by Connie Mason
She had to be strong. She had to win free before he shattered her will completely. She pressed against his chest, but he was unyielding as English oak.
Two can play at this sort of game, she decided and abruptly switched tactics. She was no match for him in strength. She stopped struggling and let her arms and legs go suddenly slack. She was dead weight in his embrace.
“What’s the matter with you, woman? Are you insensible?” He pulled back from their kiss, alarmed. “You’re limp as a jellyfish.”
She straightened and stomped down on his foot as hard as she could. He released her and stepped back a pace.
“Jellyfish carry a sting, I’m told,” she said with vinegar in her tone.
“Eve! Oh, there you are!” Sally appeared at the double doors. “Come and choose before all the best gowns are gone.” She disappeared as quickly as she came amid a shower of giggles.
“If you’ll excuse me, Captain,” Eve said, with a mocking curtsey. “I believe I need to try on one of your old mistress’s gowns. Do not construe that as an application for the position. Truth to tell, I’d sooner run around naked.”
“I can arrange that,” he said darkly.
“Not and play the gentleman you’re pretending to be.” She turned to go but he stopped her with a hand to her forearm.
“There’s something between us here, Eve.”
Her name on his lips sent a shiver of pleasure through her. She tamped it down.
“Miss Upshall to you,” she corrected.
“Blast and damn, whatever you want to call yourself, so be it. But you can’t deny you feel it, too.” His features softened and he looked at her with hungry intensity. “When you change your mind, my chamber is at the end of the hall.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“Your body will change it for you,” he said with eerie assurance. “Trust me, lass. I know my way around a woman’s body and yours is ripe for the taking. Come to me and you’ll not regret it. I promise.”
“Careful, Captain.” She shot an evil glare at his groin. “Jellyfish know several effective places to sting a man.”
She turned on her heel and rejoined her friends with her head held high. But inside, she was quaking, thinking about what might happen the next time she found herself alone with the cursed man.
Jellyfish had no spines. No spines at all.
Chapter Seven
Nick rolled over on the bed and looked around. He could’ve sworn he hadn’t sought his mattress alone.
“Nicholas,” a feminine voice called.
Ah! There she was, wearing his shirt and slop trousers again. They’d never looked better.
“Oh, dear.” Eve glanced down at herself and then back at him with a heavy-lidded gaze. “The knot in that rope belt has come undone again, and I greatly fear I’m about to lose my trousers.”
“You’ll look all the better without them, luv,” he said, rising naked and rampant from his bed to go to her.
She greeted him by wrapping her arms around his neck while he rucked up the hem of the shirt and made short work of the rope. He thumbed her navel for a moment and then slid his palm inside the waist of the loose trousers, over her sweetly rounded belly and down to her damp curls.
She gasped in pleasure and lifted her face to him for a kiss. She parted her legs to allow him better access and leaned into his hand as he cupped her sex. He lowered his mouth to nip hers. She squirmed, trying to thrust her secrets toward him.
“Patience,” he murmured as he toyed with her lips. He slanted his mouth across hers, tasting her, teasing her with his tongue, till she made another noise of frustration.
He slid his fingers along the slick cleft between her legs, and she moaned into his mouth. Her little nub of pleasure swelled up to be stroked. He spread her with two fingers and slid back and forth over her sensitive spot with long slow strokes.
The trousers dropped over her hips and she stepped out of them, moaning with frustration when she had to move away from his touch for even a moment. Then she hooked a leg over his hip and rocked against his palm, rubbing herself on him. She was hot and ready.
The air was sweet with the musk of her arousal. His mouth was suddenly at her breasts, sucking her nipples through the thin cotton. His cock glided against the smooth skin of her belly, searching for a darker, wetter home.
She stood on tiptoe, pressing herself against him. He reached around and cupped her bottom.
“Now, Nick,” she panted in his ear. “I want…”
Someone was knocking at the door. He ignored the interruption.
“I want—”
He bit down on her nipple and she cried out in aching joy. His balls drew tight.
Nick hefted her up and then lowered her slowly onto his waiting cock. He watched her intently as her mouth went passion-slack. He’d never grow tired of looking at her.
She wrapped both legs around his waist as he lovingly impaled her by finger widths. When at last he was completely sheathed, she rocked against him once and came in shattering waves. She threw her head back and a delightful tapestry of profanity poured from her mouth at the same time.
The knocking grew louder.
Eve raised her head and looked down at him, doe-eyed. “I want…TO GO TO CHARLESTON NOW.”
Nick jerked awake to find that Higgs was indeed pounding on his chamber door. But nothing else was the same as his dream. He was very much alone in his big bed. The linens were balled in a disheveled mass and one corner of his pillow was sodden where he’d been sucking on it in his sleep.
Damnation! That’s what happened when a man went without a good hard swive for too infernally long!
“Come,” he barked to Higgs. His enraged cock still throbbed. Better not say that again.
“B-beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n,” Higgs said. “You’ve a number of callers. They’re lining up again already. I thought as you should know.”
Male ears had pricked at the news that three likely young ladies fresh from England were in residence at Whispering Hill. Every day, shopkeepers and sailors alike called on “Lord Nick” under some pretext or other, but it was an open secret that they were only there to snatch a look at the new lovelies.
“W-we’d make out like highwaymen if we charged admission,” Higgs observed sourly at the end of the day as the last of the long line of potential suitors finally headed back down the hill to St. Georges. “They’ll be coming from the other islands as w-well before you know it.
Nick nodded absently. He should have been glad interest ran so high. It meant his guests’ stay would be relatively short and he could forget about maintaining the façade of gentility. He could return to his former libertine ways.
It was difficult to get roaring drunk each night knowing he’d face three accusing faces at breakfast the next morning.
He was setting a new record for going without a woman in his bed while on dry land. Probably why he’d wakened sucking his pillow with a cockstand stiff enough to pitch a tent over.
He’d never been one for brothels. As master of a trim ship, he’d never seen a bordello clean enough to suit him—either the girls or the linens.
But he couldn’t even think of replacing Magdalen as long as he was acting as guardian for three marriageable young ladies.
Unless, of course, he could lure Miss Upshall into the post. He’d never met a woman he couldn’t seduce, but this one was leading him quite a dance. Evidently, she didn’t remember the man was supposed to lead.
Nick was used to women falling into his hand the moment they caught his eye. Eve Upshall avoided his gaze.
He suspected he could convince her if he could only catch her alone long enough. He’d felt her yield when he kissed her. His fingers had brushed her quickening pulse. She wanted him. He was sure of it.
She just wouldn’t admit it.
And Nick would know no relief until she did.
The infuriating Miss Upshall was careful never to be without at least one of the others by
her side at all times. Now the three of them entered his dining room arm in arm, their broad hoops filling the arched entry.
“Good evening, ladies.”
Nicholas made an elegant leg to his guests as they all settled in their places for the evening meal. He held out the chair next to him for Eve, but she breezed past it and sank into the seat opposite his first mate at the far end of the Bermudian cedar table.
Miss Munroe giggled and took the proffered chair instead. Nick slid her close to the table, determined not to recognize Eve’s slight. He took his seat, thrusting a corner of his napkin into his collar.
“I trust you all passed a pleasant day,” he said.
Nick certainly hadn’t. The troop of men filing in and out of his study on the flimsiest of excuses, angling for introductions to the ladies, wore thin after a very short while.
And he’d been at it for several days.
“If by ‘pleasant’ you mean to ask if we enjoyed being ogled as if we were prize heifers, then yes. By all means, we had a jolly good day,” Eve said with a poisonous smile.
Santorini, Nick’s cook, had ratcheted up the quality and diversity of his menus in deference to the new members of the household. He’d really outdone himself with the shellfish bisque that started their meal. Nick ignored Eve’s sniping comment and spooned it up heartily. The white soup would have done credit to a duke’s table.
“Everyone seems friendly and polite,” Miss Smythe observed so softly Nick had to strain to hear her.
“Yes, indeed, polite to a fault. I confess myself overawed by the islanders’ mannerliness,” Eve said. “I was particularly gratified by the way they restrained themselves from checking our teeth.”
Higgs nearly spewed the bisque out his nose.
“Miss Upshall, my purpose is to see the three of you suitably wed. In order to do that, you need bridegrooms and a man usually wants to see what he’s getting into before he allows himself to be leg-shackled for life,” Nick said, grasping his spoon as if it were a dirk. “How else would you suggest we proceed?”
“You already know my sentiments on the subject.” Eve placed her spoon on the table with icy precision. “I suggest we proceed to Charleston, where bridegrooms who are willing to make that commitment without benefit of inspecting us first await our arrival. You may even stay on as witness to our nuptials, since our welfare seems to concern you so gravely.”
“Oh, Evie,” Miss Munroe said. “You know I can’t bear to set foot on another ship.”
“Penny, you still want to go on, don’t you?” Eve said, peering down the table at her friend. “Remember how Lieutenant Rathbun described your intended as the kindest and gentlest of men.”
Miss Smythe glanced from Eve to Miss Munroe, then at Peregrine and finally at her own lap.
“We’ll put it to a vote,” Eve said.
All of them began to speak at once, arguing the merits of staying or going.
“No, by thunder, we will not!” Nick snatched the napkin from his throat and slammed it to the table. He couldn’t drink, couldn’t sleep without dreaming of rutting her and now the wench was even stealing away his appetite for fine food. “This is no damned democracy. I decide where and when the Susan B sails. I’ll not take you to Charleston and there’s an end to it.”
His outburst shocked them into silence. They all stared at their soup till Santorini came to clear the table. The cook muttered in Italian under his breath, obviously dismayed over how much they’d left in their bowls.
The next course was a succulent baked sole with mango glaze. Miss Upshall forked up a healthy bite, shot Nick a mocking grin and slipped it between her luscious lips, making appreciative noises.
“This is truly splendid, Mr. Santorini,” she said while his cook balanced the used crockery in his arms.
“Grazie, signorina, mille grazie.” Santorini nearly turned backflips bowing and scraping his thanks. Then he hightailed it to the kitchen, which was in a separate building behind the main house. Santorini, like the rest of the servants at Whispering Hill, was overanxious to please the three women as far as Nick was concerned.
Everyone at the dining table followed Eve’s lead, and began to relax. Even Higgs smiled and fell to his meal with relish.
Power trickled steadily from Nick’s end of the table. Usually his word alone was enough to ensure instant obedience. His men certainly never questioned him.
But he wasn’t on the deck of the Susan Bell. He was adrift in the shadowy realm of respectable femininity, a place he’d heretofore avoided as if it was laced with uncharted shoals. He didn’t understand the rules of engagement, but he recognized his position in a heartbeat.
Eve Upshall had the wind of him, and he’d never catch her if he continued on this heading. A change of strategy and a course correction were definitely needed.
He retrieved his napkin, tucked it back under his chin and decided to give the matter a think.
Eve led the group in harmless chatter, which he easily ignored. In the candlelight, the gentle curve of her graceful neck drew his eye. Once again, she was wearing the blue muslin, the same dress she’d been wearing when he fished her from the sea. He’d noticed she avoided wearing Magdalen’s castoffs. But now the muslin was freshly laundered and starched, and the lace at her bodice led his gaze around its deep scoop.
Her breasts were trussed up into fashionable “rising moons.” Her creamy skin glinted with the luster of satin. Respectable matron or slattern, fashion dictated they all emphasize their femininity by baring a good deal of skin from the nipples up.
Nick wondered what it would be like to rub his cock along the valley between Eve’s delightful mounds till he spewed his seed all over them.
He moved his napkin to his lap to hide the aching bulge in his breeches.
If the little minx didn’t want him to ogle, why display everything but the pinks of her nipples on that narrow shelf of fabric?
And just the thought of those strawberry buds gave him even more astoundingly tight breeches.
And an epiphany.
He realized immediately where respectable women enjoyed seeing and being seen. Where they delighted in flaunting themselves and their charms with reckless abandon. All through the meat course, he refined his idea, envisioning her possible countermeasures and marshaling his own forces.
“I have a thought,” he said after he finished a remarkable slice of pork loin in silence. “I’m thinking I haven’t made any opportunity for you to become acquainted with the other ladies who live on the islands.”
“Do you mean we should have them for tea?” Miss Smythe asked.
Eve narrowed her eyes at him, obviously recognizing his opening gambit for what it was.
“That’s a fine idea, Miss Smythe,” he said genially, “but I confess I’d not want to leave the gentlemen out entirely. Maybe something with card playing and music and—”
“And dancing?” Miss Munroe leaped in just as he’d hoped.
“Assuredly, if you wish. I suppose we could shove back the furniture and hire a fiddler for an evening or two.” He snapped his fingers as if the thought had only just occurred to him. “You see, I’m considering hosting a house party.”
“A house party!” Miss Munroe clapped her hands.
“Yes, a weeklong affair, I’m thinking. We could send out invitations to some of the best folk.” A house party would allow the women to feel completely relaxed in his home since there would be a few matrons about. When the event was spread over a number of days, a party always broke up into smaller groups catering to divergent interests. While her friends played at Blind Man’s Bluff or sang around his clavichord, Nick would divide and conquer. There’d surely be another opportunity for him to find himself alone somewhere in his rambling home with Miss Upshall.
He leaned back in his chair as Miss Munroe and Miss Smythe carried his idea forward as if it were their own. Eve had no way to gainsay it. Picnics, archery and lawn bowling were all debated and approved. Then when their idea
s for the party seemed to sag a bit, he tossed in, “And I’m thinking a new gown apiece for you ladies would not come amiss.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Miss Upshall’s eyes flared with delight. He realized he’d made a tactical error, but he wasn’t sure where.
“Why, Captain Scott, what a generous gesture. But on top of the expense of a long house party, that seems unfair to you,” she said, leaning her cheek on her palm in thought. When she snapped her fingers, he recognized the gesture as a parody of his own. “What about a ball?”
Nick frowned. “A ball?”
“Oh, yes!” Miss Munroe now slid firmly into the opposing camp. “Is there anything more romantic than a ball?”
“I like to dance,” Miss Smythe added shyly.
“Even though your home does have many guest rooms, it can only accommodate so many. But a ball, which shouldn’t require you to provide lodging, would allow you to invite many more people,” Eve said, her logic flawless. “And your stated purpose is for us to meet as many eligible men as possible, is it not?”
“There’s the rub, Miss Upshall,” he said with a triumphant grin. She’d run herself into a narrow inlet this time with no clearance to turn around. “My home is spacious, but I have no ballroom. Even if we cleared out the dining room”—he waved a hand around the largest room in his home, which he’d designed around the cedar table that expanded to seat twenty when all the leaves were in place—“we’d still be hard-pressed to make space for more than a half dozen couples or so to dance at once. A reel is quite vigorous, you know.”
“Then we must choose a different venue,” Eve said, neatly closing the trap on him.
“I-I could inquire about hiring the town hall,” the traitorous Higgs offered.
Around the table, ideas for the ball bounced from one woman to the next, the plans zipping beyond his control, like a hooked marlin diving for deep water. Eve’s new scheme quickly escalated past the point of reeling it in.
