Nothing he could say would change her mind. But she would need the time to ponder what she would say if Thom’s answer was that he’d hoped to stay.
TWO
He never should have married her.
Sitting naked on the pallet, Thom flicked the coin over in his palm. Just a small bit of gold—and all that was left of his hopes and intentions.
Almost nothing.
He’d wanted to give Georgiana so much more. He’d been arrogant enough to believe that he could. But this coin had been waiting for Thom when he’d awoken, as if to make certain he didn’t spend another second fooling himself. In sleep and dreams, her face and her touch had been so close. Then he’d seen that glint of gold, and the memory of everything he’d lost had crashed through his mind like a cold wave, sweeping those dreams away.
Losing it all was the last thing he remembered: the airship flying in low over Oriana’s sails, the rail cannon firing a chunk out of his ship’s bow, and the turned-out pirate who’d descended from the airship and asked Thom for the chest of coins—then the crack of a pistol and the stabbing pain through his side. A dim recollection of the waves and a lighthouse might have been memories or more dreams. Thom didn’t know. There wasn’t anything solid after the bullet, until the glint of gold.
But the room he was in now told the rest of the story. Henry Tucker’s house—the bedchamber on the ground floor. Thom must have been too heavy to carry up the stairs, so Georgiana’s parents had put him in their own bed. The mattress dripped water that puddled on the stone floor. Only one reason for that. He’d had a fever and they’d packed him in ice.
It would have been better if they’d left him for dead. Now he’d have to get off this pallet and look Georgiana in the eye. Tell her that he’d come home with nothing, and that he was leaving again. But Thom thought that going this time might kill him—because this time, he would be leaving for good.
She deserved more than this. He couldn’t be what she needed. He couldn’t make her happy. He had to let her go, give her a chance to find a man who knew how to be a husband. Who didn’t return empty-handed.
Now Thom didn’t even have a ship.
He dressed, his movements slow. The bullet through his side was nothing more than a twinge now, but he didn’t want to hurry. From the kitchen he heard a woman’s light tread and the clink of utensils. Georgiana, or her mother. Though he ached to see his wife, a step out of this room was a step closer to leaving. And if it was her mother, he dreaded the woman’s cheer. He’d never seen Jane Tucker unhappy. Always simmering with joy, and a smile now would be a curving dagger through his heart.
But the delay could only last until he pushed his feet into his boots. He braced himself for whoever waited beyond the door, battening down the pain in his chest. He couldn’t falter in this. Georgiana was a stubborn woman. She wouldn’t give up on their marriage easily, and when she argued, Thom would be tempted to soften and give in. But he’d spent four years forcing himself to stay away. He would have to rely on that strength again.
Silently, he opened the door. At the table, Georgiana sat with her back to him—just like the first time he’d seen her. He’d been standing on the deck of her father’s ship, Sea Bloom, returning after a five-month whaling expedition. Georgiana had been waiting at the docks with her mother, but she’d turned to greet someone, and he’d only seen her black hair, her graceful neck, and a summery yellow dress that left her arms bare.
She was just as graceful now, but her hair had changed. Instead of a long braid, she’d rolled it into a thick ball at her nape. A dress of dark blue hugged her figure, with long sleeves for winter.
Aside from the pounding of his heart, Thom had been quiet, but Georgiana must have heard him. She turned her head just slightly, so that he glimpsed the shell of her ear and the shadow behind her jaw. “You’re awake and well?”
“I am.”
“Sit and eat, then.”
Georgiana rose and moved to the stove as she spoke. There was never any nonsense about her when a task needed to be done, even one as simple as breakfast. Always practical. Many of her father’s sailors called her cold and humorless, but Thom had appreciated her steady nature from the first.
And she wasn’t cold. Nor was she humorless. Just reserved. After those barriers had fallen away, he’d discovered that her teasing could be gentle or sharp, and usually at unexpected moments in their conversations. During the long walks they’d taken while courting, Thom had laughed more with Georgiana than he could recall laughing in all of the years that had come before, and he’d realized that far more went on in her head than ever came out of her mouth.
But there was nothing in his head except Georgiana. She’d made him happy. He’d wanted to do the same for her. He hadn’t.
Heart heavy, Thom chose the nearest chair and sat. “As soon as I’ve finished, I’ll haul out that wet bed.”
“Thank you.”
She returned from the stove. Oh, sweet blue heavens. Standing close, she set his bowl and mug on the table, and the fragrance of her filled his senses, that delicate flowery scent from a bloom he didn’t know the name of, but that he always thought of as Georgiana’s. Her hair had smelled of it the first time he’d kissed her, moments after she’d accepted his hand. Her nightgown had carried the same scent on the night of their wedding, and it had taken every bit of his control not to strip it from her body and discover if she smelled the same everywhere.
It took all of his control now. He closed his eyes, fingers clenching against the urge to carry her upstairs and lose himself in her warmth. Never again. Even if he’d intended to stay, never again. He’d promised himself the last time, when she’d been under him, whimpering and squirming as she bore the pain of his raging need.
Never again.
He’d done wrong, asking her to marry him. His need had been part of that wrong, coming upon him from the moment she’d turned to face him on the docks eight years ago. He’d been fool enough to believe he had that hunger under control.
He couldn’t let such needs rule him. He controlled them now. He kept them in order. Marriage should have done that, too. Marriage put them both in their proper place. Wanting a wife, then having her in bed. That was a proper order. Yet his hunger had only grown, and his control had become a bare, slight thing. He’d wanted her every second—if not inside her, then just to be with her.
Just as he wanted her now. But her presence and that fragrance weren’t a poor substitute for the bed. They were a sweet pleasure of their own.
She moved on to her chair, and her perfume was replaced by the scent of hot grains wafting up from his bowl. He glanced down. Some kind of porridge. It didn’t matter. Everything he’d ever eaten in this house was better than what he had on his ship.