“More than sure,” he said, opening the door to the cabin.
Emmaline hesitated before stepping inside.
“If you’d rather we go back to the drinking competition, I’ll understand,” he told her.
She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “Nay. This is my last night on your ship, and I will do what I want.” She stepped inside and he followed.
“And what is it you want, my lady?” He lit a candle inside the cabin and closed the door.
Emmaline’s heart beat rapidly, and her mind went in many directions at once. She was tired of pretending. What she wanted was to experience love with a man who excited her and made her feel special. She wanted to spend the night with someone who cared about what she wanted, and who only took what was offered when it came to spending intimate time together.
“I know it sounds crazy, because you’re a pirate and I haven’t known you long but – nay,” she said, shaking her head, feeling afraid to even admit it aloud.
“Say it,” he told her, reaching out and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tell me what it is that will make you happy and I will do everything in my power to make it happen.”
“You’ve already done that,” she said, flashing a quick smile. “You’ve made me feel special, and you didn’t make me do anything that I didn’t want to do.”
“Surely, there’s something else you want.” He cupped her cheek and she briefly closed her eyes. But when she opened them and saw the painting, her body tensed.
“I – I don’t know,” she told him.
“I think you do know.” He kissed her atop the head. “Excuse me for a moment.” Walking across the room, he took a blanket and draped it over the painting, hiding it from sight, and returned. “Tonight, you are Lady Emmaline, and I want you to forget about everything and anything from your past.”
“I’d like to, but I can’t.”
“Stop judging yourself, my dear. You are better than that.”
“But I don’t want others to judge me,” she told him.
“Why should you care what anyone thinks?”
“Because I am a noble, and that is the way we are trained to think. Reputation is everything.”
“If I had to worry about my reputation, I’d never take a risk at all. Believe me, you have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Do you really believe that, Mardon?” Her tongue shot out to wet her lips and she looked up into his eyes.
“If you were mine, Emmaline, I would never judge you or make you do anything against your will.” He stroked her cheek, the warmth of his hand comforting her.
“You’re not just saying that because you want to bed me, are you?”
“Nay. I only say what I truly believe. And if it’s only bedding you that I wanted, I would have had it by now. I care for you, Emmaline, and I regret not taking you with me the day I raided your ship. If I had known what a bastard your husband was, I would have saved you from him.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” she said, reaching up and kissing him again. “I want you, Mardon.”
His body stiffened this time. He still held her in his arms. “Please be sure. And if you are, I don’t want you to ever regret anything that might happen here tonight.”
“I won’t,” she told him, reaching down and untying the front of his tunic. “Make love to me, Mardon. I need to know how it feels.”
“Aye, I will,” he said. “But first, we need to get rid of this nun attire. It kills the mood.”
She giggled as he undressed her, leaving her standing there naked. She reached out and lifted his tunic over his head, feeling so excited she could barely wait. Starved for love and affection that she’d never gotten from Jean Philippe, she longed to be intimate with a man who excited her, and who seemed to be excited by her as well.
“You’re beautiful,” he told her, drinking her in from head to foot. He reached for the ties on his trews, dropping them to the floor. Stepping out of them, his gaze remained steady on her. Curiosity getting the best of her, she let her eyes skim down his chest, past his taut stomach and then below his waist. Her eyes opened wide as she watched him grow hard.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, excited by his length, not able to stop herself from reaching out to touch him.
He responded with a sharp intake of breath as she closed her fingers around his shaft and gently gave him a playful squeeze.
“God’s breath, you are testing me,” he said, pulling her to him until her chest smashed into his. His hands kneaded her shoulders as he kissed her so passionately she thought she would explode. Then one hand slid around to fondle her breast, making her nipples go taut with desire. Dipping down to take her into his mouth, his other hand caressed her bare bottom end. When he touched the welt where Jean Philippe had whipped her, she jerked, remembering the pain.
“What’s the matter?” He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Did I hurt you?”
“Nay.” She closed her eyes, trying to push from her mind the memory of the sting and sound of the whip splitting the air. Any excitement to make love now was replaced by memories of the Frenchman plowing into her and hurting her, and not giving a damn.
“Emmaline. Please, tell me.” He raised her chin with his hand and her eyes slowly opened. “What is it? What did I do wrong?”
“It’s not you,” she told him, feeling hesitant to tell him but deciding he needed to know. If not, he would think she didn’t want this union, and things between them would be ruined. “My late husband . . . he . . . whipped me.” There, she said it. The secret was out.
“What the hell? Turn around. Let me see.”
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head, feeling self-conscious that the welts on her bottom would make her seem ugly to him.
“It’s all right,” he told her gently, and she let him turn her around. “Good God, what kind of man could do such a thing to such a beautiful soul as you?” He used his fingertip to gently trace the length of the welt the whip had made. Her body trembled. Mayhap this wasn’t a good idea after all. Mayhap she’d better stop him.
“Mardon, I –”
“Shhh. Don’t speak,” he told her, scooping her up into his arms and carrying her over to the pallet on the floor. He gently laid her down, leaning over her, looking deep into her eyes, directly into her soul. “You don’t deserve something like that,” he told her. “You deserve to be treated like the true angel you really are.”
“I’m not an angel,” she told him. “You don’t have to say those things to me.”
“I only say what I mean,” he reminded her. “And right now I mean to show you that you don’t need to be frightened. I can see your pain. You’ve been hurt badly. You’ve been scarred, not just your body but also your heart.”
“Yes,” she said, crying, nodding, feeling sad but overjoyed at the same time. He was the first one to ever understand her. Who would think a pirate would be able to look into her heart?
“I plan on proving to you that making love with a man is a good thing. It’s supposed to make you feel alive, empower you . . . make you cry, but with joy instead of regret. Let me make you happy, Emmaline. I want to be the one to bring you through your pain and heal your heart. I want to bring you back to life and make you feel loved – whether it be the first time or the last. Please, let me do that for you.”