Love With an Improper Stranger (3 page)

“No, Your Grace.”

“Is she affianced?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“Just mad as a hornet’s nest?”

“So it would seem, Your Grace.”

“Well this should be an interesting trip.”  He licked his lips at the prospect.  “The tide awaits no man, Cotton.”  Blake shook hands with his comrade in arms.  “Until we meet again, take care.”

“I wish you fair winds and following seas, Your Grace.”  Cotton gazed at the rigging, rolled his eyes, and grinned.  “Lord knows you will need it, with those two on board.”

“Oh, I believe I can manage a couple of light skirts.”  And that was his thought as he strutted up the gangplank, only to discover complete chaos on the decks.  “What in bloody hell is going on here?”

“Cap’n, the last minute arrivals distracted the crew.”  Mr. Portman, the first mate, scratched his chin and scowled.  “Young Davy took one look at the ladies and fell backward, into the hold.  But worry not, as he landed on a pile of sacks filled with rice, so he is unhurt.  And that startled Mr. Allen, as he was trying to stow your horse, which reared and then kicked Mr. Hayes.  Doc says the injuries require a few stitches to the forehead, nothing more.  In the confusion, Miss Lucilla took it upon herself to climb into the ratlines, before I coaxed her down with the promise of a tour of the galley.”

“Well, that does not sound too terrible.”  Then Blake noted a familiar trunk on the waist and frowned.  “What of Miss Lenore?”

“That may be the worst of it, sir.”  The first mate winced.  “She has a wicked case of the sickness and is hugging the larboard rail, as we speak.”

“But—she just boarded, we have yet to weigh anchor and cast off, and the waters are calm as we are on the river.”  In that second, Blake spied her shapely derriere, which should have inspired all manner of salacious thoughts, but as she assumed a painfully suggestive posture, he could only groan.  “Hell and the Reaper.”

“The cabin beside yours is cleared, cleaned, and at your disposal, Cap’n.”  A passing tar made his obedience, and Mr. Portman nodded an acknowledgement.  “Perhaps I should install a large bucket near Miss Lenore’s hammock?”

“An excellent notion.”  In that moment, Lenore stretched upright.  But just as quick, she wrenched forward and heaved, and Blake cursed under his breath.  “Have Dr. Avery meet me in her quarters, as soon as he is finished with Mr. Hayes.  And once you have confirmed we are loaded and stowed, batten down the mainsail hull and make sail.”

“Aye, sir.”  Then the first mate shouted orders to the crew.

Well, the situation had not progressed as he planned, because Blake’s ambitions where the delectable Lenore were concerned did not include the dreaded nausea that often plagued landlubbers.  However, his younger sister Caroline wrestled with the irksome malaise whenever she ventured to his ship after a lengthy absence, and she always survived, none the worse for wear.  It was with that presumption he approached his much-desired prize.

“I would ask how you feel, but I think I can guess the answer.”  Patting her back, he noted her pale countenance and tightly shut eyes.  “May I offer a bit of advice?”

“Please, kill me.”  Lenore rested her forehead to the rail and inhaled a shaky breath.  “Are we there, yet?”

“You know, my lesser sibling suffers the same condition, but not to such spectacular degree, though she might argue otherwise.”  As he chuckled, he walked his fingers to her neck and offered a gentle massage.  “Miss Teversham, stand upright and take a look at the mainland, across the way.”

“Oh, just drown me, and put me out of my misery.”  Again, she convulsed and retched.  “I will never make it to England.”

“Is it always like this for you?”  In small circular movements, he rubbed her creamy flesh, and she sighed and nodded the affirmative.  “And do as I asked.”  After a few seconds, she abided his request but swayed, so he slipped an arm about her waist.  Whispering into her ear, he said, “Easy, Miss Teversham.  Focus and fix your gaze on the shoreline.  And study the sky.  See how the night encroaches?  Is it not a lovely evening?”

“No, it is horrible.”  She gritted her teeth.  “If I could walk home, I would do so.”

“Ah, you remind me of Caroline, as she is possessed of an equally stubborn nature.”  Revisiting cherished memories of days long since past, he laughed.  “She gave me no end of torment, as a rebellious girl, yet I prevailed.  Now she is a grown woman, and I married her to a gotch-gutted old drunkard who beats her regularly, and all is well.”

“Foul monster.”  With an expression of absolute disgust, Lenore jerked free.  “You did that—to your own blood relation?”

“Indeed.”  Waggling his brows, he mustered his best smug smile.  “At the rude end of my sword, I forced her to the altar, as a contracted heir-maker, and she has persisted in a near constant state of expectancy, ever since.”

“How dreadful for her, unfortunate creature.  Have you no remorse?  Are you without shame?”  As she pressed a clenched fist to her chest, she swallowed hard.  “You are truly despicable.”

“How so?”  Slow and steady, the
Tristan
glided from the docks, and Blake distracted his alluring charge.  “Is that not your purpose in life, to trap some poor, misguided fool, drag him before the vicar, bear his children, and spend his money?”

“You are the worst barbarian, sir.”  The contempt in her tone rekindled his desire, as she glanced left, then right, and at last met his gaze.  “We are moving.”

“Aye.”  And it appeared she discovered his plot, as she rolled her shoulders, and how he adored her pout.  “I thought it ideal to divert you and allay your trepidation, as we cast off.  Are you quite vexed with me?”

“No, but I should be, as you seem intent on shocking me.”  Pressing a palm to her belly, she furrowed her brow, and the green pallor made a vicious return. “
Oh
.”

“Whoa, Miss Teversham.”  Lunging, he caught her just as she faltered.  With no time to spare, he provided comfort, as she doubled over and vomited.  For a long while, Blake held Lenore, until she mercifully purged her stomach of its contents and deteriorated to dry heaves.  “Perhaps I should convey you to your quarters.”  With that, he bent and swept her into his arms.

“Put me down, you vile reprobate.”  Although she rained hellfire and damnation on his head, her halfhearted struggle waned, as he carried her along the companionway to the lower decks and the stateroom often occupied by Caroline, whenever she sailed with him prior to her marriage.

When he volunteered for the mission, in Dalton’s place, given his wife Daphne suffered lingering symptoms from a lead shot wound, never had Blake presumed the trip would include acting as nanny for a couple of prim ladies.  Yet, the inimitable Lenore intrigued him, so he would stay the course.

“And here we are at your personal lodging, Miss Teversham.”  As he set her on her feet, she clutched his hand, and he braced her, just as Lucy bounced into a hammock.  “I hope you find the accommodation to your liking.”

“But—there is no bed.”  Wobbling, she circled about and whimpered.  “Where am I to sleep?”

“Right here.”  Lucy shot him a sly grin and swung back and forth in the canvas.  “Come now, it will be such fun, Lenny.”

“You must be joking.”  Shifting her weight, Lenore drew a handkerchief from her reticule, dropped the purse to the floor, and pressed the square of cotton to her mouth.  Then she jerked violently, glanced about the room, spied the bucket he had requested, crumpled to the polished boards, and erupted.

“There, there.”  Kneeling at her side, Blake offered words of reassurance and comfort.  “Do not fight it.”  As he assessed her condition, he reconsidered his earlier directive.  “Miss Lucy, would you be so kind as to summon the first mate?”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”  The gadling leaped from the rudimentary sailor’s bunk and sprinted into the passageway.

“My dear Miss Teversham, I had no idea you were thus afflicted, else I should have prepared better, but I will do everything in my power to make the voyage as pleasant as possible.”  During a break in her heaves, he stood and retrieved a small towel from the washstand.  After wetting the cloth, he returned and draped it over the back of her neck.  “Take deep breaths.”

“Oh, that feels wonderful.”  To his surprise, she lifted her head and favored him with a smile, and he noticed a flirty dimple on her left cheek.  How had he missed that singular distinction?  “I suppose I should make you free with my name, as you have been quite charitable, though I find it difficult to reconcile your treatment of me with that toward your sister.  Did you really do all those awful things to your own kin?”

“I may have made a slight exaggeration.”  Damn, but he found her inexpressibly fetching.  “But she is, indeed, leg-shackled, and she currently carries either my fourth nephew or my first niece.”

“Leg-shackled?  You make it sound so romantic.  She must be a saint.”  Slowly, Lenore stretched and stood upright.  Then she scrutinized the hammock.  “Perhaps I should give this a try, as I would not cause trouble.”

“I think you are a little late for that.”  Because she incited a whole host of disreputable fantasies in his brain, and Blake tried but failed to ignore the provoking sensations below his belly button.  Why could he not master himself in her presence?  “Grasp the edge of the canvas, and ease into it.”

“Like this?”  With a distinct teeter, she sat.  But when she attempted to recline, the makeshift bed pitched and rolled, and she crashed to the floor.

“That does it.”  As he helped Lenore recover, Lucy strolled in with the first mate.  “Portman, have the carpenters reinstall Caroline’s old bunk for Miss Teversham.”

“Aye, sir.”  Portman sketched a salute, stepped into the hall, and barked a series of orders.

“Good evening, Cap’n.”  Dr. Avery loomed in the doorway.  “I understand I have a new patient.”

“Lenny is hurling her guts.”  Lucy scrunched her face and then burst into mirth.  “She detests boat travel.”

“How many times must I ask you not to call me that in—
oh
.”  Green as a toad, Lenore dove for the bucket and shuddered.  Yet, even in her disheveled state, she possessed a quiet reserve and semblance of sophistication he found oddly reminiscent of something or someone he could not quite identify.

“I say, she is ill.”  The doctor grimaced, as Lenore sobbed.  “Worry not, Cap’n.  Give it a few days, and she will gain her sea legs, just as Miss Caroline has on occasions too numerous to count.”

“As always, I rely on you.”  Struck by a steadfast awareness, an invisible but nonetheless potent connection he was too wise to ignore, Blake studied what seemed, for all intents and purposes, an ordinary woman.  Yet his reaction to her was anything but ordinary, and he wondered what fate had just delivered to his ship.  “Keep me abreast of her condition, as she is priceless cargo.”

CHAPTER TWO

The sun rose
and set, intermittently coloring the small stateroom in a soft saffron hue from either the bright rays filtering through the window or the candlelight from the wall sconces, in a morose indication of the length of her malady.  Amid an infinite haze of confusion and nausea, Lenore lost all track of time.  Too weak to support the weight of her head, she leaned against Dr. Avery, disgorged her stomach’s contents, and sobbed.

“Miss Teversham, we must keep the water down, since you decline the hot grog.”  The grey-haired, bespectacled man wiped her mouth and brought a mug to her lips, which she resisted.  “Please, you must consume more fluids, else you may not retain sufficient strength to survive.”