Chapter Ten

Griffin paused outside the captain’s door, his heart clicking much too fast. “Wait and see,” he said to his affianced. “Things have a way of working out.” For the best, he should have added, only his customary optimism seemed strangely absent.

Lily stared at the scrollwork above Mulworthy’s door as if mesmerized with fear. Just when he considered he might have to carry her trembling body inside the captain’s stateroom, she stunned him with the tiniest of hopeful smiles. The valiant effort unbolted a door into his heart and evoked an up swell of protectiveness.

“After you, madam.” He offered a gallant arm sweep.

She fingered the bow at her neck, her throat working as she swallowed. Then she stepped across the threshold, seeming as prepared as one can be when faced with an impromptu wedding to a near stranger. A pleasant scent, a mixture of lavender and lemon, light and fresh, floated behind her.

Mulworthy, Church, Flint and Mead, enjoying refreshments at the table, hastened to their feet as the bride and groom entered.

Groom. The word sent a fluttering chill to his bones.

Even Laurent, a rich figure in ruffles, upturned coat cuffs and satin breeches, stood with a pleasant yet curious expression on his broad-cheeked, Gallic face.

Dumelle, the last to lumber to his feet, offered a mocking sneer. In preparation for nightfall, several lanterns and tallow candles burned, reflecting a soulless glint in the man’s jaded gaze. Lip curled, he made no secret of his annoyance at how the woman had slipped from his mercenary grasp. Griffin tucked away a satisfied grin, overjoyed to have snatched the prize from the pirate’s greedy hands.

“Are ye still of a mind tae…” Mulworthy ticked his head in Lily’s direction with a wince. When Griffin nodded without hesitation, the man, clearly resigned said, “Aye? Let’s get started.”

He flapped a thick hand, motioning them forward. The men gathered around and Mulworthy cracked open his Bible. Flipping pages, he found the select passage, raised his head and frowned. “Have ye someone to bear witness for ye?”

“Witness?” Griffin croaked. What an idiot to forget such an important detail. His gaze swept across the tiny audience, so erect and still. For obvious reasons he eliminated Laurent, Dumelle, Flint and finally, Church, whose choice would be cruel in the face of his lost opportunity to win the hand of the “lovely Miss Fitzhugh.”

“Would you be so kind, Mr. Mead?”

The surgeon, his pince-nez halfway down his slender nose, dipped his sandy head in agreement. Formality thus settled, Mulworthy held the Good Book at arm’s length and after licking his bottom lip, began to read. He stopped abruptly and frowned again. “Would ye join hands?”

“Oh, of course.” More flustered than he’d been in years, he grasped Lily’s hand and the shock of icy digits in his palm shook him.

Mulworthy exhaled a long-suffering sigh and started in again with the recitations. The words rasped on. They hummed in Griffin’s brain. He’d considered marriage before and even proposed to Catherine Hawkins. In the end, she’d chosen Elliot. He didn’t begrudge his brother’s happy union. Nevertheless, the rejection hurt and left him wary of risking his heart. Yet even as he wooed Catherine, he never imagined how it might feel to stand before a clergyman and state vows melding one heart and life to another. The notion awed him and the enormity of it all left him almost breathless with anticipation and responsibility.

He regarded Lily, deathly pale at his side. If he didn’t know better, he might believe she floated in the air like a specter with her wraithlike appearance. In the lamplight, her skin glowed with a shimmering luminosity. A beautiful bride, she possessed the kind of exquisiteness men stared at and wondered what it would be like to possess her. She was headstrong and proud, and so very vulnerable it made his heart ache.

Mulworthy carried on. “Do you, Griffin Alexander Faraday, take this woman to be…”

Given the sham of this marriage, the blessed words ought to mean nothing more than the lines of some theatrical drama, yet in the sanctity of the moment, Griffin was helpless to do anything but take them seriously. For the brief time they remained husband and wife, he would do everything in his power to protect her and give her some measure of comfort and happiness. But dear God, how would he make it through the next few weeks, sleeping in the same room with her, and not touch her tempting body?

“I do,” he answered, both exhilarated and short on air.

“And do you…” Mulworthy paused and rolled a disgusting note in his throat before continuing. “Do you, Lily—”

“Amaryllis. My name is Amaryllis Charlotte Fitzhugh.”

Laurent tittered, but his amusement died under the captain’s disapproving glare. Mulworthy licked a thumb and started in again. “Do you, Amaryllis Charlotte Fitzhugh, take this man to be your lawful…”

She kept her gaze cast downward. As Griffin watched her breathing accelerate, one question circled in his head. Are you out of your mind? It was madness to marry, especially a British loyalist. Furthermore, the issue remained. Was Lily a spy sent to destroy him?

Mulworthy finished reading and glanced up, waiting for her answer. A moment, then two, elapsed.

“I do.” Though spoken just above a whisper, the important words resonated as durable and real as a wall built of stone.

Mulworthy tapped his foot impatiently. “The ring, man. Have ye got a ring?”

Ring?

“Right.” Amid a chorus of good-natured chuckles, he fumbled in his waistcoat pocket and produced a gold band.

Lily touched her throat. “I have nothing…”

“Hush,” he whispered, grateful for the token in his hand.

“With this ring…” continued Mulworthy. Griffin did his best to master his churning emotions as he slipped the ring on her slender finger. “I now pronounce ye man and wife.” In the silent room, the words clamored in Griffin’s head, louder than any church bell.

Man and wife.

For a second, he feared his lungs might burst. On a mighty exhalation, his chest cleared and he started to breathe again. Astoundingly, he managed to remain on his feet, even though at one point his knees grew wobbly. Shoulders drawn back, spine straight, he briefly glanced at the ceiling beams, and prayed life would go well for the short time he and Lily would share.

“Ye can kiss the bride,” Mulworthy growled.

Kiss the bride?

“Give the lass a wee nip.” A bushy brow cocked and his leering grin spoke of his enjoyment at Griffin’s discomfort.

Heat flooded his body.

So rigid and still, Lily might’ve been a marble statue. Her gaze fixed on the dull brass buttons of Mulworthy’s jacket. A rosy tint stippled her neck.

Look at me, Lily. Please.

At last, she turned to him—the sacrificial lamb.

With unsteady fingers, as though he had never touched much less kissed a woman, he cupped her chin, amazed to feel skin so unbelievably downy.

Scared and elated, he harnessed his emotions enough to dip his head and set to his task. Her warm lips were surprisingly pliant and shocked him when the kiss ignited his desire. Instead of doing the sensible thing and ending the formality with a chaste peck, he pressed harder. A hand dropped to her waist. He pulled her closer. Expectations he would act a part for the benefit of their audience fell away.

Everything except Lily dropped from his consciousness. He kissed her deeply, with feeling, wanting to give and receive. Her mouth moved against his, a tiny yielding, a push and pull of her lips. The scent of her filled his head. The slight weight of her hands on his shoulders grew heavier, holding him, and he wanted this moment to last forever.

In the background, somebody coughed. The spell broke. Reluctantly, he released her. Amid a hearty round of huzzahs and noisy clapping, two bright dots blazed on her cheeks.

****

At the boisterous cheer, Lily’s face seared with embarrassment. No one had ever kissed her with such overt emotion. It was as though Griffin truly wanted to kiss her and enjoyed each second. In addition, to do so in front of ogling strangers added a bizarre twist. In spite of her initial reluctance, she couldn’t deny the experience left her flushed and her breath unsteady. For a moment, she could almost believe in love, a place of peace, beauty, and contentment rather than this horrid ship.

She tried to step away, to put distance from these men, but Griffin held tight to her hand.

“A drink to the happy couple,” Mulworthy announced, astonishing her with a sudden show of bonhomie and good cheer. A rare smiled exposed his stained teeth. He reached for a carafe from the china hutch, seemingly happy to play host. “There be just enough for drinks all around.” Cackling like an old hen, he sent a sullen-faced Church for food while he poured wine into glass goblets he’d taken from a shelf.

Lily accepted the beverage, uncertain what to make of the ogre, who less than an hour ago didn’t care if the thieving pirate ravaged her. While Dumelle no longer posed a threat, the glint and sneer of the tattooed man who skulked at the far end of the room jangled her nerves.

“Thank you, Captain.” She took a sip, weak-kneed by the rapid turn in her fortunes. To think she possessed a husband, a man who vowed before God and witnesses to love and cherish her forever, left her reeling. Until they reached land and formally applied for dissolution, the marriage was legal.

Griffin also bore something of a stunned mien as he accepted wine and hearty back slaps. Color rode high in his cheeks and stained his throat visible above his cravat. Chin held high, his elegant stance was both authoritative and approachable. One would never suspect he had just married a woman he barely knew and didn’t seem to like overly much.

As to his physical appeal, he was the most dignified and compelling of all the men present. Any woman would yearn for his acquaintance and friendship. He radiated grace and kindness, qualities far beyond his towering height that set him above Mead and Church, all men in their physical prime and attractive. She couldn’t say if familiarity or comfort drew her to him, though he was the only one who made her heart stir.

Tenderly, he raised her hand to his lips, and with his gaze upon her, kissed her fingers. Her heart squeezed before it burst open with a sense of fullness. Tugged by an invisible thread, she leaned toward him, but stopped before she stroked his cheek. This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. Despite his vast appeal, there remained the issue of him being a Colonial spy. As such, she couldn’t trust him. In a few weeks, they would go their separate ways. Nevertheless, for his chivalrous offer of marriage, she would never forget him.

He kissed the center of her palm and in spite of all logic and sense, something bloomed inside.

Remember. A marriage in name only.

“Shall you sit?” He lugged a heavy ornate chair away from the table. A merry devilry flashed across his face. Alert to his sudden flirtatious mood, she slipped into place, resolved to keep her emotions under control and her attraction to him locked away. Yet his captivating presence wrapped around her, entangling her in a web she could not easily shed.

Bent at the waist, he brushed her neck with his lips, the pressure subtle yet explosive. She gave a start as a frisson of delight arched through her body. Her hand rose but stopped before she touched the spot where her skin burned.

What was he doing? He no longer needed to playact for these men. Under no circumstances would she allow him to ply these tricks when they were alone.

Across the table, Laurent watched every move and smirked. She returned a placid smile and questioned his sudden emergence on the ship. Why did he come by sea rather than board on land? Equally important, what was in those crates?

The men settled in around the table and drank heartily. They laughed and shared stories. Their voices strummed with a male vibrancy, all strength and deep tones, substantial as the earth, whereas she felt as rootless as a meteor flung across the night sky.

“May I say, madam, how happy we are to have a wedding on board the Providence.” Mr. Flint’s tonsure of curly hair stretched around his head, ear to ear, while the bald top glimmered with a patina of sweat.

Lily smiled politely. Given the captain’s refusal to have women on board, it went without saying such a thing was unlikely to occur.

“Be careful of the man.” Griffin leaned close as though they were co-conspirators—which in a way, they were. “It’s rumored he can make a woman squeal with happiness.”

“Oh, bosh.” Flint colored, turning pink as a carnation.

“Gentlemen.” Griffin stood and held aloft his wine glass. Somehow, he managed an air of resplendence even dressed in a sea blue frock coat with simple white linen tied at his throat. When the room fell silent, he caught and held her gaze. Candlelight flickered in his eyes along with something else…something sweet and tender. She pressed her curled fingers to her chest, aware of the heavy thump, thump. “A toast to my beautiful bride. May her days always be merry and—”

“And ze nights even merrier,” joked Laurent who joined the men’s jovial laughter. Even Dumelle, who lurked at the end of the table, grunted in a show of good humor.

Mortified and on fire, she snatched the glass she’d set aside earlier, hiding behind the goblet as the wine went down her throat.

Lit with amusement, Griffin took his seat and gave a reassuring pat to her fingers twisted together over her lap. Any comfort she might attain seemed lost to her.

Chortling, Mulworthy slapped the table, causing her to jerk. She watched in horror as he chugged back the last remnants in his glass. A scarlet rivulet slid down his chin. “Let’s have another toast.” Lips dewy and wet, he poured generous amounts of wine all around and hefted his cup in Griffin’s direction. “Here’s tae the groom, a gentleman who kept his head when he lost his heart.”

An unfamiliar emotion, one she couldn’t identify, flickered across Griffin’s face. She wondered what he felt about all this and about her.

“Here, here!” The men drank with enthusiastic abandon. With an affable smile, Griffin joined them and appeared as if this debauched affair didn’t disturb him in the least.

“Where is that confounded supper?” Mulworthy dragged the back of a paw across shiny lips.

As though miracles really did happen, Church materialized in the doorway, a tureen clasped in both hands. Sloane and the cook followed, laden with trays of steaming dishes. Mulworthy lifted a lid and noisily sniffed the contents with a rapturous gleam. “Simple but hearty fare. Compliments to the cook.”

“Here, here!” Laughing, elbows bent, the raucous fellows tipped back more wine before they tucked into their dinner.

Lily sighed. How she wished for the peace and quiet of the cabin. Stomach soured by nerves, she picked at the beef, potatoes and pickled cabbage on her plate while pressure built in her head.

The men gossiped horribly. Griffin easily rebuffed their ribald teasing with clever rejoinders and humorous banter. In turn, the men guffawed even louder. Until tonight, she never knew how much she could blush. Clearly, the feast would end soon, probably when someone passed out. Just as she hoped the liquor would run dry and this debauchery would end, the captain clanked his empty glass upon the table. “Church. Ye best toddle off to the storeroom and bring us back some more of this fruity wine.”

Her heart tugged in sympathy for Mulworthy’s second in charge, treated like nothing more than an errand boy. Mouth clamped so tight his lips all but disappeared, Church ambled from the room.

The banging in Lily’s head upped its tempo. No matter what calming words she fed herself, she couldn’t relax. Whenever she longed for the tranquility of the cabin, images of the narrow bed bloomed in her mind and left her further rattled. Remember, a marriage in name only.

As if bedding down with Griffin wasn’t scary enough, she had the nagging sense something wasn’t solid about the delivery of goods and Laurent’s presence. Any trade between a merchant vessel and a pirate ship was suspect. But a Frenchman delivered at sea?

“If you will allow my curiosity, Monsieur Laurent,” she said. “The unusual means by which you arrived on board intrigues me.”

For the first time since they entered the captain’s quarters, the noise of cutlery and glass, and raucous conversation ceased. Everyone stared as if worms had fallen from the sky.

Griffin cocked his head. Disbelief colored his expression. Not until she’d spoken did she realize the irony of her statement. After all, she’d come aboard in the middle of the night posing as a servant.

Mulworthy’s good cheer fell away. Once again, his nasty glower bore into her. Strengthened by wine, she didn’t care. “One would think you might have boarded at Le Havre or some other French port.”

Unhurried, Laurent set his fork to his plate and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “It’s not so uncommon to transfer ze passengers while at sea.”

“It seems odd to me.”

Griffin took this moment to press a bit of loose hair behind her ear. Ticklish, she drew up her shoulders. The fingers, which he rested on the back of her neck, were both pleasant and disrupting.

“I understand, Madam, your father is something of an inventor legend.” Flint smiled encouragingly, waiting for a reply.

“Yes, he’s designed…” Griffin gently kneaded her neck muscles. “Ah, he…” A shake of her head cleared her mind—for a second. “He’s invented many things of practical use.” How could she make him stop?

Mead said, “Your father also perfected a device for injecting medicine into the body.”

Griffin flicked a finger lightly between her shoulder blades. As if stung by a bee, she shot forward. What was he doing?

“It’s…it’s been a challenge to make the needle point narrow enough for practical use,” she managed to reply. Two of his fingers strolled down her spine, not in any hurry to reach the final destination—whatever that might be. Skittish, she almost wriggled away but pride stiffened her resolve.

“Yes, I should think so,” the doctor murmured seeming to reflect on the matter.

Griffin tucked one, two, and then all four fingers around the band at her waist and tugged at her skirt. She tried her best to remain calm. With a stern expression, she shot him a foul look with a clear warning to cease. When he smiled wickedly and patted her bum, her jaw dropped.

“Can’t see why a man can’t just swallow the medicine instead of being stabbed,” Church complained.

Mulworthy rotated his wineglass, studying the swirl of the burgundy liquid. “Aye, this medicine works for me all the time.” His leering wink so astonished her, she recoiled. The unexpected movement squashed Griffin’s hand against the chair back and made the men howl.

With theatrical flair, he extracted his hand, stretching wide his long fingers, and grinned. “I shall be more careful next time.”

There would be no next time.

In a flash, the men resumed their discussion of ships, the pros and cons, size and speed. As her shock burned off, she realized they’d cleverly overtaken the conversation. For the first time, they completely ignored her, which in itself was telling. What was it they all hoped to avoid?

Frustrated, tired, keyed up, she massaged the persistent throb in her temple and shoved away her plate. “Captain, is it customary to take on goods—”

“Excusez-moi.” Dumelle rose at the far end of the table. “I must take my leave.”

Something like relief flashed across the faces of Flint and Church.

“I’ll walk with ye,” Mulworthy said.

Griffin leaned close, covered her hand and whispered, “I’ll just be a minute.” He was out of the chair in the next moment, a cocky grin on his face as he followed them.

At the door, Dumelle paused. He stared at her. Suddenly, she felt short of breath, as if he squeezed her throat. A laugh rumbled in his chest. “Bon soir, Madame.”

When he’d gone, the air in the stuffy room seemed to lift.

Out of sorts, Lily nevertheless managed to smile through another round of toasts. Before long Mulworthy returned and charged the air once again with his overbearing presence. Griffin followed, his smile directed only at her as he approached and reclaimed his seat.

She spoke softly at his ear. “I’d like to go to the cabin.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

She dropped a hand upon his arm. “No. Stay.”

“Nonsense. You’re my wife.” His lips came dangerously close to her face.

Her pulse raced aware of the recklessness of his seduction. It must stop. She rose from her seat and acted unaffected by his attention. The men stood in respect. She thanked them for their kind wishes.

“I expect ye’ll be busy over the next days.” Mulworthy smirked. Lily cursed the heat stinging her skin. “We’ll no’ bother ye. Take all the time ye need.”

Flinch muffled a giggle.

Church raised his glass, seeming both wistful and hangdog. “To love.”

“Hear, hear.”