True Heart by Arnette Lamb Page A

frowned. “I promised that I would.”
    Loyalty to her or to the youthful pact they’d made troubled him. Had he given his heart elsewhere? Staring up at him, at his strong profile limned in pale moonlight, Virginia felt an envy that pierced her heart. Other women had admired him, had been courted by him, had shared moments such as these. But he was to have been hers, her partner in love, her companion for life.
    A shiver of longing spread through her. She thought of the years they’d missed, of the times to come, and when he maneuvered her behind the ship’s lifeboat and kissed her, Virginia thought she might swoon again. She’d fainted at the sound of his name. She had no defense against the security of his embrace. Captured completely, his mouth moving tenderly on her, she felt sheltered and protected and melancholy. This was to have been her place in life, this man her own. But they’d missed so much.
    Pain, hot and heavy, squeezed her chest, and when tears threatened to burst, she clung to him. She couldn’t let herself cry; once begun, the tears might never stop. What would be left of her then, save the shattered remnants of a foolish girl’s pride?
    Much better that she put her mind to her first kiss, given by the man who had always been hers and shared on the deck of his dream ship. Other memories flooded her, but the images were innocent and playful, not this yearning that strummed deep in her belly, the need of a woman for her man.
    Drawing back, he whispered against her temple. “I cannot get close enough to you.”
    She couldn’t hold back a sob.
    He squeezed her tighter, and the pain of longing ebbed, replaced by a desire that had nothing to do with childhood promises and everything to do with a woman’s need for her man.
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Twas your first kiss.”
    Pride drove her to say, “No.”
    His fingers skimmed down her arms and to her hands. A frown marred his forehead.
    â€œWhy are you looking at me that way?”
    He squeezed her left hand. “Because you always held your hand just so when you told a lie.”
    He’d remembered her secret fist, and before that, her inexperience had been obvious. Now she had to scramble for an excuse or tell him the truth. “I did? I’m encouraged by that.”
    Cameron studied her. Those blue eyes had once gazed at him in friendship; now they shone with a lover’s desire. He had expected her to grow into a beauty; she had her mother’s fine brow and lush femininity. From the duke, she’d gotten her elegant nose and proud chin. But from where had the hesitance come? MacKenzie women were known for their independence and forthright manner. But more than that, he noticed a stillness in Virginia, a direct contrast to the lively girl she’d been. When he’d spied her shadow behind the lace screen, he’d been too anxious to take notice of it. He’d also been intrigued by her feminine form.
    Women were scarce on this side of the Atlantic. How had a horde of colonial men left so beautiful a woman alone? Cameron didn’t know. “Why would you be encouraged by an old habit?”
    â€œBecause it tells me I did not lie often or you would have known it.”
    â€œI’d’ve known anyway, so close were we.”
    He put action to the words and pulled her close. She wanted to yield, to explore the feelings his kiss inspired.
    â€œThat’s a lass.”
    He’d read her lusty thoughts. That wouldn’t do. She drew back.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, Virginia?”
    â€œI hardly know you.”
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Tis the easiest of matters to change. And a task I fairly relish. Put your arms around my neck, Virginia.”
    She did and rose on tiptoe. He had a moment to consider the propriety of his actions. But convention didn’t count where this woman was concerned: She was his, and when their lips touched again, time spun away. She followed his