Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers

9

Jemma slowed her horse, eyes squinted to discern the trail which wound around a cluster of mangroves. Quicksand abounded on both sides and more than one less cautious rider had found himself and his horse trapped in the quagmire that was the swamp.

Carefully she wound Ajax around a large dead stump. The fetid odor of vegetation and stagnant water made its way to her nostrils and she grimaced. The trail was the quickest way to get to her favorite fishing spot, but she didn't enjoy the sensation of being trapped that the darkness of the swamp gave her. Or the smell.

“Almost there, Ajax.” Jemma ran her hand over the stallion's thick gray mane. Ajax had been a gift from her father on her 15th birthday. While she clapped her hands in delight, Lady Corbett had shaken her head in consternation, admonishing William Manning for giving his daughter a stallion and not some docile, dappled mare. The stallion as a gift for a girl was unseemly, Lady Corbett said. Thankfully, Jemma’s father ignored her.

“I don't find you unseemly in the least,” Jemma said out loud, and Ajax snickered back as if he understood and agreed with her.

“I do hope I find some tasty crabs. I would so like crab chowder for dinner.” Patting the basket hanging from her saddle horn, she stifled a yawn and checked the basket to make sure she’d brought enough bait. “I think I am in need of a nap, Ajax.” Sleep had eluded her since the encounter with Nick at the festival. Though she’d been in his company for less than an hour, that short time changed her view on all manner of things. The dreaded betrothal hung over her like a hangman’s noose now, and the familiar sense of complacency she’d felt about marrying Augie had vanished. Now the thought of marrying him seemed almost abhorrent. Wrong.

I belong with Nick.

Jerking back on the reins at the truth of her thoughts, she pulled too tight on the bit, and Ajax shook his head in agitation.

I want him, even though I should not.

Her sleepless nights were testament to his effect on her. She dreamt of him, of lying naked with him. She would awake with a start, a painful ache between her thighs and the taste of him on her lips. Why she would want a one-eyed man of dubious character and background instead of the Lord Governor’s son, she didn’t know. Did it matter?

Jemma had not seen Nick in Hamilton, nor had he sought her out. She sensed his avoidance of her and was hurt by it. Wishing to see him, she even resorted to having tea with Lady Corbett, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, but to no avail. He seemed to have vanished, and Jemma was too embarrassed to ask Lady Corbett or Augie of his whereabouts. For all she knew, he’d left the islands.

“Perhaps he’s romancing one of the Sinclair sisters. I can’t blame him, really. After all, I am nearly betrothed.” Jemma shrugged, feeling as if a great weight sat on her shoulders. “He makes me feel things I should not. Makes me want things. I fear it best I never cross paths with him again.”

Ajax snorted and lifted his head.

“Yes." She reached down and ran her fingers through the horse’s mane. “I should stay well clear of Nick Shepherd. But I don’t really wish to, you see. That’s the rub.”

The heat of the sun warmed Jemma's cheeks and she quickly adjusted the brim of her hat. It was early, and still cool, but Jemma didn’t dare go home with her nose burnt.

Morning sunlight touched the top of her shoulders as she made her way out of the dark pit of the swamp. She led Ajax down a narrow path between to boulders. The path ended on a small, sanded inlet with a tidal pool. Fish, crab, and occasionally a spiny lobster found their way into the tidal pool and couldn’t get back out.

A large outcropping of rock jutted out over the pool, creating a shaded area next to the water. The sand here was still cool and the breeze gentle. No one knew of this place, not even Tally. Jemma found the spot years ago and returned here often. She would not be bothered she thought, stifling another yawn. “Goodness Ajax, it is a miracle I made it here without falling asleep in the saddle.”

Dismounting in one graceful motion, she looped the reins around a small bush that struggled to burst through the rock. Digging into her saddlebag, she pulled out a ragged quilt and a napkin filled with a fresh mango and some cheese. A leather flask of water hung from the saddle horn as did her fishing basket.

Tossing the quilt onto the pink sand, she placed her lunch on top, throwing a stone on each corner of the quilt to ensure it would stay flat. She deftly grabbed a grub from the hamper and stuck it through the small barb dangling off her pole. The grub wiggled around the hook, trying to escape its fate. “I feel rather the same way.” She flung the line out into the pool then tossed her hat aside with a sigh.

“I don't give a fig if my skin looks like burnt toast, and I'd rather fish than play the pianoforte. I don’t wish to give up my eccentric behavior to sit and sew and gossip while listening to Lady Corbett instruct me on how to be a proper wife.”

Ajax shook his large head in agreement.

“Mr. Shepherd doesn’t seem to find my behavior too odd. He complimented my shooting.”

The stallion snorted and pawed at the sand.

She braced the pole against a small boulder next to her. "I don't love Augie. I won’t ever love him, except as a brother. I should marry him, though, shouldn’t I? What other choice do I have?” Lying down on the quilt, she looked up at the clouds dotting the sky above her. “I think I may love Nick Shepherd, which is ridiculous, since I barely know him. Well, that’s not exactly true. I feel as if I do know him. It’s very complicated and I don’t know that I’ll ever see him again.”

Ajax whinnied in response.

“I do appreciate your council, my friend.” Jemma blew a kiss to Ajax. She rolled over and grabbed at her discarded hat. She squished the quilt into the sand with her shoulders to get comfortable and put the hat over her face. Contemplating her feelings for Nick Shepherd was best done with her eyes shut.

* * *

Nick slowedhis horse to a walk now that he was well out of sight of the Sinclairs’ home. He wished desperately that he’d absconded with a bottle of Abel Sinclair’s rum to fortify him after the “Sinclair Assault,” of yesterday evening and his subsequent discussion with Abel. Had it not been so late, and had he somewhere else to go, Nick would have fled the Sinclair estate last night, but he found he was averse to sleeping out of doors under a cloud of mosquitos. He was quite used to women throwing themselves at him, after all he was heir to a dukedom, albeit a cursed one, but the Sinclair sisters put even the most determined spinsters in London to shame.

Nick stayed with the Sinclairs’, at Abel’s invitation, for nearly a week after the festival in Hamilton. During his stay, Agnes and Bertie each plead their case for marriage. Afternoon tea became a battleground of sorts as each twin fought for Nick’s affections. Agnes attempted to sit herself on Nick’s lap yesterday, under the guise of pouring him tea. This enraged Bertie so, that she flung a teacake at her sister's head. The two nearly came to fisticuffs over who would put jam on Nick's scone. Dinner became all out war. Bertie tried to feed Nick a bit of fish off her fork while Agnes and her roving foot caused Nick to push his chair back from the table to deter her.

Abel Sinclair was not amused.

After advising his sisters to retire early, Abel asked Nick to join him for a brandy in the study. He instructed the servants to keep the twins away from the study door.

Abel sat, his pale grey eyes watery and exhausted with the antics of his sisters. He regarded Nick with one bushy gray brow raised. “Well?”

Nick thanked Abel for his hospitality but informed the man, in the most polite way possible, that both Agnes and Bertie would stay unmarried. At least to Nick.

Abel nodded, giving Nick a beleaguered look. “If you’ll forgive my honesty, Mr. Shepherd, I did not think you would suit either Agnes nor Bertie, though they both feel otherwise.” He’d pursed his lips, hesitating as if he wasn’t sure he should continue. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give you a bit of advice. You’d best consider leaving Hamilton, for your own safety, of course.”

“I shall heed your warning in regards to your sisters.” Nick stood, bowing slightly. “I will retire and leave you on the morrow.” The eye-patch itched furiously, and he longed to be free of the bit of leather. He’d been afraid to take it off, even at night, lest one of the sisters burst in on him as he slept.

“I wasn’t speaking of my sisters, Mr. Shepherd.” Abel gave Nick a level look, his meaning clear. “I’ve warned you. Take my advice or not.”

Nick thought the advice a bit late though he was sure Abel meant well.

After the festival in Hamilton, Nick arrived at the Governor’s mansion to find his room neatly put in order, just not the order Nick left it in. The Governor, or rather someone in Corbett’s employ, had been very careful. A less observant man wouldn't have noticed a shirt folded, not quite right. Or Nick's traveling trunk, moved just a bit, the lid not shut tightly.

He’d taken one look around the room and suspected he’d worn out his welcome. Unsure where to go, Nick took what he needed and decided to accept the hospitality of Abel Sinclair. The Corbetts did not inquire about Nick's whereabouts, but they likely knew he was at the Sinclairs’.

George Corbett would come looking for Nick soon.

The Pegasus, a ship from the Dunbars’ fleet, was due to arrive in the next week, but Nick’s sixth sense told him not to wait. After several discrete inquiries, Nick found the Artemis, bound for England, on the morning tide. He planned to board as soon as he confronted William Manning, which he meant to do tonight.

I cannot bed her in anger or revenge.

Nick would honor his grandfather’s wishes. He would ask Manning for his confession, possibly even threaten the man’s life in order to receive the truth of his identity. Jem need never know. Would she wonder what became of Nick Shepherd?

“I’ve finally become an honorable man. How horrified London would be.” Nick wiped the sweat off his brow and nudged his horse into a trot.

Jem.

He would leave her to live her life, though he wished nothing more than to stay near her. Touch her. Bury himself in her softness. His grandfather would need to be content with the knowledge of the traitors, if not the traitors themselves. While it pained Nick to think of Manning living out his days peacefully in Bermuda, he did not think the man had many days left to him. George Corbett, however, Nick would take care of later.

Jem will marry Augustus Corbett. She’ll share his bed and bear his children. Lady Corbett will destroy Jem’s glorious, reckless nature. Augustus will never appreciate her or how unique she is. He will never know her as I do.

A mosquito landed on his arm and he swatted at it. “I hate this fucking island.” Nick wiped the sweat running down his face with his sleeve. Even the stench of London would be most welcome, as horrible as the smell was, because it would not be Bermuda. Not Bermuda, where there is a constant reminder of what I cannot have.

He stopped his horse angrily. “I am tired,” he tugged off his coat, nearly tearing the sleeves “of this bloody heat.” He balled up the garment, shoving it into his saddlebag as a vision of Jem lying in Augie Corbett’s arms filled his mind. Pummeling the coat, he finally managed to shove the whole of it away. Satisfied, he looked up from his abused coat and glanced at the rutted road ahead of him.

A small, slight figure wearing an overly large hat popped into view, then just as quickly disappeared again.

Jem.

Nick took a deep breath, mindful of what he should do and not caring.

“I am not as honorable as all that.” He nudged his horse forward, his resolve to leave the island without seeing her again fading into nothingness.

Where was she going?

A path, barely discernible through the thickness of the trees led into a marshy area. Patches of quicksand dotted either side of the trail, and Nick carefully picked his way through the thick weeds and dense vegetation. Gnats swirled in clumps before him and mosquitos buzzed his ears. The light dimmed and Nick nearly turned back, sure he’d never find her.

A flash of white darted through the trees and a horse whinnied. The sound came from his left.

Determined now, Nick dismounted to walk his horse along the narrow trail. He slowed and matched his path to Jem’s, suspecting that if he deviated from her footsteps, he and his mount would find themselves sucked into a bed of quicksand.

“I’ve no desire to do that treacherous shit Corbett any favors,” he said to himself quietly.

A breeze stirred the stagnant air of the swamp, the sharp tang of salt reached Nick’s nostrils and the roar of the ocean crashing against the cliffs reached his ears. Sunlight broke through the trees, and he found himself on a small cliff overlooking the pink sands below.

Jem seemed to have vanished.

“Bloody hell.” Nick walked back and forth in the tall grass for nearly a half hour before his horse gave a cry as a lizard ran across the path.

The faint sound of another horse answered.

He walked to the edge of the grass and saw a pile of shells marking the start of another, incredibly narrow path, which stretched down the rocky side of the cliff to the sand below.

“The lass has no fear.” Nick tied his horse to graze and cautiously approached the path. The shell strewn trail declined sharply before opening on to a beautiful pink, sandy cove that held a small tidal pool. A fishing pole, its line bobbing gently in the pool, lay wedged into a crevice of rock. He looked across the brilliant expanse of sand, sparkling in the morning sun and saw no one.

Where was she?

A small unladylike snore sounded from behind a boulder.

Nick approached slowly, peering over the boulder into a shaded area. He didn't see her immediately, hidden as she was under a cropping of rock.

Jem lay on her back, her head pillowed by one arm, the other lying across her stomach. Her hat sat atop her face. A pair of boots sat discarded in the sand, and he was immediately drawn to the sight of her exposed calves and feet.

Jem made another soft snorting sound and curled back against the sand.

A strange fluttering started in Nick’s chest, crossing the region of his heart. Hunger for Jem spooled within him, despite his formerly honorable intentions.

Carefully, he knelt down into the sparkling sand next to her and gently pulled the hat from her face. He didn't wish her awake. Not yet. The fluttering in his chest grew in intensity as he looked down at her. Nick’s gaze ran from the beautiful lines of her jaw, admiring the honey color of her skin and the light spray of freckles across her nose.

Augustus Corbett would never appreciate those freckles.

Jem's chest rose softly as she dozed, drawing Nick’s attention to the small, rounded mounds of her breasts. He remembered the feel of her in his mouth that night on the Governor’s terrace. Unable to stop himself, he ran a finger against the tiny peak of her left breast, delighting when the nub hardened beneath his questing touch.

Jem stirred but did not wake. Her lips pursed and her brow wrinkled as if she were contemplating something, then she smiled.

“Are you dreaming of chocolate?” Nick whispered as he brushed his lips against hers. He tasted salt and sunshine, with just a bit of chocolate.

She kissed him back, her lips moving in time with his. Her eyes flickered open slowly, widening in wonder as she gazed up at him.

“Nick.” Jem stretched a bit like a kitten after taking a nap. One hand ran up his arm, then stopped. The sleepy look left her eyes. “Nick?”

The flutter in his chest became stronger as if a dozen butterflies were trapped above his heart. Joy, an emotion Nick never thought to feel, surged through him as he took in the loveliness of her features in the morning light.

Rubbing his thumb and the Devil’s ring against her plump lower lip, he marveled at the softness of her mouth.

“Hello, Jem.”

* * *

She'd been dreamingof Nick.

He was kissing her under a tall tree at the festival in King Square while his hand stole wickedly up her skirts. The other hand cupped her breast. She urged him on while all of Hamilton watched. He was about to lay her down in the winding grass, in truth, she was begging him to do so, when he stopped and merely brushed his lips against hers and smiled.

Her eyes opened to see Nick's face above her, the soft smile on his lips as real as in her dream. Unbidden, her hand slid to touch the eye-patch lying crookedly against his cheek. She sighed as she felt the rasp of his beard against her fingertips.

I find him so beautiful.

The dark, shaggy hair curled about his ears in the early morning heat. The fine lawn of his shirt, heavy with moisture, clung to the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and arms. The top button of his shirt opened, revealing a spill of dark hair. His thumb ran across her bottom lip again.

“You are forever assessing me,” he whispered. “If you look for flaws I have many and would be happy to list them for you. It would save time, time that should be spent on other, more delightful, pursuits. Don’t you agree?” A finger ran down her arm.

“How did you get here?” She shivered deliciously as he touched her.

“I followed you.”

“But, where's your horse?” She came up on her elbows and looked behind him. “And you have no coat." A throbbing ache started between her thighs, a sudden and immediate response to being close to Nick.

“Coat?” Nick scoffed. “I've come to loath my coat, a useless garment in this heat. Were I not sure it would cause Lady Corbett to have fits I would walk about shirtless.” A half-smile crossed his lips.

The ache became stronger at the thought of Nick nearly unclothed.

“You followed me through the swamp? Why would you do such a thing?” she asked. “Not only is it improper, had you gone off the path you could have—”

“I wanted to see you. I—” he cut her off and stared at her with a strange intensity. The deep baritone lowered to a growl. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?” She knew the answer, of course. The warmth running up her body told her. Wanting. Nick wanted her, and she wanted him. The thread of that wanting tugged at her, pulling her to him.

A gull cried in the open air above them while the surf roared and Ajax stomped in the sand. The sounds came to her muted and faded as all of her senses came into sharp focus around the man kneeling before her.

Nick reached out and took the thick braid of her hair in his hand. “I wish to see your hair down, about your shoulders.” Before she could object, he untied the thong holding her braid, pulling apart the strands of her hair. He ran his hands through the weight of it before winding the thickness around his wrist and pulling her to him. “I wanted to see you,” he said again before his mouth descended on hers.

Sinking into his kiss, her lips softened and opened beneath his questing tongue. She placed her hands against his chest and felt the coiled strength of his body beneath her fingertips. The flame of her desire for Nick flickered until it roared with heat, threatening to consume her.

“Jem.” He sat back on his heels, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Mmm.” He let go of her hair. “I must admit, I prefer you without stockings.” A hand ran down her calf.

Jemma trembled.

Fingers danced across the top of her toes then ran down the sole of her foot.

“Stop.” She jumped back at his touch, wondering how tickling the bottom of her foot could possibly be so erotic. “You shouldn’t.”

“I should.” He cocked his head, studying her bare feet intently.

Self-consciously, she twisted her feet, wondering what it was about them that merited his attention. Were her feet objectionable in some way? Nick did not seem to be bound by propriety, but perhaps her current state was a bit more than even he appreciated. Certainly, most men would find the sight of bare feet slightly indecent. “I’m not very proper, am I?”

“No," he said in a solemn tone, still looking at her feet. “Definitely not.”

Jemma frowned at his quick agreement.

“It is a failing of mine.”

“I have to agree.” His hand inched up her thigh to her waist.

Annoyed she tried to pull away, but the feel of Nick’s fingers holding the waist of her breeches held her fast.

“Now, the sisters Sinclair,” the whiskey voice lectured, “they are truly proper ladies.” The hand at her waist floated across her stomach towards her breasts.

The heaviness pressed against the cotton of her shirt almost painfully. Her breath caught in her throat at the featherlight touch of his fingers moving across her waist.

“Quite interested in pleasing a man, I might add. Agnes,” a finger trailed up, to circle the outline of Jemma’s breast, “made me a tart, just the other day. The berries a bit sour, but I appreciated the effort.”

“I’m,” Jemma gasped as Nick's finger brushed against the nipple, “certain you did.”

“Quite.” He toyed with the top of her nipple until it hardened into a peak. “Bertie, now, she truly will make a fine wife. She sings like a lark and plays the piano. Why, she even monogrammed a handkerchief for me.”

“How lovely of her.” Jemma panted and tried to remain still as Nick moved on to her other breast.

“Yes.” Nick growled as his hand descended between her legs, rubbing gently but insistently. “Well, I suppose if you caught me a fish for dinner, or perhaps a rabbit?” His hand hovered over the apex between her thighs. “That would be something.”

“There are no rabbits in Bermuda.” Her entire body throbbed with an ache she could not put words to. “You bloody arrogant man. I'd like to see Agnes hold a pistol. Tart making. Embroidery. I should despise doing either.” She stifled a moan as his hand came back to the waist of her breeches.

“Do not distress yourself, Jem.” Nick stretched out next to her on the quilt and propped himself up on one elbow. “You have other attributes I admire far more.” The top of her breeches came apart and his hand descended down the bare skin of her stomach. The long fingers wove themselves into the down of her womanhood. “So like you, Jem, not to wear any underthings with your breeches.”

“They don’t—” She moaned as his fingers slipped between the moist folds, “fit under my breeches.” Jemma clasped his forearm with her hand as his thumb rubbed against the nub nestled between the folds.

Nick pressed a kiss to her neck, his mouth moving down across the top of her breasts. “I wish to see these,” he breathed roughly, his hand moving up from her breeches to cup one breast. As he sat up, he cupped one side of her face, kissing her roughly. “Now. I would see them now.”

The rough cotton of her shirt suddenly slid up before she could protest. Not that she was capable of protesting. This was wrong. Wicked even. But, oh how she wanted Nick, wanted this.

The string holding her chemise loosened, and that garment too flew off her body, the wispy material caught by a gust of air and landing on her boots. She should be horrified, even embarrassed. Instead she was elated, her body taut with excitement. Still, she looked away from Nick.

“So lovely, like sweet cherries.”

A jolt of intense pleasure caused Jemma to arch her back as Nick sucked one sensitive peak into his mouth. Reaching up to clutch at his head, she cried softly, “Do not stop, Nick, I do not wish you to stop.”

He lifted his mouth from her breast and regarded her solemnly. “Then, we are in agreement.” His tongue flicked against her nipple as he watched her. “Aren’t we?”

Jemma paused for a moment, but only a moment. There was nothing she wanted so much as to be with this man. This moment had been destined since he first touched her. She was no worldly woman of the ton, nor was she a girl who idly discarded her virtue, but Nick was the desire of her heart. “Yes. I am certain.” Marriage to Augie and her father’s disappointment paled in comparison to the rightness of Nick. Jemma ran her fingers through his hair. “I am very sure.”

“As you wish, Jem.” Slowly, he pulled the breeches from her body, kissing each newly exposed bit of skin until she lay naked and quivering on the quilt. She turned her face to the ocean, too unsure to meet the eyes of the man above her. Would he find her wanting?

“You are so lovely,” Nick said in a hushed voice. “Look at me.”

“I cannot. I—” She shut her eyes. The confidence she’d had in all things her entire life deserted her. Fear and longing caused her to tremble.

“If you don't open your eyes, you won't be able to see what I will do next.” The strands of his hair trailed against the skin of her stomach. He pressed a kiss just below her belly button.

Jemma's eyes shot open.

Nick grinned wickedly at her. “Now, stay still.” His hand splayed across her stomach, holding her. He ran one hand down her leg. “I've thought of your legs often, dreamt of them, in fact. They are just as I imagined.” He pushed them apart, looking at her all the while as he brushed the hair atop the mound of her womanhood with his fingers. He blew gently, tickling the hairs with his breath.

The most delicious sensations spread out across Jemma’s thighs. Her legs quivered. She’d heard about such things of course, of what a man might do to a woman.

Nick’s nose nudged at the inside of her thigh.

“Oh God.” The tip of his tongue flicked out and Jemma's hips lifted off the blanket. That tiny nub, that spot which tingled sometimes if she rode astride, was now the focus of all of her pleasure.

“Yes?” He pushed a finger inside of her.

“Nick.” She pressed her body up, wanting more.

“You're already wet, Jem.” His tongue leapt out to flick at the nub while his finger moved in and out slowly. "It's like lightning in a bottle,” he moved his body between her splayed legs, “when we touch. Isn’t it?”

“Yes," she stuttered, barely able to form the words. Her mind became numb, her thoughts incoherent, blank to everything but the intensity of sensation created by Nick’s mouth.

“You don't feel this when Corbett touches you.” He breathed against the flesh of her thighs. “Do you?”

Unable to answer, she shook her head in denial against the quilt as another finger joined the first.

“I thought not.” Pulling one leg over his shoulder, he pushed the other to the side until they were spread wide. His mouth sucked at her tender flesh while his fingers pressed into her.

Jemma twisted on the quilt as a delicious pressure built inside of her. There was a mountain she climbed, a wave she sought to break through. Glancing down, to see Nick’s dark head, nestled between her thighs, her legs falling wantonly about his broad shoulders, intensified the pleasure she felt.

“Please.” She heard herself beg.

Clumsily she pushed against his moving hand, wanting his fingers deeper as his tongue laved against her taut nub.

“Be still love,” he murmured against her thighs. “Just wait.”

Slowly Nick sucked the tiny, sensitive nub into his mouth and simultaneously his fingers pushed deeper.

Jemma screamed out loud. She couldn't help it. Her body exploded, ripped apart in such a tide of primal pleasure, she felt as if her heart would stop. The sensations would subside, only to begin anew as Nick’s mouth and hands forced her body over each peak again and again until she lay drained and exhausted, her legs hanging limply across Nick's shoulders.

“Jem?” The whiskey voice sounded both concerned and amused.

“Oh.” Exhausted from the last few moments, she could not say more. Words could not describe the experience.

“I’ve never killed a woman before by making her climax, but I suppose there is a first time for everything.” He pressed a kiss to her thigh.

Jemma said nothing, his words reminding her there must have been other women before her, she would be foolish to think otherwise, but still, the thought hurt her.

“Jem.”

Unable to look at him just yet, she shut her eyes.

“Do not think of what came before, for none of them compare to you.”

* * *

And he meant it.

There had been many women, more than he could count, the first had been when he was no more than fifteen. He enjoyed them, pleasured them, used them, and put them aside. But no woman, no courtesan, no talented widow, nor skilled lady of the ton remotely compared to this reckless girl from Bermuda. The traitor’s daughter. The attachment to Jem was more than sexual, his desire for her would not be slaked in an afternoon, he did not believe it would ever cease, nor did he wish it to. He remembered something his grandfather once told him of Nick’s deceased grandmother.

“I desired her even when she grew old and wrinkled, when she grew withered and sick. Every part of me longs to be reunited with her still.”

Jem smiled shyly then and pulled Nick to her, kissing him lightly on the lips, and he could sense her uncertainty. “That was quite marvelous,” she said, her face lovely and flushed. “I did not realize. I—” She bit her lip.

“That such was possible?”

“I did not know it would be like that.” The intensity of her gaze caused the bits of green in her hazel eyes to sparkle like emeralds.

“It is not always.”

“But it is for us,” she said softly, her fingers running to the buttons of his shirt.

“Yes.” He sat back and unbuttoned his shirt, hesitating at the last button. Ruination of this girl was something he promised he would not do, yet here he was, about to compromise her. He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to lay over her boots.

Her hands reached out to him, running over his chest and shoulders, through the thick mat of hair to linger at his stomach. The light touch paused over a particularly nasty scar that ran between his ribs. Puckered and purple, it was a reminder of the blade that nearly killed him years ago. He waited for her questions. Most women assumed the scars to be the result of duels, a terribly romantic notion, or they thought them a result of his family’s rumored servitude to the Crown. In either case, the women he bedded didn’t care to ask.

“Who has hurt you so?" Her genuine concern for him and the wounds he bore surprised Nick, as her lips pressed against the rough edges of that scar.

His heart, which up until now only fluttered in Jem’s presence, burst wide open. The pain, as if a door nailed shut had been forced open, caused him to pause. Nick’s conscience, absent for most of his life, chose now to make itself known.

“Jem, are you certain? If we stop now, you will still be a virgin. Your virtue will remain intact. There is much we can do without—”

She kissed his chest again in response.

Nick swallowed, grabbing her, forcing her to look up at him. “Once done, it cannot be undone. You are certain?”

Jem nodded, her eyes never leaving his face. “I am sure.”

“Then my lot will be yours.” He did not say such a thing lightly. Indeed, no member of the Tremaine family would say such a thing unless they meant it. What the Devils of Dunbar claimed, they kept. Jem may not realize the import of his words, but Nick did.

His mind made up, he stood in one fluid movement and looked down at Jem, naked and waiting at his feet. He prayed she wouldn't run from him once he took his breeches off. He could feel his arousal, hard and swollen, about to burst forth. Nick was a big man—everywhere.

Pulling off his boots, he tossed them to flop in the sand. Then he rolled his breeches down over his hips as Jem watched, seemingly mesmerized by his actions. As his arousal sprung forth, her bravery seemed to desert her, for she looked down only sparing a glance at his naked body from beneath her lashes.

“Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not.”

But he could see she was.

She bit her lower lip. “I didn't think it would be quite so large. I mean, I’ve seen horses and such but—”

Nick laughed softly. “There is an expression—but now is not the time. I just don’t wish you to be afraid.”

“I’m not. I am never afraid of you, even when I should be.”

He came to her on all fours. Hovering over her, he leaned down to graze her lips with his own.

She kissed him back fiercely as her hand trailed along his chest to wrap her fingers around the length of him.

“Jesus,” he growled.

“I’m sorry—” she stuttered, her hand falling back, “I—I thought I should touch you as you touched me? Should I not? Should—”

“You may touch me anywhere you like,” his voice shook with desire, “but I think we will save the exploring for later. I'm not sure I can wait much longer.” He kissed her neck before pushing her legs further apart.

Jem’s body shivered beneath him.

Reaching between her legs, he found her slick and warm. He rolled his thumb back and forth through her folds.

“Ahh.” Jem sighed softly and wrapped her arms about his neck. Her hips twisted beneath his fingers. “I want you, Nick.”

And she did, he realized, want him. Not the Devil of Dunbar, not the heir to a fortune, not a man that so many considered damned. She thought him to be Nick Shepherd, a man with few prospects, one eye and possibly a fortune hunter. Yet, she still wanted him.

He took away his hand and pressed his arousal between her thighs, the tip hovering just outside of her entrance. Gently, he pushed into her, watching her face for any signs of distress, worried that he would cause her pain. “It will hurt, the first time.”

Jem cupped his face, her lips twisting into a small smile. “I’ve ridden horses all my life. I'm told that may make it easier.”

Nick returned her smile and kissed the tip of her nose. He wrapped one arm beneath her bottom, holding her and thrust slowly but firmly into her, feeling the small obstruction give way.

Jem tensed beneath him, her legs tightening. A small cry of pain escaped her lips.

Nick didn't move, allowing her body time to become accustomed to his. Beads of sweat hovered about his upper lip as he resisted the urge to push further. As her body softened against him, he brushed his lips against hers, gently nipping at her mouth. “Jem.”

She moved her hips as he said her name, pushing up, so that he sunk deeper inside her.

“Tell me what I need to do”” She moaned and her hands clung to his waist, pulling him close to her. “Like this?”

“Yes. Like that.” Nick struggled to maintain his control lest he spill himself like an untried lad. He thrust into her again and again, swiveling his hips so that his body caught against her sensitive flesh.

The most delightful little noises emanated from her lips as she moved beneath him, trying to match his movements. “Harder.” She nipped his chest. “Oh God, please, harder. You won't hurt me.” Her nails bit into his buttocks. “I promise.”

Jem found his rhythm and matched him thrust for thrust, her hips lifting and turning against him. The tightening of her body beneath his, caused him to pause and slow, wanting to prolong the pleasure for them both as long as possible. He wished this moment never to end.

“Nick.” Jem said, her breath coming in short bursts.

“Wait, love.” He lifted one of her legs up, hooking it over his arm. “Wait for me.”

Her body tightened around him, pulling him deeper as she climaxed.

Nick rocked forward, burying his face in Jem’s neck, the intensity of his own release shocking him with the ferocity of it. He whispered his want, his longing for only her, his lips pressing against the softness of her skin.

They lay there while the sun moved across the sky and the gulls flew over their heads. Their bodies remained joined as if it had always been so.

When at last Nick came to his senses, he pulled from her, ignoring her small sound of disappointment. One leg thrown over hers possessively, he lay next to her, allowing the gentle ocean breeze cool their bodies.

They talked then, speaking of nothing and yet of everything. He did not tell her the truth of who he was, he couldn’t. He would have to concoct some fabricated tale to skirt the true reason for his presence in Hamilton. But, not yet. In spite of that lie between them, Nick felt light of heart for the first time since he was a child, before his parents died and he wore the mantle of the Devil of Dunbar.

Later, he made love to her again slowly, trying to tell her with his body what he could not yet say. He could not explain, even to himself, the depth of his need for her. Why it should be Jem, the daughter of the very man he sought revenge against, remained a mystery. The haunting prophecy of the gypsy whispered in his mind, but he pushed the thought back.

Jem rained kisses upon his face and lips, cradling Nick's head against her heart. In a low voice, she spoke of her love for him, whispering the words into his hair to keep him from hearing.

But he did.

Jem, the traitor’s daughter. A rare and precious gift he thought never to have. He held her for a long time, still wanting her, knowing he must leave her, for now.

Tonight, he would confront William Manning, no longer able to postpone the inevitable. He would ask for his identity and confession. Nick’s grandfather would have to be content with only that and not the man himself. Nick would not destroy Manning for the sake of the woman who lay in his arms. He wished Jem never to know what brought him here. Or what her father was.

A choice, a chance, had been bestowed upon Nick. The Devil it seemed, had a sense of irony. The Dunbars kept what they claimed, and he claimed this lovely, eccentric girl who lay next to him. His lot would be Jem's, whether she willed it or not.

When Nick left this cursed island tomorrow, Jem would be going with him.