Between A Rake And A Hard Place [Pirates of London Book 2] (7 page)

And he wanted her anyway.

Damnation
.

He didn’t need this.

The ship gently bobbed in the bay, but there were sailors busy at the moorings because Haldon had already given the order.

“Success?”

At the sound of Marcus’s voice he turned like a guilty schoolboy caught loitering outside a classroom, reluctant to go in because he hadn’t done his lessons. Christopher muttered, “Some. At least she will no longer be half naked.”

“Probably best for the morale on the whole ship,” his old friend said with marked amusement, “and especially yours.”

He scowled. “Spare me your observations. You are hardly objective. I haven’t noticed you are immune to her charms.”

Marcus folded his arms across his broad chest and leaned a shoulder against the side of the cabin. “Oh, I am not. But I am not nearly as captivated as you are. Given the opportunity, trust me, I’d—”

“I think I know what you’d do,” Christopher interrupted tersely, uncharacteristically irritated by what he knew his friend was about to say. “Don’t express it out loud.”

“Just the warning in your voice gives me pause. I understand we are about to set sail. The question is, though you’ve been extremely virtuous—for you—so far, are you going to survive our trip back to London?”

“I highly doubt one slender young woman has the ability to do me in. I’ve endured worse.”

“Oh, I think you underestimate her.” One dark eyebrow went upward in an ironic arch. Marcus straightened. “Let me know how it all goes, will you? Since you will let no one else near this door except you and me, I’ve been on duty the entire time you were ashore. Your return now will allow me to seek out a tankard of ale and to enjoy the sight of the receding coastline.”

He sauntered away and Christopher watched him go, then took in a swift breath and knocked on the door. “Lady Cassandra?”

There was a pause before she answered the door, a book in her hand, her lustrous hair gleaming in the light, violet eyes inquiring and wide. “Mr. Ives. I noticed the motion of the ship…what is happening?”

“We are off to England. And I come bearing gifts.” His smile was wry. “Such as they are. I wish I could have done more, but I am not an expert in this particular avenue of purchases, and quite frankly, I was in a hurry. My apologies you did not get to disembark, but it was ill-advised at best. I am afraid the
Sappho
will be the vessel that takes you home.”

* * * *

It was ridiculous to be jubilant over her failure to be released into the presence of more respectable people. Yet, Cassandra was admittedly elated to hear she was not going to be put into the clutches of some dour-faced duenna but was instead going to be at sea at least for another good while in the company of her enigmatic rescuer.

Perhaps she’d passed too many hours reading romantic literature, but from that very first moment when she’d heard his voice, she had felt…
something
.

It wasn’t easy to describe, and up until now she thought maybe she was being fanciful, but she could swear he was, for all his sophistication and detachment, also affected by her.

He was, apparently. She’d just shamelessly eavesdropped on his conversation with Marcus. What did they expect? The walls of the cabin were sturdy but not exactly soundproof and she was left alone there all day with strict orders to not set a foot outside and the sound of voices drew her.

So she simply nodded, elated but self-conscious because of what she’d overheard, and stepped back so he could come inside.

It did not help that Christopher looked particularly dashing today for some reason, especially since his hair curled in damp ebony waves against the chiseled planes of his face and the strong column of his neck. His expression was, of course, more enigmatic than ever. “I’ve a few gowns and some undergarments,” he announced, setting down the wrapped package on the bed. “The former owner was once a lady of some renown in certain…er…circles. It was the best I could do, I’m afraid. I will say she looked to have about the same measurements and discretion is her business as far as she did not inquire as to my name or why I was purchasing clothing in an establishment of that sort.”

“Of what sort?” she asked, openly puzzled.

“Of the sort where a man might find a variety of ladies in all shapes and sizes.”

She really wasn’t much more enlightened. “I don’t—”

“Nor should you,” he interrupted smoothly. “Let us just hope I am a decent judge of what might suit you.”

It wasn’t as if she had other options. Wearing just a dressing gown all day long was in truth fairly comfortable, but in the rare times she was allowed on deck in his company she had to clutch it tightly over her breasts against the breeze which usually meant her legs were exposed by the next capricious gust and maintaining any sense of modesty nearly impossible.

Curious, Cassandra opened the paper and saw shimmering silk in a cross between blue and violet, a chemise that upon closer examination was more lace than fabric by far, sheer, delicate stockings, and a pair of slippers. The second gown was a deep rose shade and a hint of violet perfume drifted from the fabric.

“They are quite lovely,” she murmured, touched he’d gone through so much trouble, but then again, the man had risked his life for her already, so purchasing a gown or two was a paltry gesture in comparison.

But it still moved her.

“I hope they fit, but we will be home soon enough. As you noted, we just weighed anchor and are on our way.” He sounded noncommittal, and he often did, but she always had the feeling that his distance was calculated and maybe not all that genuine.

“You will have to help me.” She picked up the undergarments and the violet gown and turned toward the screen, glancing over her shoulder. “Somehow, Mr. Ives, I am going to venture to guess you have some experience with the current fashions in female clothing and know it would be impossible for me to do the buttons on the back of this by myself.”

The dismayed expression on his face was fleeting, a merest tightening of his mouth, but to her a triumph of sorts. God knew the man rattled
her
composure.

She ducked behind the screen and shed her robe, and then donned the chemise, finding it to be scandalously transparent. The gown was somewhat better, but cut far lower in the bodice than anything she’d ever worn as an unwed debutante, but then again, she could not afford to be too critical at this point in time. It was lovely and well-made, and when she emerged from behind the screen, she found that the glimmer of pure masculine appreciation in the eyes of the man standing across the room, now sipping a glass of brandy, made her stomach do an interesting flutter.

Walking over, she turned her back and lifted up the heavy fall of her hair. “If you wouldn’t mind, sir.”

His touch was deft and sure as he swiftly complied. “I would rather be undoing these, of course, but I am an obliging man.”

Considering she was half-spilling from the bodice, she felt more than a little self-conscious, but then again, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen already. “Thank you. Both for the clothes and the assistance.”

“Oh, my pleasure.”

The hint of huskiness in his voice was matched by the searing look in his eyes when she turned back around.

Pleasure. No doubt he could offer it. Cassandra was certain of it, and it disturbed her that her response to his blatant masculinity was so profound. Despite her suitors this season, she’d never experienced anything quite like it with any other man, even the undeniably attractive Marcus.

It wasn’t the rake, it was…
him
.

“Now that I am properly dressed, am I allowed to go on deck unescorted?” she asked, for whatever reason a little breathless.

“No.”

“Why?”

Christopher took a deliberate drink, delaying his answer, swallowed, and then informed her. “If I do not trust myself around you, my fine lady, how could I possibly trust the crew? So, no, I’m afraid not.”

She looked into his remarkable eyes and asked softly, “You do not trust yourself in what way?”

His tone was silken and dismissive. “I’d love to toss you on that bed, lift those skirts, and ravish you, and I suspect that innocent though you may be, you know that full well. Don’t play with me. You don’t have the skills, which is just as well. You should not. Let me deposit you back in the hands of your anxious family untouched, and you can marry well, breed children for your titled husband, and live a very respectable life.”

Respectable didn’t seem quite as appealing as it once had, though in retrospect, no one had ever asked her what
she
wanted. Her family had just expected her to marry the man of her father’s choice, and before this adventure, she had gone along with the notion of it because, truly, she didn’t have any other option.

At this moment, on a ship full of renegades, on a foreign sea, with the single most intriguing man she’d ever met standing right in front of her gazing at her with eyes of molten silver, she actually did have a choice.

He’d saved her from a fate she shuddered to even imagine.

Surely she owed him whatever she could give in repayment.

Cassandra took a step closer, holding his gaze. “What if I
wish
to be ravished?”

Chapter 7

Christopher could swear that the last time a woman had left him speechless he had been about fifteen years old and tongue-tied in the presence of a glorious red-head about three years his senior, when a very frank and generous maid in his father’s household had blatantly seduced him.

So he completely understood sexual curiosity, not to mention sexual attraction, but self-preservation should enter into the equation.

For both of them.

He’d bought her a harlot’s dress. Though he’d done his best to purchase the most respectable one possible, the revealing bodice showcased
her perfect breasts, drawing the eye to the sensual shadow between them. Her long, golden hair still tumbled free in a glorious, shimmering fall, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his hands in that thick mass even as he buried his cock deep inside her.

Don’t be a fool
.

“Your father is paying me quite a tidy sum to return you to him safe and unharmed.”

She reached out and placed a hand on his chest, flattening her palm, the touch light and tentative, but enough to make his pulse leap. Violet eyes held his gaze. “I hardly think you will harm me.”

“Perhaps I should have said untouched.”

He should definitely turn and walk out the door. This second.

But he didn’t.

He’d barely held onto his self-restraint during the journey to Gibraltar. Dosing himself with whiskey had helped him sleep, plus one of the crewmen had been ill most of the way so he’d helped with the ship by taking his place, but he’d still been aware of her every moment, his wayward mind picturing her in the cabin, in his bed.

In his arms.

Cassandra was looking at him with innocent expectation, a telltale flush in her cheeks. “How would anyone know if you touched me or not?”

Damn all, did she have to carry a faint scent of flowers, feminine and beguiling? He went to remove her hand, gently grasping her wrist, but somehow instead he ran his fingers up the slender length of her arm to where the gown bared her shoulder. “Your future husband would prefer a virgin, I’m sure. He would know.”

“I don’t wish to marry him. I never did. My father chose him, not me.” Her lacy lashes fluttered downward a fraction. “Besides, I think, considering I spent nearly a week in a harem, no one is going to expect me to be untouched.”

A valid argument his unruly body agreed with, but the truth was, she was still pure.

At this moment anyway.

Christopher traced the line of her collarbone and let one finger trail up the graceful curve of her neck to her cheek. “This is a gift you can only give to one man. I hope you have no illusions that I am some sort of hero. My occupation is to solve all sorts of small problems for a price. I find the law an inconvenience and ignore it often enough. I’d like to think I follow a code, but it is not a gentlemanly one, more one based on self-preservation and good sense. Honor is an abstract concept, and I treat it that way.”

“Is that why you haven’t touched me yet? Because you have no honor?” She moved slightly closer and he took in a deep breath. “Is that why you risked your life to save mine?”

“God save me from overly romantic young ladies,” he murmured, but her mouth was so temptingly close and those luscious breasts almost touching his chest and he…

…well, he was not made out of honed steel evidently.

He lowered his head and kissed her.

The mistake of a lifetime. Her lips were soft and warm and delicious, her response unskilled but flatteringly acquiescent, and he repressed a low groan when her arms slid around his neck.

He’d lived most of his life by his wits and instincts and this was an
exceedingly
bad idea.

And yet he was going to do it anyway. From that first moment he saw her—never mind her state of undress and undeniable beauty—he’d reacted to her. To the courage and resilience in her part of her rescue, to the remarkable acceptance of her circumstances without complaint, she was every inch a lady, but luckily, not a spoiled ingénue like so many of her contemporaries.

Beautiful. Intelligent. Absolutely captivating.

His hands spanned her waist, balancing them both against the subtle rock of the ship. Already his erection swelled against the material of his breeches, and he angled his head to allow better access and murmured against her lips, “Let me in.”

It was clear she didn’t understand until he ran his tongue along her lower lip and then almost as if in surprise, she opened her mouth and he was able to kiss her fully, like a lover, his tongue sliding against hers, exploring, demanding and yet giving at the same time.

She was startled, but he was gratified to find she adjusted to the intimacy quickly, her hands sliding down his back.

If she thought that was intimate, he could show her something oh-so much more.