2 comments/ 21818 views/ 9 favorites The Maiden's Voyage By: Sedonia Guillone London, England, 1870 CHAPTER ONE "Could I be more miserable?" Miranda thought as she squirmed in the carriage seat. The July heat was oppressive in London and she felt suffocated by the odors of animal and man that the shimmering sunlight loosened from the cobblestones. She turned her head to look out the window so that her parents would not see her grimace from the discomfort caused by her corset and petticoats. Her breasts were inhumanely squeezed together and the layers of skirts caused the most annoying perspiration between her legs. How she longed to release herself from the bondage of women's fashion and let a delicious breeze cool every hidden part of her body! She had hoped to free herself once she was on the ship that would take her to Ceylon where her fiancé, Sir Edward Thomas, awaited her on his tea plantation. But on further reflection, Miranda realized that even during the voyage, propriety must be maintained. She was a young lady of twenty-three, long a product of Miss Chatham's School for Girls. And, of course, the tea clipper which her future husband owned would be full of men, a captain and crew, everywhere, at all times. She would have to carry herself on board as she had always done in London society. And as she would in Ceylon as Mrs. Edward Thomas, a role that darkened her heart at the mere thought. "Sit up straight, Mira!" Marion Reddington's voice cut through Miranda's sad reverie and misery of perspiration. The older woman reached out and tucked a wisp of her daughter's golden hair back into its chignon. "What will Sir Edward think of your looking so out of sorts? We're sending him a lady, not a street urchin!" Without protest, Miranda straightened her shoulders, though inwardly, she seethed. 'You think I care about Sir Edward?' she wanted to snap. 'I'm only marrying him to help Father pay off his gambling debts!" "Oh, let the girl be, Marion," said Jonathan Reddington. He was seated across from his wife and daughter, his face hidden behind a newspaper. "She's probably nervous, leaving England for the first time, going to live with savages." Miranda sighed as the carriage entered the vicinity of the East India docks. 'I wonder who the savages really are,' she thought. The carriage pulled to a stop in the middle of the crowded, dusty shipyard. The driver climbed down from his seat and helped Miranda and her mother to the ground before unloading Miranda's two trunks. Once on her feet, Miranda stared all about her. She'd never witnessed such a scene as this. Crates and barrels were piled everywhere, and men bustled about, hauling sacks and ropes and boxes to and from the ships crowded in at the enormous quays. The sky was a brilliant cloudless azure, darkened only by the forest of ships' masts. The air thronged with shouting voices, bleating goats and clucking chickens, as well as the mingling odors of exotic spices, farm animals and the sweating bodies of laborers and sailors stripped to the waist, their muscles gleaming with perspiration. Miranda watched the half-naked men, affording herself much longer glances than a lady should, until she felt her mother take her arm. Together, they followed Mr. Reddington to the gangway of the tea clipper Gallant, which would take her to her new home. By the opening to the gangway, Miranda stood with her mother while Mr. Reddington spoke to a crewman. She could not hear what they were saying, but presently, the man nodded and ran up the gangway, returning shortly with two more sailors who took her trunks and carried them onto the ship. Miranda watched them, both bronzed from the sun, their muscles flexing with the weight of the trunks. At the sight of them, her body, as of yet unexplored by any man, stirred within her skirts, bringing to her an odd comfort in the midst of her life's upheaval. She barely noticed the heavyset man in suit and hat who came down the gangway and rushed over to them, assuming he was the captain come to greet them. She showed polite interest, though she longed to turn again and watch the men at work around her. The man introduced himself as Mr. Hobson, the first mate. So he wasn't the captain. Miranda listened with half an ear to the conversation between Mr. Hobson and her father. She barely heard something about Mrs. Someone-or-other fallen ill. Won't be on the voyage. So terribly sorry. Only when the clip of her mother's voice interrupted, was Miranda yanked from her erotic reverie. "Jonathan, what does he mean there will be no chaperone?" she was saying. She sounded terribly like one of the chickens clucking in a nearby crate. "We've had this arranged for months! What will we do?" Miranda's father sought to ease his wife's distress. "There was nothing we could do, my dear. Mrs. Jennings is deathly ill and the family will not make this voyage. Captain Harris will take good care of Miranda. I promise you!" "But Jonathan, a young lady unaccompanied on a ship full of men! What will Sir Edward think?" "Captain Harris has been in Sir Edward's employ for six years, since the inception of the Ceylon Tea Company, Madam," piped in Mr. Hobson. "He has the utmost respect for and confidence in him, I can assure you. He would not take any such chance if he did not." Mrs. Reddington looked to her husband. "Jonathan, are you certain of this?" Jonathan Reddington put a hand on his wife's arm. "Do you think I would let our daughter onto this ship if her respectability were at risk?" Miranda's mother relented, for she, too, was anxious for her daughter to make this voyage. If it were postponed, Sir Edward might change his mind and look elsewhere for a wife, leaving the Reddingtons in financial hardship. And what if Miranda were not able to secure another marriage as advantageous as this one? Her beauty would not last forever, and as it was, she was already a bit old for a bride. "Very well," she said. "But I should like to meet this Captain Harris before we leave Miranda in his care. I want to see for myself that he's a respectable sort." "Certainly, Madam," Mr. Hobson said. "He wishes you to join him for tea in his study before setting sail. If you will follow me, I will show Miss Reddington her cabin beforehand." He turned and began to walk toward the gangway of the Gallant. Miranda glanced into the shipyard, overcome with a sudden impulse to flee. This would be her last chance. She could easily disappear among all these piles of crates. But with the tightness of her dress and in this heat, she knew she would not get far before someone caught her. She sighed as she realized the situation was hopeless. Obediently she turned and followed her mother and father up the gangway, behind Mr. Hobson's stout figure, to meet her captain. CHAPTER TWO The captain was not in his study when Mr. Hobson showed Miranda and her parents in. But he ushered them to a comfortable sitting area of plush velvet settee and chairs, and a low table covered with silver tea service. "The captain will be with you presently," he explained, his voice apologetic that their host was not there. "Please make yourselves comfortable." He bowed politely to their thanks and left, closing the door behind him. Miranda settled onto the cushions of the settee next to her mother and looked around her at the captain's study, a cozy compartment of dark wood, large transom windows across the stern through which she could catch glimpses of other ships and blue sky. The captain's desk was large and littered with charts that concealed its surface. Behind his chair were bookcases built into the wall. She tried to make out the titles from where she sat, but could not see them. Silently, Miranda made a decision to ask him for a look as soon as she could. Within moments, Miranda heard bootsteps in the companionway outside the door, which then swung opened. She turned and caught her breath, unprepared as she had been for the man who entered. "Captain William Harris at your service," he said in a Scottish accent, bowing deeply. Miranda tried hard not to stare at her host, who was, quite unexpectedly, unlike any of the men she'd been exposed to in her life. This man was no London fop or dandy who'd never done an honest day's work. He emanated strength. His black captain's coat covered broad shoulders as his breeches, like a second skin, covered muscular thighs. His face, bronzed from the sun, was also strong, with intelligent, dark eyes. His hair, dark and satiny, was a touch longer than the fashion and showed a hint of sensual unruliness about his cheeks and jaw where his large sideburns, threaded with white, lent him an air of distinction. Again, Miranda felt that delicious, forbidden stirring within her and forced herself not to stare. The captain approached them, his hand outstretched. It was large and strong, Miranda noticed, swallowing that of her father when he clasped it in greeting. He released Jonathan Reddington's hand and gently clasped her mother's, then, in turn, hers. At his warm touch, Miranda became immediately dizzy, her stomach erupting into flutters. She had experienced nervousness in the presence of male suitors and other young men of her experience, but never so quickly and so furiously as this! She glanced at her parents' faces as Captain Harris released her and seated himself on a cushiony, upholstered chair in the little sitting area, leaning forward to the table and serving the tea. Certainly her mother, at least, with her busybody way of making everything her business would have observed her reaction to this strikingly handsome man. But she needn't have worried about either of her parent's noticing her condition. They were too busy quizzing the captain on his life and career. Graciously, he answered their questions, and within moments, the Reddingtons knew their host as intimately as any of his friends might. Miranda now knew this handsome ship's master was the son of a well-known shipbuilder in Edinburgh, Scotland, and had gone to sea by the age of fourteen. He had spent the early part of his sailing career as a Nabob with the East India Company. When it would have been time to retire to England with the wealth he had garnered, Sir Edward had handpicked him for the Gallant, quite an impressive post for a man of thirty-six. When they were satisfied as to the captain's respectability, Mr. Reddington spent the rest of the tea prattling on about his own acquaintance with Sir Edward, who would, as his son, sign on as a client of his solicitation firm, Reddington, Blythe and Cobb. Miranda stared down at her hands. What else could she do? She could not fill in the missing parts of her father's story, such as how Sir Edward had agreed to service her father's gambling debts in exchange for his daughter's hand. She sat quietly, sipping her tea while her father's droning voice filled the captain's study. Furtively, she stole another glance at Captain Harris, only to have her gaze captured and held by his. His dark eyes were looking on her with sympathy. The unexpected kindness in his expression was a stark contrast to her parents' cruelty, and Miranda almost burst into tears. It was so painful that a stranger felt more sympathy for her than her own parents. Fearing that she would break down and cause a scene, Miranda looked away, but not before she allowed the captain a fleeting smile of gratitude. When Miranda thought she couldn't stand another moment of her father's twaddle, Captain Harris then stood, explaining apologetically that the time had come to set sail. Miranda and her parents embraced each other for the last time in a long time, and Mrs. Reddington, much to Miranda's surprise, began to cry into her daughter's hair. Miranda felt a moment's pang for her mother, the way she did when she was a little girl. 'Perhaps my mother has a heart beating somewhere in the bodice of her dress,' Miranda thought, sad that once she released her, that precious moment would die. When they had finished their good-byes, Mr. Hobson escorted Mr. and Mrs. Reddington off the ship, and then re-embarked to oversee the hauling up of the gangway. Miranda stood on deck at the railing, waving to her parents. Behind her, the deck of the clipper ship was as busy as the shipyard had been as crewmen hauled and trimmed the sails, and turned the capstan which lifted the huge anchor. Cries of "Anchors aweigh!" and other shouted orders filled the air, and soon, the Gallant moved away from the quay and began its course down the Thames. Miranda continued to wave as London receded into the distance. When the world she had known had disappeared from view, Miranda found that she was exhausted and desired only to escape to the solitude of her little cabin, the one place where she could release her body from the suffocation of corset and petticoats. She retraced the path Mr. Hobson had taken from the captain's study to the deck and found the lantern-lit companionway in which her cabin was located, only a few feet away from the captain's quarters. Once inside the little room, she bolted the door and leaned against it, closing her eyes and letting out a deep sigh. "God help me," she whispered into the little room. The cabin itself was just large enough to accommodate one person. In the dusky light she could make out a small bunk neatly made up, a chest of drawers with dressing mirror, and her trunks, which had been placed in the corner between the wall and bunk. The air smelled like a pile of damp rags that had never been set out to dry and had become moldy. The room was a far cry from her own room in her parents' Berkeley Square home in London. For a moment, Miranda wished terribly that she had tried to flee when she had the chance, but the ship was well underway and any opportunity for escape had long since passed. And anyway, where would she have gone? Back to the stodgy society she despised? Back to the parents who had decided her fate in a study behind a wall of cigar and pipe smoke? They would most certainly disown her if she refused to marry Sir Edward, and even if they did manage to forgive her, they would lose everything to their debtors. They would be homeless, without employment or social standing. And she would be responsible. No. She was in prison either way, in London or in Ceylon. It didn't matter that she had servants and dresses and parties. A gilded cage was still a cage. The most freedom she had was to remove her corset and petticoats in the privacy of this little cabin. And remove them she did, reveling in the tingling of her skin as the air touched it and filled her ribcage. Miranda let her traveling dress, jacket and corset fall to a heap on the floor as the blood now coursed through her body more freely, awakening it again as it had begun to awaken down on the dock when she had first seen the bare-chested sailors, their muscles gleaming in the summer sun. She lay down on her bunk, finding that she wasn't so tired now that she had been freed from her constrictive clothing, down in the dark coolness of her cabin. Her thoughts went once again to the handsome captain whose dark eyes had held her gaze captive. In one sweet, illicit moment, he had seen her unhappiness, and he had conveyed to her a sympathy that made her feel slightly less alone. She sensed that his heart was as strong as his body. She recalled vividly the muscular thighs, buttocks, and the hint of the bulge in the front of his breeches. Momentarily, she let herself forget that she was on a ship belonging to her future husband and that the man she thought of now was forbidden to her and always would be. Inside she was free. Sir Edward might own her body, but he would never own her mind and heart. There, she could be with whomever she wished and love whomever her heart loved. This inner freedom caused her thoughts to roam all over the captain's being until the throbbing between her legs made her ache for release. She began to imagine that Captain Harris had come to her cabin to comfort her only to find her lying on her bunk, naked except for her white lacy chemise, her golden hair spread like a silken fan over her pillow. She saw the bulge in his breeches swell, and he unfastened them, releasing his sex from its cloth prison. He undressed and lay down beside her, in one swift motion, pulling Miranda's chemise up, over her head, revealing her sweet body of curves, porcelain skin, and pink-tipped breasts. Miranda raised her chemise to her waist, pulling at the ribbons of her drawers to slide her hand under the gauzy linen, seeking the warm moist flesh within. With her fingers, she found the sweet spot between the soft folds of skin. As she rubbed and teased it, she imagined her fingertips were his, caressing her, sliding deep inside her, coaxing the wetness inside so he could ease his shaft into her. With her other hand she squeezed one of her nipples between her fingertips, picturing his mouth on it, suckling, teasing, gently biting it. She moaned softly as her fantasy continued. Now the captain was kissing her deeply, dancing his warm tongue about her own, tasting every part of her mouth. His cock was pushing against hers so she spread her legs apart, encircling his hips, guiding him into her with her hand. She was so wet and swollen with desire that he slid in easily, burying his swollen hardness deeply within her. Miranda spread her legs as wide as she could as he ground against her, at the same time rubbing her sweet spot with his fingertips, causing her back to arch in her pleasure. The sensations both physical and imaginary caused that delicious explosion that always followed such pleasure, only today, the climax felt more intense because the man in her mind's eye was of flesh and blood and not an imaginary character from one of the many bawdy novels she used to borrow in secret from her maid, Charlotte. In the wake of her release, she felt a pang in her heart. She would not have known how to imagine such a fantasy as the one she'd just had if it hadn't been for Charlotte and those books. Charlotte was only two years older than she, and when Miranda was eighteen, she had gone to the servants' quarters of her parent's home for one reason or another, and had caught Charlotte reading one of those books. Charlotte's cheeks had flushed bright red and she'd fumbled to hide the book under her pillow. "What are you reading, Charlotte?" Miranda asked. "Nothing, Miss," replied the girl. "It can't be nothing or you wouldn't have hidden it. Please show me." Reluctantly, Charlotte slid the book out from under the pillow and handed it to her. Miranda took it and opened it, finding on those pages a whole new world that she couldn't have imagined existed. She sat on Charlotte's bed, absorbed in the explicit descriptions of the sexual act, a thing that her parents, along with the rest of well-bred society, pretended did not exist. Miranda looked up at Charlotte. "Do you have others of these?" she asked. With fear in her eyes, Charlotte nodded. "Please don't tell on me, Miss," she begged. "I promise I'll get rid of them." But Miranda threw her a look. "You'll do no such thing," she said. Then, surprised at her own instinctive shrewdness, she said, "I won't tell if you share them with me. It will be our secret." Charlotte's eyes widened. "Do you mean it, Miss?" she asked. Miranda nodded, fully aware of the sexual wetness and throbbing between her legs that the lusty writing had induced. She also knew she would never have squealed on Charlotte, but was also afraid the girl might not have shared her books without such a bargain. Miranda devoured the books, one after the other. They became a secret bond between her and Charlotte. And later, when there was genuine trust between them, Charlotte revealed to Miranda her own lustful romantic adventures she had on her days and nights off duty from the Reddington household. Miranda lived a free wild existence through Charlotte who even showed her how to unlock the pleasures of her own body. Late one night in Charlotte's room with the door locked, Charlotte lifted her shift and showed Miranda how to rub herself and how to gather the wetness from inside and spread it around, and even to rub the sticky fluid on her nipples to increase her pleasure. The Maiden's Voyage Miranda was grateful for the books and for the first and only true friendship of her life. With Miranda, Charlotte did not pretend to be someone she was not or act as if satisfying her womanly desires were beneath her. Parting from Charlotte had been painful, almost as painful as her parents' betrayal. She had even spoken to Charlotte about going with her to Ceylon. But Charlotte couldn't leave her mother who was ill and needed her care. Miranda would have confided in Charlotte her fantasy about the captain and how she had entertained it. A pleasant, languid relaxation settled through her body in the aftermath of her climax and she grew sleepy, still imagining the captain stretched out alongside her, holding her in his arms, placing small soft kisses on the nape of her neck. Just before they fall asleep... CHAPTER THREE Miranda was jolted from her sleep by the knocking on her cabin door. She sat bolt upright, looking wildly about her, not remembering where she was. "Miss Reddington?" a voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you in there?" Miranda did not recognize the voice that belonged to a lad, perhaps of no more than twelve or thirteen. "Who...who's there?" she answered as she began to remember where she was. "The name's Briggs, Miss. Cabin boy. The cap'n ordered me to bring you water to wash afore supper. Miranda brightened at the thought of a bath. "Yes, of course," she called out. "Just a moment." Quickly she jumped up from the bunk and threw on her traveling dress before opening the door. Before her stood a tow-headed boy of the age she had guessed. He had beside him a bucket of steaming water and an armload of clean towels and a cake of soap. He tipped his cap to her before picking up the bucket and bringing it in for her. "Compliments of Cap'n Harris, Miss," he said as he set the bucket down in the middle of the floor and the towels and soap on the chest of drawers. "That was very kind of him," Miranda said. "Please thank him for me." The boy tipped his cap again. "Charlie, Miss. And I shall tell 'im." Miranda smiled at him. "Thank you." Charlie grinned back at her and with a small bow, turned and left Miranda to her bath. The water was salty, but Miranda was glad for it. She pulled off her dress and chemise, wet a washrag, soaped it and ran the warm soapy cloth underneath her breasts, around her neck and between her legs. Over and over she washed and rinsed until she felt as clean as she would have had she soaked in a tub at home. Then she dried herself and opened one of her trunks for a clean dress. She could not ignore the sudden impulse that passed through her of wanting the captain to notice her. The dress she chose was her favorite, of dark blue in a smooth taffeta that caught the light and shimmered. The neckline, too scooped down just enough to expose some flesh and hint at the soft roundness of her breasts underneath. And, she thought triumphantly, the dress was one that Sir Edward had not bought for her. Miranda slipped on her drawers and did up the ribbons, then replaced her chemise, the lace of which would peek out subtly from the neckline of the dress. The she put on the bustle. However, when it came time to put on the corset she hesitated, holding it to her and staring at her reflection in the dressing mirror. "Would anyone truly notice if I didn't put it on?" she asked her reflection out loud. Speaking to herself was something she had done since she was a child; perhaps, she had often mused over the years, the result of growing up without brothers or sisters. "You're no lady anyhow," she said, thinking of all the illicit reading she had done in the last four years and all the time she had spent pleasuring herself alone in the darkness of her bedchamber. Anyway, her mother wasn't there to dismiss her complaints and force her to wear the horrible contraption. "If she wanted to make certain I wore the bloody thing," Miranda said, "She should have come with me." And with that, she tossed the cursed article of women's underclothing onto the bunk and finished dressing. * Shortly after she'd finished her hair, Charlie returned and escorted Miranda to the dining room where she had supper with the captain, officers, and the ship's surgeon, Dr. Brimley. Her entrance was enthusiastically received by the roomful of men. Miranda felt her cheeks flush at the shower of male attention, and was grateful for the candlelight of the room which shadowed her pale skin enough to conceal the blush. Captain Harris reached for Miranda's hand as she approached the table. He smiled at her as he raised her gloved hand to his lips in greeting, then drew her to the table, to a seat next to his. Miranda was glad for her careful choice of dress and for the way she'd done her hair, pulled back high off her forehead and pinned, the fall of it cascading in golden waves over her shoulders and down her back, for Captain Harris turned to her often during the meal, his dark eyes glowing almost obsidian in the candlelight. He sat quite close to her and their elbows bumped a couple of times in picking up their wine glasses, gallantly making certain that the supper conversation did not consist only of ship's business and engaged her as much as possible. Miranda found comfort in his nearness, though it also made her nervous as it had in his study earlier, and she worked to steady her hand when she held her glass. At the end of the meal, over coffee, Mr. Hobson suggested that they engage Miss Reddington in a game of whist. But Captain Harris broke in before Miranda could answer. "Miss Reddington has had a trying day," he said. "And I imagine she could benefit from some peace and quiet. I was going to suggest she join me in a turn about the deck before retiring." He turned to Miranda. "Whatever you would like, Miss Reddington." Miranda smiled, though her response belied the fire that ignited in her belly at the captain's invitation. "A walk would be quite welcome, actually," she said. The other men in the room were visibly disappointed, but they rose politely from their seats and bowed to Miranda as she left the room. Outside, a cool salty breeze blew around them and Miranda pulled her shawl more tightly to her. Up above, the giant sails of the tea clipper flapped wildly. "If you're cold, Miss Reddington, we could go in," Captain Harris said. Miranda looked up at him, struck by how handsome his face was in the moonlight. "No," she answered. "I'm comfortable." Along the deck they walked in the moonlight. Miranda could hear the rushing and churning of the bow waves as the Gallant cut swiftly through the dark waters. "Captain Harris," she began, "I'm terribly sorry for the way my parents quizzed you this afternoon. I felt they were being unfair." Her host chuckled. "Think nothing of it, Miss Reddington," he answered. "I know they were merely concerned for you and wanted to make sure you were left in good hands." Miranda looked down, remembering the way her parents had merely announced her engagement at a dinner party before even telling her privately. In the carriage on the way home, she reminded her father that he had once agreed to let her find her own husband. But he had conveniently forgotten. "I've had enough of that independence nonsense, Miranda," he had answered. "You've had several suitors now, real gentlemen I might add, and you have not chosen as you should." "But I didn't want any of them, Father! They were superficial and weak men I couldn't love! When I do love, I'll marry. I promise!" "You're too old now to indulge in such idealistic twaddle!" Mr. Reddington had retorted. In desperation, Miranda turned to her mother. But she'd been no help, having already been completely seduced by the prospect of having such a wealthy and prestigious son. Her only response to the matter was: "Your father is right, Mira." And then sadness had briefly crossed her mother's face, like a shadow over a cloud. "Love is a luxury few can afford." Since that evening and that conversation, she knew her parents weren't truly concerned for her. But she didn't feel free to say this to someone she'd just met. "Yes," she said quietly to the captain. "I suppose so." Captain Harris stopped walking suddenly and turned to her. He had removed his hat to save it from the strong breezes and his soft dark hair blew about. He had the look of the cultured gentlemen in his starched white collar and shirt, and dark evening jacket and trousers, yet there was the air of untamed man about him as well that Miranda found intoxicating. "I feel I've said something very wrong," he said. He paused and took a deep breath. "May I speak frankly with you, Miss Reddington?" Miranda looked up at him, her heart feeling as though the winds were beating it about like the sails. "Yes, please," she said. "Today, in my study, I couldn't help but notice you looked quite sad, and deeply troubled. I don't have the sense you truly want to make this journey." Miranda gave a small gasp as she realized what she had seen in his eyes earlier that day had been real. She found herself deeply moved that he had seen her true feelings coming through and had been concerned enough to express them. She fought the urge to fall against him and cry like a little girl. Instead, she turned and gripped the rail, squeezing her eyes shut as she composed herself. She then felt the captain's presence close beside her. She opened her eyes again and looked at him. "I thank you for your sensitivity and forthrightness, Captain Harris," she said. "You're correct. When my parents arranged this marriage, I held a funeral for my heart and future." The captain regarded her with a grave expression. "You speak very poetically of your grief," he said. "And I am truly sorry." In spite of her efforts, Miranda felt tears threaten to spill from her eyes. This time, she held them down with self-criticism. "You needn't be," she said. "I should be grateful, really. Most Englishwomen would give anything to be in my place, wouldn't they? My duties as Sir Edward's wife will include strolling the grounds with a parasol, having breakfast in bed and tea in the gardens." "Among other things," the captain added softly. Miranda felt her cheeks burn. She couldn't believe she was discussing her life so intimately with this man she'd just met. But strangely, speaking with the captain felt natural, and not at all the breach of etiquette society would call it. She was so relieved to speak openly about her dread of marriage to Sir Edward, especially the part about having to share her body with him whether she wanted to or not. "Yes," she said. "I feel like I'm to be a slave." The captain stood quietly for a few moments before he spoke again. "I would wish better for you," he said softly. "It troubles me to see a woman forced into misery," he added. "Women are beautiful souls. They should have choices. I've always believed that." Miranda turned and stared at him in disbelief. For one brief moment she caught herself wondering if he could possibly have meant all he'd just said or if he was simply trying to charm her. Her doubt must have shown on her face for the captain chuckled. "Yes, it's true," he said. "I do feel that way. There are men who do, as few as we seem to be." Miranda felt herself blush again. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean..." "It's quite all right," he assured her. "I can't blame you for being surprised." Miranda looked quickly back out at the sea, still embarrassed. A lesser man than the captain might have been quite offended by her reaction. "It's very heartening to meet someone who feels as I do," she said. "Your wife must feel herself fortunate to have a husband who thinks so progressively." "Well, I think my wife would have been happier with a husband who spent less time at sea, regardless of his views," he answered. "She passed away several years ago of illness." Miranda grew horrified and gasped. Her hand flew unconsciously to the captain's arm. "Oh dear!" she cried out. "I've done it again! I'm so sorry, Captain Harris! Will you ever forgive me?" The captain put his hand over hers. "Please, Miss Reddington," he said, "Don't be so distressed. You've done nothing wrong that you should feel this way." He squeezed her hand gently, but Miranda was too upset to notice. She dabbed, in an unladylike fashion, at her sudden tears with the corner of her shawl. The captain waited for Miranda to calm down. He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a clean handkerchief, which he gave to her. Miranda accepted it gratefully and dabbed again at her eyes. "Miss Reddington," Captain Harris began, "There are things in this life to be sorry for. Forcing a woman into the bonds of marriage where she doesn't love, for example." Miranda nodded and took a deep breath. The captain's gentle, even-timbered voice was having a calming effect on her. "But," he continued, "What you said was innocent. You couldn't have known. It's not the same. Do you understand?" "Yes, Captain Harris," Miranda answered. "But I feel I should make it up to you all the same." He smiled at her, causing her heart to quicken suddenly. In the moonlight, there appeared a gleam of playfulness in his eyes. "All right, Miss Reddington," he said. "There are two things that will set everything right." "What are they?" "The first is you must call me William and let me call you Miranda." Miranda smiled. "And the second?" "That you stop apologizing for everything you say and think. I don't know who taught you to do that, but apologies should be reserved only for true offenses." At these words, Miranda surprised herself by laughing, a full rich laugh that emanated from deep within her uncorseted midriff. William laughed along with her, their merriment broken only when they both realized that their hands were still touching. Miranda's gloved hand rested on William's arm, and his hand still covered hers. Softly, he caressed her hand with his fingertips just before releasing it. He, too, fell quiet and his breathing grew slightly heavier. "I think you must be quite tired," he said. "Perhaps I should see you to your cabin." Miranda nodded, unable to speak, not because she was shocked, but because his touch had weakened her and she was disappointed that he had let go of her hand. She had enjoyed his touch, which had been at once comforting and sensuous. She hadn't wanted the evening to end. "Yes," she said. "I am." Quietly, she let him lead her back inside, back to the dimly lit companionway that led to their quarters. In front of her door, William turned to her. "You should rest as long as you need," he told her. "Don't feel obligated to rise early for breakfast. I'll see to it that there is something for you." "Thank you, William," Miranda said. She found she couldn't look him in the eye, for fear he would see how much she didn't want him to leave. She felt frightened and alone, and he was the closest she had to a friend in the entire world. Had she been someone who was free to choose her own suitor, she might have spoken up. But she wasn't. So she resigned herself to silence. "And thank you also for the water earlier, and the towels and soap." William smiled down at her. "You're quite welcome," he said. "And as for tomorrow, I would be honored if you'd join me for tea in my study around four o'clock. I'm afraid my duties keep me very busy until then." "I would be happy to," Miranda answered. "Thank you." She smiled back at him, though she found herself, once again, fighting back tears. William reached out and picked up her hand. He squeezed it gently at first in a comforting way, as if to tell her that he sensed her distress. But then he brought her hand to his lips, pressing them into the soft material of her glove. At his touch, Miranda felt her body weakening again. For that moment, she forgot all about Sir Edward and her unhappiness. Here, in the present, she felt suddenly alive, as something sweet and wild released itself from her depths, the desire to love and be loved. Sir Edward could never take that from her. No one could. It was hers alone to give. William lingered over the kiss, and Miranda sensed his own reluctance to leave. Finally, he straightened and gently released her hand. "Until tomorrow," he said softly. Miranda smiled shyly and cast her eyes toward her cabin door. "Yes," she replied in equally as soft a voice. "Until tomorrow." William waited until she was safely in her cabin with the door bolted. Once inside, Miranda stood quietly by the door, listening to his boot steps fade down the companionway. When he was gone, she turned and began to undress, smiling and looking forward to the next day at four o'clock. Her mind was still alive with thoughts of William when she climbed into her bunk and tried to fall asleep. He made me laugh tonight. She hadn't laughed in a very long time, since that fateful dinner party, at least. But before long, her true exhaustion began to overtake her and she let the rocking motions of the ship and the creak of the rigging above her lull her into a dreamless sleep. CHAPTER FOUR Miranda took William at his word about her rest. When she finally woke, dressed and ventured out onto the deck the next day, the sun was high overhead, and she could only guess it was almost time for the midday meal. Charlie the cabin boy found Miranda at the railing, enjoying the sun and salty wind passing over her face, and escorted her to the dining room where he served her tea and a full breakfast. When she had finished, she still had several hours to pass until her meeting with William at four o'clock. She spent the time sitting in a shaded area of the deck, out of the way of working crew members, reading one of the delicious novels Charlotte had given her as a parting gift. However, after a little while, she was forced to finish her reading in her cabin where she could satisfy the desire that those novels always provoked. Afterward, however, she changed her dress, choosing another of her own in soft yellow with the lace of her chemise peeking out. Her hair she fixed in the same fashion as the evening before, remembering how she had successfully captured William's attention. At a couple of minutes past four (she didn't want to her anxiousness to show by being precisely on time), she knocked on the door of William's study. When he opened it and saw her, his face broke into a grin, like a little boy happy to see a playmate. Miranda smiled back, finding that her heart had lightened at the sight of him. Warmly, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. This time, however, Miranda had taken care to wear her crocheted gloves, through which the warm touch of William's lips reached her skin, sending waves of warm pleasure up her entire arm. "How nice to see you, Miranda," William said. With a light touch on her elbow, he guided her to the seating area where Charlie had already placed the tea service. He poured her a cup of tea, apologizing for the absence of milk. "It's nice to see you, too," Miranda said as she accepted her tea and a biscuit. Her stomach was too tight with nervousness to accept food, but she nibbled the hard biscuit to be polite. William sat down on the opposite end of the settee. He held his cup and saucer on one knee as he leaned slightly toward her. "Did you have enough rest?" he asked. Miranda smiled, a bit sheepishly at her laziness. Even at home, she had never slept much past sunrise. "Oh yes," she said. "I awoke at noon I'm embarrassed to say." William chuckled. "No need for embarrassment," he said. "You were exhausted. It's not every day that you leave your home, family and the only life you've ever known for a long voyage on a ship to a strange land." 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.