The Pirate's Tempting Stowaway (4 page)

She would go mad if she allowed herself to dwell on all the ways this misadventure could go horribly awry. Mr. Steele knew the risks. He was the one who’d talked her into taking an even bigger one. According to him, he’d reunite her with her family in little over a fortnight. If she’d let him. Trust him. Relinquish control.

Her eyes closed as she nestled her cheek into his back and listened to the reassuring beat of his heart. She’d met Mr. Steele scant hours earlier, but she already knew he was impossible to argue with. Full of charm and swagger, and an utter confidence that he would always get his way.
 

She hated that kind of man because he was exactly the type who most tempted her. It wasn’t that she distrusted him, but rather that she distrusted herself. Strong men weakened her knees. The thought of being protected, of being safe again, after so many years of fearing what the morrow might bring…
 

The tension seeped out of her shoulders. She let herself drift away, to dream of her daughter’s smile, of the endless brilliant sea, of a strange, arrogant man with teasing blue eyes and a strong, firm touch.

Clara awoke in his arms.
In his arms?
Heat flooded her cheeks. Whilst she’d slept, she’d apparently slid to one side until she’d become unseated and had to be caught before tumbling to the ground below.

He still hadn’t let her go.

“I’m fine.” Her arms were pinned too well to allow her to rub the sleep from her face. Or for her racing heart to calm down. “I’m awake now.”

“You’re moving up front. We’re at least an hour from the closest inn, and I won’t risk you getting hurt.”

“I promise I won’t fall back aslee—”

Her bottom thumped in place. Her flush burned hotter as her hips nestled between his thighs.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her hair. “You’re safe now. I won’t let you out of my sight until we set sail.”

A shiver teased her skin that had nothing to do with the chill of winter. Every inch of her body was tense, alive to the feel of his legs against hers, of his arm wrapped about her waist, of the rhythmic motion of their pelvises as the horse cantered toward the closest town.

Toward the closest
inn
.

Blast, there was no hope of falling back asleep. Not with their bodies touching like this. Not when the promise—er, the
threat
—of sharing a bedchamber was so imminent. He was absolutely, positively not the suitor for her. Or at all. As soon as they were aboard a passenger liner, she’d find her own room with other ladies and never see the man again.

But first, she’d have to survive a night in the same bed.

Chapter 3

The bed took up most of the room.

Or, at least, it did in Clara’s mind. It loomed there, soft and big and inviting, right across from a gently crackling fireplace that bathed the room in muted, shimmering light.

Mr. Steele lay her traveling bag atop the mattress, then turned away. “You take the bed.”

“Where will you sleep?” Clara blurted, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. She had been alone for too long. Of course he wouldn’t share a bed with a potential consumption victim. Nor did she wish him to. Besides, he was a complete stranger. She didn’t know him well enough to even
like
him. Any disappointment was completely irrational. And yet…

He glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Do you need assistance with any items of clothing?”

Her cheeks flushed. “N-no.”

“Then good night.” He lay down on the floor, fluffed up his satchel as if it were a pillow, and closed his eyes.

Clara waited.

He didn’t move.
 

She kept her eyes fixed on his prone form.

The slight rise and fall of his chest were the only signs of life.

After another long moment, she opened her traveling bag and retrieved her nightrail and tooth powder.
 

He still hadn’t moved.

Clara reached up to close the curtains surrounding all four posts of the bed, effectively creating a barrier between the two of them. As quickly as she could, she slipped out of her simple day dress and into her nightrail, then crossed over to the water pitcher atop the nightstand.

Mr. Steele had rolled over on his side, his back toward the bed.

She cleaned her teeth and her face as quickly as she could before parting the curtains and climbing into bed. A long sigh escaped her lips. She’d assumed the sheets would feel cold after a day’s journey pressed up against the coiled heat of Mr. Steele’s body, but between the curtains and the fireplace, the bed simply felt like heaven.

Or perhaps it was the knowledge that, for once, she wasn’t fighting the world alone.

She drifted off to sleep and slept more soundly than she had in months.
 

When she awoke the following morning, a breakfast tray sat on the small table on the other side of the room. Seated to one side was Mr. Steele, looking appallingly bright-eyed and refreshed at what had to be an ungodly hour.

“What time is it?” she croaked.

“Half eight.” His eyes crinkled at her from across the top of his teacup. “Have you always been this slothful?”

“Half eight?” she repeated in amazement. It
wasn’t
the crack of dawn. She’d slept over ten straight hours, for the first time in…well, long before the consumption diagnosis. She doubted she’d had a sound night’s sleep since the day she’d become a widow. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”

“After you break your fast. The innkeeper is readying a carriage for us. We should be to the port by tomorrow evening.”

“I thought you said it only took you two days to get from your ship to my house.”

“Correct. We, however, will take longer. A coach simply can’t travel as fast as a horse.”

“How about two horses?”

He raised a brow.

She gripped the back of a chair. “If we’re each on a horse, can’t we still make it by nightfall?”

“If we’re each on a horse, you might fall asleep and tumble off. Or have a coughing fit and tumble off. Or succumb to chills and tumble off. That’s why we’re taking a carriage.”

Desperation clawed at Clara’s chest. She still wasn’t convinced she’d recover from her illness. But if he was right… The sooner they were on that ship, the sooner she could see her daughter. Make sure Grace was all right. Ensure the child’s grandparents were treating her with the love she deserved. “A single horse, then.”

He buttered a slice of bread without responding.

“We’ll take one horse, and we’ll get there tonight. I’ll hold on as tight as I can and I won’t fall asleep.”

He added a dollop of marmalade to the bread.

“I’ll sit in front,” she said, hating the pleading note in her voice. “You can keep your arm about me the entire way. You’ll see that I’m fine.”

He pushed the plate of marmalade bread toward her. “Eat your breakfast.”

She glared at him for only a second before hurrying behind the curtained bed to exchange her nightrail for a day dress. They obviously wouldn’t be going anywhere until he deemed her ready for travel. Therefore, she wouldn’t give him any ammunition to hold against her. She swiped a comb through her hair and returned everything to her traveling bag before going to join him at the table.

He watched her in silence as she added two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk to her tea before turning her attentions to her plate.
 

The bread was warm and fresh, the marmalade sweet and tangy. Clara hadn’t had either for so long, the familiar taste nearly brought tears to her eyes.
 

But the only thing she wanted more than to savor this meal was to reach the docks as quickly as possible. To get back to her daughter. And to never let her out of her sight again.

Just as she popped the last bite into her mouth, Mr. Steele rose to his feet and held up her spencer.
 

She slid her arms through the sleeves, then frowned when he offered her a thick woolen scarf. “Is that yours?”

“I’m afraid I have this monstrosity instead.” He pointed to his cravat.
 

Frowning, she allowed him to bundle her up to his liking. She couldn’t repay him for any part of the journey. He claimed the Earl of Carlisle was covering all expenses, and she hoped that was true. She already felt indebted to him for rescuing her from loneliness and despair. She was still tired, still coughing, still unsure the surgeon had been wrong in his diagnosis. But her heart now held a spark of hope. And a spark, once lit, burned brighter as it grew. She could almost smell her childhood home.

England
. It would feel so good to be home. To hold her daughter. To finally face her parents.

When Mr. Steele offered his elbow, she took it, and let him lead her down the stairs and out the front gate, where a single horse was tied to an iron post next to a stepping stone.

Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you said the innkeeper was readying us a carriage.”

“Hmm, did I?” His eyes twinkled as he hoisted her up and hauled her into his lap. “I thought you said you preferred to ride with me.”

She opened her mouth to respond.
 

Her words were snatched away on the breeze as the horse shot away from the inn to hurtle down the dirt road.
 

Since he couldn’t see her expression from his vantage point, she allowed her lips to curve into a reluctant smile. The insufferable man had manipulated her into doing precisely what he wanted, and didn’t even bother to hide the evidence of his duplicity. He was positively shameless.

’Twas a very good thing that they were both on the same side.

The wind and the relentless pace made conversation impossible. Despite a long night’s rest, Clara found herself drowsing off between the infrequent stops for meals and to exchange horses. The bustle of Philadelphia wakened her as soon as they were within a few miles of the city. Her eyes absorbed with curiosity all the colors, buildings, people, and traffic.

The scent of the river indicated their proximity to the port moments before the docks came into view. Ships of every size filled the view. Fruit vendors, flower vendors, pie vendors, newspaper boys, and men and women of every age flooded the wooden boards, surrounding every ship in port with their constant movement and shouts.

Every ship except one.

Clara’s breath caught. There, at the furthest end of the port, floated a beautiful three-masted schooner with a profusion of billowing white sails. Her heart thudded. The only reason anyone could have to avoid such a lovely vessel would be if it were…

Balderdash. Of course there wasn’t anything ominous about that ship. Why would there be? Believing in such nonsense was a flight of fancy from reading too many lurid newspaper accounts of soulless pirates like the Crimson Corsair going on murderous rampages in search of treasure.
 

But that was in the Caribbean, not here. What would pirates be doing in Pennsylvania? She was perfectly safe.
 

Steele dismounted the horse, helped her down, and then hoisted their satchels over his shoulders. “Come. We should make haste.”

She nodded. She would make all the haste he wanted, if it brought her back to her daughter.

Except every step took them past the brightly lit passenger liners and brought them closer and closer to the swift-looking schooner at the end of the dock.

“Welcome back, Cap’n,” came a hearty shout from overhead as a long wooden gangplank lowered to the ground near Mr. Steele’s feet. “Knew you wouldn’t ’ave any trouble with the booty, sir.”

Captain?
Clara shook her head as she began to back away from the ship.
Booty?

Mr. Steele tossed both heavy bags to his other shoulder and grabbed her wrist with his free hand. “Welcome aboard, Mrs. Halton. Adventure awaits.”

Chapter 4