He freed her hands from their grip on his arms and went to the door. ‘Good night,’ Clemence whispered behind him.
‘I hope so,’ he said, turning the key in the lock and coming back to her, seeing her face light up. ‘A very good night, I hope.’
The sudden doubt flickered behind her eyes. ‘I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.’
‘Well, fortunately I do know, and I do not think you could disappoint me, Clemence.’ It was more his fear of disappointing her, Nathan thought wryly, finding the buttons either side of the waist of her gown. One virgin in a personal history of long periods of abstinence at sea interspersed with intense relationships with expensive, but highly skilled chères amies. And that virgin, his wife, had been a confident, passionate little temptress without, he was convinced, a nerve in her body.
And not one woman before had looked at him with such trusting expectation, which only made the pressure worse. Slowly, he told himself, easing the gown from her shoulders, bending to kiss the tender skin exposed just above the small breasts her corset lifted to him, like a gift.
She gave a little gasp and managed to find room to begin unbuttoning his shirt. Then she found the bandaging beneath and remembered, pulling her hands away. ‘Nathan, I’m sorry, I forgot your back. How could I have been so thoughtless? Forgive me.’ She tried to edge away, but he held her, his palms cupping her shoulders.
‘I will be fine, Clemence, I promise. Look.’ He shrugged out of his shirt, turning to show her. ‘See, no more bleeding.’
‘And there’s a cut on your arm, and your stomach and bruises. Nathan, you should be in bed, resting, not—’
‘Not making love to a beautiful woman?’ He smiled at her blush and the definite shake of her head in denial of the compliment. ‘Isn’t the warrior deserving of a reward?’
The look she gave him in response to that question was pure Clem, but she stood still for him to unlace her corset, standing in her shift and stockings, her hands clasped shyly as though afraid to touch him now. ‘The mosquitoes are getting bad,’ she murmured ‘Perhaps we should get under the net?’
Fighting one’s way under a mosquito net, working all round trying to tuck it under the mattress from inside, and then pursuing the one buzzing menace that had managed to get in with them, might not have been the most erotic prelude to lovemaking, but it broke down the last vestiges of reserve.
Clemence came into his embrace willingly as he lay back on the soft white covers and curled up, her head on his shoulder. Let her set the pace, his instinct told him, let her relax.
‘Oh, the bliss of a proper bed,’ she sighed, her exploring fingers wrecking havoc with his pulse rate as she stroked the skin exposed by the bandages over his shoulders.
‘Your uncle certainly gave you a beautiful bedchamber,’ Nathan remarked, set on talking until she was at ease. Discussing furniture seemed as good a way as any to keep his own arousal in check. He ran his fingertip along the upper edge of her shift, watching the betraying little peak of her nipple hardening beneath the fine lawn. ‘And the house was far finer than I had expected, from what you had told me about him.’
‘But Raven’s Hold is my house,’ she said, lifting her hand and stroking lightly over his evening beard, her fingertips running along the edge of his jaw in a way that made him shiver. ‘Uncle Joshua and Lewis moved in when Papa died and just took over.’
‘Raven’s Hold?’ Memory was stirring, claws of apprehension tightening in his gut. He knew he had heard her name before.
‘Called after the family castle in Northumberland,’ she was saying, now seemingly engrossed in tracing the line of his collarbone.
Nathan jolted up on his elbows, forcing her to roll onto her back. ‘Clemence, what is your surname?’
‘I told you, Browne.’ She was teasing him.
‘No, your real name.’ Something in his tone reached her and she sat up, her eyes puzzled and wary.
‘Ravenhurst.’
Nathan closed his eyes for a moment. ‘The Duke of Allington is your cousin?’
‘Yes,’ she said smiling. ‘Do you know him? I haven’t met any of my cousins. I was going to London for next year’s Season when Papa died. But I’ll meet them now we are going to England.’
‘I met Lord Standon and Lady Dereham, whose husband is an old friend, in London when I was on leave, before I sailed for the West Indies. They were expecting Lord Sebastian Ravenhurst and his wife, the Grand Duchess Eva, to join them in a few weeks. I have not met the Duke, no, nor your uncle the bishop nor any of the rest of them—they were presumably too busy occupying their niche at the pinnacle of society at the time.’
‘Nathan? You are angry—what is it?’
‘I told you who I am—were you not listening? I am the younger son of an impoverished baron. I am a career naval officer with no land of my own, no prospect of a title and advancement other than what I can earn myself in a dangerous profession. I thought you were the daughter of a modestly well-off merchant and that, by offering you marriage, I would save you from the consequences of the situation you found yourself in, that the life I could give you would not be materially worse than you were used to.’
‘Yes, but I would not be worse off! You are saving my reputation, you are taking care of me and we have my inheritance—when the lawyers manage to untangle it.’
Nathan sat up, trying not to wince at the strain on his back. Ignoring wounds when sexually aroused was one thing—now every laceration and bruise seemed to be alive and protesting. ‘Just what, exactly, does your inheritance consist of?’
‘Six merchantmen—it was seven before Raven Duchess was taken.’ She began to count them off on her fingers. ‘Princess, Lady, Baroness, Marchioness, Belle Dame and Countess. Then there are the warehouses, Raven’s Hold, the house in Spanish Town and three penns, all with free labour, two in Port Royal parish and one in St Andrew. They supply food for the household really, not income.’ She was studying his face now, her expression anxious. ‘And the investments, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Nathan echoed. ‘The investments. Clemence, listen to me. You do not need to marry me, all you need to do is to arrive in London, put yourself under the protection of the Ravenhursts and everything will be all right. They’ll send out lawyers who will eat the Naismiths alive and so cow the Governor that not a whisper of this will escape—their influence in society is such that your name will be completely untarnished.’