Chapter 21
Extract from Oriana Harmony Brightmore's Journal
Oriana Harmony Brightmore's Inventory of Favourable Qualities One Should Expect in One's Husband
Taken from the section noted as Amendments & Additions:
Final Entry: foolishness and love, it seems, go hand in hand. This should be endured.
"You are lying to me."
"Upon my honour, I am not, Ori."
"It is evident that you have very little honour to swear upon if the past several hours were anything to go by."
"If it is my honour that is called into question, then yours should be too, lest I remind you who was the one begging-"
"No need to be crass." Oriana stirred restlessly and propped herself up on her elbows, giving him a glower to emphasis her stance on the matter. The white sheet dipped low over the rise of her backside, allowing Cole the opportunity to admire different angles of her form in the crisp morning light that was filtering into the cabin. Her skin, he thought, was flawless- creamy alabaster. He only just resisted the urge to run his hands over the curvature of her back. "I simply do not believe you," she said pertly, nose in the air, hair in disarray.
"Oriana, it is called a poop deck," Cole told her seriously.
Her nose scrunched up adorably. "You must be misinformed."
"I have been at sea for twenty years!" he said incredulously. "Yet you believe I am the one who is misinformed."
"But I can hardly imagine you outright saying this in your conversation with another crew member, can I?" She made a vague moue with her hand, a glimpse of her cleavage being revealed to him on tantalising display. He was on his side beside her as she sidled down into the mattress while they spoke, affording him the perfect view of her animated countenance and more desirable attributes. She was, he thought, simply perfect after hours of lovemaking. There was a pinkish glow to her cheeks, an altogether different light in her eyes, and her lips were swollen from being well and truly plundered with kisses. "Do you honestly mean to tell me that you these words leave your lips: 'Mr Smith, will you not please adjoin to the poop deck?'"
"But they do." Cole chuckled. "It is an observation deck, Oriana. Most of the work and overseeing of tasks takes place there. It is hardly as absurd as you are making it out to be."
She made a disparaging sound, and then a smile curled the corners of her lips up. "Obviously, a man came up with the naming of different parts of a ship. No woman would ever conceive of such ridiculousness."
He rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back. They had been talking for most of the night, neither of them sleeping. Mostly, amid another bout of lovemaking, Oriana had pressed and prodded him for details about his life at sea. Her mind was a curious well, eager to learn more and adsorb all that she could about his world.
It was a couple hours past dawn and soon they would be close enough to England's shore to make use of the rowboats, and their closeness would come to an abrupt end, rules governing their behaviour firmly back in place. He wasn't looking forward to it while he had spent the last hours revelling in her unabashed openness with him. Though he was still somewhat furious at her foolish actions following him here, it was more directly at the possibility that she had done irreparable damage to her safety and reputation. No, Cole mused silently, he didn't mind in the least that his final voyage had been turned on its head.
Oriana shifted over his chest, spanning his waist, and propping her chin against his sternum. In fact, the sooner he was able to marry her and have her like this every day, the better. "I suppose you have a better name for it," Cole murmured, continuing the line of conversation as he became momentarily distracted by the way her breasts were globing against his skin.
"Naturally," she returned tartly. "Only the Lord above knows why you could not merely call it the observation deck, is beyond me." Her eyes rolled dramatically for effect and he rumbled with laughter. "But I would expect nothing less of a man, naming something as commonplace as a deck for observation as... as well that."
"Naturally," Cole agreed good naturedly. Idly, he began to stroke the arc of her back and waist that were laid bare for his perusal, the sheet dipping low over their hips. She snuggled closer with a soft sigh of contentment.
"This is nice," Ori said softly. "I do not wish to return if it means I am required to forego time spent with you like this."
"Not for long, Ori." She was pressing soft kisses against his chest, compelling his body to respond in earnest. The day he no longer felt aroused by her touch would be the day his life ended, he knew. "Not as long as it would be if we continued on this voyage, in any event."
"Not for long?" She raised up slightly and nibbled the edge of his jaw, stirring against his length with a cheeky intent he didn't fail to recognise. "What do you mean?"
"Oriana," he said gruffly now, grabbing her hips and settling her so that her thighs straddled his waist, "you must be aware that after what transpired between us on this ship-" he rolled his hips, bringing his turgid cock against her for emphasis, the feel of her wet and hot making his teeth grind together, "-I will appeal for a special license." She splayed her hands flat against him and elevated herself into a sitting positing. Little minx began to slide her wetness along his length, her movements slow and leisurely while a sly smile curled her lips. God, she was beautiful astride him, golden hair in wild disarray while it tumbled in thick ribbons over her shoulders and breasts. The things he wanted to do to her...
"A special license?" Her hands ran over his abdomen. "Is that necessary?"
"Absolutely. You've besmirched my honour. You are required to do right by me."
"Oh, indeed." She rose up slightly, intending to slip him into her warmth, but Cole placed his hands on her thighs, stopping the movement.
"Turn around," he ordered gruffly, and her eyes widened in question. "Trust me." She complied willingly, twisting her legs over each other until her delicately rounded derriere was in facing him. He groaned at the sight as he lifted her hips, one hand carefully guiding her atop him, bringing her down softly along his length. The feel of her clasping him tightly was too good, the pit of his stomach clenching with tension as he repressed the urge to drive into her in desperate, selfish search for release. "Here now," he gritted out, holding himself as still as feasibly possible, "my defilement is complete."
That earned him a playful glare as she turned to pin him with the look. And what a view he was afforded, the graceful arch of her back underneath a curtain of hair, twin dimples which, for some reason, he found incredibly seductive as they adorned her skin just above the rise of her sweet bottom. With an uncertain movement, she raised her hips and brought them down flatly, gasping softly at the impact. Cole sat up behind her, rolling into her with a movement that was to show her how, a hand on hip guiding her while another swept up her waist, cupping her breast and toying with the hard peak of her nipple.
"Who's defiling who," she wondered breathlessly, and Cole grunted, beyond words, and nipped her shoulder instead, pushing inside her with a sure rhythm now, consumed by her slick heat and the way she felt, tasted, moved...
A loud rapping broke their lustful reverie and Oriana stiffened and froze. Cole whispered a vehement curse against her skin, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to recall if he remembered to bolt the cabin's door or not.
The knocking came again, more forcefully this time. "Captain Stanley, your presence is required."
The man, Cole thought, was a dead one. Oriana threw him a petulantly curious look. "Captain Wood," Cole snapped in the general direction of the door, "I highly suggest you reconsider this request for another time." His fiancé appeared to become besieged with a bout of insurgence for she continued to move against his rigid member in earnest, panting softly. In return, he swept his hand forward, dipping into her hips and his fingers found the hard point between her legs, swirling his fingers in slick circles against her. Oriana gasped, and Cole slapped his other hand against her mouth, catching the sound.
"Uh, this is pertaining to the missive we are sending ahead for Lord Ashcroft, captain," Wood explained, unrelenting.
Cole was moving in and out of her while his fingers worked her mercilessly. She was helpless and writhing, her breathless muffled whimpers quietly filling the air surrounding them. "I am quite happy to entrust your capabilities in sending off a letter, Wood," Cole growled.
"Yes, of course, but you see the official seal and document itself is in your quarters, captain..."
He was going to kill him, Cole was sure of it. Oriana was trembling, her hips uncontrollably thrusting against him, and a soft mewl escaped her then as he felt her silken clasp begin to pulsate and convulse, tightening furiously- "Bugger off, Wood! I'll see to it in five minutes!"
"Yes, of course, captain." Thank God.
He waited all of two seconds before releasing her mouth and she cried out when he thrust into her, hard and fast, uncaring that the cot creaked, uncaring that Oriana was moaning with abandon with her own release. And then his body tightened, that achingly sweet sensation pulling hard at his abdomen and pulsing outwards, spilling inside her over and over again.
He dragged kisses across her shoulders, the back of her neck, stroking her hips and thighs soothingly as she settled shakily against his chest. It had never been like this. Sex had been a base need, a primal desire that could be conquered with one easy session until the next urge came along. With Oriana, this was vastly different than it ever had been. The time they were together, the arduous giving and receiving, teasing comradery and flirtatious companionship, the discovery of what she liked- and, Lord, was she turning out to be a little vixen in that regard- was all new terrain. His soul and heart were unravelling, he realised with a shaky breath against her flushed skin, to be laid bare before her.
Remembering the man he needed to maim, Cole reluctantly moved her off him and swung his legs over the mattress.
Oriana pouted.
"Stop that," he grumbled, turning away and locating items of clothing that were scattering around the floor. "You're incorrigible."
Holding the sheet to her bosom, she huffed a breath. "What do you expect?"
He hopped into his breeches and quirked a brow in her direction. "I expect you to make an honourable man of me," he teased, following the ensemble with a fresh white shirt from his trunk. A pillow was lobbed at his head. He caught it and tossed it back onto the bed. Laughing, he ambled over to her and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "You need a bath and a new gown. Try to look decent when I send someone here, Ori."
"I have clothes, I told you," she grumbled. "They were in my satchel."
Cole thrust the tails of his shirt inside the breeches, searching for his waistcoat next and coming up blank. "When I return, I'll procure it from your cabin. For now, enjoy the bath and, right, some breakfast and tea, I suppose." He glanced outside the window, noting the lateness of the hour with a frown. "I believe it will be a quick breakfast, Ori."
"Odious man. Won't allow a lady ample time to eat a meal even."
Coat, boots and stockings in one hand, he loped back to the bed and slanted his mouth over hers emphatically. "Darling, you'll have plenty time to eat whatever you desire in due course. Right now, however, we are running on a tight schedule to ensure that preposterously delicious derriere of yours remains scandal free and in good-derriere-standing."
***
Oriana felt giddy.
There was no other word for it.
They were strolling quietly together up a narrow country lane in a small coastal village somewhere in Hampshire. It was a gloriously bright day after a spell of weather the previous evening, and a cool breeze blew off the ocean with refreshing briskness. Clouds loomed over the cusp of the horizon, brewing far away in the distance. Cole loped with a casual stride beside her, her brown satchel slung over his shoulder in an act of chivalry that had surprised her. The journey across the wake and crest of the waves along the shoreline in such a small rowboat had threatened to churn her stomach again, but it was a mercifully short trip which deposited them on the beach and then the two men accompanying them returned to the large, imposing masted vessel in the distance.
They were winding their way towards a cottage Cole explained he owned here, where they would await Lord and Lady Ashcroft to no doubt come down with a fury on her head. It was with some trepidation that she prepared to face her long-time companions, knowing full well the duress she had placed upon them at her impromptu departure from Falmouth Castle. She had, after all, been their welcomed guest for a few weeks and their reputation was tied to her scandalous behaviour whether she liked it or not.
As if sensing her troubles, Cole gave her hand a soft squeeze where it was entwined with his as they strolled quietly along, and Ori glanced at him. He was quite marvellous in a royal blue coat and dark breeches, his strides long and graceful as his boots crunched the gravel. She recalled all the lovely words he had said to her and all the heated ways he tuned her body to his and a blush swept up the back of her neck. It had been worth it, she told herself fiercely. What she had jeopardised, her impulsive and irrational decisions, it had been worth it for if all she got was that one night to spend with him, she would happily forego an eternity without him just for that small moment of perfection.
His smile was sly and curled his lips deeply into the grooves of his cheeks. "I so do enjoy the expressions on your face when you are thinking something you shouldn't be," he said mischievously.
The blush scraped higher, blooming against her cheeks. "Am not."
"You're a terrible liar, Ori. It'd be in your best interests to merely state the truth because-" he leaned conspiratorially close to her and tapped the side of his nose with his free hand, "-I can read you like a book."
"Really?" she mused. "Pray tell, what am I thinking right now then?"
His eyes flashed with distinct indecency. "You are recalling how much you enjoyed riding my-"
"You've made your point!" Her blush was furious now. "Actually, that's not quite what I was thinking. Well, a little bit at first but not exactly."
"What is it you were thinking then, even if I do not believe you."
How to put in words the overwhelming warmth encasing her heart, the perplexingly soaring heights of emotion that were concaving her chest and entire being? She was well-versed in Shakespearean sonnets, tragedies, romances yet none of those finely worded lyrics spun close to what was in her heart. Words, she felt, were arbitrarily contrived in comparison. A deep breath was pulled into her lungs before she expelled it, her brow creasing with thought as she deliberated. "I was thinking," she began slowly, her gait also slowing to match her thoughts, "that if I was given another chance, where I could choose to stay at Falmouth and wait for your return, or I could risk my reputation and follow you across continents, then I would choose the latter over and over again." His face was calmly observing her now, devoid of mischief, unreadable. She continued. "These hours I have been allotted to share with you... I would sacrifice everything if it meant that this was all I was to be given- my reputation, spinsterhood, loneliness..." The sobriety between them unsettled her slightly as he continued to stare, so she shifted her shoulders and cast him a crooked smile. "You know, I think I rather like you."
"Like?" he almost barked, his face slanting with incredulity. "Oriana, a person doesn't jump aboard a ship, risking life and death, just for like." His look was teasingly disparaging. "You can do better than that, purported Shakespearean expert you claim to be."
"Cole, I may be a hopeless romantic but-"
He ground to a halt and swivelled to her, wagging a finger under her nose. "Don't you dare attempt to downplay what you feel, Ori, I won't have it. Say what is really on the tip of your tongue or don't say anything at all."
She frowned at him, heart fluttering with pangs of nervousness. Had she told another man that she loved them before? Certainly, no. Gabriel... he had never earned that privilege, she realised now. She had been enamoured with his beauty, infatuated with the idea of him, but it was never love... it was never this all-consuming, giddy, selfless notion that embodied what she felt for Cole. This man, this rugged, irksome man, meant everything to her. She would lay her soul out for the devil to take if it ensured his wellbeing. "I suppose you are somewhat..." she paused, giving him a bright grin, "... loved."
He swept her into a hard embrace, dropping his lips to her crown, nuzzling her cheek. He was warm and smelt like the ocean, like a fresh breath of wind, of sea and sand and new beginnings. "You, too, are somewhat loved," he teased, his body stiffening against her.
"Cole," she breathed, instantly mirroring his body's reaction, "we can hardly afford a tryst amongst the Sea Thrift."
"Hmm." He glanced down at the green shrubbery littering the gentle slope on either side, normally blooming pink and white in warmer months, and Ori rather thought he was giving the thought due consideration. "Perhaps you are right, just this once." A feral grin. "Should we pass through here again, I will have to remember to coordinate a tryst with you in some pretty flowers. For now, though, I am sure it is my best interest to have you ready to meet your hosts and chaperones before they arrive."
He released her and they continued along the path. "You worry about Lord Ashcroft?" Ori broached.
Cole snorted. "He will feel compelled to call me out if he feels I have besmirched your honour and do not intend to do right by you, but that shouldn't be a concern. Your little misdemeanour may grant me the privilege of a black eye and a bruised rib, depending how long we keep Rhys waiting."
Ori felt uncomfortable thinking about Cole in any sort of physical harm. "Surely not."
He merely shrugged, unperturbed. "It wouldn't be the first, or the last, time."
"But you are friends!"
"Aye, and we are male. Sometimes we are prone to bouts of stupidity."
Oriana made a caustic sound. "Well, that I won't argue with."
"An unargumentative Oriana," Cole pondered, stroking his chin for emphasis and rewarded with a soft slap against his arm.
"You make me contrary, you do know that, right?"
"Must be the pirate in me." He positively leered.
"Is that why you have that tattoo on your arm?" Oriana gestured to his arm that, under layers of clothing, hid what she knew to be an intricate black shape on his forearm over some jagged scarring.
"I thought you'd never ask," he chuckled. "But no. That is the result of a bet I lost at a less than savoury establishment in London."
She gave him a disapprovingly sour look. "And here I thought it was something mysterious and intriguing. I fear you may have just lost a few points against your reputation, captain."
"I shan't tell you how I came by the scar, then."
Her eyes widened comically and she turned to him, tugging on his sleeve like an eager child. "Oh, you simply must now! Did you lose a brawl? Stabbed by a miscreant?"
"God, no." He laughed. "Nothing quite so sordid. In fact, it is rather boring. But what stories did you hear about it?"
"Dani mentioned that you had fought a band of highwaymen," Ori told him. "But now that you say it must be a story, I am simply dying to know!"
He tugged her along and she was forced to trip over her feet to walk beside him. "Before I Rhys hired me, I was working for a privateer- a shady fellow, didn't run a smooth ship. His crew were paid hands, the down and out, mostly convicts on the run and looking for passage to another country that would not put them behind bars. The clipper... it was not well maintained. Parts of the ship were rotted from the damp, splintering and jagged."
Oriana winced at the thought of a fermented, jagged piece of wood skewering his arm. "You fell?"
Cole scoffed. "I was pushed, by one of those drunken, misbegotten louts. And then I fell, yes. My arm tried to find a grip to soften the fall, but went straight through one of the floorboards. Due to the lack of medical supplies on board, courtesy of the skipper's negligence, the skin could only be stitched three days later by the time we were docked India. The wound was already festering- I was sure I would lose the arm. Thankfully, though, it was treated well- enough, but the scarring is worse than it should have been."
They were rounding a bend against the gentle slope along the coast and a small village came into view. They were on the outskirts, mostly farmland and small cottages widely interspersed apart from each other. It was pleasant and peaceful, a little bit of idyllic paradise away from the bustle of a populated city. Life moved at a different pace here.
The first cottage, a whitewashed double story structure, was further away from the village than the rest and this was where Cole guided her, through the low iron gate and prettily attended manicured front garden.
The wooden door was thrust open before Cole had raised a fist to knock and revealed an extraordinarily beautiful woman on the other side carrying a swaddled bundle in her arms. Rich chocolate brown hair was swept up in a perfect coiffure, her eyes a hazel myriad of wonder, elegant cheekbones and a perfect figure swathed in simple gown of dove blue. "Cole!" she gushed happily, eyes bright and swimming with tears, fixed on him, before she threw her one free arm around his shoulders and embraced him with a familiarity that was... unsettling. Cole kissed her cheek in greeting. "How good it is to see you! You've been away from us for far too long."
Us?
The woman stepped back and the bundle stirred- a babe, about several months old. "May I present your namesake, Cole II?"
"You really did not have to bestow such an unfortunate honour on the child," Cole grumbled, taking the babe and snuggling him to his chest, grinning down at the cherub face in his arms. That familiarity, that adoration Oriana witnessed on his face, the love and care emanating from his being while he addressed this woman and the child...
No, it couldn't be. Doubt, hurt, anger, disbelief began to churn and clench her gut.
Cole looked up, smiling softly, and said, "Caroline, allow me to introduce you to Miss Oriana Brightmore, my... companion."
Companion?
She was boiling, fuming, and the punch that word had to her chest made the edges of her vision darken.
"Oriana, this is Caroline Allen."
And the pieces of the situation locked into place with a sickening click- the isolated cottage, the enigmatically beautiful woman alone with a child. Here, before her, stood Cole Stanley's mistress and his illegitimate child, and she was privy to every humiliation know to woman.
Her back stiffened, ice cracking and stretching its long encroaching tentacles over her heart. Caroline extended a slender-fingered hand in her direction, a crooked smile on her full lips. "A pleasure-"
Oriana blasted that hand with a baleful glare, as if a rotting piece of flesh was offered to her on a filthy plate, before she turned on her heel, turning her back on them. All of them.