

“Of course I have,” Garrett growled, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. “Why?"

“Have you heard tell of an establishment known as Delilah's?"

“I've never frequented it, but yes, I've heard of it.” Garrett shook his head. “What does any of this have to do with Drew? It's his business if he paid them a visit. As he is so fond of reminding me, he is a grown man."

“That is not the problem, Garrett. The problem is Heather."

A sudden, knowing glint came into Garrett's blue eyes. “Are you saying what I think you are saying?” His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, the pit of his stomach dropping to the floor at Julian's slow nod. “Oh, bloody hell."

“Exactly. Now, if I've heard about it, you can wager others have as well."

Garrett swore under his breath, shoving his chair back and rising at the same time. “That idiot!” He fumed, yanking his frock coat from the back of his chair and shrugging into it. “I am going to kill him!"

“That's a bit harsh, don't you think?"

“It's better that it's me rather than my father. And we both know my father is going to hit the roof over this one. Scandal is one thing. Bringing home a whore is entirely different!"

Julian made no move to block Garrett as he circled the desk in one stride and stormed towards the door. He knew all too well the fire behind this particular Kennedy's temper and had no desire to get in the way of that fury. That would only serve to get him broken in half—and that only if Garrett was feeling generous. He knew where Garrett was going, and would never be fool enough to try to stop him. For one of the few times in their formerly adversarial relationship, Julian agreed with his brother-in-law. Drew had stepped over the line this time and Julian had the feeling it was going to end badly for the younger of the brothers.

* * * *

Drew had just returned to his room at Shadowbrook when Garrett suddenly burst through the door, shouting, “What the hell is the matter with you?"

Drew, in the process of removing his dirt-spattered boots, jerked his head up to see the fire flashing in his brother's eyes. “And a good day to you, too, Garrett,” he replied dryly. “To what do I owe this friendly visit?"

“What is wrong with you? Do you ever use your head, Drew?"

“What egregious error in judgment have I committed this time?"

Garrett slammed the door shut with such a force that a painting on the wall outside the room hit the floor with a crash. Drew could practically see the fury radiating from him, but he couldn't imagine what could cause Garrett such anger. True, there were times when it didn't take much to set him off, but Drew usually had some inkling of how he'd nettled his brother.

He yanked off his left boot, dropping it calmly as he said, “You might want to see if that frame broke."

“To hell with the damned frame!” Garrett snapped, pausing in front of him, hands on his hips, glaring down.

“What is it that's got you in such an uproar?"

“I'll tell you what! How could you do something so stupid as to bring your whore back from England with you?"

Drew felt the blood drain from his face, splashing into his stomach and sending a wave of ice rippling through his veins. “What?"

“You heard me.” Garrett's voice was scorching, flames practically shooting from his mouth. “What the hell were you thinking? And to bring her into this family, no less? Are you trying to destroy everything our father, our grandfather, worked their whole lives to build?"

Drew calmly tugged off his right boot, letting it drop beside its mate. “I've no idea what you are talking about, Garrett. I think, perhaps, the heat is getting to you."

“Oh, do you now? Well, in case you have forgotten, her name is Heather and apparently, she spent some time working in a brothel. Delilah's, to be exact. Does that name ring a bell?"

Drew got to his feet, roughly brushing by his brother as he said, “You've no idea what you are talking about, so I highly suggest you stop talking right now."

“Are you telling me I am wrong?"

“I am telling you to mind your own business.” He moved to his wardrobe, pulling open the left side door and bending into it to extract another pair of polished black Hessians. “I don't need you living my life for me, thank you very much."

Garrett crossed his arms over his chest, turning to watch as Drew tugged on the new boots. “This is no longer simply your business, Drew. You do realize that, don't you? You are on the verge of destroying Eagleton!"

“How? How am I doing anything of the sort? As I said, you know not what you are talking about."

“I most certainly do know. Heather—the woman you brought into Shadowbrook, the woman our family welcomed into their midst—is a whore!"

“If I were you,” Drew replied, his jaw clenching as anger tightened every fiber in his body, “I would stop talking this minute, Garrett. And I mean it. Not another word."

“Aren't you even curious as to how I know about her? How I know where you met her? I can tell you, Momma and Da will be upset enough when they find out their innocent angel frequents whorehouses. They are going to hit the roof when they learn you intend to marry one of the whores."

Drew's fist tightened, his entire body straining to keep from throwing a punch guaranteed to level his brother. “I will say this only once more. Drop it. If you call Heather a whore once more, I will remove your teeth from your mouth."

“What else would you call her, Drew? Christ, what the hell were you thinking? Were you even thinking? I mean, with your head?"

Raw, white-hot anger slowly poured into Drew, sending his heart hammering against his ribs and speeding up his breathing. “Heather is anything but a whore. If I hear that word pass your lips in reference to her again, I promise you, I will take you apart."

“Well, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but I am not the only one who knows,” Garrett retorted sharply, moving over to the window to peer through the drapes. “And, as I said, you are on the verge of destroying all this family has worked for."

“I've done nothing of the sort,” he said, shaking his head. “Now, I'll kindly ask you again to take your nose from my business and stop treating me as if I was a wayward boy in need of guidance. I am—"

“A grown man. Yes, I know,” Garrett sighed, holding up a hand, moving away from the window to stand before him once more. “Spare me, please. If you want to be treated like a grown man, don't you think it's time you stop behaving as if you were a brainless jackass interested only in how many beds you can visit? This is the most asinine thing you have ever done. And now you want to marry the girl? Why? What the hell is wrong with you? Did you think no one would ever learn the truth? That you married a woman used by God knows how many other men and—"

Drew didn't let him finish. He swung. His right fist smashed into Garrett's jaw, sending him reeling across the room to crash into the wall beside the bed. “I warned you,” he growled, shaking with anger. “You do not know what the hell you are talking about, so it's in your best interest to keep your mouth shut."

Garrett pushed away from the wall, ruefully rubbing his jaw. “Do you even want to know how I know, Drew? Aren't you even the least bit curious? Julian told me about an hour ago. He heard from George Hadley—"

“What?” Drew's stomach twisted into a painful knot, bile rising in his throat as Garrett's heated words washed over his brain. “What did you say?"

“You heard me. It's making its way through Brunswick even as we speak. Andrew Kiernan Kennedy, second in command at Eagleton Shipping, currently Brunswick's most eligible bachelor, is marrying a former whore. They are going to love this bit, don't you think? Momma and Da will be so happy for you."

“Oh, bloody hell...” Drew collapsed into the chair by the window, forearms resting on his thighs, hands dangling between his knees, and his head dropped forward, eyes focused on the floor.

“Now, do you want to tell me what the hell is going on, or do you simply wish to hit me again?"

Drew didn't answer. It was as if all the air in the room had been sucked out and he was slowly being turned inside out. His stomach cramped as he thought about his parents’ reaction, once they learned the truth. And he did not doubt for a moment that they would. Nor did he doubt they would be beyond furious. He'd brought shame down onto his family. Unintentionally, of course, but that would no longer matter.

Heather.

He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as he thought about her. There was no way his parents would ever allow a marriage to take place between them now. If he was lucky, his father would not disown him outright.

Lifting his head, it was to find Garrett still staring down at him. “I am telling you, it's not what you think. It's not that at all."

“So, why don't you tell me what it is?” The heat was gone from Garrett's voice, though he kept rubbing the bruise forming on his jaw.

“I did meet her at Delilah's. Brady St. Charles, a friend of mine, told me about this absolutely stunning girl working there. I was curious, so I went with him.

“Garrett, when I went into that room, I was blown away by her. She didn't belong there. She absolutely did not belong there.” He could feel the weight lifting as he rubbed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair. It was almost a relief to not have to keep Heather's secret to himself. Almost.

“Of course not. She was a perfectly innocent little miss, am I right?” Garrett drawled sarcastically.

Drew ignored Garrett's knowing look. “She was. I know you don't believe it, but it's true. She was innocent in every way imaginable."

“And you decided it would be a terrific idea to bring her to America? To save her from this horrible life?"

Drew rolled his eyes at the scorn in Garrett's voice. “Not exactly. It seems her father was deeply in debt to the madam, amongst other creditors. Upon his death, she sold off her family's possessions to pay his debts. She had nothing left, and still had Madam Allison to pay. So, the woman basically indentured Heather to work off her father's liability."

“And that's when you thought you'd take her in?"

“Don't make me hit you again."

Garrett grinned, pausing his jaw-rubbing. “I'd appreciate it."

“No. After she told me this, I couldn't help it. I wanted to help her. Hell, I just wanted her."

“So you did feel sorry for her?"

“Well, of course I did. She did not belong there. But, I wanted her, so I asked her to be my mistress."

Garrett rolled his eyes. “This story keeps getting better and better, Drew."

“I didn't touch her that night. But, there was something there, it drew me to her. I paid off her debt and in return, she would be my mistress. However, nothing was consummated until we set sail.” He let out a mighty sigh, sinking back into the chair. “And, I can vouch for the fact that she is—or I should say was—a virgin."

“She was?"

He ignored the arched brow Garrett gave him, as it was a move he generally relied upon to either intimidate or humor, but Drew felt neither as he simply stared back. “She was. Trust me. Blood streaked the sheets."

“And you are certain she didn't keep a vial on hand, in order to raise her price?"

“Do you really wish for me to hit you again?” Drew asked sharply, fresh irritation rearing its head. “Andie was a virgin, wasn't she? Certainly you know how it feels to be the first man, don't you?” He took a great satisfaction in the color staining Garrett's cheeks. “I see that you do."

Garrett cleared his throat. “Very well, I suppose I do. But, that does not change the fact that you met her in a house of sin. In the eyes of the world, she is a harlot and no amount of protestation will change that."

The weight that had lifted from Drew's shoulders was pressing down upon them once again. Garrett was right and he knew it. Heather was ruined in the eyes of Brunswick. He sat upright as he asked, “You said Hadley told McCallister. Who told old Georgie?"

“That I don't know, Drew. But, I can hazard a guess where such a rumor might have originated."

This made no sense to Drew. No one in Brunswick could possibly know about Heather's time at Delilah's. The only people who could have known would be those on board the Aphrodite. And certainly his crew—

“Henry Donaldson.” Drew's voice had dropped to a low, angry growl. “That son of a bitch. I will kill him. I warned him—"

He moved to leap from the chair, only to be held back by Garrett. “Wait, wait. Before you go avenging the lady's honor, don't you think you have more pressing matters at hand? Like our father?"

“I'm afraid I've got even worse problems."

Garrett could see his brother's shoulders slump and suddenly, Drew seemed years older. “What is it?"

He ran another hand through his hair. “She's pregnant, Garrett."

“What?!"

Drew nodded. “Oh, yes. I am going to make them grandparents in about six months."

“Bloody hell."

“Oh, I don't think of it that way. Tell you the truth, I am pretty damn excited about it. I love her, Garrett. I don't give a damn what anyone might say. Hell, I've never cared what anyone thought about what I did. I know the truth and to hell with anyone who chooses to believe otherwise."

“Think you it's as simple as that?"

“No, of course not. But do you hear what I am saying? I am in love with her. I can't simply stop that because it doesn't suit what people think."

“Well, you are going to have to think long and hard about everything, once Momma and Da find out. I don't think they will be too pleased to have Heather as their daughter-in-law."

“Drew!"

He winced as his father's angry roar reached his ears. “I've a feeling I am about to find out."

Thirty-seven

Drew knew the roof was about to be dropped on his head as he came down the stairs to find his father at the bottom, dark eyes blazing with fury. Without having to ask, he knew the rumor had reached Warren's ears. “Yes?"

“A word, if you don't mind?"

“Where is Momma?"

“Mercifully unawares, as she is taking a nap.” Warren's reply was sharp as he gestured to the library.

Garrett appeared at the top of the stairs. “Da, before—"

“Keep out of this,” Warren growled. “This is between your brother and me."

Drew took a deep breath as he stepped into the library, wincing as his father slid the doors together with a resounding thud. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Warren so furious. Most likely when it was Kendall being discussed in hushed whispers and with sniggering giggles.

“How could you?” Warren thundered, striding across the room to the table where the liquor was kept. He poured himself a hefty tumbler of bourbon, slugging half of it in one gulp. “How could you be so stupid? A whore, Drew? What were you thinking?"

Drew felt his hackles rise. “She is not a whore."

“So these stories are not true, then? You did not meet her in a whorehouse?"

“Da—"

“Answer me!"

“Yes! Is that what you want to hear?” Drew threw his hands up in frustration. “Yes! I did meet her in a whorehouse. There, my halo is now permanently tarnished! I confess—I set foot in a house of sin! I bought a woman!"

“Why on earth would you bring her here? And to marry her? What in the name of Christ were you thinking?"

“I was thinking that I love her. And, she is not what you think she is. Trust me, she isn't."

“Is that so? I find it hard to believe you came out of a brothel with a nun!” Warren's hand shook as he slammed the glass back to the tabletop. “You realize, of course, you cannot possibly marry this woman."

“Of course I can. I intend to do just that."

“I am afraid that is not possible, Drew. You will have nothing more to do with her. Have you any idea, any inkling, of what this will do to your mother when she hears it? That harlot stayed beneath our roof! We accepted her into this family!"

Anger gnawed at Drew's insides, but he knew he couldn't very well take a swing at his father. “I am no longer a boy, Da. It is my decision as to whom I marry, and Heather is the choice I've made."

“Is that a fact?"

He folded his arms over his chest, his eyes locking with his father's. “Yes."

“Then you will no longer be welcome in this house.” Warren's reply was swift, his voice resonating through the house. “I will not have that trash in my house."

“That trash, as you so succinctly put it, is no more a whore than any other woman associated with this family. Circumstances beyond her control forced her to be there, but I can assure you, she was as innocent as Kendall was after her supposed tryst with Julian."

“Do not even think to drag your sister into this, Andrew. It is not the same thing."

“And how would you know?” Drew's deep voice rose to a shout, bouncing off the walls in a deep thunderclap. “How would anyone presume to know what took place before I met her? I am the one who knows for damn certain that she was untouched before I came into her life. I am the only one who knows."

Warren's expression became one of horror mixed with shock, as if he could not believe Drew would have the gall to stand up to him, to defy him in such a manner. “It matters not what she was or wasn't before you met her, Andrew,” he replied coldly. “What matters is what is being said now. I will not allow you to marry this trollop and give her our name. Should you choose to do so, you are on your own. You will cease to be my son."

Drew felt the impact of those words down to the soles of his feet as a sudden chill flooded him. “You would disown me over this?"

Warren's expression was bland, his eyes flat. “I would."

Drew did not like being backed into this corner. His first instinct was to strike back with as much force as possible. “Very well. To hell with you and to hell with this family.” He practically spat the words at his father as he turned on his heel and slammed out of the library.

* * * *

Heather was lying down when Jeremy tapped lightly on her door and called, “Miss Heather? Drew is here to see you."

She sat up, feeling groggy as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Drew is here?"

He nodded. “I'll send him up."

“Please."

With that, he was gone. Moments later, she heard the sounds of Drew's boots on the stairs, then he appeared in the doorway. She would have smiled, but the danger glinting in his eyes instantly put her on her guard.

“Drew, what is it?"

He looked pained as he said, “People know."

Dread flooded her, replacing the blood in her veins, as those two words reached her ears. She didn't have to ask. She already knew. It was a good thing she was still sitting, for she would have fallen over if not. A disbelieving “What?” was all she could muster.

He nodded. “I just found out myself."

“But ... how? Who?"

“I can't say for certain, but I believe it was Henry. Don't worry, I have every intention of dealing with that little maggot."

As he spoke, he came into the room to sit beside her on the bed. She could see something else was troubling him. He certainly did not have that devil-may-care sense about him now. She reached for his hand, whispering, “What is it?"

“If I marry you, love, my father has informed me I will cease to be his son."

“Oh, Drew, that is terrible.” She could not believe what she was hearing, that Warren would turn on Drew in so vicious a manner. That he would take everything away from Drew, right down to his name—his birthright.

She could see the pain in his eyes as they met hers and she whispered, “Well, it's decided then."

“I didn't say I'd changed my mind. I have every intention of making you my wife."

Her heart ached as she gazed up at him. He was willing to sacrifice all for her, to throw away everything he had worked so hard to obtain. He would pick up and walk away from his family to be with her. It amazed her, the depth of his love for her. It amazed her and warmed her to her core. Never before had she dared dream a man would love her with such conviction.

She could not let him do it.

As she sat there, stroking the back of his hand, she knew she could never ask him to make that kind of a sacrifice for her. He would only live to regret it. Love could fade. Family was for life.

“Drew?"

“Yes?"

“Go home."

“What?"

She took a deep breath. She knew she would hate herself for the rest of her days, but she could not let him destroy his entire life for her. “I said, go home."

“Heather, didn't you hear what I said?"

“Yes. I did hear. But, I've been thinking—quite a bit of thinking. I've decided I wish to return to London."

“What?” Drew frowned, as if he hadn't heard her correctly. “London?"

“Yes. I miss England terribly.” She knew her next words would kill him, but it was the only way she could think of to get him to leave her and try to restore his relationship with his family. “And I know you can't live there. Not with your business being here. It simply isn't possible then—"

He didn't let her finish, but gave her a lopsided smile. “A nice attempt, Heather."

“What makes you think I am not serious?” she demanded, rising to her feet to face him squarely. She didn't know what else to say. On one hand, she was quite moved by the fact that he was so willing to walk away from everything. On the other, she knew she could never rid herself of the guilt, knowing she had cost him the people he loved so dearly and the company for which he'd spent almost half of his life toiling.

She thought of the child she carried, of what awaited her in London, should she return with a bastard. She also thought of when that child was five, six years old and asking for his father. What would she tell him?

She looked up at Drew, trying to imagine his features on a little boy or girl. How strong would the pain be, looking down at that child and seeing his handsome father, who was no longer a part of her life? It hurt now, and he stood right there before her. She couldn't imagine it would be any easier in several years.

Still, she knew what must be done. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin and said, “I could never ask you to make that choice, Drew."

“You aren't asking me to do anything,” he replied calmly. “This is a choice I've made alone. A decision I made months ago."

“Think of what that means, though."

He closed his eyes for a long moment, his expression that of a man in mortal agony. She didn't need to tell him what it meant—that he would have to start from the beginning, rebuild his life, that he would never again be able to count on his family, his name.

Then he opened his eyes and his gaze was soft as he regarded her. Shaking his head, he reached for her hand, saying, “It's a sacrifice I am more than willing to make, Heather."

She stared at him for a long moment, then glanced down at that large hand holding hers. “I do not wish for you to come to regret this, Drew,” she whispered, slowly pulling her hand free. “And I am afraid that is exactly what will happen. Perhaps not tomorrow, or next year, but it will happen. You will awake one morning to the terrible realization that your life has gone horribly awry."

“That will never happen."

“You don't know that."

“I do know that. I know you think I've made this mistake before. And perhaps I came very close to doing just that. But all I know is that what I feel for you does not even compare to Rebecca. I am not that same man any longer. I know what I want, Heather. And you are what I want.” He moved to close the gap between them, taking her into his arms. “You are what I want and I could never regret that."

He did not give her the chance to argue as his lips came down to seize hers in a fierce kiss that left no room for her to doubt exactly what it was he felt for her. When they parted, he wrapped his arms about her, pulling her to his chest. She sighed softly, resting her head against the broad expanse, listening to the strong, steady thumping of his heart.

Kissing the top of her head, he murmured, “Tonight we will be married. Tomorrow, we will leave for London."

“London? Are you certain?"

As she looked up at him with questioning eyes, he nodded. “Yes. There is no reason for us to remain here. In London, I can make a fresh start for us. If we remain here, there is nothing but rumors and innuendoes facing us. I'd rather give our child a brighter future in England."

“If you are certain...?"

He nodded. “I am. I will gather the Aphrodite's crew together and we will leave with the tide tomorrow."

“But—"

He cut her off with a kiss. “The Aphrodite is mine. The deed is in my name. My father cannot touch her."

She heard the bitterness in his voice and couldn't help but again think he was making a mistake—a terrible mistake. “Perhaps we should wait, then,” she murmured, chewing at her forefinger, “until tempers cool. Then, if things have not changed, we can set sail."

“Heather—"

“No.” She pulled free from his embrace. “You are angry. Your father is most likely angry as well. Give it a few days, Drew. See what happens. At least then, we will both know that you gave it a chance. I know what your temper is like, and I'll wager your father has the same fiery temperament as well. Can we not see if cooler heads will prevail?"

A flash of irritation glinted in his eyes, but he slowly nodded. “Very well. I will give it a few days. But, I do wish us to be married as soon as possible. Perhaps that will prove to them I am most serious about this."

She had to agree. After all, she'd been growing most concerned about their wedding. She was nearly three months along. It would certainly raise eyebrows if their baby was born too soon after their wedding. It wouldn't make much of a difference, since the child would be legitimate at birth, but would cause much speculation amongst the populace of Brunswick. Of course, if they did return to London, it would be a moot point. Still, the sooner they were married, the easier Heather knew she'd breathe.

Thirty-eight

At sunset that evening, Judge Montgomery Adler presided over the wedding ceremony of Andrew Kiernan Kennedy and Heather Elizabeth Spencer. It was a simple ceremony, taking place at the elegant, white marble edifice of the Brunswick courthouse. Jeremy Allen and Christina Anderson were the only guests present, acting as witnesses as the judge read the simple vows.

Heather's eyes filled with tears of joy as Drew eased a delicate gold ring onto the third finger of her left hand, then took her in his arms for their first kiss as man and wife.

When it was over, he ordered their driver to take them to the harbor. As their home remained unfurnished, he explained, they would spend their wedding night in the privacy of his cabin aboard the Aphrodite. In the morning, he would confront his father with the news of his marriage.

“But for now,” he whispered, setting her gently in the middle of the bed and covering her body with his, “we shall forget the outside world and celebrate our first night as man and wife the way it was meant to be celebrated."

* * * *

Samantha Kennedy slammed her hairbrush onto her vanity table, affixing her husband with an icy blue stare. “You told Drew what?"

Warren was unmoved by his wife's expression of temper. “I forbid him to have anything to do with that harlot."

“Have you gone mad?” she demanded, rising from the vanity bench, drawing her pelisse tightly about her as she crossed over to the bed. “He is our son! You cannot do such a thing!"

“You would have a strumpet as a daughter-in-law?” he countered, yanking off a boot to fire across the room.

“Oh, you do not know for a fact that she was anything of the sort!"

“I do know that is what people are saying, what the impact of those words will have on this family, on Eagleton. He will ruin his life if he marries her."

“But to disown him, Warren? How could you do such a thing?” She gave a vicious tug on the bedcovers, practically tearing them from the bed. “I cannot turn my back on him. Perhaps you can, but I cannot go along with that."

“You are my wife,” he replied in an icy voice. “You will do as I say."

“Oh, will I now?” Her words were scorching hot, almost smoking with fury. “I hate to break this to you, but I will be doing no such thing, then. It's ludicrous!"

He threw up his hands. “I assumed you would be the first to see the folly of his actions. It's the most idiotic thing he has ever done, Samantha. We've always indulged his every whim, always thought his unconventional ways were something he would eventually grow out of. Perhaps we made a mistake. Perhaps we should have encouraged him to be more serious, like Garrett."

She shook her head. “That would have been an even bigger mistake, Warren. Garrett is far too serious at times. Drew has always been able to make him forget that seriousness for a while. He has always been able to do that for all of us and I would never wish for him to change, to lose that puckishness. No, the most idiotic thing he could have ever done would have been to marry that Rebecca trash,” she stated flatly, slipping into bed.

She leaned back against the pillows, arms crossed and glaring at her husband. She could not believe what he was telling her. Her son in a brothel. Heather the strumpet he'd paid for ... The very thought made her skin crawl.

She was not so naïve as to believe Drew was an angel—that he never put a foot wrong. But, she did like to believe she'd raised her children with some modicum of decency. That did not include visits to such places as Delilah's. Oh, she knew both of her sons had developed somewhat rakish reputations, but no matter what, she could not condemn them for their behavior. Both followed in their father's footsteps, for Warren had been every inch the irrepressible rake before she came into his life. As long as neither one brought too great a scandal to Shadowbrook's doorstep, she was most willing to look in the other direction. They were grown men, after all, and thus entitled to live their lives as they saw fit.

She genuinely liked Heather Spencer. The girl seemed every inch a respectable lady and Samantha refused to believe she was anything but that. “I don't care what people are saying, Warren,” she continued, her voice softer now. “You do not know if it's even true."

“I do know."

She thought her heart had actually stopped beating for a moment. Leaning forward, she whispered, “What?"

“Drew confessed, Sam. He met her in a brothel. He told me as much. And, he paid for her—ah—services.” As her pale skin went paler still, he nodded. “Yes, exactly. The rumors are not entirely false. He does, however, claim that she was—” he cleared his throat—"not very experienced at her profession."

She resisted the urge to shudder. It wasn't a conversation she ever thought she'd be having in regards to Drew. No mother wishes to see her son as every other man, with the same urges and desires when it came to the pleasures of the flesh. It wasn't a subject with which she was entirely comfortable dealing.

“So, she—"

“Was a virgin,” Warren finished for her. “But, that does not change the fact that—"

She interrupted. “It does change things. As far as I am concerned, it does. I will not, and I cannot, simply pretend that Drew no longer exists. He is in love with her. You would destroy that for him? I have seen them together, seen how he looks at her and how she looks at him. I cannot ruin that for him. For the first time in years, he is truly happy, Warren. He is the man he was before that Rebecca came into his life. I do not wish to see that man die again and he will if you do this to him."

Warren sighed softly. “This will mean a scandal beyond any we have faced."

“As if scandal is anything new to this family,” she reminded him gently, as he slipped into bed beside her. “Eventually, talk will die down and people will forget."

“I certainly hope so, Sam, but I am afraid I am not as confident as you seem to be."

She smoothed a hand over his graying black hair. “Trust him. Trust that he knows what he is doing."

His mind refused to rest though. She extinguished the lamps, plunging them into darkness, and it wasn't long before he could hear her deep, even breathing beside him.

Sleep evaded him, though, as he lay there, staring through the darkness at the ceiling. In fact, he wasn't the least bit certain he would ever get a good night's sleep again.

Thirty-nine

London had not changed at all in the time Heather was gone, and she quickly settled into the townhouse where she had agreed to become Drew Kennedy's mistress. It took several weeks for her to work through the anger she'd felt, upon waking the morning after her wedding to learn they had put to sea, leaving Brunswick, and America, far behind.

She couldn't believe Drew would lie to her so easily, agreeing to sit down and speak with his father when cooler heads prevailed, and then doing just the opposite. Instead, he deceived her, fully intending to leave for England as soon as possible. She refused to speak to him for almost a week, giving him the coldest of shoulders, despite his stubborn insistence that he knew what he was doing.

The Marquis of Collingsworth had been more than willing to allow Drew and his bride to set up residence in Grosvenor Square until Drew could make arrangements elsewhere, as the marquis wished to spend more time at his country estate in Kent.

After Boxing Day, Drew announced he'd found them a perfectly acceptable town house in Town—in Berkeley Square. They moved in and were settled in almost no time.

It was a most unsettling time for her. She felt as though she was growing rounder by the day, but Drew did not seem to be the least bit fazed by her expanding shape. He was as lusty as ever where she was concerned and she spent as much time in bed with him as she did outside of it. He was not the least bit put off by her growing roundness. Instead, it seemed to intrigue him. Especially when the baby kicked.

The first time he felt it, his eyes glimmered with tears, his hand pressed against the flutter in amazement. After that, he developed the habit of talking directly to her belly, chuckling softly when his son thumped back to the sound of his father's voice.

Yes, he was convinced the child she carried was a boy and he would hear no argument that suggested otherwise. He was a Kennedy and, as such, his firstborn would be a boy. End of discussion.

Spring came and Heather found moving about more difficult than ever. She couldn't see to even make certain her slippers matched. Her back ached constantly and she had to use the chamber pot every hour. As she drew nearer to the end of her pregnancy, she was filled with a mixture of relief and fear.

Drew spent most days at the harbor, in the small warehouse he'd leased to start up his own shipping business. He really didn't wish to become his father's competition, but shipping was all he knew. And thus, Zeus Exports was born.

He was in his cramped office when there came a sudden knock at the door. He looked up, his jaw going slack when he saw who his visitor was. Warren Kennedy stood on the far side of the threshold. “May I come in?"

He rose to his feet. “Yes. Of course."

Warren stepped into the office, closing the door behind him. Both men faced each other, tired dark brown eyes locking with defiant blue eyes. Drew could feel his muscles tighten as he anticipated what his father might do or say.

“I suppose you are surprised to see me,” Warren began after a long silence, in which they simply stared at one another.

“That would be putting it mildly, yes."

“Well, your mother is here as well. Along with Garrett and Andie."

“This is a regular family reunion, then, isn't it?” His reply was cold as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope you do not expect to be welcomed into my home."

“I expect nothing, Drew. I had hoped you would remain in Brunswick."

“Why would I? I am no longer your son, remember?"

Warren's cheeks flushed at that. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he said, “Yes, well, I thought we might want to talk about that.” He gestured to the straight-backed chair across from Drew's desk. “May I?"

“If you wish."

Warren made himself comfortable in the chair. “Drew, I think I might have spoken in haste. Perhaps your mother was right, tempers were lost and things were said that shouldn't have been uttered. Perhaps I was too quick to judge and in doing so, misjudged terribly. I trust all is well between you and Heather?"

“It is now. She was a bit upset with me when she awoke to find herself in the middle of the Atlantic, but we've been here long enough for her to let go of her anger. She has a few more important things to worry about now."

“Such as the baby? Garrett told us Heather is expecting."

“Due any day."

Warren nodded slowly. “I must admit, Drew, of you and your brother, it was your brother I expected to give us a grandchild first."

“Yes, well, that has always been the case, hasn't it?"

“I did not mean it that way."

Drew sighed softly, shaking his head. “Is that why you are here?"

“No. Well, not entirely. As I said, I think I might have made a mistake."

“Now you think it was a mistake you made. Six months ago, I was making the mistake.” Drew relaxed then, lowering himself into his chair. “Which is it?"

Warren shifted. “I don't blame you for being angry. In fact, I'm a bit surprised you aren't more so. The only reason why I came was to set everything right. I was wrong, Drew. I made the mistake. After you left, Garrett found out that the man who'd begun the rumors regarding Heather was a former member of your crew."

“Yes.” Drew nodded. In his spare time, he'd been combing London's harbor for signs of Henry Donaldson, without much luck. He'd learned through other sailors that Donaldson had been given a commission on board one of Markson's ships, so it was only a matter of time before Drew got his hands on the worm responsible for his current expatriation.

“And that Melanie Tomlinson, once again, made certain this rumor made the rounds,” Warren sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So, it goes without saying that very few people have chosen to believe this particular story. It seems your wife has made quite the impression that she is nothing other than a lady."

“I see."

“So, with that said, I wanted to apologize for my words that last afternoon. I am proud to call you my son."

“And that is to make everything right again? As if the last six months haven't happened? Am I simply to forget what was said that day?"

“Drew, be reasonable—"

“As you were reasonable where Heather was concerned?” he countered sharply, slowly rising and leaning over the small desk. “The way my judgment was questioned? The way—"

“Captain Kennedy!"

He turned to see Priscilla, Heather's maid, standing in the doorway, out of breath and her eyes wide. His stomach gave a lurch. There was only one reason why the maid would be down at the harbor and so out of breath.

“What is it?” he asked, gripping the edge of the desk. “The baby?"

“Please, Captain Kennedy! You must come home now! I've sent Hodges for Dr. Burnham!"

He didn't hesitate, following the maid down the stairs and out to the waiting carriage, his father right on his heels. The ride back to the house on Berkeley Square seemed endless, and the coach had not even come to a complete stop when he flung open the door to leap from it. He took the front steps two at a time, slamming into the foyer and scaring Hodges half to death.

“Where is Heather?” he thundered, completely oblivious to his brother standing in the parlor.

“Upstairs, sir, but the doctor—"

He didn't wait for him to finish, taking the steps three at a time. He burst into the bedroom to find Heather lying in bed, surrounded by his mother, Andie, and the gray-haired doctor.

He rushed to her side, taking her hand in his. “Heather?"

“Go away,” she demanded, breathing heavily and wincing as another pain swept through her.

Samantha walked around the bed to take his arm. “It's best if you wait downstairs, Drew."

“The hell I'll wait downstairs,” he shot back, his eyes never leaving his wife.

“Drew—I will—be fine!” Heather gritted out. “Now, go!"

He bent over her to press his lips to her damp forehead. “Heather—"

She screamed then, her fingernails biting into his hand as her fingers involuntarily clamped around him. A cold sweat broke out over his entire body and the room swam before his eyes. It was a thousand times worse than when he'd been wounded by Henry.

She relaxed a moment later and he took advantage to pull his hand free. He leaned over long enough to brush a kiss over her forehead and to whisper, “I love you."

She managed a tired smile. “I know. I love you, too, Drew. Now please, go."

He did not resist as his mother eased an arm about his waist and guided him to the door. Heather cried out again, and Samantha gave him a not-so-gentle shove out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Garrett emerged from the shadows of the hallway, a glass of whiskey in his hand which he pressed into Drew's grasp. “Come down below. It'll be a long enough night without you having to listen to her screams, Drew."

He nodded, feeling numb as he followed Garrett back down to the parlor. Warren was there, uncorking a full bottle of single-malt scotch. Drew dropped onto the damask sofa, lifted the glass to his lips, and drained it in one swallow.

Without a word, Warren took the glass, filling it with scotch and passing it back to his son. “Tonight is one night where it's perfectly acceptable to get drunk,” he said softly.

“I do not care if it is or not,” Drew muttered, taking another long swallow. “I do not want to see straight this evening."

* * * *

It was a long night in the Kennedy house. Every now and again, a piercing scream would rent the air and it took the combined efforts of both Garrett and Warren to restrain Drew as he attempted to mount the stairs each time. Even soused, Drew was a tough customer, as he towered over both his father and brother.

Finally, he gave in to the liquor, passing out on the sofa, leaving Warren and Garrett to watch over him with worried expressions. Hodges passed through every so often, making certain the men ate and the liquor did not run out.

Finally, as the sun broke through the grayness of dawn, Andie emerged from Heather's bedroom, looking exhausted.

She gave them a tired smile as she asked, “Is he dead?” and gestured to Drew, who was sprawled on the sofa, on his back, snoring softly.

“I don't think so,” Garrett replied grouchily. “Are you going to keep us in suspense?"

Warren coughed softly. “I think it's only fitting Drew be the first to know what he has sired, don't you?"

Garrett flushed at that. “Of course.” He nudged his wife impatiently. “Go on, then. Wake him."

She gathered her skirts as she crouched down beside the sofa. “Drew? Drew, wake up. Your child has arrived."

He stirred, forcing his eyes open as the words sunk into his fuzzed brain. “W—what?” he murmured thickly.

She nodded. “Heather is fine. Resting now. You may go up and see her."

He came fully awake, sitting up and combing his fingers through his hair. “Do I dare ask?” he asked breathlessly.

She slid her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “You have a son, Drew. A beautiful, bawling son."

He let out a whoop as he jumped up from the sofa, Andie in his arms, and swung her wildly about the room. “A boy! Damn, I knew it was going to be a boy!” He released her to throw his arms about his father and brother in an all-encompassing bear hug. “A son!” he shouted, laughing and crying at the same time. “Damn it all, I've got a son!"

“Why don't you go up and take a peek at him?” Garrett laughed, slapping him heartily on the back.

“You know, I just might do that!” He wiped his eyes as he stepped back. “A boy. Holy—and Heather—Heather is all right?"

Andie nodded, shooing him towards the stairs. “She is exhausted, of course. But otherwise, she is fine. Now, go!"

He passed his mother on the steps and she stopped to embrace him. “Congratulations, papa,” she whispered, ruffling his hair tenderly.

“Papa...” Drew felt fresh tears sting his eyes. “Momma, I—"

She waved him away. “Go to your wife, Drew. She needs you now. We can sit down and discuss this later."

He did not need another push as he tore up the stairs and down the hall. For the second time in twenty-four hours, he burst into the bedroom, although he did so a mite more quietly this time.

Heather was lying in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows, cradling a small, blanketed bundle in her arms. Her hair had been brushed out, wound into a simple braid. She looked tired, but almost glowed as she smiled serenely up at him. “Come and welcome your son, Drew."

His knees threatened to buckle beneath him as he walked over to sink down into the chair drawn to her bedside. She shifted the bundle slightly, and he caught his first look at his infant son. The boy was a bit redder than he'd imagined, with a shock of thick, black hair. His eyes were closed, his face scrunched, and his tiny fists were waving in the air.

Drew was in love.

“He is perfect,” he murmured, leaning over to cover her lips in a gentle kiss. “Thank you, love, for giving me a son."

She nestled against him, as he eased an arm about her shoulders, moving to sit beside her. “Thank you for helping me."

He gave her a gentle squeeze. “My part was the easy part. Yours was by far the more difficult job."

The joy in her voice was almost visible. “We work well together, wouldn't you say?"

“I'd have to agree with that.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you, Heather. God, I wish I could show you how much I love you."

She smiled up at him. “There is no need, Drew. I already know.” She held out the baby. “Would you like to hold him, then?"

He hesitated. The child was so small, so fragile, Drew was terrified he would crush him. Still, he'd waited his entire life for this moment. “Yes."

“Put your arms like this,” she instructed. “Support his neck."

As Drew took the warm bundle in his arms, he instinctively cradled his son close to his body. The boy stirred then, his eyes opening to show their deep slate blue color. “He is beautiful, Heather. An absolutely perfect baby boy."

“That he is. And as such, he needs the perfect name, don't you think?” she asked softly, reaching down to stroke the baby's cheek. She chuckled as the infant automatically turned in her direction, his little mouth opening as if searching for food.

“I agree. What would you like to name him?"

She smiled up at him. “I was thinking, perhaps, Kiernan Spencer?"

“Kiernan Spencer Kennedy,” he murmured, gazing down into those sleepy blue eyes.

“What do you think?"

He lifted his eyes to hers. “I think it's a perfect name. A perfect name for a perfect child."

Kiernan began to whimper then, his tiny fists flailing as his red face grew even redder and the whimpers became full-blown screams. Drew froze, an unexpected panic sweeping through him. It must've shown on his face, for Heather chuckled and reached for the infant. “I think he might be hungry."

Drew felt a flush creep into his face as she parted her gown and brought Kiernan to her breast. It was the first time he'd ever seen a woman nurse her child and it unsettled him for a brief moment. The discomfort drained away though, a new admiration for his wife replacing it.

He carefully shifted to sit beside her, still gazing down as Kiernan went to work. “He's a natural,” he murmured, reaching down to tenderly smooth a hand over the infant's head.

Heather winced slightly, but then smiled. “Rather like his father, wouldn't you say?"

He chuckled, leaning close to kiss the top of her head once more. “I don't suppose I can argue with that, love. But I can promise you that those days are far, far behind me."

She sighed as she cradled their son close. Drew felt a serenity settle over them. It was something he hadn't felt in quite a while and as he gazed down at his wife and their son, he couldn't help but hope that feeling never left.

Forty

A peaceful calm settled over the town house in Berkeley Square. His relationship restored with his family, Drew could now concentrate on finding Henry Donaldson. The Kennedy clan remained in London for several weeks, with Samantha fussing over her daughter-in-law and grandson like a mother hen.

Drew closed down Zeus. His heart hadn't exactly been in the venture, so it wasn't at all difficult—and resumed his position at Eagleton. This time though, he and Garrett would be equal partners, with Garrett overseeing the New Jersey office, while Drew would control the European side. For the time being, Drew and Heather planned to remain in London, so it made perfect sense.

Four weeks after Kiernan's birth found Drew and Garrett in a smoky pub down near the harbor. Drew had gotten word that Henry had been seen skulking about the docks in search of another commission and that he frequented the Riverside Tavern on an almost nightly basis. Drew knew that, if he bided his time, he would eventually come across the skinny bosun's mate.

Sure enough, Garrett suddenly nudged him. “And the worm has arrived."

He looked up to see Henry sidling around the entrance to the pub, a cap pulled low over his forehead. He tensed, lowering his pint as he said, “Shall we?"

Garrett grinned. “It's been a long time since we both pounced on someone."

“If I remember correctly, the last pouncing took place at Emily Hadley's wedding. Only I was the pouncee."

“Ah, but I was soused and I have since apologized for that. Besides, I do believe the sucker punch you caught me with back home made us even, wouldn't you agree?"

Drew chuckled. “Fair enough."

They rose from their chairs and made their way around the tables. Henry didn't notice their approach until it was too late for him to do anything. He froze as each brother took an arm, lifting him easily from his feet.

“How about a little walk, Donaldson?” Drew growled through clenched teeth. “Some fresh air, perhaps? Smoky in here, isn't it?"

Henry's face went ashen and he responded with an odd gurgling sound, offering no resistance as they escorted him into the alley behind the pub.

Drew was none too gentle as he hurled Henry into the side of the building. “I ought to tear you to pieces,” he growled, pinning his forearm up against Henry's skinny neck.

“I've no—idea—what—you are—talking about...” Henry rasped, his face going from white to red as he struggled to drag air into his lungs.

Garrett stood back, arms folded over his chest. “My, my, what a selective memory we have. You know damn well what he is talking about. Miss Heather? You filled Melanie's head with stories, knowing full well those stories would not remain there, didn't you?"

Henry flailed his arms helplessly, desperately trying to land a weak blow on Drew. It was no use, though, for Drew was just that far out of reach. “You—are—insane!"

Drew's eyes narrowed as he leaned more weight against his arm. “Am I?” he snarled. “I think not, maggot."

Henry squeaked then as Drew suddenly stepped back, lifting the pressure from his throat. He sagged back against the grimy stone building, gasping for breath. “What are you going to do to me?"

A slow smile spread over Drew's face as he replied, “Your own mother won't recognize you when I am through with you."

“All of this for a whore?” Henry sputtered, rubbing his throat. “She must have some magic between them legs."

“That whore is my wife, you piece of garbage,” Drew replied in an icy voice. “And now, I am going to make certain you don't recognize yourself."

* * * *

Heather patted Kiernan's back gently, wincing as the baby gurgled and then spit up. Samantha grinned at her. “Perfect. You are a natural mother, my dear."

Andie sighed, slipping her forefinger into the tiny fist. “He is so precious,” she murmured. “May I hold him?"

“Certainly,” Heather replied, holding Kiernan out for her to take. “You are his aunt, after all."

Andie gathered Kiernan in her arms and kissed his forehead. “Oh, you are so adorable,” she cooed, rubbing noses with him. “And, soon you will have another little cousin to play with."

At that, Samantha and Heather gasped. “What?” Samantha asked, eyes wide and glittering.

Andie looked up with a devilish grin. “It means Heather was not the only one expecting a little bundle of joy."

Samantha engulfed her in a fierce hug. “Oh, Andie, that is wonderful!"

Heather laughed as Samantha began crying. “And when is the blessed event to take place?"

Andie shifted Kiernan to one shoulder. “October. But Garrett doesn't know yet, so let's keep this our little secret, shall we?"

Samantha wiped her eyes. “Oh, he will be thrilled, Andie. Absolutely thrilled. Another grandchild—oh this is simply such wonderful news!” She threw her arms about Andie once more, this time eliciting a howl of protest from Kiernan.

Andie patted his back gently, soothing him at once. “I suppose I ought to keep this up. Practice whilst I can."

“You are welcome to get up every two hours with this little terror,” Heather replied as Andie passed the baby back to her. “On second thought, that will come soon enough. Enjoy sleeping whilst you can."

Samantha looked surprised. “You could hire a wet nurse, Heather, so you might get some rest."

“Oh no.” She shook her head as she nuzzled Kiernan. “Drew suggested it, but I want no one else tending our child."

The front door opened then and the Kennedy brothers filled the doorway to the drawing room. Drew elbowed his brother, saying, “I'm surprised we could not hear the cackling from the street."

“And where have you two been?” Samantha asked, affixing them with a knowing stare. “Your father has been going mad looking for you."

“I had some business to take care of down at the harbor,” Drew replied easily, coming into the drawing room to lift Kiernan to his shoulder. “How is my boy?” he crooned to his son, lifting him high above his head. “How is my little man?"

Heather noticed his clothes were a bit wrinkled, a bit mussed, and he smelled a wee bit odd, so she said, “What is going on? What sort of business did you have?"

He leaned over to brush her lips with a kiss. “Nothing you need concern yourself with, love."

She didn't believe him, but saw the dangerous glint in his eyes and so decided to let the matter drop. “Very well."

He cleared his throat, glancing over at his brother. “I don't know about you, Garrett, but I could go for a bite. Shall we pop into the kitchen and see what's available?"

He didn't wait for a response, but passed Kiernan back to Heather and left the room. Garrett shrugged at the questioning glances from his wife, mother, and sister-in-law, and said, “A man has to eat,” and then hurried after him.

* * * *

That night, when the house was quiet and Kiernan put to bed, Heather curled up into the warmth of her husband's body. “Time to confess, Drew."

He draped an arm about her shoulders. “Confess to what, love?"

“What you were doing at the harbor? And don't think, for a moment, you are getting out of answering me."

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms about her and rolling over to pin her beneath him. “As I said, it's nothing you need concern yourself with."

“Drew."

He ignored the warning tone of her voice as he covered her lips with his. She slid her arms about his neck, her fingers brushing through the hair at his nape. She was content to let him think the matter was forgotten for a moment.

When they parted, he whispered, “I simply had a score to settle with someone, that is all. I wanted to make certain no one ever so much as whispers another lie about you. It no longer matters where we met, or how we met, and I intend to make damn certain no one ever suggests otherwise."

She smiled up at him, her eyes searching his. “I love you, Drew,” she whispered.

“I love you, too, Heather.” He kissed her again. “And you do not ever have to worry about people whispering about you. The past no longer matters. All that matters is the future. Our future."

Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears at his whispered sentiments. He was right. It did not matter where they had met, or what the circumstances were. She no longer regretted ever having set foot in Delilah's. In fact, she owed Madam Allison a huge debt of thanks. Had she not been indentured there, she would never have met Drew and, despite all she had gone through to reach this point, she would do it all again.

She started to tell this to him, but one look into his beautiful cobalt eyes told her she needn't bother. He already knew.

With that, she pulled him down for a lingering kiss. Sweeping her lips over his ear, she whispered, “Shall I say a few of your love phrases now, darling?"

He growled softly at her breathless words and leaned close to capture her lips in a fierce kiss. When he pulled away, she gave him a sly smile and murmured, “I love what you do to me, Drew. More, please."

His laughter echoed off the walls as he leaned in again, whispering, “It would be my pleasure, love."

Meet Kimberly Nee

As a lifelong resident of New Jersey, I am a total Jersey girl. I currently live in Central New Jersey with my husband, Tom, and our two children—Samantha and Jason, along with Cisco the dog, and Casey the cat. When I'm not writing, I'm an avid reader of all genres, a tennis lover, hooked on crossword and Sudoku puzzles. I'm also a diehard fan of the New York Yankees and the New York Giants, and a devotee of Bruce Springsteen and Billy Joel.

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