Pleasures of a Tempted Lady Read online

  “Damned if she did, damned if she didn’t…”

  “Exactly,” Will said. “So she returned to London two years ago, pretending to be Meg. And a few months later, she married the Earl of Stratford.”

  Will left out the bit about the short time he’d been engaged to Serena, thinking she was Meg. Briggs had already heard about his failed engagement, but he knew Will well enough to know that it was a forbidden subject. Even now, Will had no desire or intention of speaking about that painful time.

  Briggs mulled over the story for a few moments. Then his brows climbed toward his hairline. “Does Stratford know her true identity?”

  “He does.”

  “And who else knows, besides you two?”

  “Only her sisters. And now you.”

  Briggs shook his head. “Good God. What a deception.”

  “It has succeeded thus far, although Meg’s reappearance will no doubt complicate matters.”

  “And yet you intend to take her to London to reunite her with her family.”

  “I do.”

  “Where she’ll learn that her identity has been stolen by the sister she once admired.”

  “Undoubtedly.” Meg would forgive Serena, surely, once she learned about the impossible position her twin was forced into. Still, an uneasy feeling stirred in Will’s gut.

  Briggs snorted. “I’d like to see the looks on all those fine lords’ and ladies’ faces when they discover there are, in fact, two Meg Donovans.”

  “Ultimately, the matter of identity will work itself out. The point is, she needs to be taken to her family. They need to know she is alive, and I think she needs their help.”

  “Do you believe this has something to do with the smugglers?”

  Will glanced sharply at Briggs, wondering where he intended to go with this train of thought. “I don’t know. I hadn’t considered it. Why? What are you thinking?”

  “Perhaps she’s involved somehow.”

  Will coughed out a laugh. “With the smugglers? I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  He gazed at the widening path of wake the Freedom left in its trail. “Because,” he bit out, “I know her.”

  “You knew her long ago. People change. What has she told you about her whereabouts for the past… How long did you say? Eight years?”

  “Not much,” Will admitted, his voice grim. “Just that she is running away from someone.” And she hadn’t even openly told him that—he’d inferred it from what he’d seen and heard from her and the boy.

  “What is the name of her captor?”

  Will didn’t answer for a moment, but then he replied, “She hasn’t said.”

  Briggs arched his brows. “Why not?”

  Will crossed his arms over his chest and slid his first mate a cold look. “This is not the Inquisition, Briggs. She’s guilty of nothing, and I won’t treat her as though she is.”

  Briggs shrugged, then spoke so quietly that Will could hardly hear him over the sound of the waves slapping against the hull. “But how can we be so sure she’s guilty of nothing, Captain?”

  Will shook his head in absolute denial, but Briggs didn’t know when to stop.

  “Uncovering the truth seems simple enough. Ask her. If she has nothing to hide, then she should tell you everything. However, if she’s in league with the smugglers—”

  “Enough,” Will growled. There was no way in hell Meg could be in league with rum smugglers. That Briggs would accuse her of such a thing made his blood boil.

  For a long moment, he struggled to calm himself. When he’d retained some composure, he spoke in a calm voice. “I am taking her to her family in England. We will help her.”

  “Perhaps she doesn’t want your help,” Briggs said.

  “I’m helping her if she needs it. Regardless of whether it’s welcome.” Will turned his glare on Briggs. “And now this subject is closed.”

  Briggs gave a grim nod. One of the sailors working on the halyards behind them had been humming, and his song came to an abrupt stop mid-verse. Will turned to glance at the man and saw him staring openmouthed in the direction of the captain’s quarters. When Will moved his gaze to his door, he saw the flash of the descending sun on Meg’s loose blond curls before his gaze traveled lower.

  Holy hell. She was wearing the shirt and trousers he’d given her. The clothes belonged to his cabin boy, a sixteen-year-old stick of a lad, but they didn’t make Meg Donovan look like a stick. The fabric clung to the feminine curves of her breasts and hips, sending sensual signals ricocheting through Will’s body like wild billiard balls.

  As she spun toward him, he caught his breath and took a second to glance around at the men in viewing range of what just might be the most erotic vision any of them had ever experienced.

  The man working on the halyards seemed to have sensed Will’s dark look and snapped his gaze back to his task. Another man, who’d been oiling the deck lanterns when she’d emerged, was staring at her, mouth agape, oil can dangling from his fingertips. Feeling Will’s scorching glare, he cast a guilty glance toward his captain, who had warned all of them earlier to go on about their duties and ignore the lady on board, and then turned—rather hesitantly—away.

  Will cursed under his breath. The Freedom was no place for a woman. He had to get her off this ship.

  Briggs had turned around and was looking at Meg, too, but his gaze wasn’t a lascivious one. Instead, it was filled with dark suspicion.

  “If you give the lady anything less than the high level of respect she deserves,” Will said in an undertone to his mate, “you will have me to answer to. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, Captain.” Clasping his hands together behind his back, Briggs walked away.

  Meg marched toward Will, alarm blazing in her gray eyes.

  “We’re heading southeast,” she told him.

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Ireland is to the north.”

  “It is.”

  “I told you, I must go to Ireland.” She licked her lips, a habit Will knew was a product of nervousness, yet he found it wildly erotic, remembering how he’d tasted those very lips so many years ago, how he’d licked and nibbled and sucked… God, he wanted to kiss them again. Right now. He didn’t care whether his crew watched—in fact, he wanted them to. Some primitive, feral part of him wanted to mark her with his ownership.

  God, he’d loved her for so long. Too damned long. Only in the past year had he begun the difficult process of healing from the pain loving her had wrought upon him.

  Shaking off those thoughts, he tried to make sense of what she was saying.

  “I thought you had agreed to help us… that you would take us to Ireland before you continued on with your… assignment.” She frowned. “Whatever that might be.”

  “Listen, Miss…” Donovan? Was that still her name? She said she wasn’t currently married, but that didn’t mean she’d never had a husband. “Er… Mrs….”

  “Miss Donovan,” she said quietly. “I have never been married.”

  So the child had been born out of wedlock. As soon as he had that thought, he pushed it from his mind. “Miss Donovan. I am still acquainted with your sisters. They believe that you died years ago, and they have been mourning your loss for a long time. They’ll be overjoyed to see you. Whatever trouble you’re in, I promise, they’ll do whatever possible to help you.”

  As will I, he vowed silently. He’d failed to keep her safe so many years ago. And even though he didn’t know her anymore, even though he didn’t have the first idea where she’d been or what she’d been doing for the past eight years, he’d be damned if he’d let her drown again—even if it was only a symbolic drowning.

  “My sisters are not in England, sir.”

  So she believed they were still in Antigua. “Yes, Meg,” he said softly, “they are. They are in London for the Season. All four of them.”

  She bowed her head, her shoulders trembling beneath the thin linen shirt.


  Instantly, Will wrapped an arm around her and drew her against him as if she could absorb some warmth from him. “You are cold. Let’s go to my quarters, where it’s warmer.”

  She held her ground, though. With a sweep of her hand over her eyes, she looked up at him with a shiny gaze. “No, thank you, Captain. Jake is asleep, and I don’t wish to wake him. And I don’t wish to move until I have your assurances that you’ll leave my family out of this. If you must go to England”—a shudder rippled through her thin frame—“then just deposit me at the nearest port, and Jake and I will find another means to get to Ireland.”

  Briggs had stopped close by and had been inspecting the halyard the seaman was repairing. Will had no doubt he’d heard the entire conversation.

  “Why Ireland?” Will asked her.

  “Because my family is there.”

  “Your family is in England.”

  She pulled away from him. “That part of my family is one I have no wish to disturb. Or involve…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Involve with what?” Will asked, the seeds of frustration beginning to take root.

  Turning and approaching them, Briggs bowed at Meg. “If you’d like a warmer location to converse,” he said, his words and expression so polite that Will could find fault with neither, “please feel free to use my quarters.”

  Will looked from his first mate to Meg, who had her arms wrapped around her thin body. She’d catch her death out here. His tone was a touch more curt than he intended as he took her by the upper arm. “Come with me, Miss Donovan.”

  Meg tried not to grimace as Will led her to his officer’s cabin. Of course he’d wonder why she wished to go to Ireland instead of to her sisters, especially if her sisters were in London.

  When had they gone there? And Serena, too? But after the scandal, their aunt had promised Serena she’d never step foot in England again.

  For the first time, Meg wished it hadn’t been William Langley who’d found her. As much as she’d wanted to glimpse his face once more in her lifetime, his presence now made everything so much more difficult.

  And what could she possibly tell him?

  She entered the sparse, tidy space—about a third the size of Will’s quarters—and turned around as Will closed the door behind them. She made a show of rubbing her arms briskly. It had been cold outside, and the wind had seemed to slice right through her skin, but that seemed inconsequential compared to her desire to go to Ireland.

  “Meg,” Will said.

  She jerked her head up, unaccustomed to the sound of her proper name coming from a man’s mouth.

  The lines around that handsome mouth softened, as did his dark eyes. “Please, tell me what happened. Tell me why you don’t want to go to your family. Why this desperate urgency to go to Ireland?” His voice was low and gentle. “I’ve just discovered that you’re alive after eight very long years. I keep having to convince myself that you’re real, not a ghost. Please help me, Meg. Help me understand how it came to be that I found you in the middle of the Irish Sea.”

  Meg’s knees weakened, and she glanced around the tiny room for a chair. There was one, pushed beneath the table bolted to the far wall under a porthole that lent light to the small space. She took one step to it, then jerked it out and lowered herself into it.

  Her shoulders deflated, and when she spoke, her voice was nearly a whisper. She clamped her hands in her lap and stared down at them. “I planned to lie about it.” She looked up at him. “I planned an elaborate lie. But I can’t lie to you, Will.”

  He stared at her as the sound of his name filled the cabin. Here they were, after eight years, calling each other by their given names. She’d been so easy with him then. She had been herself with him, open and raw, and most of all, honest. Could it be that easy?

  No. She had Jake to think about. His safety. For heaven’s sake, Will’s safety, too, and that of her sisters.

  The temptation to see them again was so strong, like a golden cord pulling on her heart, guiding her across the ocean to London.

  For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and imagined her sisters: Serena, her twin and best friend; Olivia, so frail and lovely; Phoebe, witty and sharp; and Jessica, her loyal youngest sister, the most beautiful of them all. She pictured them all dressed in the height of fashion and dancing at glittering balls with handsome gentlemen.

  And here she was, thin and dark as a heathen, wearing the trousers and the linen shirt of a cabin boy. Which, in her opinion, was far better than the awful pink frilly dress. She hated it. Not only because it was horribly ostentatious, but because it symbolized Caversham’s dominion over her. Jacob Caversham had commanded every bit of her life, right down to her pantalets, for the past eight years.

  “If you can’t lie to me, then tell me.”

  Meg opened her eyes to see Will on one knee before her, the anguish in his eyes fathoms deep. Had she done this to him? After all these years, how could he care so much?

  She swallowed hard. “I will tell you some. But I can’t… I can’t tell you everything. It’s too dangerous.”

  Will looked as though he were about to argue with her, but after staring at her face—which she’d set into hard lines because she wasn’t going to concede this point—he relented.

  “Very well,” he said softly. “Tell me what you can.”

  What I can.

  That was precisely the challenge. What, exactly, could she tell him without endangering him further?

  The most important thing was to convey that she couldn’t be seen in London. She couldn’t draw attention to her sisters.

  “Someone will be looking for me,” she said in a low voice.

  “Who? And why?”

  She couldn’t say who. She couldn’t. But the why… yes, the why she could answer.

  “I fell overboard eight years ago, on my way home from England with my sister Serena.”

  “I know,” Will murmured. “The crew searched for you for hours, but they weren’t able to find you. What happened?”

  “I was dragged under by the weight of my clothes. I nearly drowned before I was able to get my shoes and cloak off. By the time I rose to the surface, they had traveled some distance away.”

  “Thank God you knew how to swim,” Will said with feeling.

  “Yes.” She and Serena had often played in the ocean when they were younger. Swimming was not a common skill among people of their class, even among sailors, although she remembered that Will also knew how—long ago, he’d told her that his older brother used to take him swimming in the nearby creek when they were young.

  “I called out… but the ship had turned in the wrong direction and was traveling farther away by the minute.”

  She took a deep breath, remembering her desperation, how her voice had grown hoarse after she’d screamed and screamed, and the despair she’d felt when the ship had disappeared into the fog.

  She’d wanted to live. Her sister had needed her. And she’d been so in love with the man who now knelt before her.

  “They didn’t hear me,” she continued. “The sea was rough, the wind was strong, and the fog was thick. But I knew they would arrive in Antigua that afternoon. I didn’t know what else to do but try to swim in that direction. It was unlikely I’d be able to swim that far, yet I had no choice but to try.

  “I swam until the sky cleared and the ocean calmed. I was exhausted, but I thought I could see land. It was too far. I knew I couldn’t swim that far. And then I saw something bobbing on the surface of the ocean, not far away.” She smiled, thinking of the elation she’d felt when she’d seen the rotting piece of wood. “It was a long, heavy log. Using the last of my strength, I swam to it and draped myself over it.

  “I think I lost consciousness. The next thing I remember was opening my eyes to a calm dusk. There was a ship bearing down on me. Certain they would rescue me, I called out in my weak voice. But they’d already seen me. They drew alongside me and brought me on board.

  “The men were
rough, very unlike the friendly sailors on the ship I’d taken from England. I was taken before the captain.”

  “Who was this captain?”

  Here was where things became difficult to describe without revealing too much. She looked Will directly in the eye and didn’t answer his question. “He kidnapped me and threatened me with dire consequences should I try to escape. Those threats never subsided. I am finally free of him, but if I went to my sisters now, he’d find us easily, and he wouldn’t show mercy to me or my family. I cannot risk their safety. I won’t.”

  Will’s face darkened, and his hand pressed over her knee, squeezing with more power than was gentle. “Who is he, Meg?” His voice vibrated with some emotion she didn’t dare name.

  She shook her head.

  “Did he hurt you? Did he… or any of those men… touch you against your will?”

  Her face went instantly hot, and she jerked her gaze away from him.

  “No,” she breathed. “No, it wasn’t like that. The captain wouldn’t let any of the men touch me or his wife, on pain of death.”

  Caversham was obsessed with decorum and politesse. Even though he could be violent to the point of madness, nothing was more important to him than the portrayal of himself as a proper English gentleman—no, more than a gentleman—as good as, if not better than his half brother, the Marquis of Millbridge. Any of his men touching Meg or Sarah would soil the image, and he wouldn’t have that. Though she could hardly forget the leers the men made at her behind Caversham’s back, nor the lascivious touches. Not once in eight years had she failed to remember to lock her cabin door at night.

  Will gestured in the direction of his quarters. “Then… the boy…?”

  “The captain had a young wife, a year younger than me. She was American and baseborn, and beyond anything, he wanted her to be someone he could present as a lady. As soon as he heard me speak, he knew I was educated, and he pressed me for my pedigree, which I—stupidly—revealed to him. He tasked me with turning her into a proper lady. I was her companion for almost eight years…” She hesitated to calm her suddenly roiling emotions. Together, Sarah and Jake had been her lifeline, her saviors, her sanity, her only joys. Without Sarah to love and protect, Meg would have done whatever possible to escape from Caversham years ago.