Love With an Improper Stranger (7 page)

“Oh, Blake.”  Lenore framed his face.  “You are bleeding.”

A telltale trickle coursed his temple, and he rolled onto his side.  “Portman, summon Avery to my cabin.”

“Aye, sir.”  The first mate shoved through the crowd.

Standing, Blake helped Lenore to her feet and attempted to set her apart from him, but she clung as a second skin.  “You are wounded, and it is my fault.”

“It was an accident.”  As she refused to let go, he bent, swept her into his arms, and conveyed her down the companion ladder.

“What are you doing?”  With a lace-edged handkerchief, she applied pressure to what he surmised was a minor scratch.  “I should be carrying you.”

“I would give real money to see you manage that.”  In good humor, he chuckled as he navigated the passage and kicked open the door to his private quarters.  “For now, I would ensure your wellbeing.”

“How can you joke at this moment?”  She wiggled in his hold.  “And put me down, this instant, as I would tend you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He did as she bade and grunted when she shoved him to his bunk.  Stumbling backwards, his knees connected with the frame, and his arse landed on the mattress.  “You know, I employ a physician for such matters, Miss Teversham.”

“Now you address me with a formal salutation in mockery, as I know you well, Captain Elliott.”  When he frowned, she smiled, as she strolled to the washstand, poured water into the basin, and wet a cloth.  “Two can play at your game, sir.”

And how he ached to play with her.  So many suggestive replies came to mind, all of which he deemed indecorous, when she situated herself between his legs and cleaned his forehead.  In less than two seconds, he was raring to go, so he summoned dispassionate musings, none of which could overcome the close view of her sumptuous mouth, a work of unutterable perfection.  Oblivious to the threat he presented, to the sheer force of his hunger, she ministered to him as if he were nothing more than a harmless pet.

“I came as soon as I could, Cap’n.”  Well that put a damper on things.  Dr. Avery adjusted his spectacles, peered at Blake, then Lenore, and back to Blake.  “Er, am I interrupting something?”

“Of course not.”  Lenore brushed aside Blake’s hair.  “Captain Elliott has a nasty gash and requires your immediate attention.”

“Portman said you were struck by a piece of sea ice.”  Wrinkling his nose, Avery narrowed his stare.  “Wicked business sharp as a razor.  You will need stitches, sir.”

“No.”  With an expression of absolute horror, she whimpered.  “Is it that serious?”

“Calm yourself, Miss Teversham.”  No, she was no disinterested spectator.  Rather, she fretted for his wellbeing, and he savored that bit of knowledge for future use.  “This is not the first time I have been sewn aboard ship, and I wager it will not be the last.”

“But you warned me of the dangers, and I ignored your counsel.”  Then she paced before the stern windows, as Avery prepared a needle and thread.  “This is all my fault.”

“Lenore, it was an accident.”  Blake bit back a groan, as the doctor began his work.  “It could have happened with or without your involvement.”

“But you asked me to remain below deck, and I disobeyed without care for the consequences.”  It was then he noted her tears.  “I, alone, am to blame, and I am so sorry.”

In silence, Avery completed his task.  At last, he cut the thread and daubed the wound.  “You know the drill, Cap’n.  Keep it clean and dry.”

“Indeed.”  Blake arched a brow and then winced, as the heretofore-simple act tugged the new sutures.  In a low voice, he said, “You are dismissed.”

“Aye, sir.”  Avery gathered his belongings and made a hasty exit.

As Lenore babbled and strode, back and forth, Blake walked to his desk, retrieved a bottle of brandy, reconsidered his tack, and grabbed the rum instead.  After pouring a drink, he halted his lady’s self-rebuke, slipped an arm about her waist, and held the glass to her mouth.

“Take a little grog for me, Lenore.”  Without protest, she did as he bade.  “There’s a good girl.”

“Blake, can you ever forgive me?”  Evidence of her regret trailed her sweet cheeks, and her chin trembled as she spoke.

So many words of comfort and encouragement echoed in his ears, but in the end only one reply seemed satisfactory, under the circumstances.  “I can—for a kiss.”

Braced for a slew of righteous indignation and reproach, he almost dropped to his knees, when the stunning Miss Teversham pinned him with her stare, which manifested an ocean of emotions that resisted recognition, and pressed her lips to his.

CHAPTER FOUR

She kissed him
.  In his cabin.  She did the unthinkable.  As Lenore awaited her dinner guest, she longed to rescind the invitation, but that would only compound her breach of decorum.  While Lucy chattered about some new knot Mr. Portman taught her, Lenore replayed the earlier events in her brain, in a true tragedy of epic proportions.

Why did she act without hesitation?  Why did she do anything?  No doubt, Blake made the offer in jest, though he said nothing after she, for all intents and purposes, molested him.  Yet, in retrospect, his reaction made no sense.

As she embarked on her first expression of intimacy, Blake simply stood there and gave her free reign.  But then the tenor of their decadent exchange intensified, when he hugged her about the waist, changed the angle, and prodded her with his tongue.  Venturing into new and alluring terrain, she explored the enticing enclave of his mouth at her leisure, until he broke their contact.  Too afraid and ashamed to face him, she ran from his quarters and—

“
Lenore
.”  Lucy poked Lenore’s shoulder.  “What are you dreaming about, sister?”

“Nothing.”  Lenore pushed from the bunk, wrapped her arms about herself, and shivered.  “Is everything ready to receive the captain?”

“I think so.”  Then Lucy snapped her fingers.  “Oh, no.  I forgot the bread, but never fear, as I shall fetch it.”  Without a care in the world, she skipped to the door, set wide the oak panel, and almost knocked over Blake.

“Am I too early?”  As usual, her guest had dressed in another elegant ensemble that bespoke power and privilege, and she wondered at his background.  “And where are you going?”

“To the galley, as I left Lenore’s signature recipe herb loaf near the oven.”  Lucilla sketched a half curtsey and ran into the passage.

Alone with her tormentor, Lenore shuffled her feet, as Blake cleared his throat.  She wrung her fingers, and he shifted his weight.

“Lenore—”

“Blake—”

“I beg your pardon.”  Inclining his head, he smiled, and her belly flip-flopped.  “Ladies, first.”

“Somehow, I knew you would say that.”  Embarrassment burned in her cheeks as she squared her shoulders and faced her doom.  “In any case, while I know not what came over me, I wish to apologize for my deplorable behavior in your cabin.”

“Why?”  He shrugged.  “There was nothing deplorable about it.”

She blinked.  “But—I kissed you.”

“Yes, you did.”  He waggled his brows.  “And I quite enjoyed it.”

“Stuff and nonsense.”  Not for a minute did his blithe demeanor fool her.  “Now you make sport of my offense.”

“My dear, I never joke about intimate matters, and I found your kiss quite profound.”  He neared, and despite her trepidation she stood her ground.  “In regard to our harmless liaison, are you attempting to convince me otherwise—that it was something nefarious?  Tell me, without reservation, are you truly ashamed of our minor but oh-so-delightful indiscretion?”

So he deemed it delightful, when she viewed it as soul shattering, but she would keep that to herself.  “You ask for honesty?”

His blue eyes flared.  “I insist upon it.”

“No.”  Again, her insides twisted and turned.  “But I presume a man of your position might consider it rather pedestrian.”

“What a curious assumption.”  Blake took another step in her direction.  “I should like, very much, to know what you infer by ‘a man of your position,’ but for now I would know more of your reaction to our brief tryst.”

“Our tryst?”  Lenore gulped.  “I do not follow.”

“Oh, I believe you know precisely what I ask.”  He trapped her in a wicked glare.  “Did it or did it not affect you?”

“All right.”  She folded her arms and hugged herself, as she was about to engage in rare prevarication.  “It struck me as a tad serendipitous and hardly worth revisiting.”

“Indeed?”  Something in his expression gave her gooseflesh.  “So you have no objections if I have another go to prove you wrong.  Or do you lie?”

“I am no liar, Captain.”  With clenched fists at her sides, she resisted not when he grabbed her by the waist.  “And why should I object to that which does not signify?”

“Well, let us see for ourselves.”  And with that, he swooped.

It was just as she recalled.  Their lips met and melded, unfamiliar but beguiling heat poured into her veins, and her ears rang.  Spearing her fingers through his thick brown hair, she clung to him and moaned, as the boat seemed to pitch and roll beneath her feet.  Then he tilted his head, darted his tongue at hers, and thrust his hips.  Something firm prodded her below her belly button, and she gasped just as he ended the sweet moment and set her at arm’s length.

With something between a sob and a sigh, she retreated.

“Just as I suspected.”  As he buttoned his coat, which she thought odd, he winked.  And then Lucy burst into the room.  “Ah, here she is, the other half of my charming hostesses for the evening.”

“Sorry it took so long, Cap’n.”  In her usual awkward manner, Lucy stomped to the table and placed a covered basket at center.  “Cook suggested I warm the loaf in the oven, so Lenny’s bread is nice and hot.”  Then the scamp rocked on her heels.  “She baked a cake just for you, too, sir.  And she has never—”

“Lucilla, that is enough.”  Was there no end to her humiliation?  “Before our food gets cold, let us eat.”

“And what is for supper?”  Blake held out Lenore’s chair, while Lucy plopped to hers on the opposite side, and then he situated himself between them.  “Although I believe I can guess, based on the heavenly aroma.”

“Lobscouse.”  Lenore lifted the lid on the large serving dish and spooned decent portions.  “I hope you are hungry, and it meets with your approval.”

“My dear, you know, very well, that is my favorite meal.”  What she would give to wipe the smug smirk from his handsome face.  “So who did you interrogate, and did you help prepare the stew?”

“I might have inquired after your partialities with Mr. Portman.”  Of course, that was an understatement.  “And, yes, I cooked.”

“May I have some extra potatoes?”  He held up his plate, and she abided his request.  Then he speared a chunk of meat, shoved it into his mouth, and grinned as he chewed.  “Mm.  Delicious, Lenore.”

“I am glad you deem it acceptable.”  Just as she scooped a bite, a strange sensation rocked the relative calm, as her adversary trailed the tip of his boot up the back of her calf, and she jumped.

“Are you all right, Lenny?”  With a countenance of cherubic innocence, and blissfully unaware of Blake’s covert attack, Lucilla wiped a stream of gravy from her chin.

“It is a trifle steamy.”  In an exaggerated fashion, she blew on the food.

“I imagine it is very hot.”  Again her tormentor renewed his gentle but nonetheless powerful siege, even as he appeared quite bored, and delicious desire spread from her toes to her chest.  “And your fare is altogether irresistible, my dear.”