Eliza had her nightgown on. She’d washed it earlier and it had dried quickly in the brisk southwesterly winds that drove the ship forward. Before her clothes had always smelled of the lemons she used to scent them. Now the soft cotton smelled of fresh sea air, salty and quite different from home.
Aubrey had fallen asleep swiftly, and now slept the sound slumber of a healthy child who has put in a long
and satisfying day outdoors. She too was exhausted, but it was less from physical activity than from emotional turmoil.
Cyprian Dare was positively the most maddening man in the entire world. At one moment he was calm and controlled—almost eerily so. Then at the next he was tossing her down upon his bed and ravishing her. Or at least starting to ravish her. Once again he had stopped, and though she was relieved at the abrupt salvation, she could not help but recall him stopping once before in just such an unexpected fashion.
Was it something about her? Something ultimately unappealing to a man? Since she did not believe it could be anything approaching a conscience on his part, it must be something about her as a woman that in the end turned him away.
But as quickly as that foolish consideration came, so did she dismiss it. The sea air must be affecting her brain, she decided as she climbed into her bed. First of all, she did not care
why
he stopped, only that he
did
. Secondly, there was nothing wrong with her. He was immoral, unprincipled, and wicked. If he found her lacking, it was probably because she was still innocent of men.
But she was fast learning all sorts of things from him. She pulled the covers up to her neck and stared at the solitary lamp still burning and swaying from the hook in the low plank ceiling. He was teaching her things she did not want to know. Physical things about her own body. And if she hadn’t thrown Michael in his face, who knew how far things might have progressed?
Michael. Of course. That was why Cyprian had halted.
But that made no real sense either. An unprincipled sea captain bent on the ravishment of a woman would not stop on account of a woman having a fiancé. Oh, but
it made no sense and she turned her thoughts away from Cyprian and toward Michael instead.
How was Michael going to react to this … this adventure of hers? No one in society would blame him a bit if he cried off now. Whether or not anything actually occurred—physically, that is—she would certainly be ruined anyway, at least in everyone’s eyes. Perhaps her parents could keep the whole disaster quiet. That was assuming she and Aubrey could be rescued in the first place, since it was clear Cyprian had no intentions of ransoming them. Or perhaps they could escape.
A sudden knock at the door—three sharp raps—drove all thoughts of escape right out of her head.
“Who is it?”
“Cyprian. May I come in?”
“No!” Her voice came out as a squeak.
“Eliza, we both know I don’t
have
to ask. But I am. May I please come in?”
Eliza’s heart pounded so hard she thought her chest inadequate to contain it. She clutched the light coverlet to her chin as her thoughts raced. He was right, of course. He didn’t have to ask because the lock on the door was on the outside, not the inside. It was meant to keep her in, not him out.
“I … I’m not dressed properly.”
“That’s all right.”
“I’m already in bed.”
Was that a chuckle she heard? “That’s all right too. This won’t take long. Besides, your lantern is still on.”
“Oh, ballocks,” she muttered, unconsciously adopting Aubrey’s words. If Cyprian really wanted to come in, he could. Perhaps it was better to agree to his request while he was still in a good mood. “If you’ll just wait a moment.”
She climbed out of bed, angry and frightened, all at the same time. With a yank she pulled the top cover from her bed and wrapped it around herself like an
oversized shawl. Then, determined to hold her ground, she braced one hand on a built-in dresser and bade him enter.
It was hard to read Cyprian’s expression when he finally stood inside her small cabin. Though he smiled and outwardly appeared almost courtly—if such could ever be said about a man intruding upon a lady’s bedchamber—she could sense a fine tension in him. He stood with his legs spaced apart, a posture so absurdly masculine that it sent a funny shiver up her spine. And all the while he studied her with eyes that seemed to see far too much.
She pulled her makeshift shawl tighter around her throat and shoulders. “Well? What did you want?”
“I came to bring you these.” He extended a small bundle to her. “More things for you to wear. You and the boy,” he added.
It was not what she’d expected. But then Eliza could not rightly say
what
she’d expected. When he extended the bundle to her again, she stepped forward and took it, for that seemed the only course open to her. “Thank you,” she murmured, completely confused by his generosity.
He shrugged. “Perhaps I’ve been a little harder on you than I should have been.”
At that rather understated admission, a surge of righteous anger replaced her initial fear. “Yes, perhaps you have. Is this your way of apologizing?”
He took a step nearer. Somehow he managed to fill the cabin with just the force of his presence. He bowed his head slightly, and she was unaccountably reminded of some great sovereign making concession to a minor personage under his rule. She peered at him suspiciously.
“And does this mean I no longer have to worry that you … that you …” She couldn’t quite put her
meaning into words, but the hot color that stained her cheeks must have conveyed it to him.
“That I will try to kiss you again?” he prompted. He smiled then, a sincere expression meant, no doubt, to banish all her fears about him. And it very nearly did, for her stomach suddenly went all fluttery.
“I should not have done that, Eliza. However, in my own defense, you did look incredibly fetching in that blouse. If I was too forward, well, I must plead a momentary madness.”
Eliza tried very hard to ignore the sudden flare of awareness that ran up her backbone, due simply to the rumbling quality of his flattering words. He was a practiced rogue and she’d best remember that. Oliver had very likely learned all his tricks at Cyprian’s sleeve.
“Momentary madness,” she repeated, struggling to concentrate on their conversation. She needed to change the subject, she realized. And fast. “I’d thought that kiss was just your peculiar way of punishing me since my uncle was not handy at the time.”
That gave him pause, but he didn’t rise to her deliberate baiting. Instead he smiled and took another step toward her. “I have no intentions of punishing you for his actions.”
Eliza swallowed hard and backed up, but the built-in bed caught the back of her thighs. “Well.” She fumbled for words, her eyes darting about for a way to escape.
But Cyprian raised his hands in a calming gesture. “I do not intend to kiss you now, Eliza. You have nothing to fear. I only wanted to give you those items for you and the boy.”
She was not disappointed to hear that. No, indeed not, she told herself. That was relief she felt deflating her chest, not disappointment. She cleared her throat. “Well, that’s … that’s good. As for Aubrey, there’s still the matter of you kidnapping him, isn’t there?”
Cyprian considered his response, all the while staring
at her. So far, so good, he thought. She had opened her cabin to him and accepted what he considered his peace offerings. For his part, despite her appealingly disheveled appearance, he was restraining himself most admirably from sweeping her into his arms and seducing her right on the spot. It wasn’t easy, though. He consoled himself with the reminder that when it finally happened he wanted
her
to come to
him.
He wanted Eliza to want him despite his lack of title and standing in her world. To have Haberton’s niece succumb to him would only sweeten his triumph over that bastard and the society he stood for. So he’d considered in advance the best way to deal with Eliza, and he’d decided that Aubrey was the key. As long as she believed she might sway him in his dealings with the boy, she would pursue him.
“I have given some thought to what you said—about him being innocent of my argument with his father.” He paused and watched for her reaction. When her expressive eyes filled with hopefulness, he knew he’d struck upon the best way to draw her out.
“Have you decided to release us, then?”
Careful now.
“I haven’t decided anything. Not yet. Your uncle cannot be excused for what he’s done,” he added, a trace of anger rising in his voice despite his best efforts to restrain it.
“But what precisely has he done?” Eliza asked. She set the clothes upon the bed and moved closer to him. Her face turned up so prettily to his, her eyes shone with such an earnest need to understand, that he was torn between triumph at how easy this was, and chagrin at his duplicity. But drowning out those emotions were the twin desires: revenge against his father, and lust for the woman before him.
“What lies between him and me is none of your concern,” he growled, willing her to back away from him.
She considered his words, studying him with serious
eyes, eyes that were a deep gray color, he saw. The gray of storm clouds upon the sea, yet streaked with the silvery white that so often backlit those same clouds. Between them tension crackled as sharp and dangerous as the mightiest streak of storm-borne lightning.
“All right, then,” she agreed. “It is a matter between you and him—neither my concern
nor
Aubrey’s,” she added with emphasis.
Their gazes still held as she waited for his reaction, and Cyprian felt the thud of his heart against his ribs. She could be made willing. No matter Oliver’s interest or Xavier’s interference, he could make her willing. And he would.
“So we shall call a truce between us?” he murmured, unwilling to break the thread of tension building between them.
Eliza blinked and licked her lips. Just that innocent little gesture and he could feel himself growing hard.
“I’m not certain I can trust you,” she said, her voice a breathless, husky caress between them. If she were any other woman that simple phrase would have been the teasing harbinger of the exact sort of witty byplay he enjoyed. The advance and retreat of a lusty, experienced woman who knew what she wanted but meant for the man to earn his way between her legs.
But with Eliza … she had no idea how powerful a weapon she wielded. She had but to lick her lips like that. Or lick his.
With an inner groan he marshalled his thoughts. “What can I do to convince you?”
“Well.” He watched as she considered, shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other. Her toes were small and pink—just like her tongue. Just like other delectable parts would be.
By Jonas, but he’d better stop thinking like that!
“Would you have breakfast with Aubrey tomorrow? Aubrey and me?” she added.
“Certainly,” he agreed without hesitation. Anything to soften her opposition to him. To draw her nearer—eventually into his bed.
A small smile curved her lips at his quick agreement, small and reserved, but a smile nonetheless. It was a start.
After he left, Cyprian went on deck, to the place along the rail that was directly above Eliza’s bed. The smooth top of the glass prism that brought sunlight through the deck and into her cabin during the day glowed now beneath his feet from her still burning lamp. Though he could not see through the six-inch-thick prism, his fertile imagination could imagine what she was doing.
She would lay the blanket she’d clutched about her shoulders aside. Her sweetly shaped breasts would lift the soft cotton of her prim nightgown with every breath she took, just as they had during their first interview.
Then the yellow glow blinked out and his imagination leaped to more lurid images. She was climbing into the high bed, her firm little derriere outlined by the clinging fabric. Now she was sliding beneath the linen sheets, her legs parted negligently, her gown hiked high to reveal slender ankles, shapely calves, and soft, smooth thighs.
How warm and sweet she would be as she slept, sprawled in the innocent repose of sleep. Only a true profligate would be aroused to think of her that way.
But chastising himself had no effect whatever on Cyprian’s lusty thoughts. He hadn’t been with a woman in weeks, he told himself. That was why he wanted her so badly that it hurt. Besides that, the women of his acquaintance had always been of an entirely different sort from Eliza Thoroughgood. Experienced women all, they enjoyed the sharp intensity of a toss in bed, then got up and went on with the rest of their lives. What they lacked in manners and refinement, they more than made up for in enthusiasm. With them sex was a delicious
meal he consumed greedily, then forgot about until the hunger struck again.
But Eliza whet his appetite in an entirely different way. Partly it was her innocence; partly her delicate beauty. But mostly, he told himself, it was her standing in society. Her good breeding was obvious, even when she stood frightened and barefoot before him in her bedraggled gown. She was a novelty, something he’d never dealt with before. And she was Haberton’s niece. That was why he burned to possess her.