22. All Aboard the S.S. Sandwich
Finally, we were ready to be off. Ian removed his coat and hung it on a hook in the cabin, then rolled up his sleeves. Ooooh. I hadn’t even thought about this aspect of sailing with him. He paused thoughtfully, then removed his shirt as well. Mmmm.
I giggled like a lustful schoolgirl, and my husband winked at me before beginning the process of casting off.
“I could help, you know,” I offered. “I’m not a professional but I am a fair assistant.”
“I would not hear of it,” Ian replied at once. He raised an eyebrow at me. “Particularly not when you are dressed in such finery. I cannot imagine that you would have an easy time with the ropes in those sleeves.”
“Excellent point,” I mused aloud. I hadn’t even thought about how useless I would be onboard in my usual clothing. “Well, I’m certainly not going to miss this show,” I said, gesturing at him appreciatively, “but I will be dressed far more practically moving forward.”
“More practically? What would that consist of?”
I smirked at him. “Less clothing.”
“Ah. I do personally believe that to be a marvelous idea,” he replied, managing to keep an entirely straight face even if his eyes were full of mischief.
I trailed him, watching as he untied the ropes from the dock and towed the boat to the end. Ian asked me to hold the rope of the mainsail tight and made a massive leap onto the prow, grinning and giving me a kiss as he landed inches from me. He took the rope back, and then he began raising the sails, his muscles rippling gorgeously under his tanned skin.
Lordy, I thought I was literally going to swoon. “You’re doing all of that on purpose, yes?” I asked.
“Doing what, my love?” He asked distractedly.
The fact that he was super focused on what he was doing and not doing it on purpose only made it hotter, and suddenly I just wanted to launch myself at him.
“Oh my god, we’re definitely going to die,” I mumbled to myself, remembering Anne’s harsh words to Ian, then sat on my hands. “What do you want for dinner?” I asked him.
Ian looked over at me, wide-eyed. “I do not rightly know how to answer that,” he said eventually, and I noticed that he was taking his sweet time wrapping the ropes around the cleat.
“It’s a fairly direct question. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?” I gestured at the goods in the galley area. There were leftovers from the wedding as well as fresh ingredients for me to work with. “We are well provisioned.”
Ian ran an anxious hand over his dark hair. “One does not ask one’s lady wife to prepare a meal.” He looked adorably flustered. “Why don’t you simply make whatever pleases you?”
“Fine. Find a place to anchor, then we’ll have sex, then I’ll make dinner. Deal?” He gaped back at me, so I made jazz hands, hoping to spark some sort of reaction. Ian rubbed his jaw, still looking deeply confused. The jazz hands probably hadn’t helped. “You would prefer dinner and then sex?” I asked. Maybe he was hungry.
He blinked back at me, shaking his head slowly. “I confess, I am not entirely certain whether or not I am awake or dreaming.”
“Awake.” I smacked him on his taut ass while his hands were still occupied, then quickly retreated before he could exact vengeance. “I’m going to get less fancy.” I rummaged through my trunk, quickly finding what I wanted - namely, a cloth-wrapped package bearing a note with Matheo’s handwriting.
“Won’t you require assistance?” He called as I moved into the cabin.
“You focus on those sails,” I said as I closed the door. I wouldn’t need help, actually. My bodice had functional buttons in front in addition to the lacing in the back, but I wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t noticed when he was helping me dress; it was a wonder we had managed to focus on getting my clothing on me at all. I stripped down to my shift then looked through my options.
All of the items I’d ordered for my honeymoon were light, airy things - the sort of garments that you could easily fold or roll and pack tightly into a small space. I didn’t know what to call these pieces, exactly. They were blends of dressing gowns and loungewear, or as close as I could get in this period. Matheo and I had exchanged notes and sketches for over a week, and we had come up with a number of exciting garments.
I opted for the one that I thought of as a frock coat. Fitted, and made of ochre-colored silk, it had a Mandarin collar, frog closures, and gold-bronze ribbon trim. The garment was embroidered with hundreds of small purple flowers, all accented by small knots of other colors at their centers. It fell to my knees - a scandalous length, I well knew - and had three-quarter length sleeves which could be folded up and buttoned out of the way; it was a lovely combination of aesthetics and pragmatism.
When I emerged, Ian stood at the wheel, scanning the horizon with an alert eye.
“Are you looking for a place to set down?” He nodded, focused. “I have a request, husband.”
He finished his scan before turning to glance at me, then did a double take. “That seems unfair,” he remarked, giving me the most bewitching smile I had ever seen as he looked me up and down. “However am I to possibly refuse you anything when you stand there so becomingly?”
“That is an excellent answer.” I smiled at him. “You will owe me a favor?”
“Whatever you wish, Belle.” Ian had returned his attention to the ocean.
“Whatever I wish?” I asked, and he nodded. I pounced. “Do you promise?”
“Yes, darling.” Another scan completed, he turned to look at me again. “What would you have of me?”
“You will find out later. But remember - you’ve given me your word,” I replied with a smug smile, whirling off to the simple galley. “I have a meal to prepare.”
“Isabelle? What are you planning?” He called.
“I have to concentrate on the food, sweetheart!” I called back as I scrubbed my hands.
Sandwiches, I decided. They were a classic, and yet not an item that Ian was familiar with. I had tons of sandwich options. All manner of veggies, greens and tomatoes, fresh bread, cheese, and meats. Eggs for mayonnaise, even, since I was feeling inspired. I was beyond pleased by the sharpness of the knives. Smoked chicken, I decided.
He steered us into a picturesque little cove and dropped anchor.
“Bed first?” I called, standing by the cabin’s door. God, please say bed first. After hours of watching him expertly handle the boat, I was dying for him to handle me.
“It was high time you and I consummated our marriage in this vessel,” Ian proclaimed, quickly crossing the deck. “It’s certainly been well over an hour,” he smirked. I sighed with relief and he leaned down to kiss me.
“Do you remember that you made me a promise?” I asked once I had a free moment.
Ian was busy with the ‘novel’ frog closures on my frock coat. “Mmmm, yes,” he murmured.
“Excellent.” And not just because he’d figured out the trick for the closures. “Take off your sword belt.” Somehow he managed to do that with only one hand, reaching into the small cabin to set it on a specialized looking weapon hook inside; while he was busy with that I undid his trousers.
“Sit on the bed,” I told him, giving him a slight shove into the cabin. He grinned down at me, licking his lips as he backed up. “I said, sit down.” I pushed him harder this time, forcing him to either sit or hit his head on the lintel.
Finally, I thought as I knelt down in front of him on a folded blanket. I’d been wanting to do this for weeks.
“What are you up to, Isabelle?”
Now it was my turn to grin at him and lick my lips. “What do you think I’m up to?” I tugged his pants down past his thighs, pleased to see that he was hard and ready.
“I dare not think it,” Ian breathed, “let alone say it aloud.”
I leaned forward and licked him like a lollipop. He inhaled sharply. “Was that what you were thinking?” He nodded wordlessly, his eyes wide. “Good.” I gave him another slow lick. “It’s about time you let me return the favor.”
“Belle--” he started, his voice thick.
“Shhh.” I cut him off and kept him from saying anything intelligible until I was finished. I took a special delight in making him clutch at the sheets and moan while his hips arched towards me
One thing led to another, and then nothing would do but that my gentlemanly husband must repay the favor I had done him, and so on, and so on. We were in the cabin for some time.
“Have I mentioned before how wonderfully suited you are for me?” Ian asked, nuzzling into my chest. “You really are perfect, Belle.”
“I am far from perfect.” He was just feeling the afterglow. I chuckled. “But it is lovely to hear such sweet words from you.”
“You do not understand.” Ian wrapped an arm around me, cuddling me close to him as he gathered his thoughts and words. “From the age of fourteen or so, I have heard a great number of stories. My brother, my cousins, and once I was older, amongst the men with whom my father socialized. While in their cups and feeling bawdy, should the topic of new brides arise, they one and all recounted the same stories of terrified, trembling virgins.” He shuddered. “There were a great many reasons why I had not pledged myself to marriage.”
...Oh. Where was he going with this? I shifted slightly.
“If you recall,” he continued, “my brother William has had three brides, and I have heard the same tale from him three times. Three torturous times,” Ian groaned. “And it was not as though things improved after the wedding night. I dreaded the thought of forcing myself upon some poor girl in similar fashion, to say nothing of marital relations going forward..It is not at all uncommon for wives to welcome their husbands’ regular visits to brothels once heirs have been provided, as long as the men are discreet. I was inordinately pleased when you spoke so passionately to the contrary,” he added, then stopped, rubbing his chin pensively.
I shook my head. “Visiting sex workers is a common reason for divorce where I come from,” I said, keeping my tone light, “and I have no intentions on sharing you with anyone.”
“Divorce?” I nodded at him solemnly. “Well and truly noted, beloved.” He leaned over and kissed me thoroughly before continuing. “I did not feel virginity to be the ultimate virtue in a wife as do so many of my countrymen, but there is the matter of reputation and my family’s name would have suffered. It was better to remain unwed.” Ian sighed, and I fidgeted with my rings, suddenly anxious. He pulled me closer, and my tension dissipated. “As I have never even heard of your country, and you have never traveled to mine, I should not imagine there would be an issue. As I have told you before - you are perfect, Isabelle.” Ian tipped my face up to his, and his gaze was so intense I couldn’t even meet it. I felt my face redden, feeling ridiculous for being so flustered. “Come, my love, and let me show you how I adore you.”
Ian met me at the small table with clean hands and a curious expression, eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of the food in front of him.
“I know you are familiar with salad, so I’m guessing you’re looking at the sandwich.” I pointed, and he nodded. “It’s finger food,” I explained, then performed a demonstration, picking up one half and taking a bite. He cautiously followed suit, and I watched his face for a reaction. Ian’s mouth was full, and stayed that way, which I took as a good sign. I’d also made his sandwich twice the size of my own.
“What is that?” Ian inquired, motioning toward the pot. “It doesn’t smell like coffee.”
“I have something else new for you to try.” I poured him a small amount of the tea to taste. “This is called tea, and this flavor is ‘Earl Grey’.”
“How curious. I know an Earl Grey in England.” He took a careful sniff of the tea, then a cautious sip. “Hmmm.” Another sip, and then another. “Tea,” he said thoughtfully, and I couldn’t help but to laugh.
“What about something in French? For the boat,” I clarified at his look.
“Perhaps. This sandwich, it’s quite good.” He smiled at me across the tiny table. “Spanish, or even Latin could be options as well.” Ian paused, then swallowed. “How old is your sister?” He asked suddenly.
I looked over at him. “We’re the same age, you know this. I’m a few months older.”
“Hmmm,” he replied. Ian’s expression was unusually thoughtful. “When did she first begin sailing?”
I raised an eyebrow. “We learned when we were kids- children.”
“And sailing on her own?”
I had to think about it. “Thirteen.” I frowned at him. “Why?”
“I have had a number of potentially illuminating conversations regarding Lady Anne.”
“Really? But it’s only been a few days. And,” I cleared my throat, “we’ve been pretty occupied for most of that time.”
Ian took a sip of his ale then chuckled. “The timing of your request was fortunate. A number of our wedding guests - not to mention our host - are quite familiar with your sister.”
“So you’ve learned something?” I straightened up and looked at him. “Tell me!”
“This will require patience on your part, Belle.” Ian steepled his fingers, directing that piercing gaze of his at me.
“That sounds rather serious and possibly alarming.” I refilled my ale and drank deeply, motioning for him to start talking with my other hand.
Ian paused to gather his thoughts before he began. “You are aware that she has made a reputation for herself, both in the transportation and obtainment of valuable items, yes?”
“And a nickname, to boot. The Bitch Captain of the Seven Seas, I believe she’s called?” Ian shifted, frowning. “Oh, don’t be so precious. Go on.”
“A good number of our guests have done business with her, going as far back as ten, even fifteen years--”
“Ten or fifteen years, you said?” I interrupted him.
“Indeed,” Ian asserted.
“Alright.” I wanted answers, and I was getting them. I would have to accept that a lot of them would sound damn impossible.
“I take it this is new information to you?”
“Very new. Anne disappears for...long periods of time.” Weeks where Mom and I had thought she was dead or worse. Weeks of worry, harassing the Coast Guard, the police. After the second time, we kept our panic to ourselves. ‘In-house counsel,’ as Mom referred to it. Read: keep it quiet so as not to ruin the family’s reputation; drink many, many martinis. “We have never known what she has been up to.” I took another strengthening sip. “Go on, please.”
“Mr. Andrews’ name was the one that came up most consistently in my query for information. They all suggested that he would be the best source, as he is believed to have known her longer than any of the others. I spoke with him this morning.”
“And?” I leaned forward, eager.
“This is where your patience will be required, Isabelle,” Ian replied calmly. I took a deep breath and waited. “My conversation with Mr. Andrews was indeed the most enlightening, but I must warn you that it was not due to any wealth of information gleaned from him.” I resisted the faint urge to scream ‘what the hell does that mean!’, instead folding my hands and staring at Ian expectantly. “He was suspicious of my intentions, and wary of providing any information. On all but one topic. - the matter of your ages.”
“Our ages?” I frowned at him. How was that interesting?
“Indeed. When I mentioned to him that you were older, he all but laughed in my face at the very idea. He was not the only one. In fact, it appears that based on their history with Lady Anne, there are none who would believe you to be the elder of the two of you, and your sister does nothing to dissuade that opinion.” I raised questioning eyebrow at him. “When your sister came through the dining area, Mr. Andrews asked her. She was vague. Uncanny, even.”
Unsurprising. “‘Vague’ is my sister’s middle name,” I scoffed. “What did she say?”
“Mr. Andrews generally asked her to solve the riddle of her age. She bantered about the wording of his question, then said ‘do you know, I’ve lost count’.”
“Those were her words? ‘Do you know, I’ve lost count’?”
Ian nodded. “That was not all. When I repeated that you had told me you were the eldest, she replied, ‘Did she now? Well, what a mystery.’”
“What the hell?” I rubbed my temples. “No, actually, it isn’t a mystery at all. We celebrated my 25th birthday in March, and Anne’s 25th birthday is in August. It’s kind of the farthest thing from a mystery.” I was long used to Anne’s secretiveness, but this was just fucking weird. ...Unless she had been lying about her age, and was still unwilling to fess up about it? It was downright weird, though, and I was sure I was missing something. “I wish you had said something to me then. I would have called her out on the spot.” From across the table, Ian was watching me, and I sat back in my chair, shaking my head. “This is so embarrassing.”
“What do you mean?”
“That I had to ask you to launch an investigation into getting information about my sister.” I took out my pipe and packed a bowl. “I tell her everything and I always have. And now I find out she not only has a secret life, but she’s been having a serious secret romance with some guy for years? Years?” He lit the pipe with a taper, and I passed it to him once I had taken a hit.
“While we are on the subject of things that cause discomfiture, I have something to share.”
“You?” What could he have to be embarrassed about? “Do tell, please.”
Ian topped off our glasses. “The first night that you accompanied me to Lady Wallington’s dinner party, I felt rather uncharitably towards Mr. Andrews. I was completely jealous, if we’re being honest.” He grinned to himself. “That was rather the point, though.”
I gazed at him in confusion. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me. What was the point?”
Ian chuckled. “There is some information I should fill you in on. Of my parents’ five children, two are long married, and my other siblings-”-he grinned at his use of the word I’d introduced him to-“-are still young. Lady Wallington and my lady mother have exchanged a number of letters over the years regarding my prolonged status as a bachelor and how much it pained both of them.”
I nodded. Lady Wallington had alluded to as much that first night, when we had gone to the drawing room.
“Therefore, upon my arrival at their home to borrow a book for you, Lady Wallington’s interest was strongly piqued. When she learned that I would be escorting you to her dinner, she arranged to have you seated between myself and Mr. Andrews, hoping to arouse my cupidity.” He shook his head, a wry expression on his elegant features.
“And?” I prodded, intrigued.
Ian sighed. “She was most successful,” he admitted. “Mr. Andrews never speaks to any of the ladies during dinner. And suddenly, you appeared, and he was all smiles and charm. It appeared that you were both charmed with each other, and I did find myself rather stirred. Then he swooped in when that loathsome Lord Leigh accosted you in the garden, and swept you up.” Ian laughed, running his hand across his face. “I was on my way to you when Lady Wallington and Lady Alice stopped me to inquire after my opinion regarding some insipid flower, I cannot even recall what it was.”
“Yes. We were both quite trapped.” I well remembered the look on Ian’s face during those moments.
“The ladies had been waiting for just such an opportunity. After the dinner, Lady Wallington felt she had a ‘divine calling’ to see us married. She was certain I would propose that night--”
“After only four days?” I couldn’t help but to blurt out.
“Indeed,” Ian replied immediately, then smiled. “Though I knew that you would find it overly sudden, from our talks.”
I fiddled with my rings, self-conscious under his intensely adoring gaze. “Did Lady Wallington tell you that she had sussed all of this out?”
He paused - making his translation face - then shook his head. “Lady Wallington would have been far more delicate. Lord Wallington was well in his cups the night of our wedding, and very talkative. Owing to the interest, he had arranged a betting pool. It was rather profitable, by all accounts, and the winnings were collected during our reception--”
“No,” I stared over at him, aghast. “They were taking bets on us? On whether or not we would get married?”
“Indeed, beginning the night we appeared at Lady Wallington’s dinner.” He leaned back, sipping his ale. “You should understand that bets are taken on a great many things here. There is little else for those of the nobility to do. My marital status has long been a subject of discussion among their wives, you see.” And some of their daughters as well.
“Did people think that we would get married, or that we would not?” I ventured.
Ian gave me a charming smile that I couldn’t help but return. “It was a great deal more detailed than that, my love,” he said, then launched into some of the specifics.
The good, bored people of St. George’s had taken bets on everything - the appearance of my gown, whether or not I would be seen to cry at any point during the day, if Ian would go through with it, if I would go through with it, if my Captain would interrupt the proceedings, and if so, would any blood be spilled, and so on and so forth.
“I believe those bets went down rather swiftly once Lady Anne turned up in a gown. Andrews himself lost several horses and a case of cigars.” Damn. Ian shook his head. “She looks remarkably recovered from her stint in the fort.”
“Hmmm,” I said noncommittally.
Of course she would. In Ian’s time frame, she had only been out for a few days. But in reality, Anne had had weeks of freedom.
I, on the other hand, had grown so used to my sister’s sudden and dramatic changes of appearance that I barely even noticed anymore. JFC, the realizations just kept hitting me. I must have made some sort of sound, because Ian gave me a sidelong glance before continuing.
“There is another theory floating around the island about the dangerous woman captain of the seven seas. I am loath to give it any credence, but you have requested information...”
“Don’t leave me in suspense, Ian! What’s the theory?”
“The Puritans view her rather differently than the nobility she’s served and made wealthy.” He frowned. “I will admit they are rather overfond of the punishments their religion dictates.”
“What does that mean? How do they view her?” I shook my head. “I know men around here don’t seem generally enamored of independent women--”
“As a witch, my love.”
“A witch?” I laughed. “My sister is many things, but she is certainly not a witch--” I paused in my laughter. My sister was a time traveler, sailing on a modern boat with relatively modern items, and certainly a very modern sort of woman. St. George’s was a small town, full of people with nothing else to do but gossip and bet and spread rumors. “Is that really what the Puritans think of her?”
Ian gave a solemn nod. “I imagine, especially after your sister’s attack on Closer To You My God Cowlishaw, that she will find herself in danger of a stake if she shows her face in St. George’s.”
“A stake,” I murmured. “My god, are you serious?” Ian nodded grimly. Because we were in a time period where they burned ‘witches’ at the stake. The Crucible, Scarlet Letter A, all of those historical pieces I’d read were alive and well right now. Fucking Puritans. My fingers were shaky as I repacked my bowl.
“Belle?” I could feel him looking down at me intently.
I wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything, but it was just too risky right now. Maybe in time... “I wish we weren’t to be parted so soon. I wish we could lie in bed every night and talk, talk about everything.”
“We will make the most of the time we have,” Ian replied softly.
“Yes.” I raised my glass to him, and we toasted. “I have a silly question for you. Do you think that my sister is a witch?”
“No,” Ian said dryly, shaking his head. “As I’ve mentioned, your sister’s recent stay at the fort was only her most recent.”
“Right. Two years ago, Kings Bay. When her ‘boyfriend’ Mr. Andrews got her out.”
“Boyfriend?” Ian was puzzled. “Would he qualify as a boyfriend, in California terms?”
“He could,” I shrugged. “Depends on their relationship.”
“Even though she has refused a number of proposals of marriage?”
“A number? Where did you hear that?”
“He and I had a bit of a talk this morning.” Ian shook his head at me. “As well, we heard the conversation in the kitchen. A man does not shout a marriage proposal at his intended, generally, and certainly not at the first. I imagine that was all inspired by a great deal of frustration on his part.”
“Well maybe he should learn to take no for an answer!” I exclaimed. “Not every woman has marriage in her sights. Honestly, I’m shocked that she’s had a relationship with him that’s lasted this long.” Especially now that I knew she had seen his grave.
We had visited her boyfriend’s grave years ago, but I had eaten breakfast with him this morning. Not to mention all the ghost sex she was having. Was I having ghost sex too‽
I was trying not to think about it too much.
“California must truly be a world apart,” he mused aloud. “However, regarding the matter of your sister. I daresay if she was a witch, she would be capable of greater feats. I do not believe that even the most low-skilled of witches would allow themselves to be captured as a prisoner for weeks on end.”
“So you don’t believe that witchcraft was involved in her escape?” I asked lightly.
“Come now, Isabelle,” Ian laughed. “I am an educated man. I do not believe in such superstitions. She simply managed to manipulate a lock or a guard.” He paused, sipping his ale with a thoughtful, intense expression.
“However....” I prodded.
“There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Ian recited, looking at me expectantly.
I grinned back at him, wondering if they were doing Shakespeare in England these days and idly envisioning the two of us going to a play at The Globe.
“There are a great many things in the universe that we do not understand,” Ian continued. “One would have to be the most arrogant of fools to assume otherwise.”
I felt a shiver. He had no idea. Like, how your wife’s birth year hasn’t even happened yet.
“However - I would prefer not to spend any more time thinking about your sister or the arcane today,” he said, leaning over to undo my top button.
“What are you doing? Not that I don’t love the show you’re putting on,” I added, watching Ian haul up huge buckets of water. He pointed his head towards a bar of soap at me in response. “You’re being very inefficient, Lieutenant Commander,” I told him, but he merely nodded and continued.
Hmmm. I took one of my longer, sturdier, pieces of ribbon and fashioned it into a harness around the bar of soap, then stripped down to nothing. By the time Ian looked over at me again, I had climbed up on the side and was preparing to jump into the calm, clear sea below. I had been dying to go swimming the entire time I had been here, and now was my chance. Skinny dipping to boot.
Ian had gone pale for some reason. “Belle, what are you doing?”
“Saying goodbye to straight hair,” I replied, winking as I stepped overboard.
I popped back up with a huge smile, waving at my astonished husband and wiping the water from my eyes.
“Belle!” He yelled, wide-eyed.
“Hello, darling,” I called back. I gave him a quick wave, then launched into a backstroke. “Come on in. This is a far more efficient method of bathing.” I held up the bar of soap attached to the ribbon I had tied around my wrist. “This is very similar to the way that my sister bathes at sea,” I added, demonstrating.
“You have learned to swim?”
I laughed, diving underwater and reemerging several yards away. “Is that enough of an answer for you?”
“My God, Isabelle!” Ian shouted. “I thought I would surely have to dive in to prevent your drowning!”
“Not for nothing, but you’re making me wish I’d faked a good solid drowning. Get your ass in this water, Coventry, or I’ll climb back up and drag you overboard.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he replied. “I have half a mind to put you across my lap for the fright you just gave me.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I yelled back, shaking out my hair in the water before diving back under. Ian was only a few feet away when I came up again. “Scrub your back?” I offered innocently, holding up the soap. He leveled a devastating mock glare at me. “Oh come on! You can’t actually think I would jump into the ocean if I couldn’t swim, Ian.”
“You have rather a reckless streak, Isabelle.” He ran a hand through his hair, wringing out some of the excess water. “And it is a rare lady of breeding who has had the opportunity to acquire such a skill. Yet another thing that is different in your native California,” Ian added wryly, watching as I swam through the water doing my best impression of a mermaid. I even had the long hair flowing over my shoulders and boobs and everything. “You appear to be most proficient in the water.” He wrinkled his brow at me. “You are still wearing your knife,” he noted.
“Indeed. There are sharks and pirates.” I did a circle around him while he treaded water, looking like a tourism commercial. “I’m going to lather you up.” I told him, giving him a devious smile. “Get your sweet ass over here, Coventry,” I instructed, then proceeded to thoroughly molest him in the name of cleanliness.
Back on board, Ian brought up the subject of our private gift exchange while we dressed. It was a Coventry family tradition, as he had informed me during our wedding planning.
“I feel a bit odd about this, honestly,” I confessed, tying on my wrap-style linen dress. “You’ve already given me so many things.” Including this absolute rock of a diamond.
“It is customary during a courtship,” Ian remarked. “Is it not so in California?”
I held up the opal pendant. “You gave me an heirloom less than a week after we met. You cannot tell me that that is customary.”
He gave one of his simple, elegant shrugs. “You deserved a gift; it was the best item available.”
“But surely there were other options, Ian? Less eye-catchingly extravagant ones?”
“Perhaps.” Ian leaned back and sighed, giving me an appraising look.
“What is it?” I poked at his side. “Tell me.”
“It was a gift to you, and a sign for others. I suppose my cupidity had already been rather roused,” he said with a wry grin. “I was firmly intent on marrying you, and I knew you had already drawn the attentions of other men.”
“So,” I paused, “you put a huge necklace on me to deter any other suitors?”
“Quite.” Ian gave me a slow, lazy, confident grin.
“I don’t believe it worked,” I said slowly, “considering Lord Leigh and the Maynwaring boys? And then the others, the following morning...” What an awkward business that had been.
“I underestimated the interference of Lady Wallington and her minions,” Ian chuckled. “I had also not expected her to intentionally keep us separated.”
I was speechless at Ian’s gifts. The first was a luxurious embroidered satin wrap in deep violet-amethyst, with an array of small English wildflowers at one end and a delicate trail of English ivy at the other. Next was a pair of cedar wood hair combs - the kind you stick in an updo, not the kind you use to detangle - with silver and gold accents. Last was a small notebook of notes, letters, and poems that Ian had written or copied for me. He’d even included the pieces from our first date.
“This is...wow.” I kissed him. “My gifts to you are not as ornate, but I hope that you will like them.”
The first item was a simple, masculinely styled dark blue silk dressing gown. Ian made appropriate noises of gratitude, even though he seemed unsure as to how he would make use of it. He looked fantastic in it.
Next, I handed him a small cedar box tied with a green ribbon. I smiled to myself, watching him untie the ribbon with those lovely, graceful hands of his. I was going to miss him so much. I swallowed back the sudden bubbling up of sadness, focusing on my husband’s (!) expression instead.
Ian withdrew the first item - a golden locket in the shape of a book, a tasteful sapphire dangling beneath it. The locals believed that sapphires warded off evil and kept the wearer from harm, as Mr. Vaisman had informed me. Ian didn’t hold such superstitions, but it was still a beautiful stone. He smiled as he opened the locket.
“Isabelle,” he murmured, holding it up into the sunlight by the bail hidden in the back. “My goodness, darling.”
I had commissioned an engaging local artist - the very same woman who had done the images I had so admired in the window of Matheo’s shop - to come and do two portraits. For the smaller picture, the one that was just for Ian, I had worn the jade green silk with yellow and gold brocade and all of those little roses. It was a playful portrait - I was twirling my hair and giving a devious, enigmatic grin. I thought of it as ‘Izzy in costume’.
“The artist has certainly captured your likeness as well as your spirit in this,” Ian marveled, holding the locket next to my face.
“Do you like it?”
“It is a most thoughtful and wonderful present, dearest.” He leaned over to kiss me.
I snuggled up against him, relieved. “There’s more.”
Ian pulled aside the fabric, revealing the next portrait. This was one done in a more formal style, set into a small cedar and gold frame that could fit nicely on a desk. It was pure Lady Isabelle: dark blue silks, seated at her desk with an ornate updo, and decked out in jewelry. Including, of course, my engagement ring and the pendant. Ian looked at it for a long time, saying nothing.
Anxiety rushing through my blood, I began to chew on my tongue. I was from an age of selfies, where significant others frequently requested regular photos. But here? He probably thought I was horribly vain. Who would include not one, but two pictures of themselves?
“Behold,” Ian said quietly, “the face that launched a thousand ships.”
“As if, you flatterer,” I scoffed. “I will let the artist know that these were well received. However mockingly,” I added, giving him a playful poke.
“I am quite serious, Isabelle.” He leaned back, gave me a look of open admiration, then drew me forward to give me a very, very thorough kiss that left me breathless. “It is an excellent representation,” Ian continued blithely, as though I wasn’t still trying to get my bearings. “I will not only be the envy of my fellow officers, but also have something to show of you to my family.” He grinned.
“Oh, dear.” I stared at him. “Which one are you going to show them?”
“This one.” Ian held up the formal portrait, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good. That other one is really just for you.”
“Then I shall keep it so,” he said, giving me another breathtaking kiss.
Our next destination was a lovely and familiar cove - the site of Ian’s stunning and unexpected proposal. “I certainly remember this place,” I smiled up at him, feeling warm.
We picnicked on the beach on sandwiches and ale. Ham and cheese, which turned out to be yet another new favorite of Ian’s. He even loved the baked french fries. I wasn’t thrilled about how they had turned out, but they were more than edible, especially with the garlic aioli I had whipped up to cover my mistakes.
“I think you might enjoy the culinary options in California,” I mused idly, watching him inhale the food. “We have a multitude of restaurants. Taverns,” I clarified. “Imagine dozens upon dozens of taverns, all specializing in different types of cuisine: French, Brazilian, Portuguese, Hawaiian, Italian, Japanese--”
Ian was staring at me, enthralled. “That does not seem possible.”
“I haven’t even begun to explain. There are also fusion restaurants...and I think you might enjoy oyster bars.”
He interrogated me about the details of those places for some time while we made our way to the waterfall; I enjoyed his perspective as I explained various dishes.
“As much as I admire you done up in silks, I do enjoy you this way,” Ian said, motioning to my soft cotton skirt and blouse and wet hair.
“And I you,” I returned, giving him an admiring look.
The aesthetic change from the proper, buttoned-up Lieutenant Commander to this man at my side in rolled up shirtsleeves, carrying a machete to chop through the underbrush, was a new and exhilarating perspective for me. My husband (!). My heart raced when the word went through my mind, let alone when I took him in.
“Husband? Kiss me?” I implored, and he did so. “Do you know,” I told him once we separated, “I used to think of you as ‘Lieutenant Commander Blue Eyes’?”
“Indeed? I suppose there are far worse sobriquets.” His eyes twinkled at me merrily. “Here we are, Belle.” We were back at the beautiful, isolated little cove, with its tide pools and the miniature waterfall that was only somewhat taller than Ian. He set down the wine and blanket, then grinned over at me. “As I have said, you are quite reckless, wife. And we are not in California.” Ian pulled me close to him.
“No,” I replied. Where was he going with this? “We are not.”
“Here, a wife listens to her husband so she doesn’t drown in rough waters.”
“I’m not from here.” I tilted my head up, giving him an insolent look. “And that water was hardly rough--”
“You have quite the mouth on you, wife,” Ian murmured, weaving his fingers into my hair and leaning down to kiss me. “I suggest you consider. I do believe that you might enjoy listening to your husband if you were to give it a try.” He cupped his hands under my rear, giving me a tantalizing squeeze.
“Oh?” He was very good at leaving me breathless.
“Indeed,” he nodded at me with mock solemnity. “I believe you to be inappropriately dressed. I shall remedy that. Do not move,” Ian ordered, and his voice sent a shiver through me. In no time at all, he had divested me of what little clothing I wore, leaving me naked in the sunlight. Except for his hands, which were running all over me. “Yes, Belle, much better. Now, let’s see you.” He held me out at arm’s length and twirled me, as if we were on some truly outlandish dance floor.
“Ian,” I murmured, moving to shield myself slightly. Not only was it bright daylight, but Ian was still fully clothed.
“Get back here,” he said, but I had had enough of being on display.
“I don’t think I will,” I replied, twisting out of his grasp and running into the water. I turned back around and stuck out my tongue at him once I was well into the water out of reach.
“I gave you an order,” Ian began, then stopped, shaking his head briefly. He was fighting the urge to laugh and failing.
“And what are you going to do about it?” I flicked out my tongue, ran farther into the water and then squeezed a boob at him. It was meant to be an obscene gesture, like when guys grab themselves at you? Ian, however, was anything but offended. He stripped and waded in within moments.
“Oh no,” I called over the sound of the sea. “I’m surely in for it now!” He only nodded silently in reply, giving me a very predatory look as he drew closer and closer. ...Ian also moved faster in the water than I expected, and before long he had me cornered.
Ian stood there, tensed and poised to strike, waiting to see what I would do next. I splashed him with as much water as I could and attempted to make my escape, but he had been expecting that. He pounced on me before I made it any distance, quickly throwing me over his shoulder and giving my newly exposed rear end several light, exciting slaps that made my nipples stiffen. I gasped, wiggling over his shoulder as he made his way towards the waterfall.
“You are never to run from your husband,” he intoned, and I found the hard, aristocratic tones in his voice compelling. “Do you know why?”
“...Mmmmm,” I managed. He couldn’t have possibly wanted a real answer though, as he had chosen that moment to take advantage of my positioning and slip a finger inside of me. He chuckled at my whimpers, repositioning me to bring us face to face. I wrapped my legs around his waist and curled my hands into his hair, kissing him deeply as he waded through the water to sit me on the rock ledge. Ian wrapped his arms around me, protecting me from the rough surface while also holding me up, keeping my body locked against him. It was indescribably intense, and I moaned out his name as he slowly entered me.
“You are always ready for me,” Ian said into my ear, his voice low and deep. I rested my head on his chest, sobbing out in ecstasy as he made his way deeper and deeper with each thrust. He groaned, picking me up from the rocks and holding me up against him. “Tell me, Belle,” Ian whispered, “tell me how it feels.”
As if I was even remotely capable of speech; all I could do was moan and whimper in response.
“Mmmmm.” I grabbed on him tightly, feeling him rubbing against that tense spot deep within.
“When you clasp me tight within you,” Ian muttered into my ear, pausing every few words to withdraw and thrust again, driving me wild. “When you cry out for me...when you arch to take me in...”
I screamed out as he drove into me over and over, pressing me inexorably closer to the explosion he had been stroking inside of me. And even then he didn’t let up.
“Belle. Look at me,” he commanded in that gorgeous voice of his as he started another round of long, deep strokes. “I’m here, Belle. Right here. Look at me,” he coaxed, over and over again. “Tell me what I feel like inside of you.”
I don’t know what I said. There was a lot of whimpering, mostly, and occasionally I managed elaborate responses like “you’re very...mmmm...very deep,” and “ooooh, you feel so good”. You know, earth shattering revelations like that.
“Steady, Isabelle,” he instructed me, bringing me back to him. “Tell me you’re mine,” Ian said, staring into my eyes intently as I felt his pace change. “Quickly,” he urged, and I knew he was approaching his end.
“I’m yours,” I managed.
“Completely,” Ian said, and I nodded at him wordlessly. “Say it,” he gasped, thrusting again.
“Completely,” I moaned. A few thrusts later, Ian groaned, exploding within me.
We were still splashing around in the water, collecting pretty shells, when Ian brought up the subject of baby names - and not for the first time.
“How do you feel about James?”
“We might find ourselves with a daughter first,” I responded, waiting to see how he would respond to that notion.
He didn’t miss a stride. “Then of course we would name her Isabelle.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “That would be a bit much, I think.”
“Isabelle is a lovely name,” Ian protested.
“Sure. I’ve grown fond of it over the years,” I smirked at him. “But if it’s a boy, you wouldn’t want him named after you? I like your names very much, and there’s certainly a tradition in your family...”
Ian’s father, the Earl, was William V, and his elder brother, the viscount and heir, was William VI. I was still trying to sort out their titles; luckily, being foreign nobility (from a country that no one had ever heard of), I wasn’t expected to know every single detail of their processes. Everyone was already mightily impressed by my command of the King’s English, even with my odd and intriguing idioms.
“I suppose if you felt strongly about it.” Ian frowned, a strong expression that looked wonderfully handsome on his features. And I could enjoy it since it wasn’t directed at me. “I’m not particularly attached to any of my names,” he shrugged and I licked my lips, enjoying the sight of his bare abs and chest moving that way.
“I’ve always loved the name Alexander. And it’s easily converted for a girl, as well. Just something to consider.” I knelt down in the water, letting my hair float on the surface. Guilt was fluttering in my belly again. “Ian...” I swallowed, unsure of how to phrase what I wanted to say. “The odds of us conceiving a child right now - well, it’s highly unlikely.”
Ian chuckled, swishing his hand through the water. “You do speak with assertive certainty. I wager we’re putting in quite enough effort.” He held up a handful of shells that he had collected with a proud look.
“I hope you won’t put any money on it.” It came out more sharply than I intended, and Ian glanced at me with surprise. Guilt weighing at me, I bit my lip. “I just mean, I am certain. I pretty much can’t get pregnant right now.”
Ian drew closer, looking at me with concern. “Do you mean to say--”
“No, nothing like that. I have been very thoroughly checked out, by all of the doctors...” Part of my recovery had involved making sure that every part of me was in proper working order; Mom had insisted. Even still, I had been unfathomably lucky. I focused on the present, and Ian’s expectant expression.
“Okay - you know how oysters are supposed to be good for virility?” He nodded, and I continued. “Well, there are also things that we know can reduce fertility, and I regularly partake of just such a substance. If I stop, then my fertility will return to normal within a month or so.” He stared at me, and I could practically see the gears turning through his mind. “Ian?”
He directed a thoughtful, piercing gaze at me. “Is this the birth control that you spoke of before? And the family planning as well?”
“Yes.” Finally. I exhaled, sinking down into the water on my heels, letting the water come up to just below my chin.
There were a few more thoughtful moments before he spoke again. “And this is something that your doctors have researched? In California?”
I nodded, smiling to myself at the wonderment in his voice. “It’s well accepted medicine and common knowledge, and has been for decades.” I let the water flow through my cupped hands, rinsing out the shells we’d gathered.
“Hmmm.” A smile spread across his face. “This is something of a relief, actually. Many women experience discomfort - and it can be fraught with peril. My lady mother nearly died when giving birth to Stéphane. It was far too close after the previous babe, a stillborn...” Ian drifted off into thoughtful silence.
Ian had two brothers and two sisters. “Stéphane. That’s your youngest brother, yes?”
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, considering. “This substance - if it proves effective, we would be able to make a choice? With regards to the timing of conception?”
“Well, yes.” I gazed back at him, watching his mind work. “Within reason, of course.”
“That is a relief. I would be loath to be away from you during such a time of need. Still,” Ian grinned and inclined his head, sitting down in the water and leaning over to kiss me. “There are no guarantees.”
I felt much lighter. “None except for abstinence,” I agreed, “which we are obviously not engaging in.” I was relieved beyond words, and inspired to continue. “While we’re having this wonderfully honest, open discussion,” I began, playing with a pretty shell, “there’s something else I want to tell you, and I’ve put it off long enough.” I swallowed, trying to find the words.
He stilled. “What is it, Belle?”
I stalled, sweeping my hair out of my face to one-handedly wring out the water. “I have a journey to take, and I won’t be staying on the island once you’re gone.”
“What do you mean, you have a journey to take?” Ian demanded.
Ooof. I forced myself to breathe regularly. “I’ll be sailing with Anne for a while, and then she’ll bring me to England. To see you, of course,” I added. He stared into the sea for a while, his jaw set. “Ian?”
“The ocean is a treacherous place, Isabelle, as you are aware.” He frowned, rubbing his face. “I do not understand why you would wish to leave your comfortable environs for such.”
“I have business to attend to, as do you. And I hope you know that I can easily survive without servants and fluffed pillows.”
He regarded me through those piercing blue eyes of his. “Your sister has agreed to this? To take you upon the sea, and then to convey you on to England?”
“My presence on the ship was her idea,” I replied. “Part of her terms for arranging some things for me. But I was the one who insisted on including a visit to you in the itinerary.”
“Lady Isabelle and Captain Anne, upon the seas again,” he said pensively. “What might a journey with the two of you look like?” He marveled aloud. “Other than naked sea baths? And, I imagine, a number of delectable meals?”
I took his reaction as a good sign. “That’s a rather accurate summary. And boat stuff, of course. Lots of cleaning, rope mending and the like.”
He nodded slowly, rubbing his jaw. “When would you be in England?”
“About a year from now, we estimate.”
“That is quite a long time. The war is expected to end within a matter of months.”
Not according to the history books. But I only nodded and said, “Hmmm. It’s possible.” I certainly wasn’t an expert. I didn’t know how this whole time travel thing worked. What if Anne or I had changed something seemingly minor, like a butterfly effect scenario? Not to mention that we had given them a genuinely massive shipment of arms. When I looked over at Ian again, he was studying me intently, but his expression was otherwise unreadable. “Ian?”
Ian nodded at me slowly, and after a long silence, he exhaled. “I understand,” he said simply, turning back to stare out into the sea.
“You do? Because...you seem upset.” His jaw was clenched, and he wasn’t looking at me; I had grown familiar enough with his body language to know what those things meant.
“I believe I am upset, as you phrase it,” Ian said candidly. “Displeased?” He clarified, and I nodded. Close enough. My breath caught while I waited for him to continue. “However. You are your own mistress, as you have asserted time and again, and I did not imagine that marriage would soften you in this regard. I also do not imagine that things would go well between us if I were to attempt to order you about, or otherwise overrule your desires.”
He rubbed his jaw, finally turning to meet my eyes. “I also recognize that you could have simply remained silent, and done what you wished during my absence without informing me. That is a thing I have observed many times in my own family. I am glad to have your trust, and I am appreciative of your honesty, Belle.”
Sighing lightly, Ian took my hand, giving me a series of light kisses across my wrist. “I also recognize that you are not enamoured of my impending departure.” That was putting it mildly. But there wasn’t any use in complaining; I knew I was marrying a military officer during a time of war. “In truth, I had hoped that between The Phoenix and the development on your lands - not to mention your other interests - that you would find yourself with more than enough to occupy your time here.” (I don’t even have words to describe how happy I was that he didn’t suggest anything lame like filling my day by having tea with the locals.) “The idea of you upon those wild and dangerous seas fills my heart with dread. However,” Ian paused, leaning over to draw me closer to him, “your sister is quite a capable captain, and seems entirely dedicated to your safety. As much as I would prefer that you remain safely settled here, there is no other person I would entrust you to with any sort of comfort.” That was a highly accurate observation, and also very high praise coming from Ian - especially regarding Anne.
“That’s generous of you.”
“You needn’t sound so surprised,” Ian said wryly. He jiggled the shells in his hands, making light, tinkly sounds. “I doubt she and I will ever be the closest of companions, but I believe we have reached a fair accord regarding our shared love of you.”
Sure, I know I’m a sap, but I couldn’t help but smile at the sincerity in his voice. I tugged him down by his curls for a kiss. “I love you madly, Ian Alexander Coventry,” I babbled, feeling all warm and glowy. “I worry that I may not tell you that enough.”
“Your love is always evident, Isabelle,” he smiled down at me affectionately and kissed me again. “But I shall never tire of hearing the words.”
“Wine?” I suggested, standing. I grabbed his hand, tugging him towards our blanket until he budged. “Hey,” I called to him, shrugging into my shift, “do wives get to make requests of their husbands here?”
He laughed. “I am certain that you know the answer to that.”
“You got to look at me earlier. It’s my turn to ogle you,” I remarked, lying down on the blanket. “I’ve never gotten a full look at you in sunlight either, you know.”
He stalked towards me, looking for all the world like a proud sculpture come to life. Like, a perfectly sculpted sculpture that some sculptor had sculpted with very generous additions.
“My god, you really are absolutely fucking gorgeous. I can’t wait to take you home and show you off.” Ian would kill at our country club. Hell, he would kill at all of our clubs. Provided no one talked about anything like the internet. Or electricity. The image of strolling hand in hand through the streets of ‘California’ with my husband was ridiculously appealing, no matter how unrealistic it was.
“Whoa.” I paused, sitting up to get a better look at him. “What happened there?”
“What?” He glanced down, perplexed as he followed my eyeline.
“This,” I moved up to him, running my hand over a scary looking scar on his hip. It was a narrow line that ran about the length of my hand.
“That is a wound your brave husband earned in battle.”
“You’ve been in battle?” I sat back on my heels, staring up at him.
He raised an eyebrow at me. “Yes, darling, we’ve spoken of this. Two years ago I was present at Kings Bay?”
“You said it was a skirmish! You said nothing of a battle,” I accused him.
“What do you believe a skirmish to consist of, my love?”
I paused. “A tiny, nothing fight?” I ventured dumbly, and he shook his head. “Well that was certainly the way you described it!” I ran my hand over the area again, a flood of anxiety washing over me.
“Indeed, it was meant to be so. We had received good information about a congregation of pirates. It was meant to be a clean sweep, an opportunity to thoroughly purge a number of unlawful fellows.” He made a noise of disgust. “It was not so. When we arrived, the pirates were hot-blooded and fighting, and the navy swept the beach. It was a brutal, bloody event.”
I stared at him, biting my lip. “You told me that officers don’t see battle.”
“We are often held back from the fray, regardless of our capabilities,” he agreed. “Commander Sutton was strongly displeased with me for joining in, but I do believe it was worth a small injury.” He chuckled. “Not to mention how many of the men learned not to doubt my skill with a blade and pistol. It was exhilarating.”
“A small injury?” And he’d gotten it showing off. He merely shrugged. “God, Ian.”
“It is no matter, Belle,” he said, pulling on his shirt. “The wound is long since healed. Not to mention the vast quantity of drinks the story has earned me at a number of taverns.” Ian chuckled.
“Someone stuck a knife in you,” I whispered, and my stomach roiled.
“Hardly.” He waved it off. “And he was aiming for my stomach. My hip was a far better outcome.”
“I see,” I said, grimacing. “But you went into the fighting unnecessarily? Ian, you said you wouldn’t be in danger.”
“I am different now,” he said. “I was young then.”
“It was two bloody years ago!”
“It will be different,” he insisted. “Those were pirates. I will be fighting among other Englishmen; it will be civilized.”
“Oh yeah, because civil wars are always really civilized,” I snarked back at him. “Now who’s being naive?”
“Isabelle,” Ian said calmly. “I am married now. I would not be so irresponsible in my actions when I know that I would leave you widowed and mourning.”
Fetu had promised to return as well.
“There are no guarantees in war, as I’m sure you know. But there are precautions...” I trailed off, trying to figure out how to phrase what I wanted to say.
“I will take all of the precautions available to me. Without shirking honor and duty, of course.”
“Of course,” I parroted distractedly, gathering my thoughts. “You remember that I told you we do a lot of things with medicine in California?” Ian nodded. “There’s something else I want to give you. Because I want you safe. As safe as I can make you before you go charging into battle.”
Ian gazed over at me intently. “Why do you hesitate, Belle?”
“You’re going to think it’s weird.”
He shrugged, undeterred. For now. “Go on,” he urged.
Strike while the iron is hot, Isabelle. “You will take all of the precautions available? You promise?”
“I have some concerns, Isabelle.”
I could hardly blame him; I doubted I would have enough trust in anyone to bend over bottomless, waiting without any information, but to his credit Ian hadn’t wavered.
“I told you. I’m going to stick something in you, and then you get to stick something in me. Ready?”
Ian cleared his throat lightly. “...Yes?”
I swabbed the area with alcohol, then double checked the needle for air bubbles. “This will sting quite a bit. But we do this to infants, and they manage just fine after a few minutes of crying. And you,” I said, shamelessly buttering him up, “are a big, brave soldier.” He inhaled sharply with each jab, but did not move. “You did an excellent job, darling.”
“You do that to infants?” Ian was horrified.
“Oh, sure.” I nodded at him. “I’ve been jabbed oodles of times, and most of them before I was six. I’ll have to do some of those again. You’ll need boosters.” I couldn’t put an adhesive bandage on him, so I had him press a folded square of clean linen over the areas.
Then I handed him a small waterproof container with a course of antibiotics and explained the instructions on their use, which I also wrote down for him. After that, I pulled out my journal and marked the date and shots for reference.
Ian smiled. “I’m pleased to see that you have made use of that.”
“Your first gift to me?” I grinned back at him.
“It was a simple token, and yet you smiled with such appreciation. Despite your obvious wealth.” Ian laughed lightly. “That was a lovely thing to experience.”
Seriously? “You mean, rich girls don’t like books?”
“My sister Joan was once gifted a copy of a rare book from a suitor.” He paused, frowning deeply. “She was not pleased,” Ian said, and I bit back a laugh. What an incredibly English way of saying that she had thrown a tantrum.
We made dinner together; Ian caught and cleaned some fish, we cooked them on a small fire on the shore, and upon returning to his ship, I turned them into wraps.
“It’s similar to a sandwich.” His features were alight with thought and flavor.
“Very similar,” I agreed. “Just as many varieties also.”
“Truly?” Ian’s eyes widened with excitement. “It appears I will have something else of yours to take along with me. The knowledge of sandwich making,” he clarified with a wide, beautiful grin. “Not to mention your cocktails.” His enthusiasm was enchanting.
“Speaking of which,” I gave my impromptu cocktail mixer a good shake, then poured a healthy amount into each of our cups. We toasted, then sat back to sit side by side, enjoying the view and each other. Ian dragged himself away from me after a while, taking up his spyglass to look out over the horizon. His expression was markedly reserved when he turned to face me. “Ian?”
“If we want to have time to make the rounds we’ve planned, we will need to head back to St. George’s. Sooner, rather than later.”
He could see the warship Victory in the distance.
We decided to dock at the fort, spending one last night alone onboard, wrapped up alone together with only the sounds of the ocean before returning to the world.
Come morning, concerned about any vaccine reactions, I checked in to see how Ian was feeling. To my relief, his only complaint was soreness at the injection areas.
Ian and I walked hand in hand from his prized, recently christened ship - The SS Sandwich - to Fort St. Catherine’s. After weaving our way through the hearty congratulations of soldiers along the halls of the fort, Ian bustled me into his rooms, and secured me within with strict instructions to stay put.
I helped myself to a glass of Ian’s port and then, since he was taking so long, I decided to move things along.
“Belle?” He called as he entered the outer room. “I’ve arranged for us to be undisturbed, and...where are you, darling?”
“In here,” I called from the bedroom. I’d stripped down and climbed into his bed, tucking myself into the covers. “Hi.”
“You wonderfully impetuous woman,” Ian murmured, leaning against the doorjamb seductively and giving me an appreciative look.
I pulled back the soft linen sheets, giving him an eyeful. “Join me?”
He was already shrugging out of his coat and simultaneously working on his trousers. “Certainly, my lady,” Ian grinned at me.
“You know, that’s a really pretty rug,” I mentioned as we walked through his outer room on our way out of the fort. It was some sort of animal skin, plush and inviting under bare feet. “I wish I had one like it at the inn. I’d love to--”
“Say no more,” Ian interrupted, giving me a quick kiss, “we’ll take it with us.”
“Really?” And, yes, he was serious, because he had bent down to roll it up, tossing it over his shoulder.
“Indeed. I look forward to seeing your intentions.”
My goodness, the looks we got as we walked through St. Catherine’s! Not to mention the carriage driver. Apparently the sight of a well-dressed gentleman - even if he was a soldier - carrying something was an eye-widening novelty.
Ian was rather stoic, hardly even smirking at the reactions. I, on the other hand, was so giddy that I was only barely able to keep it together until we were closed away in the carriage, at which point I dissolved into giggles.
“I thought Dormer might lose his eyebrows, he was so surprised.” Ian chuckled. “We’ll use your side entrance and avoid unsettling anyone else unduly.”
“So.” I bit my lip. “Tomorrow, you think?”
Ian’s expression turned solemn. “I believe this will be our last night together, for some time.”
“We’ll make the best of it, then.” I snuggled up to him, wishing for more time. We’d been married for nine days; that we would be parted so soon was unfathomable.
We planned out a night of leisure, starting with fruit, wine, and pot. My beloved, handsome, stately husband had also brought an illicit substance - a tiny vial of powdered opium. I was shocked.
“While it creates a very pleasant feeling, it can also cause compulsion,” Ian warned, loading the special pipe. “You must be incredibly sparing with the usage of this substance. Do you understand, Belle?” His firm, yet tender admonishment warmed me.
“Thank you, love.” I leaned over to kiss him, suddenly feeling a prick in my eyes. “We know about poppies in California.” But what the hell, eh? Maybe just a little.
We moved our party to my new rug after that - sheepskin, by the way - and I decided to live dangerously, smoking a blend of pot and opium. Then we laid back on the huge rug, enjoying the softness and each other’s warmth.
I was floating; this was even more potent than the laudanum I had taken. “Oh dear. I can understand why this is addictive.”
“Indeed.” His voice sounded so lovely, if extra far away. I wanted him closer. Somehow, I made my way to a semi-upright position, then untied both of our robes. “Mmmm,” Ian said, raising an eyebrow at me. He was so beautiful, and lovely, and sweet. I was devastated that we would be separated after so little time.
But that was tomorrow’s problem. I had other things to focus on now.
The opium emboldened me. And you’re probably like...really, Izzy? You don’t seem to have much of a problem with boldness. And I would say, well, I am human, after all, and maybe don’t be mean? Thanks. Anyway -
I pulled out the pins from the barrette, letting my hair fall over my shoulders, then stole a good look at myself in the mirror. My hair was still damp, and doing that great thing that long curls do when they’re nicely moisturized and haven’t even thought about frizzing yet. And with the softly flowing silk over my shoulders...yes.
Okay, I could do this.
“You in all your glory,” Ian said as I moved to straddle him. “Precisely how I envisioned you.” The look in his eyes as he took me in made every bit of insecurity that I had been feeling more than worth it. With cautious hands, he reached up to play with my hair, and I smiled down at him. But when he moved to slip off my robe, I shied away. “Timid, darling?”
“So what if I am?” I mumbled. I could feel my face turning red. Darn it, now I had ruined everything.
Ian ran his hands up my thighs, then my hips, finally settling them around my waist. “I have had you beneath me, thus,” Ian remarked in a low voice, his eyes full of lust as he gazed up at me. “And you will dive into the ocean in less than this before God and--”
“That was entirely different,” I protested. “You know, nonsexual nudity.”
Ian laughed uproariously. “I do not believe you are capable of any such thing,” he remarked. Still chuckling, he pulled me down for a long and intense kiss, those graceful, freshly oiled up hands of his gliding freely along my similarly moisturized skin. Bliss.
When we parted, I suddenly felt much less nervous, and I no longer had time for words; I was too busy setting up to impale myself. He groaned out loudly at my initial success, gripping my hips and easing me farther down.
Having Ian underneath me was captivating. His strong, lovely features illuminated by the glow of the fireplace; the feel of his wonderful, chiseled body under my hands; our eyes locked while we moved together. I kept my hands on his chest, and my movements deliberate and slow. I wanted to make this delicious moment last.
“Talk to me,” I whispered to him.
“Tell me what you desire.” Ian was passionate and eager to please, as always. He ran his hands up my waist with a deliciously possessive unhurriedness, cupping my breasts and slowly rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. I let my robe slip from my shoulders and drop to the floor.
“French.” I pleaded with him as I moved my hips. “I love to hear you speak French.”
“S’il vous plaît,” Ian said, then launched into a series of quietly spoken things that I couldn’t understand. It sounded erotic and beguiling nonetheless. My husband’s voice and accent could make anything sound sexy, and I couldn’t get enough of him.
We were both well and truly worn out after that session. Ian pulled a throw from the couch over us while we curled up together for a nap. Once we woke, we refueled on snacks and wine, then moved on to bedtime.
I was just starting to get used to this nighttime routine. I looked at the array of products spread out between us while we prepared for bed. My array, honestly. Ian had a handful of items, while I had a stack on my vanity. I liked finally seeing our things together, and now.... This was so unfair. I had put off thinking about it for as long as I could, and now it was hitting me, and hard.
And I know, I know - I knew that he was a soldier likely heading off for war ages ago, but none of that mattered. “I’m going to miss you so much.” I turned to look up at him, suddenly feeling choked up. “Sorry,” I sniffled. “I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry.”
“Why?” Ian pulled me close to him. “Do you believe there to be some shame in it?”
“Because I wanted this time to be perfect. We have so little of it, and...” I paused to dab at my eyes, determined not to completely fall to pieces. “I want to make sure that you’ll come back,” I whispered.
“Isabelle.” Ian placed a hand under my chin, gently drawing my eyes up to his.
“No. I know what you’re going to say, Ian.” I sniffled. “But you don’t understand what an absolute miracle this is, that we found each other--”
He grinned down at me, running his thumb along the wet line on my cheek. “In truth, I have thought you were a miracle since first I laid eyes on you. I am still not entirely certain that this is not all a wondrous dream. However,” Ian paused to lay a series of sweet kisses across my face, “until I wake, I will cherish you as the heaven-sent gift I believe you to be.”
