Master of My Dreams (17 page)

He stared, his mouth agape, his body unable
to move.

“What, is our bold and handsome commanding
officer shy and inhibited?” She laughed, a rich, husky, throaty
sound that immediately made his blood start to heat up, then set
the book aside and came to her feet in a single fluid, feline
movement.

She crossed the room in a slinky, sinuous
float, her eyes never leaving his. In their blue depths was an
invitation that had his heart pounding long before her nails even
touched his waistcoat, his shoulders. She dragged them seductively
down his chest, flicking them around each gold button and undoing
them as she went. “Aah, such a handsome uniform . . . a sea warrior
you are, no? Such a brave and noble man you must be . . . here,
darling, let Delight show you how much she
appreciates
brave
and noble men . . .”

Christian recovered enough to shove her away.
“How the bloody
hell
did you get aboard my ship?” he
thundered.

“Lo, I just
love
a man when he’s
angry,” she purred, sauntering around behind him and letting her
hand rove down his spine. “Makes my love-juices flow, no? Here,
darling, take my hand and let me lead you to my bed . . . I do need
someone on whom to practice my new techniques . . .”

“Get away from me!”

“Ta, Captain, you hurt poor Delight’s
feelings with such words! You do not have to act the part of a
gentleman with me, you know? Let me touch you . . . let me taste
you . . . let me do things to you with my tongue that you wouldn’t
dream could be done. Wouldn’t you enjoy the feel of my lips around
your cock, Captain? I know
just
how much pressure to exert
in order to give you the most enjoyable release . . . Do you know,
I have sent lesser men than you to the
petite morte.
Come,
let me play with you . . . I’m very good, you know.”

The Lord and Master was turning purple.
“Rico!”
he bellowed hoarsely as her hand slid over his
breeches and flickered suggestively, boldly, across his groin.

“Dear Rico, you just missed him . . . he left
here quite, quite exhausted . . . do you know, I have
just
the lady for him when we reach home.”

“
Home?
Damn you, we’re going to the
colonies, not France!” He caught her hand and stared, horrified, at
her probing fingers. “By God, this is
a king’s ship
!”

She wrestled her hand free. “Yes, darling, I
know . . . but the king’s proud officers need their just rewards,
too, no?”

Long, skillful fingers toyed with him through
the breeches, and angrily he caught her wrist once more. “Damn you,
I asked you how you got aboard this ship!”

“Why, Captain, I merely asked and your men
brought me aboard. They took pity on me, you see, because I needed
passage home to Boston.”

“
Boston?”
he roared, shoving her hand
away from his groin.

“Yes, darling, Boston. Had you fooled, no?
I’m not French, I’m American, though I’ve lived in a little village
in Normandy with my husband, God rest his soul, for these past
three years . . . after his death I went to Paris, where I spent
the past eight months learning the finer techniques of pleasuring a
man, though if dear Papa knew, he’d surely get apoplexy, if not
something far worse.
He
thinks I’ve been in mourning, so if
you run into him when we get to Boston, please, do not tell
him.”

He gaped at her, unable to move, watching in
frozen fascination as her probing fingers skimmed with shivery
expertise over his slowly rising tumescence.

“You see, Captain, furthering my
education
was the only way I could think of to make myself
competitive, as all the ladies back home want the same man I mean
to snare for myself. I
had
to learn things they did not, so
that I would have the advantage over them.”

“Advantage?”

“Yes, darling,
advantage
. . . You
see, I was once kissed by a dashing rogue there, a handsome
scoundrel who calls himself the Irish Pirate, and I will do
anything,
anything,
to get him into my bed and firmly
entrenched between my legs . . . Captain Lord? Captain Lord, are
you all right?”

His mouth had gone slack with shock.

“Come, my handsome captain, you simply must
lie down, no? You have grown pale, and if you fall here, you may
hurt yourself. Lo, you are so big and strong I do not think I could
lift you . . . though, if you prefer, I would be most happy to
practice a little something right here. Have you ever heard of
pattes d’araignee,
Captain? Most do it only with their
fingers, but I have grown most skillful with my toes . . .

“My God,” he said, coming to his senses and
shoving her away once more. “This—this is madness!”

“Madness? Ah, Captain, you won’t know
madness
until you spend an hour with
me
.” Her hand
was touching him once more, the pressure of her fingers growing
stronger and sending bolts of feeling pulsing through his loins and
into his blood. “Ah, you like that, no, Captain? Yes, it is a
pleasure spot that will bring even the strongest of men to his
knees.”

He backed up, trying desperately to escape.
“You cannot stay here, by God!”

“Then by all means, my sweet, let us go to
your cabin instead. Surely, ’twill take the pressure off our poor
little Irish girl, no? She is so innocent and naive, why, you
should have seen the shock on her face when I gave her that gown to
wear . . . poor little thing, I thought she would faint dead
away!”

I have to get out of here,
Christian
thought, beginning to panic. Desperately, he caught her hand and
yanked it up and away from him, wincing as her other hand slid out
to run dangerously up the inside of his thigh. Swearing, he caught
that one, too, and shoved her forcefully away. “This is a
king’s
ship, madam, and I will not tolerate such lascivious
behavior! I give you ten minutes to get out of that ridiculous
attire and into a proper gown, and if I don’t see you up on deck
within the hour, so help me God, I’ll make you rue the day you met
me!”

She pressed her body against him, rubbed her
bare foot up the back of his calf, and, tilting her head back,
allowed her lips to curve into a sensual, feline smile. “I should
dearly
love
to come on deck, Captain . . . I
do
need
to find myself some rope . . .”

“And furthermore,” he thundered, forcibly
holding her at arms’ length, “you can collect your belongs and
prepare to move them! I’ll not have a floating
brothel
aboard my command, do you understand? This is a—”

“Yes, darling, I know. It is a
king’s
ship
and you simply
must
uphold the standards that are
set for you.”

“Do not try my patience, woman!” Releasing
her, he moved toward the door. “And do not think to toy with me, do
you understand? I’ve had a damned bellyful of conniving women! For
the rest of this hellish voyage, you will confine yourself to the
cabin next to mine, and the Irish girl whose innocence you so
obviously disdain!”

He snatched up his pistol, spun on his heel,
and stormed off, more angry—and aroused—than he’d ever been in his
life.

A crew who was determined to make his life
hell, an Irish girl who crept into his bed, and now, an American
brat aspiring to be a French whore.

Hell and damnation, would this bloody voyage
end soon enough?

###

Crunch, crunch . . . sniffle, crunch, crunch
. . .

Deirdre O’Devir yawned and stretched as soft
whines and strange noises slowly penetrated the blissful haze of
her slumber.

She turned over and drew the blankets up over
her shoulders. Her hand slid across the sheet, where dim memories
of a hard, warm body still lingered. There vas no warmth there now,
and slowly, lazily, her eyes drifted open.

Crunch, crunch . . . sniffle, crunch . .
.

The dog, she thought. No doubt Tildy was
gobbling up one of the treats the captain was fond of giving her, a
fact that would soon have her even fatter than she’d been prior to
whelping her litter.

“Go away,” Deirdre mumbled sleepily, her
fingers tracing the wrinkled sheet where the captain’s powerful
shoulders had left an indentation. A slow, languorous smile of
contentment curved her lips as she gazed drowsily at the spot. Then
she jolted awake as the memory of last night drove through her.

“Dear God,” she breathed, a flush of horror
pinking her cheeks. “I spent a night in the Lord and Master’s bed .
. . with
him
. . .”

Her face grew feverish. Her nipples tingled
unexpectedly, shocking her.

Crunch, crunch. Sniffle, sniffle. Crunch . .
.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Deirdre
rolled onto her back and stared up at the deckhead. Sudden,
shameful images drifted into her mind and she shut her eyes against
them. She had grown up in the countryside; she knew what stallions
did to mares, what roosters did to hens. What had the captain done
to
her
during the night, after she’d fallen asleep? Or,
worse, this morning when he woke and found her nestled in his
arms?

What if he
—she gulped and
swallowed—
took
me?

Surely she would have awoken . . . wouldn’t
she?

Biting her lip, she shut her eyes and drove
her hands beneath her shirt, touching trembling fingers to her
breasts and running her palms over her ribs, the crests of her
hips, down the outsides of her thighs. Everything seemed as it
should be. She didn’t hurt anywhere, and if he had done
that
to her, surely she’d be aching somewhere . . . wouldn’t she?

Heat burned her face and caused her heart to
slam a wild tattoo against her ribs.

“Oh, sweet Mary,” she murmured, clasping the
cross in atonement for a sin she didn’t even know if she’d
committed.

But the dream images were there, vivid,
colorful, and erotic. Dreams, or—she gulped, the blood beating hot
in her face—
memories?
Dampness gathered between her thighs
as the wicked images burned through her mind . . . of the captain’s
hands skimming her breasts, cupping them . . . his fingers grazing
the swollen nipples, and squeezing the soft mounds as his mouth
came down to suck at one hard crest, then the other . . .

She shut her eyes and bit down on her lower
lip.

. . . Of his hands, fanning down the curves
of her waist, the tautness of her belly, the supple flesh of her
inner thighs, the dark junction of moist curls between them—

She pressed her hands against her eyes,
trying to block the images.
Had the Lord and Master taken
advantage of her while she’d slept?

Prickles of horror swept through her.

Crunch, crunch, crunch
. . .

She flung herself onto her side and saw
Tildy’s head and shoulders buried in the canvas bag that contained
all she had left of her beloved Ireland.

The bread.

“
Tildy!”
she screeched, jumping out of
bed and lunging for the furry white rump.

With a startled yelp, the spaniel shot out of
the bag and beneath the desk, the bread still in her mouth. The bag
lay on its side, a sad fan of crumbs on the floor around it.

“Give it back!” Deirdre howled, reaching
blindly under the desk. “’Tis mine, d’ye hear me,
mine
!”
Kneeling, Deirdre got down on her elbows and crawled under the
desk. “You come out of there right now, ye miserable, mangy,
cur!”

Suddenly the cabin door banged open, a hand
grasped her by the arm, and she was hauled forcibly out from
beneath the desk.

It was the Lord and Master, his face dark
with fury. “What the devil is all that shouting about? You’ve got
the whole ship in an uproar!”

“Yer bleedin’ dog ate my bread!”

“What?”

“I said, yer dog ate my
bread
!”

“The bread? Dear God, what was wrong with
it?”

She only yanked herself free of his grip,
snatched up the canvas bag, and stormed toward the door.

Terrified for his dog, he made a grab for
her, his fingers biting into her shoulders.
“What was wrong with
it?”

Deirdre spun around. “It was from
Ireland
!”

He stared at her, gaping—and then
understanding swept in.

Ireland.

“Bloody deuced hell,” he swore, turning away
in disgust. “All that carrying-on over a piece of stale bread just
because it came from
Ireland?
By God, if it makes you feel
better, you can have a whole confounded
bag
of ship’s
biscuit, and with my blessing!” His voice softened as he saw the
sudden hurt in her eyes, and damning himself for his insensitivity,
he reached out to take her hands. “Hang it, girl, you really know
how to frighten someone, you know that? Here I thought something
dreadful had happened to you—”

She tore free of him, her eyes blazing.
“Somethin’
did
!” she cried, diving into the opening he’d so
unwittingly provided. “And maybe you can tell me just what it
was!”

“What?”

“Ye heard me, ye stiff-lipped paragon of
honor an’ conceit! Last night! Don’t be actin’ like ye don’t know
what I’m talkin’ about! Ye did somethin’ to me, somethin’ vile,
unspeakable,
sinful,
and I want to know just what it
was!”

He stared at her in confusion.

“How dare ye stand there and pretend ye don’t
know what I’m talkin’ about, when all I can remember is—is—”

Her face went crimson at the thought of
putting those vivid images into words.

“Is what?” he demanded.

“Shameful things . . . Such as yer hands
touch—” She flushed and choked out,
“Touchin’
me when I was
sleepin’!”

“Touching you?” Sudden understanding darkened
his features and he made a noise of frustration. “Perhaps you’d
like to know where
your
hand was, dear girl, when I opened
my eyes this morning. To say nothing of your body itself, which I
distinctly remember having assigned to the adjacent cabin.”