by Jenna Jaxon
“I assure you, I do not intend to make a career of the sea, my lord.”
Rob chuckled and slipped his arm beneath her shoulders.
She stiffened. “What are you doing?”
“Moving you into a sitting position so you can drink the tea without drowning in it.” He pulled her up, careful not to spill the tea, until she sat more or less erect. A tempting armful in more ways than one.
“I said ‘no,’ my lord, and I meant it.” Staring directly into his face, she drew her lips inward.
More spirited now. A very good sign. “I also had a bout with seasickness when I was a lad.” He eased his arm from behind her to free his hand. “I was perhaps ten at the time, and I reacted the same as you. Nothing my grandfather said would convince me to drink this tea.” Grasping the handle with one hand, he tested the temperature with the other, to make sure it had cooled sufficiently. “But my grandfather had a remedy for such stubbornness.” He lifted the cup before her eyes. “Would you prefer to take a sip of your own accord, or shall I demonstrate my grandfather’s method?”
If the daggers in her gaze had been real, he’d have been a dead man.
She clamped her lips shut tight.
Very well. Lady’s choice, then.
Without warning, Rob seized her nose, pinched it shut, and waited.
Lady Georgina’s eyes widened, and she batted at his hand, making it hard not to spill the hot tea on her. “My lady, you are going to make me scald you if you keep this up.”
She opened her lips a crack, letting out a squawk before shutting them a second before he could bring the cup to her lips. The dog started its infernal barking, bumping against his boots as if trying to knock him off his pins. This might be the closest to a cell in Bedlam that he’d ever been.
Disregarding the animal, he moved the cup close to her mouth. She couldn’t hold out much longer without breathing. She had spirit, he’d give her that. Her face had taken on a bright red hue before she opened her mouth at last, gasping for breath.
Nimbly, Rob slipped the edge of the cup to her lips and poured.
Coughing, she almost choked, but got a good swallow down.
He released her nose and held the cup out to her. “Would you care to try the next one on your own?”
“Wretch.” She wiped at her face with the sleeve of her white nightgown, frilly lace at sleeves and neck. The elegance of the garment suited her, somehow. Not surprisingly, she took the cup from him.
“One swallow down, one to go before we advance to the broth.” A good sign that the first sip of tea was staying put. Distractions were good, and came in many different forms. He nodded, waited a moment, but when she didn’t move, he reached for the cup once more.
The lady snatched it out of his reach and took a tiny sip. “Are you satisfied with tormenting me, my lord?”
“I am pleased to see you are assisting with your recovery—What is that dog doing?” He peered down at the bit of fluff trying to worry his good leather boots.
“She is protecting me from unscrupulous gentlemen who would take advantage of a lady when she is obviously suffering and incapacitated with a dire illness.” Frowning, Lady Georgina took another small sip, without his prodding this time.
Excellent.
“Well, she is attempting to ruin my best pair of Hessians. Will you call her off before I am forced to interfere in a manner similarly unpleasant?”
Another look of delightful malice from the expressive green eyes, then Lady Georgina called to the animal. “Lulu, go sit in the corner. I’ll tell you if I need you to”—she stopped abruptly and glanced at him—“assist me further.”
Amazingly, the dog seemed to understand her mistress completely, for she trotted to the corner and lay down, muzzle on outstretched paws. What an extraordinary woman.
“And now, my lady, the broth if you please?” He plucked the cup out of her hand and swiftly substituted a bowl of chicken broth instead.
Wrinkling her nose, Lady Georgina curled her lips up. “Are you always such a bully to your captives, Lord St. Just? I must confess I did not suspect this side of your character when we met at Lyttlefield Park last autumn.”
“As I recall, Lady Georgina, at that time you were not attempting to sail the Channel in the dead of winter.”
“Neither would I be doing so at this moment, Lord St. Just, had you not kidnapped me.”
“I thought I was rescuing you, my lady.” He couldn’t suppress a grin. The woman was charmingly diverting.
“That may be your version of the events. However, I have a different perspective.” She sniffed the bowl of soup and made a face. “I asked you to take me to Blackham Castle, but instead you are taking me to Cornwall when I do not wish to go there.” She raised her chin triumphantly. “I believe that may be the very definition of kidnapping.”
Rob nodded to the bowl. “The broth, my lady?”
Another withering look, but she raised the spoon to her lips and sipped. Her eyes widened. “It’s very good.”
A huge smile spread across Rob’s face. Their first battle met, and they had both come out victors. “I’m glad you like it. Barnes does certain dishes I prefer very well, but in order to accomplish that, he first had to learn to make a good broth.”
She took another, larger sip.
“And for the pièce de résistance”—he grabbed a napkin he’d kept hidden in his pocket—“a biscuit.” Unwrapping it with a flourish, he held up a piece of hard, round bread.
“What is that?” She seemed to shrink back in the bed, as though the biscuit might attack her.
“Hardtack, made from flour and water only, baked for over an hour in the oven.” He banged it on the tray, making the teacup dance. “It’s called that for a reason. It is also the third part of my grandfather’s remedy.” He held it before her face, and she swallowed hard. “Care to try it?”
She eyed him coolly. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Especially if you wish to feel well enough to go up on deck. It’s cold, I’ll grant you, but the breeze is crisp, and the smell of the salt air will cleanse your soul.”
Her eyes changed from sharp and wary to wide and inquisitive. “You have a great fondness for the sea, do you not, St. Just?”
“I admit I do.” Fondness? Lord, so much more than that. “All my life I have loved the sense of freedom she offers. The wide-open skies, the infinite water. Staring out to sea knowing you alone are in charge of your own destiny. The sense of adventure you feel standing at the bow at the break of day watching a new dawn burst into life as the spray stings your face. Riding slow and easy into a sunset that turns every color imaginable.” The life he’d truly been meant to live, save for the accident of his birth. “Had the duties of the marquessate not been my lot in life, I’d have been a sailor. Then I’d never have to leave her.” Distractions did come in many forms. He nodded to the biscuit. “Try a bite.”
Eying the hardtack, Lady Georgina sighed, then raised her eyebrows. “How did your grandfather propose getting this down a reluctant patient?” The humor in her voice made his spirits unaccountably soar.
“Do you wish a demonstration?”
“I do not.” Raising the hard bread to her mouth, the lady nibbled it and curled her lips. “It’s very dry.”
“That’s the secret to it. The dryness settles the stomach. I don’t know why; it just does.” He took the half-eaten bowl of broth, and, after she’d managed a couple of small bites of the hardtack, he whisked that away too, laying it next to the bowl on the tray. “That is quite enough for the moment. Too much will simply set you back.” He rose, well-satisfied with his charge. The lady might be stubborn, but she wasn’t unreasonable. Surprisingly witty, which had been a boon. And very beautiful with her hair mussed and unruly against the pillow.
Where had that come from? Heat rose in Rob’s cheeks at the random thought. The inappropriateness of his being there suddenly dawned on him. Had he just compromised this woman? He grabbed the tray and
started for the door. “I’ll tell Clara that you are feeling a good deal better. When you’ve rested for a bit, I’ll tell her you may dress and come up on deck.”
“That sounds an excellent plan.” Yawning, Lady Georgina slid down between the sheets and smiled at him.
His cock surged up with a sudden desire stronger than any Rob had ever known before. He needed to leave and now, before he did something stupid, like ravish his charge here and now.
“Thank you very much, my lord.” She turned eyes of liquid emerald on him. “You have been most kind . . . for a kidnapper.”
Rob burst out laughing at the unexpected and less than sterling compliment, his disturbing mood broken, thank God. Lady Georgina was as unpredictable as she was beautiful. A dangerous combination, were a man’s heart in jeopardy. “I will do my best to continue that kindness, my lady.” He opened the door, and a whimper came from the corner. “What’s that noise?”
“Oh, Lulu.” Lady Georgina peered over the bed toward the little dog, now on her feet. She barked shrilly and darted toward the door. “My lord, would you take her on deck to a place she can do her necessary? The poor thing hasn’t had the chance in hours.”
“Of course.” Rob set the dishes back on the table. He’d attend to them later. “Come here, Lulu.” He bent to pick her up, only to be met with bared teeth and a growl. “Lulu, I am only trying to help you.”
“Lulu, come here.”
The animal trotted over to the bunk and put two paws on the edge, panting and seeming to laugh into her mistress’s face. Lady Georgina bent toward her and whispered something in her ear. When she leaned back, the dog dropped to the floor and walked sedately to Rob’s side and sat, looking up at him as if to say, “Can we get on with this?”
“She’ll be fine now. I told her not to bite you as you were helping us now.”
Rob glanced from the now amenable animal to the lady. “And she understood you?”
“She seems to have, don’t you think?”
Well, the lady had a point. Lulu appeared to be resigned to accepting his help. At least he hoped so. Gingerly, he stooped and picked her up. She put up no fuss whatsoever. Very odd. With one last dubious glance at Lady Georgina, Rob left the cabin, more puzzled than ever by the woman. As he carried Lulu up the passageway toward the fresh sea air, he shook his head.
“Now, I don’t know if you understand everyone or just Lady Georgina, but I’ll tell you anyway, Lulu. I believe I’m beginning to like your mistress more and more.”
They reached the deck, and the crisp air hit his face. Bracing. With a laugh of pure delight, he lifted one of Lulu’s long, fringed ears and whispered, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”
* * *
The sun was well up by the time Georgie awoke a second time. Immediately, she sensed a difference in her body. The dreadful queasy feeling had gone, leaving her rested and alert. Her stomach was rather sore, but considering what she’d been through, that seemed nothing. When she remembered the horrors of the night before . . . No, don’t dwell on that. She snuggled under the covers, stretching and relaxing. Though loathe to do it, she would have to give Lord St. Just credit. He’d known what he was talking about as far as curing mal de mer. Or his grandfather did. That didn’t matter. What did was the confidence stealing through her that she could finally manage a venture out on the deck.
Clara had not put in an appearance. Poor thing must still be sleeping. Well, let her sleep. Lord knew she deserved it after the night she’d spent. Georgie was perfectly capable of dressing herself if she had to. If she could find her front-closing stays, that was. Cautiously, she sat up in bed. No difference, thank goodness. She swung her legs over the side of the bunk and managed to stand. The ship was cooperating, finally. That dreadful pitching had ceased, and she seemed to be gliding along as easy as you please. Or else Georgie was simply getting used to the motion. Either way, it was a godsend.
Surprisingly, it took her an age to dress herself, even though she put on her simplest gown, the blue wool with the large flounce at the bottom. The buttons kept slipping out of her grasp, though eventually she managed to make herself presentable. She twitched her skirts this way and that, wanting them to hang just so. When had she become so dependent on Clara? She used to dress herself of necessity when she lived with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robinson. Georgie shuddered and quickly wound her hair into a low knot on the back of her head. She never wanted to go back to those unhappy days under her sister-in-law’s rule. She must make certain she did not incur her father’s wrath because of this unfortunate episode. When they arrived at St. Just, she would write him and explain everything and reassure him that she still intended to marry Lord Travers.
A pang shot through her, somewhat sharper than usual, when the idea of her marriage arose. She would so have liked to marry someone for whom she had a fond regard, but she had already married the love of her life. Life would never be the same no matter who she married. He would never be Isaac, so did it really matter who he was? Still, the idea of marrying someone she could laugh with, or tease, or enjoy a spirited war of words with, tugged at her heart. Despite her illness earlier, she’d quite enjoyed the little tussle of wills with Lord St. Just. Lord Travers did not strike her as a man with whom one could have such an encounter. From what she’d learned of him, he would have sent a servant to tend her. Or left her to her own devices, in which case she’d still likely be retching in the bed.
Shaking her head, Georgie determinedly grabbed the cup of cold tea and took a sip, then nibbled a little more of the peculiar hard biscuit. Both went down well and sat comfortably within. Perhaps she might be able to manage something a little more substantial for dinner tonight. From her memory of the cook’s broth earlier, dinner promised to be a treat.
Humming a merry little dance tune from one of the parties at Lyttlefield Park, she slipped on her blue pelisse and marched out of the room, at last ready to brave a turn on deck.
She made her way up the passageway, which brought her onto the main deck of the Justine. The sun had hidden itself behind a bank of fluffy clouds, but the wind, as St. Just had promised, had tempered a bit and brought the clean smell of salt spray into her nostrils. She breathed deeply, the smell of the salt air bracing. The gray Channel water seemed endless, and thankfully calm. Scarcely a ripple marred the surface.
Georgie looked about for Lord St. Just, finally spying him at the bow of the ship, gazing westward into the glimmering light of the hidden sun. Plucking up her skirts, she carefully made her way toward him. When she got closer, she could make out Lulu roaming around in the bow as well, sniffing everything, though she stayed close to St. Just. He’d apparently made one conquest, which brought a smile to her lips. Despite her misgivings about the marquess, and she still had several, she was happy Lulu had befriended him.
Suddenly, a brilliant ray of sunlight streaked through a chink in the clouds. It drenched the entire bow with bright light, including St. Just, glinting off his dark, curly hair, accentuating the excellent cut of his jacket. The rising wind had flung back the jacket’s front panels, revealing the trim figure he presented, tall of stature, wide of shoulder, narrow of waist and hip. Like the Greek statues in the gardens at home, but brought to vivid life. Although with rather more clothes on, thank goodness. Or not.
Georgie gasped and jerked her gaze away from him as the wicked thought took root in her mind and stubbornly refused to leave. What would Lord St. Just look like nude? What a totally inappropriate thing to think! What was wrong with her? She’d not had any such carnal thoughts since Isaac had died. Not even at Charlotte’s house parties, where her widow friends had actively encouraged her to flirt with the gentlemen, had she remotely entertained such ideas.
She stole a glance back at the object of her dubious desire. He’d not seen her yet and was still looking out to sea, a look of intense satisfaction on his face. She had barely scraped an acquaintance with the man before he’d kidnapped her. And trusted him only as much as she m
ust, although after his well-meant ministrations earlier, she probably should trust him a bit more. Still, that didn’t explain why she should wonder about the man in a state of complete undress.
Really, she must shake off such fanciful and disturbing thoughts. With a determined step, Georgie hurried toward the lone figure. Before she got close to him, he turned, as though he had sensed her coming, greeting her with a broad smile.
“Lady Georgina. How wonderful to see you up and about and looking so well.” His gray eyes twinkled in the sunlight. “I see my grandfather’s remedy has worked its miracle yet again.”
“Yes, my lord. It seems to have done.” She returned his smile, her heart beating faster than usual. Obviously, she’d walked too quickly from the cabin. After her ordeal she must take things more slowly. “Lulu seems to be taking to life aboard ship very well. Thank you for looking after her.”
“My pleasure. She’s a spirited little thing. Once we came to an accord, we have gotten along famously.” He gazed firmly at Lulu, then offered Georgie his arm. “Would you care to see the best view on the ship?”
An unexpected trembling seized her, her hands growing cold, and her throat suddenly tight. This was nonsense. There was nothing in the man’s request to make her come over so queer. She must get hold of herself. Nodding, she wound her hand through the crook of his elbow. In spite of the chilly temperature and brisk breeze, she noticed a steady warmth where their bodies touched. A disturbingly pleasant warmth, in fact. Make small talk and ignore everything else. “What kind of ship is this, my lord?”
“A schooner my grandfather purchased twenty-odd years ago, just after he bought the tin mining company. He believed it would be a canny investment given the remoteness of Cornwall. His acumen has been proven time and again over the years.” Lord St. Just had maneuvered them almost to the very front of the ship. “I’ll wager that’s a sight you’ve never seen before, have you?”
She gazed out over the vast sea of gray water, and her mouth dropped open. Truly, she had never seen anything like it in her life. The ship cut the calm waters almost silently as they bounded forward, the shush, shush of the water against the side the only sound. No land as far as she could see in any direction, only the sea stretching endlessly onward, always moving, always changing. Straight ahead grayish-pink clouds lowered almost close enough to touch the water in a lover’s kiss.
