The Maiden's Voyage

Miranda took a deep breath, as if William had lifted a burden from her. "Yes," she said, "I suppose it is excusable when you see it that way."

"Aye, it certainly is. I remember my own first time at sea. I was a mess inside. I tried not to show it. I missed my mother and father something fierce. I'd never been away from them a day in my life."

"You didn't want to stay and build ships with your father?"

William shook his head. "No. The sea called to me, and I had no choice but to answer. My destiny was to sail ships, not build them. However, there are times I long to settle. I will go back one day, God willing," he said. "I feel ready to stay on land a bit more. I would like to see my parents. They're getting on in years. Who knows how much time we have left."

Miranda nodded and sipped her tea. She did not feel the same way about her own parents and felt badly about it. But there was nothing she could do. They had betrayed her and had earned her hatred as a reward.

"May I ask you a personal question, Miranda?" he said when she remained quiet.

Miranda set her cup delicately down on the saucer. Her heart began to pound. She had learned quickly that William was an unpredictable man not wholly given to the bounds of etiquette. She braced herself for any possibility. "Yes, of course you may," she said.

"If you weren't...if your future hadn't been decided for you, do you know what you, yourself, would want?"

The question stunned her. No one in her life before had ever asked her such a thing. And now, as he waited for her response, she realized she had never even thought of it herself! Not in any deep way. She was faced with the reality that she'd never looked into her own heart, as if it didn't even exist. "I...I'm ashamed to say I don't know," she said. But then she thought of how alive she felt in William's presence, how drawn she was to him, as she'd never been to another human being in her life. She couldn't imagine a human life without that fire. Yet she, herself, was destined to live without it. The prospect seemed more horrible than ever, now that she had tasted that fire, felt its heat burning inside of her. Where were the love and passion and pleasure she had read about in all those books? Did those things really only exist between pages? "However," she went on, "I cannot believe there is anything I could do that is more important than having love. I see people all about me, all day long, doing things, but it doesn't seem to me that they are happy because of it. I would wish for happiness." She then fell silent and sipped her tea, waiting for William's response.

She glanced up at him and found him watching her. He was staring into her blue eyes, searching them. The intensity of his gaze unsettled her and she looked back down into her teacup.

"You are wise beyond your years, Miranda," William said finally. "I've heard but a few people speak of happiness, and they were old. Not young like you."

Miranda felt a blush creep onto her porcelain cheeks. "I never thought of myself as wise," she answered. "Truthfully, I didn't know I felt that way until you asked. And I should think that people would naturally want happiness anyway."

William sighed. "When I married Rosalie," he said, "I was very young, perhaps not much older than you. I did it because it was expected of me. Our families knew each other and wanted it. And she had been kind to me in times when I needed kindness. I felt obligated, even though I knew I would disappoint her. I was most of the time at sea. How could I give her what she wanted? Love and happiness never entered into the arrangement.

'And as I knew would happen, Rosalie grew bitter. She knew I loved the sea more than I did her. But I couldn't help it. I was miserable on land. And, when I made captain and tried to bring her to live on board with me, I learned that she was miserable on the water.

'Finally I promised her that after my latest merchant voyage to India, I would take some time and stay with her in Scotland. I told her perhaps we would have a child. But she fell deathly ill while I was gone, and had passed on before I returned." William fell silent, and it was several moments before he spoke again. "I blamed myself for her death," he went on. "Only recently have I found forgiveness. We were never happy together, Rosie and I. We didn't have...passion."

Miranda understood his meaning and felt her cheeks burn. The wild sweetness she had felt the night before surged at that last word. "Yes," Miranda said softly. "Passion is important." Suddenly, before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and touched his arm, resting her gloved hand on the sleeve of his coat. The movement was small and meant for kindness, but she felt the desire to touch him that moved her. "But at the same time, William, I can't help but feel you're being much too critical of yourself. I can't imagine from what I know of you, that you were such a terrible husband."

William looked at her. He seemed a bit surprised, yet his brown eyes smoldered a bit and Miranda could see that her touch was pleasurable. "You're very kind," he said. "But I assure you, the man you see before you knows only a little bit more about kindness and care than the man who married Rosalie. She was unfortunate enough to have known me before I learned what little I have." He paused and sighed. "I would not want to make the same mistake if I were given another chance."

Miranda smiled, though her outward calm belied the churning within her. Her hand was still on his arm and she wouldn't move it. She knew then that she would have wanted a man like him for her husband if she were free to choose for herself. The knowledge touched off a chain of though, and she began to wonder what William's body would look like out of his clothes, how his skin would smell. She longed to feel his hands on her breasts and to taste his lips. She wanted him to push her skirts up and fondle her sex, making her wet so that he could slide into her...Miranda's hands began to tremble, causing the china teacup to rattle on its delicate saucer. Terrified she would drop the china, she leaned forward with her free hand and set it carefully on the table.

"Are you all right, Miranda?" William asked. His voice had become slightly husky and he moved a bit closer to her. He picked up her hand from his arm and rested their joined hands on his thigh.

"I'm fine, William," she said, fighting to control the tremor in her voice. "It's just...it's just that I feel very glad to know there's someone who believes in the importance of knowing one's heart and who is willing to speak about it."

William let out slightly ragged breath. With his other hand, he reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. "I'm glad for that as well, Miranda," he said, his voice coming from deep in his throat. "Life is too short to waste on what's superficial." He turned her hand over in his and sought the soft flesh of her wrist between the glove and sleeve. Gently, he caressed it. "I had a sense about you when I first saw you in my study yesterday. I felt a...a connection. A possibility, anyway."

Miranda watched him for a moment before her head tilted back, her eyelids fluttering closed. She barely heard his words, feeling as she did after a few sips of wine, languid and sensuous. The pulsing began between her legs and she felt her breasts swell against the bodice of her dress. She knew she should fight off what was happening, for it was wrong, a violation of the promise she'd made. But she didn't try. She couldn't.

William moved closer to her. He brought her hand to his lips and nuzzled the exposed wrist where he had caressed it. Miranda let out a small moan as the pulsing under her skirts rose into a churning and her heart pounded. "Please," she whispered, half-begging him to stop, half to do more.

William reached for her. He put one arm around her waist, and with his other hand, caressed her hair. He leaned in to her and kissed her, gently urging her with the tip of his tongue to part her lips. He tasted her, caressing her tongue with his, withdrawing it every few strokes to suckle her lips and place small kisses on her smooth cheeks.

Miranda grew weaker, feeling the cream gather between her legs. She let her hands feel his back and neck and hair. She breathed in the scents he carried of salt air and shaving soap and wool. She moaned softly when his hand closed on her breast and squeezed it over her dress. With his thumb he brushed over her nipple, back and forth until he could feel the tautness of it through the bodice. Miranda moaned again. She put her arms around him and pushed her body against his, feeling her own demand. She wanted him to lift her skirts and pull off her drawers and slide his cock inside her.

But suddenly, his weight was off her. The movement was so abrupt, her eyes flew open and she stared up at him. William stood up quickly, smoothing his hair back, looking distressed. Miranda sat up, watching him. "What is it?" she asked. "What's the matter?" The anxious look in his eyes made her afraid.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I can't believe...Please forgive me." He began to pace.

Miranda sat up and smoothed down her hair. Her skin still felt alive from his touch and kisses, as if he hadn't stopped. But then sadness overcame her and she felt suddenly terribly alone. Again.

"I shouldn't have compromised you like that," William went on. "I'm supposed to be watching over you, keeping you safe."

"But you are," Miranda said softly. "I do feel safe."

William stopped pacing and looked at her. His eyes were sad, but his jaw was set in the way it does when someone has made a decision. "I have a commitment to honor. And so do you," he said. He stood quietly in his spot and took a deep breath.

Miranda looked down. She wanted to reassure him and apologize for having been so wanton, for having been so desperate to experience pleasure and passion before her confinement to a loveless existence! She wanted to say she'd had no right to ask that of him. But she couldn't speak, for the pain was too great. She'd found comfort from his kisses and now she couldn't have them either. William's touch would only ever be a fantasy, and the reality ahead of her was marriage to a man who had purchased her from her own father at the gaming tables of London.

Miranda stood up, slowly at first, as if to give William a chance to relent and take her into his arms again. But when he didn't, she brushed past him, humiliated and horrified. She didn't look back as she rushed out of the study and locked herself in her cabin, where she sat and cried, not feeling she would ever be able to stop.

CHAPTER FIVE

When Charlie brought Miranda her bucket of water to bathe that evening, he looked alarmed at the sight of Miranda's puffy red face and mussed hair. "What's the matter, Miss?" he asked kindly. "Are you ill? Shall I fetch the surgeon?"

"No, thank you, Charlie," she said. "I think it's just a touch of sea sickness. I'll be fine with some rest." She stood aside to let Charlie in with the bucket. "I won't be at supper," she said as he set the bucket down. "Will you explain for me? And tell them I just need to be left alone."

Charlie nodded. "Aye, Miss. I'll tell them. I do hope you feel better right soon."

Miranda did her best to smile. She didn't want to cause alarm, lest the captain come looking for her. "Thank you very much," she said.

Charlie tipped his cap to her. "No problem, Miss."

Miranda held the door for him and bolted it when he'd left. She then looked at the bucket and sighed. She'd didn't feel much like bathing or anything else, but did it anyway. When she'd finished, she lay on her bunk, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the creaking of the rigging mixed in with her own swirl of thoughts. She didn't even feel like reading one of her sensual novels. After her experience with William, words on paper rang empty and unsatisfying, especially now she knew only the characters between the covers could have the promises of happiness.

Her sadness only deepened, bringing with it the hopelessness of depression. Her only escape was to fall into a deep sleep, which she did, waking only intermittently over the next few days to use the privy or to pick at the food Charlie would leave on a tray by her cabin door. Sometimes, in her waking moments, she would feel a strong urge to go our on deck and look for William. But she couldn't bring herself to go. She was too embarrassed by her wantonness, the way she'd reached out and touched him, bringing his desire to the surface. She must have made herself look like a terrible whore. She convinced herself that this was why he'd stopped, using his words of apology and commitment as an excuse.

And yet, in spite of all her thoughts and fears, Miranda longed to see William, if only to look at him. She had barely known him when he kissed her, but even in that short time, she'd felt appreciated and happy. She had, at least, the time of this voyage to be near him. And she was wasting what was left of it.

Finally, after nearly a week of hiding and sleeping, Miranda put on her yellow dress, did her hair in an elegant chignon with stray golden wisps playing sweetly about her cheeks and the curve of her neck, and went up onto deck, where the wind and sunshine struck her skin, almost reprimanding her for having hidden like a mushroom on the forest floor. She looked around, but did not see William, only many of the deck hands, some of whom stole glances at her. She saw Mr. Hobson nearby, looking out onto the horizon with a spyglass. She approached him. "Hello, Mr. Hobson," she said.

He turned at the sound of her voice and smiled. "Miss Reddington!" he said. "It's good to see you are well! Welcome back to the living."

Miranda smiled back at him. "Thank you, Mr. Hobson. I was actually looking for Will...I mean Captain Harris. Is he about?"

"He's not up on deck at the moment," the chubby man answered. "I believe he's in the hold, checking on the cargo. He should be in his study later."

Miranda felt unexpectedly relieved. She hadn't realized how nervous she actually was to face William after what had happened. She turned to look out at the shimmering waters, her hand on the rail to hide her trembling. "I don't wish to disturb him," she said. "I'll speak with him at supper."

"Very well, Miss Reddington," Mr. Hobson answered genially. He lifted his spyglass once again to the horizon and peered through it.

The older man seemed quite busy and Miranda felt as if she were a bother. So she bid him farewell and wandered around on the deck. Her stomach churned in hard knots and she felt more anxious with every passing second. Finally, she steeled herself and made her way down to the captain's study. At her knock she heard him call to come in.

William was standing behind his desk, reading something, as he had been when Miranda first met him. When he looked up and saw her, he gave a start, staring at her for just a moment. But then, a look of happiness came over his bronzed face, and he seemed once again boyishly happy. "Miranda," he said. "Thank God you're better. I was very concerned." He came around his desk, quickly at first. But when he got closer to her, he stopped, looking tentative. He gestured toward the seating area. "Come," he said. "Have a seat. I'll pour you some tea."

Miranda, too, was happy to see William. But she still felt embarrassed and the pain of his rejection came back to her upon being in his presence. She took a deep breath and a few sips of warm tea before trying to speak. "I...I wanted to apologize," she said. "I feel terrible..."

"No, Miranda," William interrupted. "It's I who should apologize. I lost control. You're very beautiful and sweet. I enjoyed our talks and, well, I took advantage."

For some reason, William's apology upset Miranda. He was acting as if there had been no connection between them. As if he'd just vented his lust on an unsuspecting maiden. She set down her cup and stood up. "It's not how you're saying it, you know," she said, surprising herself at her heated tone. "I touched you! That's how it started. You're making me feel as if what you're really afraid of is your own position. My future husband is your employer after all."

To her surprise, William did not grow angry with her as she had thought. He sat quietly a moment, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His dusky eyes looked sad and he let out a deep sigh. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way," he said. "That's not why. The truth is, I don't need Sir Edward. I was a nabob captain for the East India Company as I told you and your parents the other day. We make our own fortunes. I've earned enough to live comfortably the rest of my life. I only took Sir Edward's offer because it meant this." He gestured to his surroundings. "There's no sailor alive worth his salt who wouldn't jump at a chance to captain a clipper ship."

Miranda stared at him, feeling even more foolish. "Oh," she said. "I...I didn't know. I'm sorry." She felt her legs weaken and sat heavily down on the velvet cushion. The meaning of William's words was clear. He, too, wanted what he could not have. "Why didn't you look in on me?" she asked softly.

William moved from his end of the settee sat close beside her. "I wanted to," he confessed. "I was afraid."

"Afraid? Of what?"

William sighed again as he reached up and touched her cheek. "I feared I would lose control again if I saw you, Miranda. I want you very badly."

Miranda felt a shiver of heat start between her legs and move up her body, filling her breasts, then radiating outward into her lips and hands. She, too, reached out and touched William's rugged cheek, brushing her fingertips over the strong smooth jaw, across his sensual lips. At her touch, his breathing grew ragged, and he grasped the delicate hand, gently kissing her fingertips. He pulled off her glove, one finger at a time, suckling each one like it was a dainty sweet.

Miranda's eyes fluttered closed and she moaned softly. There was no use fighting the heat that pulsed in her at William's touch. She wanted to experience love with him, no matter who objected. The most important people in her life would see her deprived of love. And yet, here it was, begging for her heart. Sir Edward be damned! she thought as she weakened. My parents be damned!

William leaned in to her and captured her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue demanding hers. He released her lips only to devour her cheeks and the porcelain curve of her neck with his kisses. With one arm he pulled her against him, while with the other, he pulled the pins from her hair causing it to spill down over her breasts. William gathered the silky fall into his hands and buried his face in it, inhaling the rosy scent. Then he kissed her again, caressing her breasts over her dress.

Miranda accepted his kisses, dancing her tongue around his, tasting his teeth and lips, while her hands roamed over his strong back and downward, under his coat, to his strong buttocks. William moaned when she squeezed them and lifted his face from hers to stare down at her. "I'll be careful, Miranda," he said between ragged breaths. "I'll pleasure you, but leave you intact. I don't want to endanger you."

Miranda closed her eyes, lost in her arousal. "Please, William," she whispered. "Please." She lifted her skirts and grabbed his hand, bringing it to her mound. Frantically, she pulled at the ribbons of her drawers, spreading her legs apart. Her moisture was dripping and she panted, desperate to feel his hand on the wet, pink flesh. She moaned as William stroked her silken inner thighs, moving slowly over the mound of dark golden curls to the sweet desire. His large calloused fingers seared the tender folds and Miranda arched her back and plunged her tongue deeper into William's mouth as he explored her nest. Her breasts heaved with her heated breathing while William rubbed and teased her sweet spot and slid his wide fingers in and out of her, faster and faster, not stopping until Miranda squealed and her body shook wth a climax. She felt languid and limp for a few delicious moments, but William was still heated, kissing her hungrily, his rock hard erection against her leg.