by North, Evie
“No,” she whispered, “No, I don’t. I’ve never let a man touch me there.”
His eyes glittered as he looked up at her. His lips were wet from their kisses and his expression was so compelling she could not look away. Not even when he slipped his fingers along her aching flesh, back and forth, teasing her into making sounds she had never made before. And then he found her swollen bud.
In times of desperate need, after Terrence had been kissing her to distraction, she would touch herself there. It helped relieve the need that had built up inside her. Helped, but it was never enough. And now she knew why. Because what Maddox was doing to her with his sure touch was oh so much more.
He stroked, circled her, pressed down. She arched against him, her lips parted as she tried to breathe, her eyes still fixed on his.
And she could tell that what he was doing to her, what she was feeling, gave him pleasure too.
“I can feel you weeping for me,” he groaned. “If I wasn’t a damn invalid right now I would show you the bliss to be had with a man and not a boy, Gabriella.”
Before she could stop him, he burrowed beneath her skirts and she felt his mouth upon her. His tongue. And then he sucked the bud into his mouth.
The wave hit her. Gasping, she went limp, her head falling onto his pillow. Her heart was beating so hard it threatened to fight its way out of her chest, and it was a moment before she was able to think clearly enough to realise what had happened. What she had allowed to happen.
He was lying beside her, but his hand was still beneath her skirts and between her legs. Hastily she pushed him away. The yacht dipped and voices shouted from the deck above, reminding her where she was. She knew one thing. Maddox had not employed her as his mistress, and if she allowed this to go on, if she didn’t draw a line between them now, then she might end up being just that.
When she felt able to meet his eyes again, she found him frowning up at the low ceiling, as if he was wondering where he was. It occurred to her that although he had seemed lucid enough he may not have been in his right mind when he touched her. Would he even remember it?
Guiltily, she knew she would be relieved if he thought their moments of bliss had all been part of a feverish dream.
“Maddox.” She placed the back of her hand on his forehead, feeling the dry heat of his skin. The man was ill and she had allowed him to touch her intimately, used him for her own pleasure. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed. The warm ache between her legs was subsiding and she tried to ignore it and all it meant.
Maddox blinked, staring into her eyes and yet not quite able to focus. “Yes?” he said. “Is it time? Will they hang me like Gervais? Hold my hand until the end, sweetheart, and my father will reward you well.”
She shook her head. “You are not going to be hanged, Maddox. You are safe aboard your father’s yacht. We are going to Italy. Now lie back and I will try to cool you so that you can sleep.”
“Gabriella?” He said her name as if he had forgotten she was there. He had forgotten, just as she’d hoped, and it came as a relief, but it was also a disappointment, and that was one emotion she refused to examine.
“Hush now. Hush.”
Like an obedient child he lay back but he couldn’t keep still, and soon he was ranting again. She held him down, sometimes lying across him so he wouldn’t hurt himself by flinging his body out of the bunk. There was nothing of pleasure in this, she was trying to help him, and although his skin smelt of sweat and male, she refused to let it affect her. If anyone had told her a week ago that she would be aboard a luxury yacht nursing a sick gentleman, she would have thought them insane.
Eventually he quietened, and soon he was too weak to do much more than groan in pain and mutter in confusion.
She was dozing off herself when a knock on the door came. She started up, eyes going to Maddox. He was still now, breathing in short sharp pants. Before she could call for whoever it was to come in, the door opened. One of the crew stood there, a burly chap with grey hair and a ruddy face.
He introduced himself in accented English as Cadiz, named after the port where he was born, and said he had some medical knowledge. The captain had sent him to her, to see if he could help. Gabriella searched her tired mind and recalled that earlier today she’d had a conversation with the captain when he’d visited the cabin. Maddox had said little, but as the captain was leaving Gabriella had asked him privately whether it might be safer to return to England. The captain had said it made more sense to continue on to Italy.
“Master Maddox would not want to be taken by the authorities helpless on his sickbed, Miss Jones,” he had said, with a glance over her shoulder at the man in the cabin. “I know he’d prefer to take his chances here, on the sea.”
Now Cadiz began to unwrap the bandage on Maddox’s arm. It must have hurt because he groaned and moved restlessly, but apart from a murmur of apology, the seaman kept on with his task.
“Has the captain changed his mind?” she asked anxiously. “You can see how ill Mr Hawley is. Are we going back to England?”
Cadiz gave her a wink, and said in a confidential voice, “He’s a wild one, is Master Maddox. Always has been. He’d want to die as he lived. His father knows that so don’t you worry about any of this coming back on you, miss.”
“I’m not worried, not about that,” she said, watching anxiously as the wound was disclosed. It was red and swollen, and the man tut-tutted.
“We’ve work to do here,” he said. “Are you up to it, miss? Some young ladies turn faint at the sight of puss.”
Gabriella did feel a tad queasy but she didn’t show it. She lifted her chin and retorted that she was made of sterner stuff.
Cadiz began to clean out the wound, pouring alcohol into it and making Maddox shout more words Gabriella had never heard before. Then she and Cadiz took turns sitting up by the patient, giving him sips of water and watching for any change for the worse.
Another dawn had come and gone, but here in the cabin it may as well still be night time. The aroma of sickness made her long to be up on deck, but the rough weather meant she couldn’t even open the porthole. The cabin was rather luxurious, however, a far cry from most sailing vessels, or so she assumed. Maddox’s father was obviously a wealthy man and she realised she didn’t know anything about him.
First she had taken the offer Lord Rattray had given her, knowing she had no other choice, and then she had agreed to Maddox’s proposal out of similar desperation. Her life had taken some strange turns indeed in a very short time.
Gabriella’s gaze returned to the man upon the bunk. He was still now, and she knew the fever was reaching its peak. Cadiz had assured her they had done all they could and that it was just a matter of waiting. In an effort not to imagine the worst she began to talk to him, despite fearing he was past the point of hearing her.
“You are quite unlike anyone I have ever known,” she said. “Although I suppose you would say I have led a sheltered life. Until recently that is. I have made up for my lack of experience since I met you.”
No response. He lay still and silent. Earlier he had been muttering about more people she did not know, his family perhaps, but he seemed to have run out of conversation.
“I wish I knew you better,” she said quietly. “Why did you fight a duel and injure a man so badly that he might die? Was it for the thrill of it, or was there a reason you were so incensed? I’d like to think there was a good reason.”
Duels were often fought over women, which brought another notion to mind.
“Do you have a sweetheart, Maddox?”
If there was another woman he loved, would he have kissed her quite so thoroughly? Would he have stroked her body until she soared upwards to the stars? Perhaps. Lord Rattray had a wife somewhere in the country and that didn’t stop him from pursuing her. Gabriella had always hoped that if she met a man she loved and who loved her, that he would be faithful to her.
She supposed that in Maddox Hawley’s world such bo
urgeois notions were to be laughed at. And then she reminded herself that a man like Maddox Hawley would never love a girl like her, and for some reason that seemed a pity.
“Well, no matter,” she said, trying to lift her spirits. “I think you were fortunate when you hired me to care for you. If I wasn’t here, who would help you to drink when you were thirsty, or bathe you when you’re burning up? Who would listen to your secrets? You might not have even made it to the boat today. Yes, you are very lucky I am here.”
Lucky for her too, she thought. If he didn’t die, of course. Gabriella bit her lip, wishing there was more she could do, and wrung out the cloth in the basin of water, ready to slide it over his hot skin again. He was half naked, his chest only just covered by the sheet, and it was a moment before she understood why it was plastered to him. He was drenched.
The fever had broken! Sweat was popping out of his skin, dripping down into the bed, and cooling him at last.
“Oh thank God,” she murmured. There were tears in her eyes, blurring the sight of him, and she didn’t realise he was awake until he took her by surprise.
“I’m not sure God has anything to do with it,” he spoke in a croaky voice. “Far too hot for His liking.” He sounded quite reasonable, if weak, and she wondered if he had heard her ramblings. Or more importantly, if he remembered touching her with his hands and mouth earlier.
She cleared her throat and tried not to feel awkward. He was looking at her as if his sanity had returned. There was even a curl to his lips as if he was finding her, or maybe the situation, darkly amusing.
“There you are,” he said. “I kept hearing your voice but I wasn’t sure whether or not I was dreaming you. I thought you might have jumped ship and run off back to Lord Rattray. At least he would not have forced you to play nursemaid.”
“No, he had much worse things in store for me, and I don’t mind playing nursemaid,” she replied. “Are you thirsty?”
He nodded, and carefully she lifted the beaker of water to his lips, supporting his head when he realised he was too feeble to manage himself. After he had taken his fill, she lowered him back to the bunk and he grimaced.
“Was I very much trouble?” he asked.
“You were quite ill,” she answered. “But your fever has broken and I think now you will get better.”
“I feel so damnably weak,” he complained.
“You will regain your strength.” The memory of his mouth between her legs popped into her head, as real and raw as it had been at the time. Shocked, she tried to hide her feelings from him, but he must have seen something in her expression.
“What is it?” He sounded more like the man she had met in the room in the inn now. “Why are you colouring up like that? What have I done?” But before she could answer him he shook his head. “It can’t have been much. Not when I can barely lift my head.”
Gabriella ignored him. “The cook has made some broth he thinks you can manage. I’ll go and fetch it.”
The next few moments were taken up with spooning the broth into his mouth. After that he slept again, but he was definitely on the mend, much to Gabriella’s relief.
Relief, she told herself firmly, not because she would miss him, but because if Maddox died then she would be cast adrift once again. And in a foreign country, no less! What would become of her? She doubted Maddox’s father would worry about what happened to her, he’d be too busy dealing with his grief over his son.
And yet, as he’d lain ill in his bunk, she had become familiar with most of him. Although Cadiz had dealt with his bodily functions, she had done everything else. Strictly speaking she might still be a stranger to Maddox, but in the short time they’d been together she felt as if she knew him. Intimately.
7
MADDOX
Maddox knew he was on the mend. He could feel his strength returning and couldn’t wait until he was able to stand up and leave this bloody cabin. His arm still ached but the crewman, Cadiz, assured him the worst has passed. He’d had yet another narrow escape. He should be pleased with himself.
Why then did he feel so confused and full of self-disgust?
Something had happened between him and Gabriella and he didn’t remember what it was. He’d searched through the maze of what was left of his memories since they boarded the yacht but there was nothing.
He’d made a decision to be a different sort of man. Had he immediately slipped back into his old habits, albeit while he was delirious? Was that really an excuse? He wanted to apologise to her but first he needed to know what had happened and she wasn’t about to tell him. She looked almost more embarrassed than he felt, and he was guilty enough to let her be.
When she arrived to help him as usual he refused to cooperate. “I can manage.”
She appeared upset, then anxious. “Didn’t you employ me to help you?” Her dark eyes were shadowed with weariness, probably from sitting up all night with him. “What will I do now that you are getting better?”
He ran a hand over his face, trying to clear his foggy brain. He knew what she was thinking, that he would dismiss and abandon her. “I still need you. You were going to be Rattray’s secretary, weren’t you? Write his letters and so on?”
She met his gaze and they were both thinking that that wasn’t all Lord Rattray had planned for her. “Yes.”
“Then that is what I will employ you to be from now on.”
“Just your…secretary?” she repeated, as if to make it clear to them both.
“Just my secretary. Now go up on deck,” he ordered her. “Get some fresh air. And send Cadiz to me. I need to wash. I stink.”
“I can help you…” she began, her fingertips brushing his upper arm. The sensation went straight to his cock and that it twitched into life, under the circumstances, was remarkable.
He turned a scowl on her. Let her think he was in a foul mood, anything to keep her hands off him. He needed to pull himself together, to remind himself yet again that this wasn’t happening.
The question was, had it already?
8
GABRIELLA
Gabriella stood with her bare feet planted on the deck, taking in the bracing sea air and the wild, exciting seascape. She had hardly looked at any of it until now, she had been so intent on Maddox Hawley. Never in her life had she had the opportunity to travel beyond the borders of London—even what lay beyond the parish the orphanage stood in had been like a foreign country to her. And now, here she was, with the salty wind in her face, travelling to a distant land.
The sailors were watching her, grinning at her expression, and the captain came over to ask her how Maddox was doing this morning.
“Better,” she told him. “He would like Cadiz to help him take a bath.” She glanced past the captain’s shoulder to see Cadiz hauling a bucket of sea water from the side. She’d delivered Maddox’s request to him a moment ago.
When she looked back at the captain he was breathing a sigh of relief. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “Despite what I told you, if the earl’s son had died he’d probably have sent the lot of us somewhere very hot and unpleasant.”
“How could he blame you?” Gabriella asked with a frown.
The captain shrugged. “Powerful men can do as they like, and the Earl of Mortmain loves his sons, despite all the pain and worry they’ve put him through over the years.”
Gabriella only heard one part of what the captain said: The Earl of Mortmain!
It was the first time she’d been given the name of Maddox’s father, and it only went to prove what she had already guessed. He was well above her station in life, so far above that if they hadn’t met in that seedy inn then she doubted she would ever have met him at all.
The captain looked at her, curious now. “He said you were his employee?”
“I am his secretary,” she said firmly, raising her chin and daring him to dispute it. There was doubt in the captain’s eyes, and a trace of concern. Probably Maddox often brought women abroad with him for
reasons other than writing his letters.
He nodded, and now there was a hint of amusement in his face. “Well, whatever you are, you probably saved his life. I hope the earl will reward you for that, even if Maddox doesn’t.”
“I need no reward,” she spoke automatically.
“All the same, you never know when a reward may come in useful.” The captain winked at her as he turned away.
As Maddox’s health continued to improve, Gabriella was able to spend more time on her own concerns. She had a great deal to think about. Her life had taken an unexpected turn, but she was grateful that she was now employed by Maddox rather than Lord Rattray. Indeed, whenever she thought of his lordship and remembered his beady eyes on her, she shuddered inside.
As the captain had said, Maddox’s misfortune had been her good luck. Her reward, she told herself, was that he had saved her, although it was tempting to imagine a nice fat purse of coins to help her through what may be difficult years ahead.
Gabriella sighed. Why was the world such a challenging place for a woman without standing or means? A man could stride out and make his own way in the world, but a woman was constantly hemmed about with rules and the judgment of others. She turned to stare back the way they had come, towards the invisible shores of England, and thoughts of the orphanage and the scandal she had left behind. The Laurels had been harsh, dismissing her without a second thought, without caring what would become of her. Gabriella asked herself if she had been entirely too trusting. Was that because she was naïve, or was it just that she was lonely and wanted somewhere to belong? Someone to belong to?
A disturbance caught her attention. She pushed her wild hair out of her eyes—the wind had turned it into a mass of knots that she despaired running a comb through—and saw Maddox being helped up from the below decks. He looked pale and grumpy. She watched him settle himself on the side deck, a shawl around his shoulders and a flask in his hand. He closed his eyes against the sun and leaned back against some cushions while life aboard the yacht went on around him.
