Page 27 of Meet A Rogue At Midnight
She toed a chunk of icy snow. “Who talks for you now?”
“I do well enough.”
It’d be easy to admit his size spoke for him. How often did he step into a room to men sitting up taller, shifting in their seats? To women giving their appraisal of his size? Might spoke when it was needed. Or he spoke rarely at all.
Speaking his heart and mind…he wasn’t fluent in that language. The idea was akin to wearing a poorly-sewn coat, the fit awkward.
“To be a man of few words has its merit.” Livvy linked her arm with his. “But sometimes, a man must speak what’s in his heart.”
“Other parts of me want to have their say tonight,” he teased.
Livvy bumped into him, her giggle sweet in the chilly air. They strolled through the meadow, their boots sinking ankle-deep in snow. Lust was a low hum between them. Comfortable, casual, at ease, this conversing with a woman he’d undress in a matter of minutes. Was this what happened when a man was about to have sex with a woman he counted as friend? Moments ago on the road, carnal need consumed him. His cock was heavy, hidden behind his placket, hungry to slide between Livvy’s thighs.
He could be happy, too, walking and talking at her side.
“But, why Jonas Bacon?” she prodded, her voice a gentle nudge. “The Captain knew the fire was an accident. You didn’t have to change your name.”
No. He didn’t. He’d run off one day, leaving the briefest of notes for his grandfather. Jonas shook his head at the choices he’d made. The Captain had been his anchor in childhood, and Jonas had left him.
His heart heavy, they rounded the tower. The window was dark overhead.
“I took the name Bacon because it was my father’s name.”
“Oh Jonas.” Her voice wobbled. Eyes shining up at him, Livvy twined both arms around his bicep.
“I was in London before I went on to the colonies where I spent much time…too much, it would seem. My speech changed. People thought I was colonial when I returned to England. I didn’t correct them. I wanted nothing to do with Plumtree or the Braithwaite name.”
Livvy’s brows pinched together. He’d hurt her, but it was true. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Livvy that she wanted this confessional; instead, he opened the tower door, the iron hinges singing a light squeak as they stepped inside.
“I’d journeyed to London to find out what I could about him. The Captain would never speak of the man. Nor did my mother.”
“And what did you find?”
“A man named Mr. John Dean who’d sailed with him. Found him in a tavern near Wapping Wall. He choked on his ale when he saw me. Said he thought he was seeing a ghost.” He touched his nape. “Years I thought I had Braithwaite hair, but my father’s locks were just as black.”
“Was this man you met able to give your heart some peace?”
There she was going on about his heart again. Did she want him on his knees, baring his soul?
“Peace?” He laughed, the harsh sound echoing in the tower. “My father died when his ship, theSussex, sunk off the coast of Africa…the month I was born. He was an East India Company man, ironically a third mate and an adventurer. According to Mr. Dean, my father never intended to marry,” he finished bitterly and shut the door.
He was no different than his father, a man of adventure, even serving as third mate. The parallel was uncanny.
Faint light from the upper floor crowned Livvy’s head. She was beautiful and healing in the dank, unlit entry. They were supposed to be on the verge of an illicit interlude, yet the air changed. His admission left him icy and raw. No fire could warm his bones. The gentle slide of Livvy’s hand on his arm did more to assuage the ache than any comforting words would.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“I should apologize to you. Talk of death isn’t romantic.”
“You don’t need to woo me.” She paused, her smile widening. “I’m the one who chased you down tonight, remember?”
Their voices were barely above a whisper. The passion diminished, but he couldn’t argue with what replaced it—a tenderness, endearing and affectionate. Was this what happened when friendship forged its way into deeper waters? He could think of other places for her to touch, but if he said so, it’d be crude…a thing that never bothered him in the past when he was on the verge of coupling with a woman.
Livvy deserved better.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Come. Let’s see if we can save the night.”
Holding her hand, he led her up the narrow stairs behind him. Shoes scraped stone. A new thrum pulsed inside him, not so frantic and needy but no less heavy in his loins. Livvy’s bare hand folded with his, the intimacy a treasure. There was no need for empty promises or false flattery. Livvy was his friend. She already knew the truth about him.
