Bah humbug!
He had apparently dismissed her the instant he had departed Boston!
She set the picture down and began to gather her drawings, afraid someone might see them.
The voices above deck had quieted with the sun’s descent. Faint murmurs reached her ears, but otherwise only the sound of the wind through the sails was discernible.
The air was stuffy and stale in the tiny cabin. For propriety’s sake, she was forced to keep the door closed, and not a whisper of air penetrated the small room. It was rather like being in a coffin. In fact, the longer she remained, the more morbid became her thoughts—she glanced at the portrait of Harlan—the more delicious was the thought of her revenge.
But if she sat here dwelling on her anger, she was going to murder Harlan in truth.
He looked far too serene in the portrait—far too noble with his patrician nose and rounded chin. And his blue eyes shone with far too angelic a light. His smile was far too kindly.
With a growl, she tossed her pencil down and reached out to slam the picture facedown, so she would be spared his magnanimous gaze.
How could she have been so blind?
No sooner was it down than his face blurred before her eyes completely... replaced by another, and Sophie tried in vain to erase it, too, from the canvas of her brain.
Green eyes and tawny hair ... full lips. His lips ... that was what she had failed to capture ... the pure sensuality of his lips. Sophia shuddered at the sensations that assaulted her with the vision. Her body flushed with heat. She resisted the urge to retrieve her pencil.
He was far more handsome than he deserved to be.
Nor was he anything at all as she had supposed.
Because he was a student of anthropology she had visualized him more like Harlan—soberly dressed and staid, slightly wayward perhaps, but certainly not someone she might mistake for an arrogant dock hand!
She wondered what he was doing up there, and then berated herself for thinking about him at all.
Why should she care what he was doing?
She didn’t think he’d come back to his cabin ... else she would have known it. He would have had to pass her room, as his was the only other cabin on this level—at least on this end of the ship, and Sophie found herself suddenly curious to know if his quarters were as “plush” as her own.
She’d be willing to wager his own quarters weren’t nearly as meager.
Well... there was only one way to find out.
She crawled out of bed as quietly as she was able, leaving her papers in a neat pile and rose carefully so as not to whack her head again. Prowling like a thief, she crept out of her room, into the captain’s dining hall.
In this room was a medium-sized table, with six chairs around it. Snuggled within a nook, a washbasin sat. Bookshelves lined the length of one wall.
Above her, the sun had set completely and cast the lower deck in shadows. She heard voices near, but not so near that she could make out to whom they belonged—not that she would know at any rate. The voices filtered down from somewhere above deck... and somewhere below, but she decided the immediate coast was clear.
Feeling a little like a skulking thief, she made a dash for the captain’s cabin, and threw open the door.
Chapter 7
Sophie shrieked in startle at the sight of Jack seated at his worktable. Throwing up her hands in fright, she clutched at her breast, trying to catch her breath and regain composure.
“What are you doing here!” she asked, her heart thumping fiercely.
His brow lifted, and he gave her an assessing glance, but otherwise didn’t move from where he sat. He was half-dressed once again, shirtless entirely, but this time she had no right to complain.
She was in his cabin.
Uninvited.
He gave her a pointed look. “I would ask you the same.”
Sophie knew she had been caught in the act of snooping, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to apologize—especially after seeing the differences in their quarters. The least he could do was feel just a little guilty! Good God, his room comprised half the lower deck, with windows along the back to let in the sunshine and moonlight. He had the shutters open, and a cool breeze shuffled through, teasing her hair and face.
A tallish wardrobe occupied the wall behind her, and a private washroom the niche beside it. Behind the desk where he sat was another massive bookshelf that spilled over with books. His bed was a hammock that occupied practically half the room and there was room for a second hammock above the table where he sat. Lanterns, six of them, two per wall, were lit against the setting sun, throwing warm golden light over the floors and polished maple table.
“I didn’t hear you come down,” she said, looking around, feeling a bit outraged.
She had paid an exorbitant fare of ten thousand dollars for passage aboard this accursed ship! The least he could have done was to have offered her better living quarters!
“I’ll be sure to warn you next time,” he told her, and the sarcasm in his tone was not lost on her.
Sophie’s face heated, but she ignored the barb, inviting herself in. “How novel. One can actually stand in your cabin.”
He set down his papers, making a point to turn them over, as though to hide them, and Sophie wondered what it was he was reading to guard them so jealously.
“Your powers of observation are astounding,” he countered.
Sophie gave him her most winsome smile, liberally laced with derision. “You give me far too much credit Mr. MacAuley. I hardly think it takes a keen eye to note the difference.”
He ignored her subtle complaint. “So tell me,” he prompted, “was there any particular reason you came bursting into my cabin... seeing as how you were evidently surprised to find me here?”
Sophie frowned, noting the way he had begun to collect his papers and set them inside a drawer as though to remove them from her reach. It was a ridiculous notion, but he was staring at her a bit accusingly. “To steal all your theories, of course,” she answered flippantly.
He didn’t laugh at her jest.
In fact, his frown deepened and he stared at her a bit more intensely. Those green eyes of his seemed entirely too perceiving. They bore into her, and Sophie’s heart began to beat a little faster under his careful scrutiny.
He was handsome, stunningly so, with his rugged good looks. His jaw was strong, with the slightest cleft that seemed to invite the delicate brush of a lover’s thumb. His tanned skin, she realized, came from long hours in the sun, but not laboring on the docks as she’d first supposed. She could well imagine him burrowing shirtless in the dirt, searching for buried treasures.
She envied him fiercely.
All Sophie had ever wanted was the chance to learn—a chance to travel and discover new worlds. Her dream to mother Harlan’s children had been second to all her own. Only now that she was suddenly free of Harlan did she see it all so clearly. It was almost as though a burden had been lifted off her shoulders. She didn’t want to be married. Shocking as the idea was, it took root and began to grow.
Jack studied her, trying to determine if she were telling him the truth.
He had joked privately to himself that she had come to spy, but hearing it so boldly from her lips gave him reason for pause. Could she truly have come spying for Penn? He wouldn’t put it past Harlan, but would Sophia Vanderwahl lower herself to such a level?
“So you miss your fiancé?” he asked her, his voice laden with sarcasm as he watched her changing expressions.
“I do?” she replied, and blinked, drawn out of private thoughts by his question. And then with a great deal more enthusiasm, she declared, “Oh, yes, I do!”
“In fact, you miss him so much that you are willing to piss away ten thousand dollars just to see him?”
“Mr. MacAuley!”
“Is that true, Mizz Vanderwahl?”
Once again that flash of anger appeared, but then it was gone as quickly as it presente
d itself, and her tone was even when she spoke. “Yes.”
“You miss him so much that you are willing to travel with an entourage of strange men in less than stately accommodations?”
The fire in her eyes was back. “Yes.”
“You miss him so much, actually, that you are willing to travel against your father’s wishes just to see him?”
“I am not traveling against my father’s wishes!”
“No?”
“He doesn’t know, Mr. MacAuley. I didn’t tell him. He would have worried.”
“I see... so you were so hungry for the sight of Harlan that you left without even bothering to tell your parents where you were going?”
Her chin lifted a bit. “I left a letter, of course.”
“Lucky fiancé.”
Of course, what she was saying might be true, but he didn’t believe her. That wasn’t her reason for seeking Jack out. She was on this boat for a reason, and he intended to watch her closely to find out what it was. He’d be damned if he’d just hand over his hard work to Penn so easily.
He stood, his gaze never leaving her.
Her gaze locked with his, and her expression was wary as she watched him... as it should be. “What are you doing?”
Certainly not what he’d like to be doing.
Without a word, he came around his desk, physically forming a barrier between her and his research—not that he thought she would dare go after it in his presence, but he hoped it sent her a message. He knew what she was after, and he wanted her to know that he knew. He leaned casually against his desk, though he felt anything but casual in her presence.
Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Staring rudely!”
His brows lifted. “Am I?” he asked coolly, shifting his weight to relieve the growing ache in his trousers.
“Again!”
He made no move toward her, resisting the urge. He wanted to go to her... wanted to teach her a lesson about entering strange men’s cabins without permission or protection. He wanted to show her what her presence did to him. He wanted her to see it, feel it. She had no idea what thin ice she was treading on. If he were a different man that bravado of hers wouldn’t keep her safe enough.
She stood a little straighter. “Do you always stare at women that way?”
“What way?”
“That way.”
“Enlighten me, Mizz Vanderwahl.”
“As though you will swallow me up like some lion and spit out my bones!”
He was, indeed, hungry—intuitive little vixen.
“No,” he answered truthfully. It had been a long time since a woman had distracted him so completely. He’d like to slam that door at her back and pin her against it, kiss those soft- looking lips until her knees buckled and he swept her into his arms and put himself out of his misery.
And he was in misery at the moment, aroused for no reason at all, except that she had dared walk into his bedroom ... into the lion’s den.
It was going to be a long journey.
He decided it was high time to set some ground rules. With purpose, he moved toward her. It’d be in her best interest to learn before, not after, what dangers lurked for a woman alone in a man’s bedroom. He had given her the cabin nearest his for her own protection, but he was beginning to realize that there was no one around to protect her from him. He wasn’t Harlan H. Penn III, and he wasn’t accustomed to tiptoeing around his desires.
She didn’t retreat, merely watched him, and he told her, “You’re a brave woman, Mizz Vanderwahl.”
She took a step backward then, but otherwise held her ground, and he knew she had no idea how close she was to finding herself thoroughly kissed.
Her chin lifted higher as she watched him approach. “Whatever do you mean?”
He fully intended to show her.
He stopped directly in front of her, entering her space, and waited to see what she would do.
She must have read the desire in his eyes, because she said, “You wouldn’t dare!”
But he would.
“Dare what?” he taunted, knowing she wouldn’t say it.
She didn’t answer, and he knew she was suddenly uncertain of his intentions. She looked so adorably confused that Jack only craved her more.
He smiled. “Call me Jack, Sophia.”
She lifted her chin higher yet, but didn’t retreat, and her response pleased him immensely. She wasn’t a coward, but she might just be naive. If she only realized what thoughts were going through his head at the moment, she would run, without question.
His mouth went dry with desire.
How would she respond to his kiss?
Would she slap him indignantly and walk away?
Or would she kiss him back, offering that sweet tongue for him to suckle?
She was near enough that he could easily find out...
Chapter 8
Sophie lifted her chin. “What if I don’t want to call you Jack?”
She knew she sounded petulant and childish but couldn’t help it. When he looked at her like that she couldn’t think at all. He came nearer, standing so close now that she could feel his body heat, and she held her breath as he spoke.
“Then don’t. I am a great advocate of free will, Sophia.” Staring at her still, he reached out, lifting a strand of hair from her face, brushing it gently aside. The gesture was such an intimate one that Sophie swallowed any response she might have uttered. “Man must always follow his greatest impulse.”
Sophie lifted a brow. “Man?” She tried to retain her coolness though her heart beat like native drums. “And what about woman, Mr. MacAuley?”
“Of course, I’m an advocate of women, as well,” he answered softly, and Sophie quivered at the sultry timbre of his voice. He winked at her, but he hadn’t quite answered her question as yet, and she wasn’t so flustered she didn’t notice.
He was standing too close, but she found she didn’t want to move.
What was wrong with her that she didn’t just walk away? This was an entirely inappropriate position she was in, and yet...
“That’s not precisely what I meant, Mr. MacAuley.”
His voice was silky. “Tell me what you meant, Miss Vanderwahl.”
He came closer, she thought, though it didn’t seem as though he’d moved at all, and his proximity dizzied her. His breath was warm against her face, teasing her. His scent drew her nearer... sunshine and sea... and something more.
She tried to keep her train of thought. “Do you believe in free will for women too?”
“Of course.”
She tilted him a smart glance. “Even for your own?”
He smiled slightly, bending closer, his eyes sparkling with mockery. “Personally I have never owned one,” he whispered, “but if I did, certainly.”
“Owned one?”
He grinned slowly, and Sophia realized he was toying with her. Her eyes narrowed.
“What a bigoted thing to say!”
She straightened indignantly, but the response merely brought her face nearer to his.
“In defense I would argue that yours was a confrontational sort of question, Mizz Vanderwahl, including even its phrasing, and that I was merely answering as in kind.”
Their lips were entirely too close now, their breaths intermingling as intimately as that of lovers, and his voice was seductively low. Sophie felt strangely exhilarated by his nearness. Harlan had never made her heart pound so fiercely. Nor had her skin felt so hungry for his touch. Jack’s simple gesture of removing her hair from her face had left her wanting somehow.
Did he intend to kiss her now?
Did he want to?
Sophie held her breath, gazing up at him.
“I wasn’t looking for an argument.” Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears.
“No?”
She lowered her eyes, lest he read her thoughts.
“No.”
“Then what were you looking for?”
Sophie blinked at his question. Indeed, what was she looking for? And why was she still here?
He reached out and touched her forehead with his thumb, a soft caress. “Definitely a bruise, but not too bad.”
Her knees felt suddenly weak. She lifted her hand, brushing his in search of her bruised forehead. “It doesn’t hurt,” she said softly.
He smiled, and the smile gleamed wickedly in his eyes. “Need someone to kiss it and make it better?”
The very suggestion took her breath away.
She took a step backward, and he followed. Did she appear as wide-eyed as she felt? Suddenly she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Why did you book passage on this ship, Sophia?”
“I... I wanted to see Harlan,” she stammered, but it seemed suddenly the most ridiculous notion.
He leaned against the doorframe at her side. “Did he put you up to it?”
Sophie swallowed, uncomfortable with the look in his eyes. She shook her head, and took another step backward. “He doesn’t know.”
“What doesn’t he know?”
“That I’m coming... to see him. I didn’t tell him.”
His expression changed suddenly and something flickered in the depths of his eyes... concern perhaps. For her? Her heart squeezed just a little. Did everyone know about Harlan’s dalliances but her? Anger welled once more within her.
She didn’t need Jack MacAuley’s pity.
But he was looking at her suddenly as though she were some wretched little girl whose heart had been broken by her favorite beau. Well, her heart was not broken! Harlan was not the one calling the shots here!
She was not a victim!
Sophie didn’t know what came over her in that instant—anger perhaps, but not anger alone.
By God, she was not to be pitied!
She flung herself at Jack, wrapping her arms about his neck, and kissed him smartly. He was so startled by the embrace that he scarcely had the good sense to hold her. Sophie pushed away as comprehension seemed to reach him, and spun on her heels, leaving him open-mouthed and staring after her.
To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection Page 35
