Miles Before I Sleep

by Byrd, M. Donice

  The man looked at Miles as if the whole conversation bored him. “Let me guess, you don’t think of her as anything but a friend.”

  “Since you’ve made it abundantly clear that your interest in her is only in her money, I don’t see how my relationship with her is any of your concern.”

  The man laughed humorlessly. “As cold as a dead fish was she? Did you seriously expect to find a warm interior when she’s the most rigid, snooty chit in all of England?”

  Miles threw the punch without any conscious thought to do so. One moment the man was disparaging Andrea, the next he was flat on his back on the deck and Miles was striding back to the dining room.

  When he entered, he found Andrea gone, her meal barely touched. He cursed under his breath and made a beeline for her stateroom. Normally, when he arrived, the guards separated giving him access to her door but not this day.

  “Miss James asked us to inform you and her maid that she has gone to bed with a headache.”

  ~*~

  Andrea stood at her porthole staring out at the sea as the sun slipped over the horizon leaving the sky shades of red and orange. As the daylight faded, she watched the warm colors transform into the violet blues and eventually into blackness. The water looked like a giant pot of ink with only the reflection of the ship’s lanterns illuminating the tips of the waves. She rested her forehead against the edge of the porthole, closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of the air on her face and the briny smell of the ocean.

  It was bad enough to know her reputation was in shreds, it was another to hear someone say it aloud to her face. It hurt her heart that Miles was not inclined to make it right. Did Americans not have the same sense of honor that Englishmen had? Or were the rumors not enough cause to prompt a proposal? It was true, only her reputation was ruined, but still Miles was obviously not the man she thought he was.

  As she continued to stand at the window, she began to realize her suspicions that he had ruined her intentionally, must be true. When he told her he wanted her for himself, was he just telling her what he wanted her to hear? It may have appeared that he was pursuing her. She suspected, in truth, he was luring her, daring her to do things she would never do, leading her to her ruin so he could hang her out to dry. Now she was certain he intentionally ruined her to punish her for jilting his cousin.

  24

  Miles looked at the note in his hand and frowned. No one had signed it. It only said, “I need to speak with you about the engine.”

  Things had been strained between Miles and Andrea in the two days since their dinner with Walter Garson. Miles hoped a little time in the main saloon might be a catalyst to put their friendship to rights.

  “Andi, will you be all right by yourself for a few minutes? If this is something major, they would have shut down the engine.”

  “I’m not a child who needs constant supervision,” she said haughtily.

  “I know. If you feel overwhelmed, have Ruth walk you back to your cabin.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Andrea sat on the edge of the seat with her back ramrod straight as she pretended to enjoy the piano tune one of the ladies performed. She felt, as she always did in a crowd of people, self-conscious and alone.

  “Do you play?” a male voice said into her ear.

  Had she not been so tightly wound, she would have jumped, but her muscles could not contract enough to flinch.

  “Only for my own enjoyment. I believe my mother described my playing as, ‘Worse than a three-year-old with clubbed hands.’”

  The man chuckled. “Surely, it’s not as bad as that.”

  Andrea smiled pleasantly at the man who had moved into a chair next to her.

  “If I play for an audience it is. If no one is around, I play passably bad.”

  “Why the discrepancy?” he asked.

  By the man’s regal bearing and highbrow accent, Andrea suspected the man had a title. He had a confidence about him that was unmistakable. It bordered on arrogance. She doubted his sharp blue eyes missed many details. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice how nervous she felt as she realized he was exactly the kind of man her mother would want her to marry.

  “My mother brought in a strict tutor who used to rap me across the knuckles every time I erred. Rather than make me a better player, it made me so nervous to play in front of others, that I can barely link two notes together.”

  “If it would not be too forward of me, I would kiss your knuckles to take away the memory. But alas, we have yet to be introduced. I’m Clive Treymaine, Marquess of Ironwood.”

  “My lord,” Andrea said dipping her head. “I’m….”

  “Yes, Andrea James. I’ve been trying to find someone to introduce us, but few have met you.”

  He stood up, took her hand and bowed over it. “Your servant,” he murmured the customary greeting before releasing her and returning to his seat.

  “Did you cry?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

  “My lord?” Andrea’s mind had gone blank. What were they talking about before he introduce himself.

  “When your piano tutor hit you.”

  Andrea’s eyes met his. “I would not give him the satisfaction.”

  An enigmatic smile touched his lips. He seemed to find it amusing that she would defy the tutor. “Indeed?”

  Her smile subtly shifted to one of satisfaction as she nodded slightly.

  “Perhaps you erred in your playing intentionally to pique his ire,” he suggested, with one corner of his mouth quirking up slightly.

  “Does anyone ever intentionally seek punishment?”

  He just smiled that enigmatic smile at her again. “Would you like to know why I wanted to meet you?”

  “If it would please you to tell me, my lord.”

  He leaned forward and spoke in quiet tones. “I’ve never seen anyone sit so still for so long. I find it fascinating.”

  “Indeed, my lord?”

  “Quite. The whole world seems to flitter around you and you sit here serenely still not moving a muscle. I find your discipline remarkable. Tell me, Miss James, are you so regimented in all aspects of your life?”

  Andrea hesitated before answering. She knew it bothered Miles when she posed herself so carefully, but Lord Ironwood actually shared her exacting standards and her eye for details that seemed too unimportant to catch most people’s notice. Perhaps he was a kindred spirit.

  “I try,” she said so softly, she was not sure he would hear her. Andrea knew regardless of her efforts that nothing she did was ever quite good enough.

  “I thought so. Miss James, would you care to stroll with me on deck. I would like to have a private discussion with you and there are too many people in here.”

  “My maid will have to accompany us.”

  “Of course. I would be disappointed in you if you would walk with a man unchaperoned.”

  As they rose from their chairs, Andrea turned to the area where a handful of chaperones waited. She caught Ruth’s eye and proceeded to the door, pausing in the doorway while she waited for Ruth to cross the room. She knew her maid would stay discreetly behind without further instruction.

  Lord Ironwood kept his hands clasped behind his back, not offering his arm to her. Not sure what she was supposed to do with her hands, she clasped them in front of her.

  He waited until they were on deck before he spoke. “Miss James, I am thirty-four years old and have been marquess for seven years. It has come to my notice that you are also in the market for a spouse.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He smiled at her. “I like the way you always say, my lord instead of milord. I would like it even better, if you dropped your eyes from mine as you said it.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she said with her head bowed.

  “You please me very much, Miss James. As I was saying, I have been looking for a wife for several years. You’re the first woman I have met recently that I can picture in that role.”

  “You flatter me, my
lord.”

  When she raised her eyes, he wore a small grin and she could tell it pleased him immeasurably to see her drop her gaze when she said my lord.

  “But I should warn you,” she said. “Because I ran away, my father is likely to disinherit me for my willfulness. I do not expect a penny of it.”

  Clive laughed out right. “My interest rests with his daughter, not his money. My income, I assure you, is not insignificant.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply….”

  “Yes, you did. You were testing me to see why I pursued you—as well you should—but my finances are quite in order should anyone need to examine my books if I decide to make an offer.”

  Andrea was thankful for the darkness to hide her embarrassed blush. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Before we go any further, there is an indelicate matter I must ask. Normally, I would have a representative speak with your father, but since that is not a possibility, I feel forced to ask you. Unfortunately, it has become common knowledge that one of the sailors forced his way into your room and hurt you. I need your assurance that you are still untried because I would annul any marriage where I was not the only man to touch my wife.”

  Andrea felt the blush on her cheeks deepen to burning scarlet.

  “It probably would not cease my pursuit of you,” he said. “But I would have you for mistress, not wife.”

  Andrea opened her mouth, but was too embarrassed to answer. She believed a man pursuing a bride had a reasonable right to know.

  “My lord, I am not unwilling to answer the question. I just don’t know how to word the answer politely.”

  He chuckled at her discomfiture. “I see your problem. I shall take pity on you and reword my query so you might answer it, ‘yes, my lord,’ or ‘no, my lord.’”

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “Miss James, are you chaste?”

  Andrea inclined her head, her eyes touching the deck. Even had Lord Ironwood not asked her to lower her gaze, she could not have met his gaze answering such a question. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. You will breed fine tall sons and elegant daughters.”

  “That would be better than tall daughters and elegant sons,” she said feeling relieved the awkward moment was over.

  The marquess made a sound of disapproval. “That is not a jest a man with a title likes to hear.”

  “I’m sorry, my lord.”

  They walked in silence for some time—all the while Andrea silently castigating herself for saying something so stupid. The roar of the paddles slicing the water combined with the engine noise as they passed the wheel nearly drowned out her thoughts. When they were next to a dark alcove past the wheel and Ruth was still surrounded by the din, Clive stopped, making certain he stood in the blackest shadows and Andrea was still mostly visible to her maid.

  “Have I told you how much I admire your beautiful alabaster skin? If I was already your fiancé and I saw you lifting your face to the sun, as I’ve seen you do on deck more than once, I would have to punish you.”

  “My lord?” she said breathlessly.

  “How could I enjoy the blush in your cheeks if you had skin as dark as a field worker?”

  “You would punish me?”

  Andrea squinted slightly to see him better in the shadows of the alcove as he raised an eyebrow and his lip rode upward into a crooked smile. His chest rose and fell deeply.

  “If I could not see the blush on your cheeks, I would have to put a blush on your bottom with my hand.”

  Andrea felt her shoulders pull back as she carefully kept her face devoid of emotions. Was he testing her? Was this a strange game?

  “Give me your arm.”

  Too stunned to speak, her appendage lifted until he took it in his grasp. She watched as her hand disappeared into the darkness that surrounded him. He kissed her knuckles then turned her hand over and kissed her palm, flicking his tongue once against her flesh. Her hand trembled slightly and she wanted to pull away, but he was a marquess and she did not want to discourage him.

  Even after he lifted his head, he continued to hold her arm at the same level. She felt his thumb pushing the sleeve of her dress upward a few inches, exposing her wrist.

  “Miss James, I want to try something. I want you to stand perfectly still and not make a sound. Do you remember how you said you would not give your piano tutor the satisfaction of crying? I do not want you to react at all if this should hurt.”

  Her immediate reaction was to pull away, but he tightened his grasp before she could break contact.

  “All you have to do is tell me to stop if it becomes unbearable. You need to understand, however, that I am a man who insists on a wife who surrenders to my will in all things. In return, you will be cared for and pampered. Now stand still. Not a sound. Not a grimace.”

  Clive lowered his head to the inside of her wrist and sucked the delicate skin between his teeth. His eyes were glued on hers as he scraped, bit and suckled the thin skin of her inner wrist. She moved nothing but her eyes, even when she thought his teeth would surely puncture her skin.

  She could feel her breathing deepening as the pain increased and she was about to tell him to stop, when he broke contact.

  He lowered her hand, but did not release it as his thumb scraped along the bite indented skin.

  “Tomorrow, you shall have the most beautiful love bite here,” he said softly. “If you cover it up with your sleeves or jewelry, I will know you don’t want to see me again. But if you wear it proudly where every man on the ship can see, I will meet you in the saloon tomorrow evening after dinner. I am very proud of you. You did exactly what I asked of you.”

  Andrea dropped her gaze. “Thank you, my lord.” There was only confusion in her tone. She did not understand. If this was a courting ritual, she had never heard of it before.

  He wrapped her hand around the crook of his left arm and continued to stroke the bite mark with his thumb.

  When they moved back into the light and Ruth stepped away from the deafening noise of the paddlewheel, Clive turned to Ruth. “Perhaps if Miss James consents to stroll with me tomorrow evening, I shall read your palm as well.”

  He cast a rather wicked look at Andrea, knowing Ruth would not have seen him biting her wrist or heard any of their discussion.

  “Miss James, shall I take you back to the saloon or shall I see you to your stateroom?”

  “I should like to return to my room now. I need to contemplate whether I should shorten the sleeves of tomorrow’s gown, my lord,” she said. “Or perhaps I should add lace at the cuff.”

  “You can be quite the vixen when you want to be, can’t you, Miss James? I have a feeling I would have to turn you over my knee with regular frequency,” he said leaning toward her and speaking softly so the chaperone would not hear. “And pleasure.”

  At Andrea’s unguarded frown, he added, “It would be up to you whether you get punished. I only ask that you to do as you are told. It is only if you defy me that I would punish you.”

  ~*~

  After the marquess left her outside her door with nothing more than a bow and a wish for a peaceful night’s sleep, Andrea dismissed Ruth for the night. She pulled two dresses from her meager selection.

  Andrea knew one thing about herself. She was not impulsive. She needed time to make a decision; on one dress, she would shorten the sleeves and the on other she would use lace, cut from her nightgown to lengthen the sleeves.

  While augmenting the first sleeve, she would contemplate the positive aspects of rejecting the marquess. While she altered the other sleeve, she would contemplate the negative aspects. Likewise, as she shortened the sleeves of the second dress, she would contemplate the pros and cons of entering a courtship with him.

  As she finished ripping the seam, releasing the lace from her nightgown, a knock sounded at her door. Before she opened it, she knew it was Miles.

  “When I returned to the saloon, you were gone, but you had not yet returned to your room.
We must have taken different routes. Are you in for the night or would you like to return to the saloon?”

  “I have sent Ruth below. I did not return directly to my cabin because I took a turn about the deck with someone.”

  “Someone? A suitor? Would you like to discuss him with me?”

  “No, Mr. Huntington, I would not. Good night.” She closed the door and returned to her task.

  Should she reject the marquess? All of his talk of punishment and spankings did indeed frighten her. Other than having her knuckles hit with a ruler, she had never been subjected to corporal punishment. Her mother scolded and lectured endlessly, but never raised a hand to her. How odd that Lord Ironwood made no secret that she should expect him to strike her on the bottom.

  Some children endured spankings. How bad could it be? Still it struck her as peculiar.

  On the other hand, as she threaded her needle and began sewing lace to the second sleeve, she would always wonder why she dismissed her chance of landing a marquess without giving the man a chance. He was tall and reasonably handsome, though not as tall or handsome as Miles. He had a swagger and an air of confidence she found appealing.

  When the first dress was complete, she carefully measured and cut five inches from the sleeves of the other dress.

  Before she hemmed the sleeve, she examined the bruise on her wrist. She found she did not mind the mark. It was temporary after all and it had not been unbearable. He called it a love bite. The teeth marks were gone, but he’d left a strange looking bruise. It was definitely not a regular bruise. She supposed anyone who had seen one like it before would recognize it for what it was. It would be embarrassing to have others know she allowed a man she just met to take such liberties—not that she had understood what he planned to do beforehand.

  As she began hemming the first sleeve, she tried to focus on the negative aspects of accepting his suit.

  She’d be the worst kind of fool to reject him without getting to know him better, but she couldn’t shake the unease she felt when he spoke of punishment. If she allowed his suit to go further, she would have to gird her courage and ask him exactly how far his punishments would go. She had to know up front that he would not be a man who would punch her. She had been raised to sacrifice for the sake of her family. Surely, he would be reasonable in his request. She would just do as instructed and she would never be punished. It seemed simple enough in theory. Would her father allow it?