And most of all, she wanted Madam.
The door opened with a bang. Taylor jumped a foot. Mr. Ross stood in the entrance. He all but filled up the entire doorway. She could see him clearly, for the light from the lamp perched in the leather holder high up on the hallway wall shown brightly all around him.
She'd never been so happy to see anyone in all her life. He looked like a god to her. Or a prince. He was drenched from head to foot. His dark hair hung down over his forehead and his white shirt and black pants were molded to his body. The bulge of muscle in his upper arms and his thighs made him look invincible to her. He was like a mighty warrior from the past, this princely giant she was married to, and Taylor found herself calmed by his mere presence. He was such a commanding figure, and the casual ease in his every movement, so graceful for such a huge man, actually captivated and soothed her.
Lucas Ross couldn't have been more appealing to her if he'd been dressed in elegant, regal robes:
"Hell of a wind kicking up." He made the remark in a casual tone of voice and took another step inside. "I'm soaked through." He turned then, tossed his wet bedroll into the corner of the stateroom next to his satchels, then shook his head very like a dog would do to rid himself of the rain. Drops of water flew outward in an arch.
He smiled at Taylor. One look at her face told him she was terrified. He noticed the tears coursing down her face. Her eyes were as wide as saucers. Her gaze was centered on him, but he didn't think the terror he saw in her expression was because he'd entered the cabin in the middle of the night. He used the cabin to house his clothes and came and went several times during the day. No, he wasn't responsible for her tears. The storm was causing her panic.
He couldn't fault her reaction. In truth, he felt the way she looked. He'd been in storms before but nothing as violent as this one. They were in real jeopardy of going down.
He wasn't about to share his opinion about their dire circumstances with Taylor, however. The last thing he wanted or needed was a hysterical woman on his hands, and for that reason, he forced himself to move slowly, to act as though he had all the time in the world. He was as nonchalant as possible. He even whistled.
She shifted in the bed when the ship tilted again.
"Do you prefer sitting in the dark?"
It took her a full minute to find her voice. "No," she whispered. She moved back so she was once again visible to him in the beam of light from the hallway. "But I was concerned I would set the cabin on fire if I tried to relight the lamp."
Lucas turned to go back outside. "Where are you going, Mr. Ross?"
Panic made her tone sharp and her words tremble. She couldn't seem to calm down. She didn't want him to know how afraid she was. He might think she was a coward. It really was laughable, she supposed, worrying about his opinion of her now, just minutes before they were both surely going to die, but foolish as it was, she still tried to hide her fear. He didn't know her very well, and she didn't want him to go to his watery grave believing he'd married a weakling.
"I'm just getting the lantern from the hallway," he called out.
He was already back inside the cabin by the time he finished his explanation. She watched him shut the door, then walk over to the opposite side of the room and tie the lantern to the metal hook protruding from the wall. One of her trunks went sailing past him while he was securing the base of the lamp to the stand. The ship took a perilous dive then. Taylor pressed her back against the wall, dug her heels into the sheets, and tried to maintain her balance. She was still tossed to the side. Lucas hadn't budged. His balance was impressive. So was his attitude, she decided. He didn't seem to be at all concerned about their perilous situation.
She felt it necessary to point out the obvious. "We're in the middle of a hurricane, sir. I believe it's only a matter of time before the ship goes down."
Lucas shrugged, pretending indifference. He took his time removing his shirt. He sidestepped the trunk, shoved it into the corner, then sat down on top of it so he could remove his shoes.
"Aren't you worried, Mr. Ross?"
"It's just a little high wind, Taylor. It's too early in the season for a hurricane. It should blow over in a couple of hours."
He gave the lie without batting an eye. She was watching him closely, looking for the least little sign of concern.
She didn't find any. "You aren't at all concerned,
Mr. Ross?" She didn't give him time to answer. "Have you been in other storms like this one?"
"Lots of them," he lied.
"Well then." Her sigh was long and filled with relief. She even managed a smile.
She was feeling much better now, almost safe. Then he inadvertently went and ruined her near recovery. He took his pants off.
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Mr. Ross, whatever are you thinking?"
She fairly shouted the question. He lost his patience with her. "Will you quit calling me Mr. Ross?"
He'd snapped his demand back at her. She was astonished by his show of temper. "If you wish," she replied. She kept her eyes closed. She heard him mutter something under his breath but couldn't make out the words. It was probably a blasphemy, she supposed with a frown she sincerely hoped he would notice.
Lucas stripped out of the rest of his clothes and walked over to his suitcase to get fresh, dry pants. He normally slept in the nude, but because he'd been sleeping up on deck, he had, of course, kept his clothes on. He was going to have to wear pants tonight as well, he knew, and all because this young lady he was saddled with was acting so damned squeamish and prim.
God save him from virgins, he thought. She was probably going to have heart failure when she realized he had every intention of sharing the bed with her.
He didn't have any intention of touching her, however. Being intimate with his bride would only complicate their financial arrangement. The last thing he wanted or needed was a wife, and he knew that if he touched her, he would feel honor bound to stay married. He'd just as soon be hanged. Or put back in prison.
His mind was filled with thoughts about the horrors associated with marriage, and for that reason he didn't notice the ship had tilted again. The trunk slammed into his right foot. He muttered an expletive, shook himself out of his dour thoughts, and put his pants on.
Taylor watched him. She was mesmerized by his physique, and since she was certain he wasn't aware she was looking at him, she barely blushed at all over what she was seeing.
Lucas Ross was as sleek as a panther. The splay of muscle in the backs of his thighs and shoulders seemed to roll with each movement he made. His skin was bronzed in color, no doubt by the sun. His waist was narrow, his shoulders were incredibly wide, and heavens, he really was a fine specimen of male perfection. If she'd been the faint-hearted sort, she was certain she would have swooned by now. In her opinion, he was magnificent.
She found herself wishing he would turn around. Lucas didn't accommodate her. He buttoned up his pants and walked over to the side of the bed. His chest was covered with a thick mat of dark hair. It tapered to a vee at his waist.
The ship suddenly lurched again. Taylor was so mesmerized by the sight of her husband, she forgot to brace herself. She went flying. He caught her in his arms just as she was about to be pitched to the floor.
Her reaction surprised him. She laughed. He hoped to God she wasn't getting hysterical on him.
"What's so amusing?"
She shrugged. His skin was warm to her touch. She noticed that when she wrapped her arms around his neck. The ship rocked again. It was an excuse she had been waiting for. She put her head on his shoulder and held tight.
"You aren't going to go back up on deck, are you? You'll only get wet again."
"I'm not going back up on deck."
She didn't loosen her hold. She wasn't about to let him get away. Being alone was too frightening. Lucas had become her safe haven against the storm.