“Release me, Captain.” She slapped his hand and retreated. “As it stands, you owe me a new hat, dress, and pair of slippers, as I lost one shoe in the mud, in my failed attempt to retrieve my cherished accouterment.”
“Does your memory fail, Miss Teversham, as I compensated you generously for that, or would you have something else of me?” And as he did in the lane, her tormentor studied her from top to toe, and she cursed the burn of a blush in her cheeks. “Of course, I rather fancy the opportunity to clothe your shapely body, even as my thoughts tend toward the opposite objective. Shall I procure a chemise, garters, and stockings, as well?”
“I beg your pardon?” Shocked by the intimate nature of his suggestion, she almost swooned.
“She favors lavender, Captain.” With a snicker, Lucilla sported a mischievous grin. “But when it comes to her delicate undergarments—”
“That is quite enough, sister.” Mortified, Lenore did not notice her antagonist had moved, until he cupped her chin and wiped her face with his lace-edged kerchief, and she stiffened her spine. “What are you doing?”
“You missed a spot, Miss Teversham.” With his thumb, he caressed the edge of her jaw, and she gulped, as he all but pierced her with his clear blue eyes. In another time and place, they might have been friends, or something more, as she found him devastatingly handsome. “But even beneath a coating of road muck, I find you rather appealing.” Then he grimaced and sniffed the air. “Good heavens, is that you?”
“Oh.” In that instant, she would have stomped her foot, but she recalled her earlier disastrous display of temper and reconsidered. Just as a particularly scathing response formed in her brain, the general returned.
“Miss Lenore, the servants are ready for you.” As the resplendent military man dipped his chin, the maid at his right curtseyed. “If you would follow Daisy, she will show you the way.”
“Thank you.” Lenore attempted a graceful exit, but she caught her toe on the carpet and tripped, and her less than chivalrous patron shot to her aid.
“Careful, Miss Teversham.” Given the captain’s throaty drawl, she braced for another insult, as she glanced over her shoulder, only to discover him blatantly scrutinizing her bottom, and she screeched in protest even as he chortled. “Well, well, I am correct in my assertion.”
#
The sun sat below the yardarm, as Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott, fifth Duke of Rylan, admired the gentle sway of Lenore’s hips, while she ascended the gangplank of the Tristan. For the second time that day, he clenched his gut, as the incomparable elder Miss Teversham piqued his baser instincts, and his body responded, to his dismay and delight.
At the age of three and thirty, he had indulged in his share of female conquests, neither provisional nor permanent, because none had commanded his faculties, as had the prim and proper, but unutterably beguiling, Lenore.
And despite her valiant attempts to ignore him and convey an air of ennui, during the brief carriage ride to the docks, she could not hide the gooseflesh she rushed to cover when she drew down her long sleeves, as he helped her into the equipage, or the charming pink tinge of her cheeks, when she caught him staring at her.
Yes, he impacted her every bit as much as she affected him, which only heightened his interest and further stimulated his reaction. It was that fact, alone, which had led him to insist she and her younger sister, who reminded him of a particular friend, Sabrina Markham, save the spectacles, journey with him to England.
“Your Grace, if I may, why did you not permit me to apprise the Tevershams of your peerage?” Perspiring in the uncharacteristically cool September breeze, Stapleton wiped his brow and shifted his weight. “No doubt, it would make the voyage much easier.”
“Ah, but often the best things in life require a bit of work, thus they are worth the effort, and the ocean knows no rank.” And Blake fully intended to enjoy the challenge Lenore unwittingly presented. “Tell me what you know of her, Stapleton. Is she married?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Is she affianced?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Just mad as a hornet’s nest?”
“So it would seem, Your Grace.”
“Well this should be an interesting trip.” He licked his lips at the prospect. “The tide awaits no man, Cotton.” Blake shook hands with his comrade in arms. “Until we meet again, take care.”
“I wish you fair winds and following seas, Your Grace.” Cotton gazed at the rigging, rolled his eyes, and grinned. “Lord knows you will need it, with those two on board.”
“Oh, I believe I can manage a couple of light skirts.” And that was his thought as he strutted up the gangplank, only to discover complete chaos on the decks. “What in bloody hell is going on here?”
“Cap’n, the last minute arrivals distracted the crew.” Mr. Portman, the first mate, scratched his chin and scowled. “Young Davy took one look at the ladies and fell backward, into the hold. But worry not, as he landed on a pile of sacks filled with rice, so he is unhurt. And that startled Mr. Allen, as he was trying to stow your horse, which reared and then kicked Mr. Hayes. Doc says the injuries require a few stitches to the forehead, nothing more. In the confusion, Miss Lucilla took it upon herself to climb into the ratlines, before I coaxed her down with the promise of a tour of the galley.”
“Well, that does not sound too terrible.” Then Blake noted a familiar trunk on the waist and frowned. “What of Miss Lenore?”
“That may be the worst of it, sir.” The first mate winced. “She has a wicked case of the sickness and is hugging the larboard rail, as we speak.”
“But—she just boarded, we have yet to weigh anchor and cast off, and the waters are calm as we are on the river.” In that second, Blake spied her shapely derriere, which should have inspired all manner of salacious thoughts, but as she assumed a painfully suggestive posture, he could only groan. “Hell and the Reaper.”
“The cabin beside yours is cleared, cleaned, and at your disposal, Cap’n.” A passing tar made his obedience, and Mr. Portman nodded an acknowledgement. “Perhaps I should install a large bucket near Miss Lenore’s hammock?”
“An excellent notion.” In that moment, Lenore stretched upright. But just as quick, she wrenched forward and heaved, and Blake cursed under his breath. “Have Dr. Avery meet me in her quarters, as soon as he is finished with Mr. Hayes. And once you have confirmed we are loaded and stowed, batten down the mainsail hull and make sail.”
“Aye, sir.” Then the first mate shouted orders to the crew.
Well, the situation had not progressed as he planned, because Blake’s ambitions where the delectable Lenore were concerned did not include the dreaded nausea that often plagued landlubbers. However, his younger sister Caroline wrestled with the irksome malaise whenever she ventured to his ship after a lengthy absence, and she always survived, none the worse for wear. It was with that presumption he approached his much-desired prize.
“I would ask how you feel, but I think I can guess the answer.” Patting her back, he noted her pale countenance and tightly shut eyes. “May I offer a bit of advice?”
“Please, kill me.” Lenore rested her forehead to the rail and inhaled a shaky breath. “Are we there, yet?”
“You know, my lesser sibling suffers the same condition, but not to such spectacular degree, though she might argue otherwise.” As he chuckled, he walked his fingers to her neck and offered a gentle massage. “Miss Teversham, stand upright and take a look at the mainland, across the way.”
“Oh, just drown me, and put me out of my misery.” Again, she convulsed and retched. “I will never make it to England.”
“Is it always like this for you?” In small circular movements, he rubbed her creamy flesh, and she sighed and nodded the affirmative. “And do as I asked.” After a few seconds, she abided his request but swayed, so he slipped an arm about her waist. Whispering into her ear, he said, “Easy, Miss Teversham. Focus and fix your gaze on the shoreline. And study
the sky. See how the night encroaches? Is it not a lovely evening?”
“No, it is horrible.” She gritted her teeth. “If I could walk home, I would do so.”
“Ah, you remind me of Caroline, as she is possessed of an equally stubborn nature.” Revisiting cherished memories of days long since past, he laughed. “She gave me no end of torment, as a rebellious girl, yet I prevailed. Now she is a grown woman, and I married her to a gotch-gutted old drunkard who beats her regularly, and all is well.”
“Foul monster.” With an expression of absolute disgust, Lenore jerked free. “You did that—to your own blood relation?”
“Indeed.” Waggling his brows, he mustered his best smug smile. “At the rude end of my sword, I forced her to the altar, as a contracted heir-maker, and she has persisted in a near constant state of expectancy, ever since.”
“How dreadful for her, unfortunate creature. Have you no remorse? Are you without shame?” As she pressed a clenched fist to her chest, she swallowed hard. “You are truly despicable.”
“How so?” Slow and steady, the Tristan glided from the docks, and Blake distracted his alluring charge. “Is that not your purpose in life, to trap some poor, misguided fool, drag him before the vicar, bear his children, and spend his money?”
“You are the worst barbarian, sir.” The contempt in her tone rekindled his desire, as she glanced left, then right, and at last met his gaze. “We are moving.”
“Aye.” And it appeared she discovered his plot, as she rolled her shoulders, and how he adored her pout. “I thought it ideal to divert you and allay your trepidation, as we cast off. Are you quite vexed with me?”
“No, but I should be, as you seem intent on shocking me.” Pressing a palm to her belly, she furrowed her brow, and the green pallor made a vicious return. “Oh.”
“Whoa, Miss Teversham.” Lunging, he caught her just as she faltered. With no time to spare, he provided comfort, as she doubled over and vomited. For a long while, Blake held Lenore, until she mercifully purged her stomach of its contents and deteriorated to dry heaves. “Perhaps I should convey you to your quarters.” With that, he bent and swept her into his arms.
“Put me down, you vile reprobate.” Although she rained hellfire and damnation on his head, her halfhearted struggle waned, as he carried her along the companionway to the lower decks and the stateroom often occupied by Caroline, whenever she sailed with him prior to her marriage.
When he volunteered for the mission, in Dalton’s place, given his wife Daphne suffered lingering symptoms from a lead shot wound, never had Blake presumed the trip would include acting as nanny for a couple of prim ladies. Yet, the inimitable Lenore intrigued him, so he would stay the course.
“And here we are at your personal lodging, Miss Teversham.” As he set her on her feet, she clutched his hand, and he braced her, just as Lucy bounced into a hammock. “I hope you find the accommodation to your liking.”
“But—there is no bed.” Wobbling, she circled about and whimpered. “Where am I to sleep?”
“Right here.” Lucy shot him a sly grin and swung back and forth in the canvas. “Come now, it will be such fun, Lenny.”
“You must be joking.” Shifting her weight, Lenore drew a handkerchief from her reticule, dropped the purse to the floor, and pressed the square of cotton to her mouth. Then she jerked violently, glanced about the room, spied the bucket he had requested, crumpled to the polished boards, and erupted.
“There, there.” Kneeling at her side, Blake offered words of reassurance and comfort. “Do not fight it.” As he assessed her condition, he reconsidered his earlier directive. “Miss Lucy, would you be so kind as to summon the first mate?”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The gadling leaped from the rudimentary sailor’s bunk and sprinted into the passageway.
“My dear Miss Teversham, I had no idea you were thus afflicted, else I should have prepared better, but I will do everything in my power to make the voyage as pleasant as possible.” During a break in her heaves, he stood and retrieved a small towel from the washstand. After wetting the cloth, he returned and draped it over the back of her neck. “Take deep breaths.”
“Oh, that feels wonderful.” To his surprise, she lifted her head and favored him with a smile, and he noticed a flirty dimple on her left cheek. How had he missed that singular distinction? “I suppose I should make you free with my name, as you have been quite charitable, though I find it difficult to reconcile your treatment of me with that toward your sister. Did you really do all those awful things to your own kin?”
“I may have made a slight exaggeration.” Damn, but he found her inexpressibly fetching. “But she is, indeed, leg-shackled, and she currently carries either my fourth nephew or my first niece.”
“Leg-shackled? You make it sound so romantic. She must be a saint.” Slowly, Lenore stretched and stood upright. Then she scrutinized the hammock. “Perhaps I should give this a try, as I would not cause trouble.”
“I think you are a little late for that.” Because she incited a whole host of disreputable fantasies in his brain, and Blake tried but failed to ignore the provoking sensations below his belly button. Why could he not master himself in her presence? “Grasp the edge of the canvas, and ease into it.”
“Like this?” With a distinct teeter, she sat. But when she attempted to recline, the makeshift bed pitched and rolled, and she crashed to the floor.
“That does it.” As he helped Lenore recover, Lucy strolled in with the first mate. “Portman, have the carpenters reinstall Caroline’s old bunk for Miss Teversham.”
“Aye, sir.” Portman sketched a salute, stepped into the hall, and barked a series of orders.
“Good evening, Cap’n.” Dr. Avery loomed in the doorway. “I understand I have a new patient.”
“Lenny is hurling her guts.” Lucy scrunched her face and then burst into mirth. “She detests boat travel.”
“How many times must I ask you not to call me that in—oh.” Green as a toad, Lenore dove for the bucket and shuddered. Yet, even in her disheveled state, she possessed a quiet reserve and semblance of sophistication he found oddly reminiscent of something or someone he could not quite identify.
“I say, she is ill.” The doctor grimaced, as Lenore sobbed. “Worry not, Cap’n. Give it a few days, and she will gain her sea legs, just as Miss Caroline has on occasions too numerous to count.”
“As always, I rely on you.” Struck by a steadfast awareness, an invisible but nonetheless potent connection he was too wise to ignore, Blake studied what seemed, for all intents and purposes, an ordinary woman. Yet his reaction to her was anything but ordinary, and he wondered what fate had just delivered to his ship. “Keep me abreast of her condition, as she is priceless cargo.”
CHAPTER TWO
The sun rose and set, intermittently coloring the small stateroom in a soft saffron hue from either the bright rays filtering through the window or the candlelight from the wall sconces, in a morose indication of the length of her malady. Amid an infinite haze of confusion and nausea, Lenore lost all track of time. Too weak to support the weight of her head, she leaned against Dr. Avery, disgorged her stomach’s contents, and sobbed.
“Miss Teversham, we must keep the water down, since you decline the hot grog.” The grey-haired, bespectacled man wiped her mouth and brought a mug to her lips, which she resisted. “Please, you must consume more fluids, else you may not retain sufficient strength to survive.”
For how long she knew not, but the kind physician had been encouraging her to take some horrendous rum-heavy concoction, the vile aroma of which she just could not tolerate. A simple whiff of the noxious blend caused a wicked round of heaves, so she declined his advice. Instead, she told herself the odious affliction would pass, as it always did. She had only to persevere.
“Mercy, I beg you.” As she sank into her pillow, the simple surroundings spun out of control, and again she retched into the large basin her sister held. “I am sorry, doctor. But I
do not think I can take much more of your aid.” She pushed him away. “I want to sleep.”
“That is out of the question, as you may not wake.” The physician urged her to contemplate the disagreeable beverage, but she rebuffed his efforts. “Will you not take a biscuit?”
“You must try, Lenny.” The fear in Lucy’s expression, coupled with her grip on Lenore’s fingers, only incited more anxiety. “Or how about a piece of bread? The cook baked some fresh loaves this morning, and Cap’n shares your partiality for blackberry jam, so there is plenty in store, and he is happy to share. Does that not sound delicious?”
“No, it does not.” At the mere suggestion, she blanched. Dizzy, she could not fathom eating a single bite of anything, so she collapsed to the mattress of the small bunk, which Captain Elliot declared he had removed in order to provide a more comfortable and expansive accommodation. “And this is nothing unusual, so will you not let me bear my customary ailment in peace?”
“But you are gravely ill, Miss Teversham.” Frowning, Dr. Avery wiped her brow with a damp cloth. “I fear you underestimate the situation, as you have struggled these four days at sea, and you cannot persist on your current course.”
“I do not get your inference.” In vain, she tried to focus on the timbers overhead, but her vision blurred. “This is not my first bout with queasiness aboard ship, and I suspect it will not be my last. Daresay I will prevail, if you would but grant a brief respite, as I am so tired.”
“Miss Lucy, will you be so kind as to summon the Cap’n?” The doctor pressed a cool compress to Lenore’s forehead, and she moaned in appreciation. “Tell him it is urgent.”
“Of course, sir.” After depositing the basin on the table, Lucilla hesitated, as she appeared reluctant to part from Lenore’s side. “I will be right back.”
Ah, yes. Blake. Lenore knew not what to make of her exceedingly handsome host, as one minute he spun frightening tales of his unfortunate sister and her brutal existence, trapped in a forced marriage to a monster, which harked a comparison to Medieval England. In the next instant he held her in his arms and whispered words of reassurance and succor, as he fed her. And he did not complain when she vomited on his beautiful coat and embarrassed herself.
Love With an Improper Stranger Page 2
