To Love a Lord: A Victorian Romance Collection

by Crosby, Tanya Anne

  The first and smallest bag had been tossed aside. It had been crushed, actually. Sophie winced at the sight of it... her mirrors and toiletry. The scent of perfume permeated the cabin. The second, too, had been destroyed along with its contents and now sported more than abundant ventilation, but the third remained in place, the cannonball snuggled deep within the folds of her very expensive gowns.

  Sophie cringed at the imagined sound of her mother’s voice in her ear, shrieking with indignation.

  As she watched, they dragged that suitcase aside as well, and then her bedclothes, and found the cannonball had stopped short of destroying the wooden structure that was her bed. It was cracked and dented from the impact, but otherwise intact.

  She blinked at the sight of it.

  It was, indeed, fortunate for them all that she had packed heavily. After it had ripped through the sails and crashed through the deck, and then three suitcases, her gowns had provided adequate stoppage for the ball.

  Her gaze was drawn to the picture of Harlan she had placed face up on the bed this morning. Less than a foot or so to the right and his face would have been plastered to the cannonball... but it had been spared... more’s the pity.

  “Isn’t that... lucky,” Sophie managed to say, her stomach roiling.

  Now what was she going to wear?

  Jack glared at her, his green eyes smoldering with ire. “For the first time I can honestly say I’m damned grateful a woman never travels light!”

  Sophie didn’t know whether to be relieved or offended by his remark. Since she couldn’t very well defend herself, she might have been inclined to defend all womankind in that instant except that she was afraid to even open her mouth.

  “If there is a God out there,” he told her, “we’ve seen proof of it today!”

  She thought he meant because they had been spared. The ship was intact and they weren’t going to plummet to the bottom of the sea to be eaten by little fishies.

  “Out of everywhere on this ship that ball could have landed,” he continued angrily, “this is the one place where justice is served!”

  Sophie opened her mouth to speak in self-defense and indignation, but nothing came out.

  She closed it again.

  It was true—even though he didn’t have to be so gleeful over her loss!

  She peered up at the hole in her ceiling to find half a dozen pair of eyes staring down at them, and turned to face Jack again, wincing at his wrathful stare.

  She straightened her shoulders. “You really don’t have to shout,” she told him with as much dignity as she could muster.

  She had tried so very hard to make up for their first meeting. So much for the morning’s efforts. It seemed she and Jack were destined to remain forever at odds.

  * * *

  Jack MacAuley was an insensitive brute!

  Sophie came to that decision as she lay in her bed, staring at the stars through the hole in her roof.

  She wondered how a man could grow to be so hard, but she didn’t really wish to explore the answer to that question because she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. If he’d had a hard life because of his upbringing, well, it wasn’t Sophie’s fault. Nor was it her fault that her life had been made easier by her own birth circumstances.

  And neither was the afternoon’s mishap entirely her fault either!

  He didn’t have to come storming into their midst, shouting in anger. He’d frightened her, and she’d tripped, and she had just as much right as he did to be angry. She could have been hurt, but he hadn’t even stopped to think about that!

  The look in his eyes had been terrifying—almost as terrifying as her mother’s had been to her as a child.

  Her father had been soft-spoken to the extreme, bowing to her mother’s every wish, and no one in her household had ever dared go against Olivia Vanderwahl’s edicts. Only Sophie’s grandmother had ever dared scold her mother, and then only with subtle undertones that Sophie hadn’t understood for many years.

  In truth, she hadn’t even realized her father had any backbone at all until she had seen him at work in his own environment, and then it had left no doubt in her mind who was truly in charge of their household. Despite the emotional berth her parents seemed to give each other, her father had humored her mother in most things. Sophie supposed a man didn’t always have to exert his dominance... not if he had nothing to prove, and her father hadn’t had a thing to prove.

  Jack MacAuley was somewhat of a different animal, she decided.

  He didn’t actually exert his dominance over anyone... but those in his presence seemed to bow to him anyway—even Kell to some degree. It was obvious the two of them were friends, but Kell hadn’t even stood up to him to defend her, beyond his simple statement that it wasn’t all her fault.

  Aside from that, they’d all thrown her to the proverbial wolf!

  A pall had been cast over all their moods for the remainder of the day, while the damage had been assessed and repaired. Their chores had been attended to in a sort of contemplative silence—and Sophie doubted they were all having life-altering revelations triggered by the simple fact that she’d very nearly killed them all today. No, everyone’s mood was a reflection of Jack’s—including her own.

  He hadn’t bothered to fix her roof, however, and Sophie thought he wanted to see her suffer just a little.

  What on Earth had she done to deserve his animosity?

  She frowned as she considered that.

  Because she had yelled at him on the dock for his lack of dress ... accused him of thievery... broke his stove... burned his breakfast... and nearly sunk his ship.

  She sighed.

  Her demerits were really adding up.

  She heard voices above and tried to ignore them, wholly grateful they had chosen to do the same. Out of consideration, they seemed to be avoiding the gaping hole in their deck.

  Which was more than she could say for Jack.

  Her attention caught by their conversation, she strained to hear him. His voice was unmistakable. He was talking to Kell, she surmised—mostly because Kell seemed the only one willing to question His Holiness, for he clearly believed he had never done anything wrong in his entire life! No, Jack MacAuley was untouchable, never culpable, perfect! She gritted her teeth as she listened to them.

  “Maybe we should throw a tarp over it,” Kell suggested, and Sophie knew they were discussing the gaping masterpiece in her ceiling.

  “Hell no!” he answered. “Let her sleep with it tonight.”

  Silence a moment.

  She heard the shuffling of feet, and Sophie wondered if he’d intended for her to hear this particular conversation. Probably so. He didn’t strike her as the sort of man to leave anything to chance.

  “Jack,” Kell protested. “It feels like rain tonight.”

  “Good,” Jack retorted, without the least pause.

  Sophie bristled.

  She had paid good money—ten thousand dollars to be precise—for the dubious privilege of boarding this blasted vessel! Why should she be forced to sleep under the stars? It wasn’t as though she hadn’t suffered already. She had no clothes to wear!

  “If she wants a tarp over it, she can damned well put one over it herself,” Jack continued, his tone adamant. “She has two legs and two hands, Kell, and this isn’t a cruise expressly for her pleasure. I told her that to begin with, and we aren’t here to do her damned bidding!”

  “I really don’t mind,” Kell countered.

  “I do.” Jack’s tone brooked no argument.

  Silence again.

  Then Jack exclaimed, “My God, man, have you forgotten what we’re dealing with here?”

  Kell’s answer was softly spoken, almost reluctant. “No.”

  “Good, because they’re both in cahoots, and the last thing I intend to do is to make her job easier!”

  Sophie’s brow furrowed.

  Their conversation was no longer making sense.

  What were they dealing with?
Who was in cahoots? Whose job? Was he talking about her?

  Her mind raced, searching for possibilities, but none seemed to manifest itself.

  In that moment, thunder rumbled overhead, distant but the sound of it fraught with menace.

  “Jack,” Kell said, and it sounded much like a plea on her behalf. Sophie wanted to hug him for his concern.

  Jack, on the other hand, was unmoved, the cur. “If she wants out of the deuced rain badly enough, she’ll figure out how to do it for herself.”

  She heard his footfall ebb, leaving Sophie to gnash her teeth in helpless frustration over his uncharitable behavior.

  Only she wasn’t helpless! He was goading the wrong woman! She certainly wasn’t going to take insult from Jack MacAuley any more than she intended to suffer it from Harlan Penn! They could both go to the devil!

  Another rumble of thunder rolled overhead, and Sophie sat up in her cot and looked about the tiny cabin with disgust. She was cramped and uncomfortable in a room she could scarcely share with her luggage! Not that she had to worry about that particular inconvenience any longer!

  So he wanted her to figure it out, did he? Well, she intended to do just that! Only if he meant to make her suffer, then two could certainly play at this game.

  If he wanted a battle waged between them, then a battle he would get! And her volley this morning would be nothing compared to what she had in store. She had learned something from her mother.

  This was all-out war.

  Chapter 14

  Jack tried to make sense of his anger.

  He knew the afternoon’s accident wasn’t entirely her fault. It was his own—and Kell’s, as well, for showing off. They had purchased the powder for the cannon out of sheer curiosity—a toy of sorts for them to explore together. It damned well annoyed him that his friend had spent the entire day showing off to his woman.

  But she wasn’t really his woman.

  Kell’s defense of her had only provoked him all the more. The man had never defended anyone against him—even when his anger had been unreasonable! Jack had once damned the entire faculty of the university, taking a stand against capitalistic exclusionary academics, putting his career on the line for something that had been of minuscule importance in the grand scheme of things. His fury had been tangible. Kell had backed him the entire way, only injecting the voice of reason when it was appropriate... to keep him from cutting off his nose to spite his face.

  The fact was that Kell had every right to spend the day with Sophie. She wasn’t Jack’s woman!

  He still didn’t like it.

  Her door was open, he noticed, when he passed her cabin on the way to his own, but she wasn’t inside. Where the hell could she be? She wasn’t above deck, of that he was certain. It wasn’t a big enough ship that he would have missed her. Anyway, she would have had to pick her way through the mess hall where at least half his crew was fast asleep in their hammocks, and he doubted she would have braved the course. If their snores weren’t enough to keep her at bay, their half-naked torsos would have sent her scurrying back to her room.

  It didn’t take him long to figure out where she had gone. He heard a ruckus in his own cabin, and his hackles rose. What the hell was she doing? Snooping again? This time he was bloody well going to catch her red-handed!

  He threw the door open, expecting to find her going through his papers, and froze in shock at what she was doing instead.

  She was dividing the room with sheets, setting up house in her half of the room. She’d already found and strung a hammock on the second set of hooks and stood there looking like a beautiful vixen in her white nightgown. The hem of the otherwise pristine gown was shorn and stained, but the gauzy material lifted and fluttered behind her when she spun to face him. Bathed in the lantern light, she looked a little like a banshee—ethereal in her beauty and fierce ... seductive ... like the breeze on a hot sultry night.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Jack had never seen such fiery determination in a woman’s eyes. Beautiful eyes, despite their furor.

  “What does it appear I am doing?”

  He stood in the doorway with his hands on the knob, his jaw slack. “Aside from making a mess of my cabin?”

  “I am not making a mess!” she said, splitting hairs as far as Jack was concerned. “I am making myself comfortable!”

  “I see that,” Jack countered, raising a brow. “What I want to know is why? Who the hell gave you permission to set up house here?”

  She let her sheet fall from her grasp and advanced upon him suddenly, thrusting her finger into his chest. “I did!” she declared.

  Jack blinked down at her.

  Her eyes sparkled, flashing with ire. “I paid good money for passage aboard this ship and I will not be crammed into a wretched little cabin to suffer a perpetual shower!”

  Her finger rested between his ribs, jabbing him lightly, and her determination was more than evident in her stance. He almost admired what she was doing... except that it was bound to make his life utterly miserable.

  “How about I just give you your money back and send you home on a raft,” he offered, without any real intent.

  For just an instant, she was taken aback by his suggestion, seeming to take him seriously. Jack nearly smiled at the look of shock on her face. But she only stood straighter at his threat, and faced him squarely.

  “Put me out on a raft, Mr. MacAuley, and I will... I will...” She frowned, unable to come up with a suitable retribution.

  He arched a brow. “Tell your daddy?”

  “No!” she exploded, and jabbed her finger a little harder. Jack winced. “I would see you suffer the greatest indignity for it!”

  Christ, she was beautiful.

  “The greatest indignity, huh?”

  Her cheeks were flushed with color and her eyes fairly glowed with indignation. They reminded him just now of fine whiskey, the rich amber clarity of the liquid against crystal. Her hair was a rich, silky auburn that turned to flame under the soft, warm light of the lanterns, and he resisted the urge to pull it back out of her face... to touch her.

  He wanted to taste her just now, silence her with a brutal lover’s kiss. His body tightened with the realization that she would be alone in his cabin.

  Fair game.

  But she must come to him.

  He came in the door, forcing her backward as he advanced on her. She retreated as he kicked the door closed behind him. And yet still she stood her ground, crossing her arms, glaring at him as fiercely as a wild mustang refusing to be broken.

  By God, he wanted to ride her: The very thought aroused him painfully.

  Would she wrap her legs around his waist and cling to him as desperately as she challenged him, urging him deeper with soft little cries of desire?

  Or would she make love to him with as much passion as she fought, digging her hands into his buttocks and drawing him deeper.

  “Can’t bear the thought of suffering great indignities.” he said, his voice taut, though not with fury, but with barely restrained desire. “Stay, then.”

  She didn’t seem to sense the difference. She smiled in victory, and Jack very nearly smiled back at her, but he didn’t.

  Let her think she’d won.

  He took her by the shoulders to move her gently aside, and his body experienced an instant shock at the touch. It startled him. She felt it as well; he saw it in her eyes, heard it in her gasp of surprise.

  Sophie’s breath left her in a rush.

  For the briefest instant, she stood stupefied, staring into eyes that seemed to see far too deeply into her soul. Her heartbeat quickened painfully, and she swallowed convulsively.

  The shock of his touch left her dazed.

  He felt it, too; she could see it in his eyes.

  She’d never felt so affected by a simple touch.

  Without another word, he set her aside and walked around her. Like an addle-pated ninny, she merely stood there, staring at t
he door a bit stupidly. His touch had startled her far more than his capitulation.

  She’d expected a battle from him, and had been more than prepared to wage it. Now that she had her way—and worse, the door was closed—and she was alone with him, there seemed a far different battle raging inside her.

  He sat down at his desk and she went back to hanging the sheets. Determined to give herself some privacy at least, she tried to ignore him as best she could.

  She’d strung the blankets over ropes she had tied to each wall, forming a curtain of sorts. In the mornings, they could push them aside, so the room would be accessible to both. At night, they would simply close them. Sophie claimed the side of the room with the washbasin and no door. She gave him the door, just in case someone needed him in the middle of the night for some emergency, such as if the boat decided suddenly to fall apart and they were all going to die and needed Jack to stand around and yell at everyone to die with dignity.

  “I really hope you don’t snore,” she told him petulantly, feeling querulous still, although he hadn’t said a word since his initial protest.

  He didn’t bother looking up from his work to answer her. “I hope you don’t, either.”

  Sophie had started this particular altercation; still she took offense. “Of course I don’t!”

  He didn’t look up, and his continued dismissal grated on her nerves—almost as much as the derisive brow that shot up at her declaration. “That’s what they all say.”

  “Hmmph!” she declared and closed the curtain so she wouldn’t have to see him.

  That’s what who all said? All his women? His answer needled her.

  Why should she care if he’d had a thousand women? Of course, she didn’t, she told herself. She scarcely knew him, and more, she didn’t want to know him any better! The man was entirely insufferable.