by Merry Farmer
Nelson allowed a grunt. “Oh, not with twenty-thousand pounds,” he countered, a barely hidden smirk finally growing to display his slightly yellowed teeth.
Blake blinked. And blinked again. “What are you saying?”
His first mate gave a shrug. “That valise she’s got with her isn’t the same valise she came aboard with.”
His brows furrowing in confusion, Blake gave a shake of his head. “It’s not?” A flare of hope had him raising an eyebrow.
“Nope.” Nelson reached down and then lifted a valise from the floor next to his feet. “This is the one she brought on board. Has clothes in it, just like she said, but there’s more underneath. Lots more.”
A grin slowly forming to replace his expression of distress, Blake said, “When you say lots more, are you referring to twenty-thousand pounds?”
One shoulder lifted as Nelson turned the wheel. “Can’t say how much exactly, seein’ as how I can’t count that high,” he replied. He set the valise back down at this feet.
“You dog.”
Nelson held up a finger and waved it back and forth. “Now, now,” he started to say before Blake had him in a bear hug.
“You were right to trust your instincts,” the captain said when he released the startled first mate. “You’re going to make an excellent captain for this ship.”
Furrowing a brow, Nelson eyed Blake for a moment. “Are you sayin’ you’re giving up the Molly?” he asked in disbelief.
Blake let out a breath, his thoughts on Barbara. For a few moments back in his cabin, he had imagined an entire life with her. Now that reality was making itself apparent again, perhaps his imaginings were folly.
Sir Peter probably wanted his daughter to marry an aristocrat. Or at the very least, a well-to-do cit. What would the baronet’s reaction be when a mere ship’s captain asked for permission to court his daughter?
“I had a thought perhaps it was time,” Blake started to say. “But...” He allowed the sentence to trail off and shook his head. He glanced down at the valise. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll take that to my cabin. Miss Wycliff would really like to change into a proper gown.”
“All right by me,” Nelson replied, using the toe of his boot to push the bag in Blake’s direction. “Just don’t be getting any ideas.”
The captain nodded. “If I remember right from that letter Woodcock brought on board, this very well may be our reward money,” he said with a grin. “Split fifteen ways means we all get over...” He paused to do the math in his head. “Thirteen-hundred pounds.”
“Don’t be counting any chickens, Capt’n,” Nelson warned.
Blake sobered. “Good point.” He picked up the valise, but before he could turn and make his way back to his cabin, he paused and regarded Nelson with suspicion. “If this is the valise that Miss Woodcock was carrying when she came aboard, then what’s in the valise that she took onto the Tuscan?”
Nelson’s eyes lifted and then darted to the left and right. “A couple of old shirts,” he murmured.
Frowning, Blake leaned against the doorframe. “And?” he prompted. He knew the other valise would have had to have more in it to make it as heavy as this one that Woodcock had brought on board. Otherwise, the lady’s maid would have known the bag had been switched out with another.
“Oh, some potato peelings from tonight’s dinner. Couple o’ fish. Some old bread.”
Blake rolled his eyes, almost hoping the lady’s maid might discover the change in luggage and remain on the Tuscan for its trip back to London. If she made it to Calais and disembarked, she wouldn’t have the means to pay for anything. “She was in on it with Dorchester, wasn’t she?” he half-asked. Woodcock had probably helped arrange everything, including her last-minute substitution as a chaperone at the masked ball the night before.
Nelson allowed a shrug. “Probably.”
How could I have been so blind? Blake wondered, remembering how Lord Dorchester and the lady’s maid had been paired up for a dance the night before.
“Are you going to claim Miss Wycliff for yerself now?” Nelson asked.
Furrowing a brow, Blake was about to deny his first mate’s query. But he knew there was one way he could ensure he ended up with the young woman.
It was not a very honorable way. He would risk the reward Lord Chamberlain implied would be paid upon his daughter’s return. But the temptation was so great, he merely nodded in Nelson’s direction and took his leave of the wheelhouse.
A Maiden and a Captain
In the captain’s quarters
Surprised that it was Blake who came back into the cabin instead of Woodcock, Barbara stood up, a half-eaten slice of bread clutched in one hand and an apple core in the other. “Does that bag contain a change of clothes, I hope?”
Blake set the valise on the bed. “I think so,” he replied as he leaned over and bussed her on the cheek. “There’s more in here than clothes, though.”
Barbara was quick to set aside the bread and apple before she opened the valise. Reaching in, she began pulling out coral fabric by the handfuls followed by yards of white muslin. “Well, at least she’s brought my favorite gown. I’m quite over wearing pink.” She looked up and then turned her attention to the closed door. “What have you done with my lady’s maid?” she asked as she shook out the crepe de Naples gown and petticoats. “I’ll need help with dressing.”
Blake dipped his head. “Miss Woodcock... she boarded the Tuscan shortly after I brought you aboard. Seems she prefers France over England.”
Her head jerking up, Barbara regarded Blake for a moment before she sat down on the bed. Hard. “Oh,” she murmured, disappointment evident in her voice. Her eyes widening a moment later, she dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, no. Please tell me she wasn’t part of this.”
Blake immediately joined her on the bed, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so sorry, but I cannot. Did you have any idea she and Lord Dorchester were planning such a nefarious scheme?” he asked in a quiet voice.
The way her body shuddered, Blake knew Barbara was weeping. He felt her head shake against the small of his shoulder, and a quiet sob sounded.
“Nnn... no,” she managed to get out. “How could she? How could she do such a thing?”
“How long has she been your lady’s maid?”
There was a pause before Barbara sniffled and lifted her head from his shoulder. “A month, is all,” she managed between sobs. “She came with the very best character, though. She was an upstairs maid in a mansion. A baron’s mansion.”
At the same moment Blake sorted the identity of the baron, Barbara did as well. She shook her head and inhaled sharply. “The cur!”
“Indeed. They probably planned this long before she came into your employ,” Blake reasoned. “Waiting until you were in need of a lady’s maid just so she could be the first to apply.”
Barbara rolled her eyes. “Althea Woodcock applied even before then. And she was the only one to do so,” she put in, her attention on something far away. “No one else applied, at least as far as I know.”
Furrowing a brow, Blake asked, “You say she applied before you were in need of a lady’s maid?”
Nodding, Barbara regarded him a moment. “She had to have known my father was going to pension my former lady’s maid. Cruthers was quite old, you see.”
His brows still furrowed, Blake wondered at the timing of the kidnapping. Both the baron and the lady’s maid had to have been in exactly the right places the night before in order to pull it off. Ordering the Wycliff coach to follow Dorchester’s town coach had been brilliant—the driver would have been convinced of Woodcock’s devotion to her mistress when she urged him to follow the Dorchester coach, especially when she attempted to board the Tuscan.
“Dorchester expected to get to Calais and then be joined by Woodcock,” Blake reasoned. “He must have known your father would either arrange a rescue or send the ransom.” Peeking into the valise, he could see the mound of bank notes filling the bottom
half. Never in his life had he seen so much blunt. “And that your father would trust Miss Woodcock with the ransom.”
Barbara leaned over and stared into the bag. “Twenty-thousand pounds?” she whispered in disbelief. “I rather doubt he would trust her with this much money,” she breathed.
Shrugging, Blake said, “I haven’t counted it, of course, but I’ll be sure to deliver it directly into your father’s hands when I return you to Parkenhurst House.”
A sense of melancholy settled over Barbara just then. She turned her back to him. “Since it seems I am without a lady’s maid, could you undo the fastenings for me? I simply must get out of this gown,” she said on a sigh.
Blake stared at the young lady’s pink-clad back, noting how a row of laces held the edges together. Despite her request, he still paused before he undid the tie. Using a hooked finger, he carefully loosened the laces down to the base of her spine. Beneath her gown was an old-fashioned corset from the century prior. “I should probably... turn around whilst you undress,” he murmured. He didn’t, though, instead hoping she might ask him to continue undressing her.
Barbara gave him a glance over her shoulder. “So... you’re not really a pirate?” she asked in a voice filled with disappointment.
Blake gave a start. Before he could answer, though, she added, “I saw the flag. The skull and crossbones. Doesn’t that mean this is a pirate ship?”
Rolling his eyes, Blake gave a shake of his head. “That was... merely theatrics,” he explained. “A way to strike fear in the crew of the Tuscan, since we didn’t know if Captain Bimmington was aware of your circumstance or not.”
Barbara huffed as she stood up and wiggled out of the wrinkled silk gown and a series of several ruffled petticoats. “He is quite a thick man,” she groused.
The courtesy of standing whenever a woman did so ingrained into him, Blake stood up and did his best to keep his attention above her chest. When the words permeated his brain, he scowled. “Captain Bimmington?”
She nodded. “I explained in no uncertain terms that I was not married to Mr. Smith... Lord Dorchester, I mean,” she corrected, “and yet, the captain seemed determined to believe that I was.”
Her hands went to her hips, and it was everything Blake could do not to reach out and pull her against the front of his body. The corset barely contained her generous bosom, and she wore a most scandalous pair of white silk drawers featuring several rows of ruffles around her knees. The white silk stockings that encased her calves had his gaze dropping to her ankles.
Well-turned ankles.
Blake swallowed. Hard. And then realized what she had said. Alarm had him pulling her into his arms. “Did Dorchester ruin you? Because if he did, I’ll go down to the brig and beat him to a bloody—”
“He did not.”
The words were so quiet, Blake dipped his head so that he could see more of her face. “Barbara?” he whispered, not even aware he used her Christian name.
“It would seem I’m not exactly worth ruining,” she said on a long sigh. “In fact, I am beginning to believe my dowry may not be enough to convince any man to ruin me, let alone marry me,” she said in a quiet voice.
“That’s not true,” he argued. “I would gladly ruin you.”
Barbara blinked.
Blake inhaled sharply. “That is to say, I would be... I would be honored to... to ruin you.”
“You would?” Her response was filled with surprise.
Pleasant surprise.
He boggled. “Well, I would be more honored if I could take you to wife, but...”
Barbara’s eyes widened and then suspicion filled them. “Because of my dowry?”
Blake furrowed his brows and shook his head. “No.”
Giving him a withering stare, Barbara countered with, “Then why?”
Blake sighed. “Because I’m rather... smitten with you.”
She jerked in his arms. “You are?” Her words were filled with awe.
“I am.” He took a breath and forged on. “But I am a commoner—”
“As am I.”
“—and I rather doubt your father is going to give me permission to court you...”
“Court me?”
He nodded. “Well, of course. It would only be fair for you to learn more about me...”
Blake’s words were stopped when Barbara’s lips collided with his. His startlement lasted only a moment before he returned her kiss, reveling in her unbridled enthusiasm and the way she pressed the front of her body against his. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, and a moment later, he felt her fingers spear his dark hair.
When he finally pulled away—only enough to take a deep breath—he left his forehead pressed against hers. “You are in severe danger, my lady,” he whispered.
“Really?” Barbara replied, with perhaps too much enthusiasm.
Blake straightened and regarded her with a smirk. “Why do I get the impression you want me to take your virtue?”
Dipping her head so his nose ended up in what was left of her messy bun, Barbara mewled, “Perhaps because I do. Ever since I met you last night—which now seems like weeks ago—I have wondered if you might be the one.”
“The one?” he repeated.
She lifted her head and regarded him with an impish grin. “The one who might look beyond my rather rotund...”
“You are not rotund,” Blake interrupted.
“Breasts,” she continued, “and wide hips—”
“Your hips are perfect,” he said, his hands moving to pull her lower body against his to reinforce his claim.
“And see me for who I really am.”
He blinked. And blinked again. “Just so you’re aware, I am in awe of your breasts.” Leaning down, he kissed the tops of both in turn, knowing full well his silken hair tickled her shoulders. “And your hips.” He squeezed her hips between his large hands. “And everything in between, and above...” He paused to kiss her forehead. “And below.” He knelt and kissed each thigh just above the ruffles of her drawers, and then dropped his lips to the tops of her feet where he kissed them both.
Angling his head up, he saw how she stared down at him, an expression of awe etched on her face.
Blake knew he would never forget that look. And he knew exactly how he could ensure it stayed there. “If your father gives me permission, I shall ask for your hand,” he whispered.
Barbara stared at him for a moment before finally blinking several times. “Oh, he will,” she murmured. “I will see to it that he does.” She placed her hands beneath his armpits and helped him to stand. “Do what you must to ruin me,” she begged.
Blake made a sound not unlike a growl. “I cannot. Not yet,” he added, noting the flash of anger that crossed her face. “But... I can... I can give you a... a prelude to what you might expect in our marriage bed,” he stammered, almost immediately regretting the offer.
How the hell was he going to restrain himself? The mere suggestion that she wanted him to ruin her had his cock responding as if it were an emergency. Why, if they required another mast from which to fly a pennon, his cock would do in a pinch.
“A prelude?” she repeated.
Nodding, Blake reached behind her and tugged on the ties that held up her drawers. The white silk fabric dropped to the wooden planks below at the same moment she let out an “Oh!” She let out another when one of his hands smoothed over her mons and then dipped between her thighs.
She gasped, and her eyes darkened with understanding. “I really don’t think I can stay stand...”
Barbara let out a cry of surprise as Blake lifted her up and then placed her onto the bed. He followed her down, his hand immediately returning to the moist curls hiding her womanhood.
“You’re wearing far too many clothes,” she complained.
Blake paused in his ministrations. “True,” he acknowledged. He lifted himself from the bed just long enough to doff his waistcoat and shirt. At seeing Barbara’s widened eyes, he glanced dow
n his front. “Too much hair?” he asked, suddenly worried she might be offended.
Barbara shook her head. “I’ve just never seen a bare-chested man before,” she replied.
She had, of course, but the memory of her as a young girl seeing her rather hirsute father in his dressing gown had her thinking that all men were as hairy as the bears she had seen in the menagerie at the Tower of London.
“I’ve a mind to remove your corset just because I don’t believe you,” he warned.
Her eyes widening in delight, Barbara said, “Oh, would you?”
Blake sighed. “You’re going to make this easy, aren’t you?”
She blinked, and then her eyes darted to one side. “Should I make it hard?” she countered, lifting herself to one elbow.
Grinning, he leaned over and kissed her. “I think I just fell in love with you,” he whispered.
Barbara swallowed, stunned to hear his words. “Oh?” she breathed, well aware of where one of his hands had managed to move, his finger expertly inciting a series of rather pleasant tingles beneath her skin and then throughout her abdomen. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she could breathe.
Wasn’t sure she wanted to breathe.
Ever again.
Blake brushed his lips over her bare shoulder. “What I mean to say is, I have been thinking about you every moment for the past—“
“Oh!” The word was quite loud, and Blake felt a profound sense of satisfaction as he repeated the ministration that had elicited the response. When she made the same sound, he knew he had her.
He worked his way down the front of her body, his lips pausing here and there to place light kisses wherever he could find bare skin. Although he had been given a clear invitation to ruin her, Blake had no intention of taking her virtue. His cock obviously hadn’t gotten the message, given how it seemed to have a mind of its own. And perhaps a Jolly Roger attached to the end of it. The damned appendage wanted nothing more than to stake a claim inside her. Plunder and pillage and leave its treasure for a future visit.
Shaking the odd thoughts from his head—both of them—Blake settled his body between her spread legs.
