Hypothermia.
He moved down the darkened center hallway past two more doors—bedrooms he never used—to his own at the end.
The woman moaned softly. Her fingers were bunched into small fists. No bigger than a sprite, she possessed a warrior spirit he had to admire.
Her face nestled in the crook under his chin. He could feel her warm breath against his skin.
Ben laid her gently on the bed. She rolled onto her side and curled her legs close to her body. She still clutched the blanket close.
He lit a lantern. A soft glow of light shone on the double bed, dresser, sea trunk and large hearth.
He quickly removed his wet jacket and tossed it into a heap on the floor.
Ben turned his attention to Rachel and her damp clothes. She whimpered when he pried the blanket from her hands. “You’ll be warm in a minute.”
He quickly undressed her. Try as he might, he couldn’t ignore the softness of her skin or the ripe fullness of her breasts. He covered her with the thick bedspread. She shivered and burrowed deeper. Lantern light cast a soft glow on her skin.
Ben set to work on lighting a fire. It didn’t take long before the wood took flame.
The woman’s breathing sounded more labored now, and though the blaze was slowly warming the room, she still trembled under the blankets.
Ben opened the chest at the foot of the bed and removed another blanket. He laid it over her, tucking the edges around her slender frame.
She moaned and rolled onto her other side. “I’m so cold.”
Ben touched her forehead. Cold as ice.
He sat on the edge of the bed and uncovered her feet. She moaned in protest until he cupped them between his hands. Slowly her feet warmed.
Warming her with the blankets would take hours.
Accepting what must be, he stripped completely and climbed into the bed. He pulled her cold, naked body against his, tugged the blankets over them and draped his arm across her very narrow waist.
She’d not die on his watch.
B
en awoke with a start.
His mind fogged with sleep, he thought for a moment he was still a decorated naval officer in command of twenty-six sailors and destined to rise higher through the ranks.
As much as he wanted to believe he was on the clipper ship
Intercept,
reason whispered he couldn’t be. Absent were the sway of the ship and the sound of men working. And when had he fallen asleep? He’d never slept the night through when he was at sea.
He sat up and shoved his hands through his hair. Morning sunlight streamed into the cold room through the window by his bed. Outside the wind banged a shutter open and closed. Gradually his
mind cleared. He wasn’t on his ship. He was in the lightkeeper’s cottage.
Ben relaxed back against the pillow. A flock of seagulls squawked outside his window. He glanced over at the hearth to the dying embers.
His senses kicked into play. The
Anna St. Claire
had wrecked. The rescue. He remembered.
He looked down at the woman beside him. Curled on her side, she lay naked under the blankets, her long hair flowing down her back.
Rachel.
The coarse blankets covered her petite frame and molded to the gentle curve of her hip. Her profile was classic, a long patrician nose, high cheekbones and full, round lips. Her skin was the color of porcelain. Beautiful. Her hair, dry now, glistened. He captured a stray curl between his fingers. Silk.
She stirred, stretching her legs. Her bare toes peaked out from the end of the blankets into the morning cold. But they retreated under the blankets and rubbed against his, seeking warmth.
The touch was innocent enough and yet it possessed an intimacy that unsettled him. In the quiet morning hours this was the kind of moment a husband and his wife shared before the day began.
She nestled her bottom closer to him. He grew
as hard as a pike. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman and he was accurately aware of it now.
Of course, if Rachel were his, he’d be under the covers with her. And he’d be kissing her awake as he moved inside her.
Embarrassed by the direction of his thoughts, Ben lay very still, waiting as she settled. She sighed and burrowed her face into her pillow.
He didn’t want to wake her. She needed her sleep and, in truth, he liked being close to her. He liked it too damn much.
Taking in a deep breath, he stared out the window. He had no rights to the desires flooding his veins. She’d said her husband was dead, but she could very well have children and a whole other life waiting for her return.
Chance had brought her to these shores, but she would soon leave. She didn’t belong here.
He shifted his thoughts to the work to be done today—the ropes to be rewound, the oil that would have to be hauled up the one hundred plus steps of the lighthouse and the lenses that would have to be polished. When that didn’t ease the throbbing in his groin, he thought about the frigid waters of the Atlantic. If only he could dip into those waters now.
Rachel stirred and muttered something in her sleep. She rolled onto her back, revealing the
other side of her face. In the morning light, he saw the bruise. Angry and purple, it marred an otherwise flawless face. He’d not noticed it last night in the dark.
A primitive anger stirred inside him. Had the sailors done this to her?
Suspicion replaced desire. A woman of means, bruised and traveling alone on a frigate manned by hardened sailors. Nothing about Rachel Davis made sense.
Restless now, he eased up and leaned against the headboard. He’d serve them both well by getting dressed and giving her privacy. When she woke, she’d likely be confused and dazed as most near victims of the sea were.
Later he would talk to her and find out where she came from.
“Ben!” His aunt Ida’s voice echoed through his cottage. Ida had taken him in and raised him as her own after his parents had drowned crossing the Sound when he was six. Whenever news of shipwreck reached the nearby village she came to check on him the next morning.
Very aware of his and Rachel’s nudity, and the picture they made, Ben vaulted out of bed toward a small dresser. He stumbled over their wet clothes entwined in a sopping mess on the floor.
“Mama, I want to check on Timothy to see if he’s doing all right.” The voice of Ben’s cousin Callie drifted through the small house.
“Not until you’ve paid your respects to your cousin first. Ben! Are you home? It’s Ida and Callie.” His aunt’s voice grew closer.
“Hello, Ben,” Callie said.
He yanked open a dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of dry pants. Their timing was flawless. “I’ll be right there.”
He yanked the pants up over his hips. As he fumbled with the thirteen buttons on the dual front flaps, Rachel awoke with a start. She sat up in bed, her eyes wild and full of fear.
Her gaze drifted over to him, taking in his naked chest and his half-buttoned pants.
Before he could explain, she scrambled out of the bed, dragging the sheet with her. She scurried into a corner and screamed.
The piercing sound no doubt had been heard thirty miles down the beach at Manteo. Certainly, Ida and Callie had heard it. Damn.
Ben fumbled with his buttons and moved toward Rachel. “Rachel, do you remember me?”
Her doe eyes wide, with panic, stared back at him. White-blond hair streamed over hands that clutched her sheet.
She shook her head and tried to retreat another step. She bumped into the wall.
“Ben!” Ida shouted. “What the devil is going on in there? We heard a woman scream.”
Shoving out a breath, he reached for Rachel as if handling a skittish horse. “It’s okay. You are safe. I won’t hurt you.”
She shrank back.
He recoiled his hand. Whoever had hit her had marked her with more than bruises.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I saved you. Remember? Your ship, the
Anna St. Claire,
sank.”
She dragged a shaking hand through her hair and straightened her slumped shoulders. “I remember the cold water.” Her husky voice was barely a whisper.
“Aye, it was cold. Your skin was like ice when I carried you here.” He swept his arm over the room. “This place…it’s the lightkeeper’s cottage. You’re in my room.
I’m
the lightkeeper.”
Flushed cheeks made her blue eyes all the more vivid. She conjured images in his mind of sirens and sea nymphs destined to tempt sailors into dangerous, uncharted waters. The memory of her soft flesh pressed against him this morning still hammered his senses. His arousal hardened against his sloppily buttoned breeches.
There was a hard knock at his door. “Benjamin!”
Double damn. Ben moved to the door and blocked it with his body. “Just a minute.”
Rachel glanced down at her sheet-clad body. “I’m naked.”
“Your clothes were soaked, draining the heat from your body. You’d developed hypothermia. I took your dress off so you’d be warm. Even with the fire and blankets you were still so cold. That’s why I stripped and got into bed with you. For the body heat alone.”
She studied him, clearly not trusting him.
“Look, your clothes are still in a cold heap on the floor along with my clothes. I nearly tripped over them just a moment ago.”
“Benjamin David Mitchell,” Ida said just outside his door. “Your cousin and I are coming in,
now!
” The doorknob turned.
“Just a
minute!
” he shouted. He leaned against the door.
Rachel’s gaze darted like a caged animal’s. “Who is that shouting?”
“That’s my aunt and her daughter, my cousin. They’re good women. Nosy, but good.”
The door opened a crack. He shoved it closed.
“We don’t mean to disturb, Ben, but we heard a scream,” Callie said.
Ben shrugged. “There’s no keeping them out.”
Rachel jerked the edges of the sheet around her. “I need clothes!”
“Do you have that Phoebe from Corolla in there?” Ida said. “She’s had her eye on you for months. Lord knows, the woman is known for her dramatics.”
“Phoebe is on the mainland, Mama,” Callie said. “I bet it’s Sara Plank he’s got in there.”
His aunt and cousin were discussing the intimate details of his life. The day was getting better and better.
Ben shoved out another breath. “There’s no avoiding Ida and Callie.” He stepped back from the door and opened it.
Ida and Callie burst through the door as Rachel turned her face slightly so that her hair hid her bruise.
She was ashamed of the bruise. The realization dug in his gut.
Ida’s silver hair caught the morning light as she stood in stunned silence, a basket of muffins clutched in her hands. Callie’s brown eyes, like her mother’s, looked surprised as she studied Rachel.
Each woman wore a simple gray wool dress. Ida was the shorter of the two. Callie’s body was trim and supple whereas childbirth and the years had left Ida’s plump.
“I know every woman on the banks and I’ve never seen her before,” Ida said.
Normally, Ida would have offered him one of her muffins the instant she saw him. He never ate enough for her task. This time, she held on to her basket with a white-knuckled grip.
“Your timing is bad,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
“Don’t you growl at me, Ben Mitchell,” Ida said. “What are you about?”
“This isn’t what you think,” he said, softening his tone.
Ida’s and Callie’s gazes darted between him and Rachel. Their tight-lipped expressions challenged him.
Ida’s grip on the basket was firm. “We understand a man alone has…well,
needs,
but bringing a woman here isn’t discreet, Benjamin.”
Ben prayed for patience. The last thing he wanted to do was to discuss his
needs
with his aunt. “You’ve got it wrong, Ida.”
“What would the people in the village say?” Callie countered.
“I could give a tinker’s damn what they think,” he snapped.
Ida wiped a wisp of gray hair off her face. “Language, Benjamin. And you’re still the winter man
in the Service’s eyes. They’d not have offered you the position in the first place if not for the admiral’s kind words. And they’ll surely withdraw their offer if they get the breath of scandal.”
His lips flattened. “I’ve weathered scandal before.”
Ida’s eyes softened a fraction. “That was a long time ago.”
A year wasn’t a long time ago.
Aware of Rachel’s presence, he halted the direction of this conversation. In the best of times, he didn’t like discussing his past.
He heaved a sigh. “Rachel, this is my aunt, Ida, and my cousin Callie.” It annoyed him that his aunt had the power to make him feel like an errant schoolboy. Damn it all, he’d done nothing wrong. “Ladies, I’d like you to meet Rachel Davis. She’s from the shipwreck.”
“From last night?” Callie said. “Oh, my. Dear, you were on the
Anna St. Claire?
”
Rachel faced them. “Yes.”
Ida frowned as she got her first look at Rachel’s bruised eye. “Benjamin how did that woman get that bruise on her eye?”
“From the wreck,” he said quickly. “She stumbled into a door.”
He glanced at Rachel. She stood tall and
proud. Intelligence sparked in her blue eyes. Judging by the bruise’s color, it was several days old. She’d gotten it before she’d boarded the vessel.
Ida wasn’t buying Ben’s story. “The tales I’ve heard report that the shipwreck was a freighter. What would a woman like you be doing on a freighter?”
Rachel leaned heavily against the wall. “I was traveling south.”
Ben wanted to know more, but for now would let the questions alone. She looked ready to collapse. As much as he wanted to scoop her up and tuck her into bed, he didn’t want her screaming again. “Her destination is none of our business.”
Ida fisted her hands and planted them on her hips. “It’s a fair question. You have a right to know who you bring into your house.”
Ben glowered at his aunt. “She’s not up to the questions now.”
Ida shrugged and had the good sense to know when she pushed too far. “All right, she’s from the wrecked ship and why she was on such a ship or why she has a bruised face is none of our business. That doesn’t explain why she’s naked in
your
bed.”
He straightened his shoulders. If anyone else had asked him that question, he’d have tossed them
out of his house without explanation. But Ida wasn’t anyone.
“We came ashore well past midnight,” he said.
“Was Timothy with you?” Callie said.
“Aye, and he did a fine job. He’s in the lighthouse now.”
Callie smiled. “Mama, I want to go see him.”
“Wait,” Ida said sharply. “And what happened next, Benjamin?”
“She was too cold to make the trip into the village,” Ben said. “Otherwise I’d have boarded her at Mae’s Inn like I do all the other survivors.”
Callie nodded to Ben’s pants. “Fix your buttons. They’re crooked.”
He glanced down. He buttoned the flaps so quickly he was off by two buttonholes on the right side. Irritated, he refastened them. “She was cold and in danger of dying. I got into bed with her to warm her.”
Ida lifted a brow.
Callie shrugged. “She was cold, Mama.”
Ida glared at the seventeen-year-old.
“Look, there’s nothing to worry about,” Ben said. “The lady’s honor is intact.”
Ida folded her arms over her chest—a clear signal that his answer didn’t suffice. “I’d like a word with your guest.”
“Ida.” He shoved out a breath. “Can’t it wait?”
Ida stepped around Ben. “When will you be leaving?” she demanded of Rachel.
“Ida, the questions can wait.” He laid his hands on her shoulders, ready to turn her toward the door.
Ida pursed her lips, holding steady. “If you are smart, you’ll report the wreck and be done with Rachel Davis. You’ve saved her life—your obligation has been met.”
Rachel clutched her sheet. “She is right. I should be leaving,” she said.
Ben’s gaze pinned Rachel. She looked paler now. “Stay put.”
Callie folded her arms over her chest. “Mama, this is Ben you are talking to. He’s not good at walking away from unfinished business.”