Love With an Improper Stranger (5 page)

“Aye.”  Then and there, he made himself a promise.  “And your last.”

“I do not understand, as the world seems muddled.”  That had to be the understatement of the century, as he had a hunch she had never imbibed rum, or any other intoxicant, to the degree she had that night, and he could just imagine what she experienced.  Although she furrowed her brow, she giggled, which he found infectious.  “Oh, Blake.  Nothing makes sense when you are near.”

That he counted a priceless confession.

“It will, eventually.”  A course of action took shape in his brain, and he plotted his attack with ruthless precision, yet he would be patient.  “For now, you need to eat.”  A plate sat atop the table, where Lucy had abandoned it.  “And a piece of stale toast will suit our purposes.”

Without complaint, she acquiesced, and he fed her each morsel.  To his relief, she consumed everything he served her.  And as Blake cared for his fascinating guest, he pondered a variety of possibilities, none of which he had anticipated when anchoring in Belgium, but it seemed fate had other ideas.

If he had learned anything as a spectator to the sometimes awkward, on other occasions hilarious, but forever frustrating connubial contest known as courtship, it was that the female sex could always be counted upon to be unpredictable and downright uncooperative.  It was for that reason, alone, that he would seek the sage counsel of the married Brethren upon his return to London, not that he required their guidance.

Yes, as the leader of the rowdy band of sea captains, known throughout the military set as the Order of the Brethren of the Coast, rakehell mariners descended from the famed Templars, the warriors of the Crusades, he had not won his reputation as a ruthless and cunning naval man by arriving late to the campaign.  And while his leg-shackled comrades presumed he paid no heed to their haphazardly imparted advice, often communicated in the backrooms at White’s, amid copious sums of the best amber liquor and fine cigars, nothing could have been further from the truth, as he had taken note and committed to memory profuse amounts of knowledge, with the singular goal of easing the path to marital bliss.  No, he would not bungle his romance, as had his brothers, in light of his proficiency in the game.

It was the amassed trove of pertinent information, and the inherent hunter in him, that inspired Blake to seize the incomparable Miss Teversham.

An impressive belch pierced the silence, and Lenore giggled at what he suspected was another rare breach in feminine decorum for her.  Then she wound her arms about his waist, snuggled close, and moaned.  “Lucy told me you are unmarried.”

“Given your professed disdain for my person, I am surprised you inquired.”  Comforted by her mere presence, he rested his cheek to her crown.  “So why the interest in my bachelor status?”

“Papa’s death has given rise to so many emotions, and I can hardly decipher them.”  For a few minutes, she quieted, and he savored the steady and repetitive beat of her heart.  “Prior to receiving the news that my father had fallen in battle, I never really considered the future.  It was safe to presume he would arrange a suitable match, as he amassed decent dowries for Lucy and I, and we would do our duty.  But now my life is my own to plan, and I find myself harboring hope such as I have never known.”

“And what do you want?”  There was something sad in her tone, and he reflected on the source of her melancholy.  “Forgive my intrusion, Lenore.  But was your father cruel?”

“Oh, no.”  As she resituated herself, pressing her breasts to his chest, he swallowed a groan and vowed to spend several hours, maybe several days, teasing her nipples with his tongue.  “Papa was wonderful, and he loved us very much.  As my mother died of a nasty fever when I was very young, he tried hard to be everything to us.  Perhaps it is my indulgent upbringing that cultivates a host of fanciful notions, but I long to have a husband and a family.”

“How does that differ from your father’s intentions?”  Never would he have enacted the impromptu interrogation, were she fully
compos mentis
, but her inebriated state provided the perfect opportunity, and he was too wise to overlook the situation.

“Well, had Papa survived the war, I would have accepted a candidate of his choosing, as a good daughter should obey her father.  Now I should very much like to marry for love.  And I want at least six children.”  Well, he was more than willing and able to help her beget them, as he might be hard until the New Year.  She hiccuped, and Blake smiled.  “You must think me a simpleton for such dreams.”

“Not at all, my dear.”  Not when they aligned so perfectly with his aspirations.  “So tell me of your ideal candidate.  Let me guess, you favor a high-ranking noble with a huge estate and an equally vast fortune.”

“No.”  After another spontaneous emission, which reduced her to a series of intermittent mirth and snorts, she burrowed beneath the blanket and closed her eyes.  “I would rather live on Queen’s Street and be happy than on Park Lane and be miserable.  And given my less than stellar connections, as my father was only a general, I doubt any pretentious lord would seek my hand.  But I would be grateful for a military man.”

“Any branch, in particular?”  Not for a minute did he expect her to declare the navy her favorite, but he was curious how she would respond.

“I claim no affinity.  Rather, my lone stipulation is that he would grant me his heart, as I would vouchsafe the same.”  For him, with her, that sealed the deal.  With a robust yawn, she rolled her shoulders and then settled.

For a while, he simply sat there and held her.  As he cradled her in his arms, he regarded the delicate angles of her arresting profile, the thick lashes he could study for the better part of a sennight, and the beguiling lushness of her lips.  Then a soft snore rumbled from her throat, and he stifled a chortle and shook his head.

With great care, Blake lifted his bride-to-be.  Lowering her to the bunk, he eased her to the mattress and then drew the covers to her chin.  Relaxed in repose, she quite took his breath away, and he gazed on her as a starving creature and she his feast.  Of course, he would not apprise her of his peerage, as he relished the fact that she wanted him, despite his seemingly lowborn credentials.  Plus, the shock in her expression when she learned the truth would be the icing on his wedding cake.

“Rest easy, lovely Lenore, and fret not for tomorrow.”  As no witnesses loomed to attend his violation of social strictures, he pressed a chaste kiss to her temple.  “That was for me, my dear.  Notwithstanding your misgivings, in regard to a titled groom, you are mistaken, as you just swept the pool, struck a lethal blow from which I may never recover, and landed a duke.”

CHAPTER THREE

The following morning
, Lenore truly wished she had died of seasickness, if only to escape the agonizing pounding in her head.  When she opened her eyes, she discovered the arrogant sea captain sitting in a chair, slumped to the side and asleep, and bits and pieces of time flashed in her brain, as a staccato of reflections, some pleasant and others not so much.  No matter how hard she tried, she could make no sense of the various images, but she remembered in harrowing detail how Blake held her down, while Dr. Avery poured the grog into her mouth.  After that horrid experience, everything blurred into nothingness.

However, for some odd reason she recalled her antagonist’s rich baritone, whispering suggestive promises in her ear, but she could not distinguish fact from fantasy, so she would take no offense.  And never again would she consume rum.  Yet Captain Elliott fascinated her, to her dismay.

Tall, broad-shouldered, handsome beyond words, and possessed of a piercing stare, he unnerved her as no man had, and she shivered with gooseflesh every time he looked at her.  Such a pity he had been so cruel to his unfortunate sister, and therein lay the crux of Lenore’s dilemma.

How could she reconcile the callous blackguard, who forced the hapless Caroline into a loveless marriage, with the beneficent sailor who labored to save a woman with whom he shared naught more than a brief acquaintance?  Propped on an elbow, she studied the devil’s chiseled cheekbones, angular nose, dimpled chin, and thick brown hair, just as he stirred.

“Good morning, Miss Teversham.”  Yawning, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“
Ooh
.”  With a sob, she collapsed to her pillow.  “Must you speak so loud?”

“Is someone feeling a tad under the weather this fine day?”  Blake stood and stretched, and she groaned.  “That will teach you not to overindulge with rum, but I am surprised, as never would I have figured such a refined young lady for a grog drinker.”

“You are enjoying my suffering, are you not, foul beast?”  When he bent over her, she retreated, but all he did was press his palm to her cheek and to her forehead.  “What are you doing?”

“Ah, your flesh is cool, which means no fever, and that is a blessing, given the gravity of your malaise.”  Then he whisked a stray tendril behind her ear.  “Are you hungry?”

“Please, do not shout.”  His question seemed to reverberate in her temples.  “Can you not see I am in pain?”

“Here.”  To her astonishment, he offered the same vile potion that put her in her current miserable state.  “The cure for what ails you is more rum, but do not guzzle so much, this time.”

“You must be joking.”  At the prospect, she blanched.  “And I am starved.”

“Then take a little, for me.”  He brought the cup to her lips, and as she met his blue gaze, she wondered if anyone ever refused him anything.  “But sip it slowly.”

“I do not want it.”  She grimaced.  “Leave me alone.”

“My dear Lenore, we can do this the easy way, or we can engage in a repeat performance of last night, as I am more than happy to oblige you.”  Again, he thrust the mug at her.  “A small amount of the liquor will ease your current symptoms.  Now do as I command, else I will pour it down your throat and then, for defying me, I shall spank your bottom, which I will quite enjoy for reasons I believe are more than obvious to you.”

To her confusion, he appeared almost as if he wanted her to disobey him.

“I beg your pardon, Captain Elliott.  There is no need to threaten me with violence.”  Yes, there was the villain who showered her in mud and destroyed her favorite hat, and Lenore refused to yield her pride.  Yet she was no recalcitrant child to rebel for the mere sake of mutiny, as she considered herself a remarkably prudent person.  Thrusting her chin, she sniffed and did as he bade, but she coughed and sputtered on the bitter brew.  “Had you explained your rationale, from the first, I would have abided your request, as I am neither daft nor illogical.”

“Well, all right.”  Blake opened his mouth and then sputtered.  Then he scratched his cheek and shuffled his feet, and it was clear she had at last stumped him.  “And you are to rest and remain below decks.  We have sailed into a wicked snowstorm, and the sea ice has moved further south than I anticipated, given it is early October.  I will not have you prancing about the boards and breaking your lovely neck.”

“That will never happen, Captain Elliott.”  And there she had him.  “As I do not prance.”

“Really?”  A hint of a smile graced his lips, as he narrowed his stare, and so returned the confident naval man.  “Trust me, the world is sadder for it.”

“Lenny?”  Lucilla peered into the stateroom.  “Are you much improved, sister?”

“I am.”  Smiling, Lenore put on a brave face for her sibling.  “But I am famished.  Would you be a dear and fetch me something to eat?”