The gray eyes she thought so intriguing narrowed to a flinty color. “This has been a long and tiring day, Miss Morgan. Blu. Surely I’m allowed my dinner before I’m commanded to perform.”
“I suppose you’re entitled to eat,” she conceded grudgingly. “But you might show a little more enthusiasm for what comes after.”
“In truth, I find it dampens a man’s passion to make love at sword point.” Putting down his knife, he pushed from the table, leaned back in his chair and studied her. “Particularly when the woman in question more closely resembles a man than a woman.”
Blu stiffened. She had worn her bloody shirt and soiled breeches in case he had mistaken the point she had intended to make on the wharf. “This is what I always wear.”
“No one could mistake it,” he agreed, speaking with obvious distaste.
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” she snapped, quick to take offense. The superiority in his tone set her teeth on edge.
He stared at her. “You wish the truth?”
“State it.”
“It means your clothing stinks. You stink.”
She gasped. “I stink?”
“To high heaven.”
“Now that is a bloody damned flam. An outright lie!”
“I fervently wish it were.”
Clenching her fists on either side of her plate, Blu leaned forward. “If I stink so much, then how is it that other people stink to me?” she demanded. “If I stink so bloody damned bad, how is it that I can’t smell my own self? Tell me that since you know so bleeding much!”
“I have no notion.”
His detached expression enraged her. Not removing her eyes from his face, she raised her arm and sniffed her armpit. She had smelled worse.
“I’ll wager yours doesn’t smell any sweeter,” she said, challenging him.
“I’ll wager it does.”
“State your prize.” His smile infuriated her.
“My silver plate against a bath for you.”
“Done,” she said triumphantly. She almost pitied him.
Standing and grinning, he removed his velvet coat and lifted his arm.
She looked into his gray eyes, vastly annoyed by the amusement twinkling there, then she approached him and shoved her nose against his armpit. She smelled the rice starch stiffening his linen shirt, caught a breath of strong soap, and a faint, faint trace of sweat. Slowly, she stepped backward and scowled.
“I believe we agree that you lose.” The Duke looked pleased for the first time since she had entered the hut. Moving toward the bed, he opened a pouch and produced a cake of soap. “Off you go,” he said cheerfully, slapping the soap into her palm.
“Bloody hell!” The soap was a suspicious item for certain. How could he have known she would challenge him or that he would win? Or had she been manipulated? Her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t forget your hair.” He pushed her toward the curtained door. “It smells like something rancid.” Smiling down at her, he flashed teeth as white as bleached bone.
“By Christ’s shirttail!”
“If there’s soap enough, use it on your mouth.” Grinning broadly, he pushed her out the door and dropped the curtain behind her.
“You wait right here, dammit.”
“I wouldn’t think of leaving without seeing what lies under all that dirt and grime.”
She glared at the curtain, then swore loudly and steadily. She would have wagered the earth that by now the whole thing would have been done and over with and she would have been a woman. Instead, she was as virginal as the day she came into this world of woe. And it looked as if she were bloody well going to stay that way unless she had a bath.
Clenching her fingers around the cake of soap and setting her teeth, she straightened her spine then marched toward the warehouse and the spring-fed pool behind it. Stumbling in the dark and cursing, she slapped through the underbrush until she found the pool, then dropped to a large rock at the rim.
“Bloody, bloody hell!”
Grunting, Blu pushed and shoved at her boots, resenting each moment and each movement until the first boot flew off and she inhaled. God’s teeth. Perhaps the Duke had a point. She waved a hand in front of her nose, then kicked off the other boot before she peeled her shirt away from her wound. When she was finally naked, she stepped into the pool, gasping as the water rose against her heated skin.
After a moment, the cool water seduced her and her resentment faded. She relaxed enough to paddle around the pool a few strokes before she retrieved the soap from where she had dropped it near the rock. The soap smelled like wild roses. Enchanted, she held it under her nose and inhaled deeply. The scent stirred a memory that almost but not quite surfaced in her mind. It was something pleasant, something happy, something she wished she could remember.
Hoping she would emerge smelling like roses, she lathered herself in the moonlight, wishing the high and mighty Duke could see her now. He wouldn’t prefer his platter if he could see the effects of his soap on her body. What she had supposed was tan from the sun was washing away to reveal a creamy starlit ivory.
After scrubbing her hair until it squeaked between her fingers, she reached for her clothing and pulled it into the pool, swishing it through the bubbles floating on the surface of the water. When she rose from the pool and twisted the droplets from her hair, all that remained of the wonderful soap was a tiny sliver. She hid the sliver under the rock, saving what remained for another time, then pulled on her breeches and shirt. The boots she left where they had fallen. She would fetch them in the morn.
“Well?” she demanded, throwing back the curtain.
The Duke sat at the table, one ankle crossed over his knee, a half-empty bottle of wine before him.
Rising, he carried the candle close to her, studying her shiny face and dripping hair. Warm, wine-scented breath bathed her cheeks. Wordlessly, Blu raised her arm, inviting him to sniff her armpit.
Smiling, he declined then murmured, “You smell like roses.” He replaced the candle on the table and raised his glass to her. “Congratulations.” Something flickered in his silvery eyes that hadn’t been there before as he stared at the wet silk clinging to her breasts.
Finally. Now it was finally going to happen. Blu saw it in his intense gaze, heard it in the suddenly husky timbre of his voice. Eagerly, she started toward him, but he raised a hand.
“Now what?” Exasperation strained her voice. “You’ve supped, I’ve bathed... what more do you want?”
“Your clothing.”
“What about it? I washed everything.” When she had seen his expression as he stared at her breasts, she had been willing to forgive him the bath and the delays. But he was tiddling again. And it annoyed her to high heaven. She had acquiesced to his every wish, now he owed it to her to doff his clothes and jump on her.
“You’re wearing men’s breeches and a bloody shirt.”
“The blood wouldn’t come out.” She spread her hands. “What do you expect?”
“A woman who looks like a woman.”
“On this island?” She almost laughed. “This is how I dress. Because I can’t fight in a skirt. Surely you can see that.” He continued to stare at her. “Earlier today I had to fight to preserve my virginity. Now it seems I can’t give it away!”
“Are you saying you were involved in a sword fight?” He was looking at her as if she were an astonishing new species.
“Which I won. A point you would do well to remember.”
Stepping closer, the Duke eased the torn silk from her shoulder and inspected her wound. “Nasty. Does it pain you?”
“Are you crackbrained?” It was her turn to stare. “Of course it pains me.” His touch had set her arm aflame. “Duke, Thomas, I’m sailing tight on patience. Are we ever going to get on with this?”
He swallowed a draught of wine, regarding her intently. “Wait here.”
“Wait here? Wait? Where are you going?” Her voice ascended into a frustrated wail. �
��Come back here!”
But the Duke had vanished through the curtain into the night. Blu threw herself into one of the chairs and flung up her hands.
“Dammit to bloody hell! I’d have done myself better on the beach!”
She stared at her bare rose-scented toes and wondered if he was one of those dandy-men who preferred men to women. After consideration, she decided not. True, he was clean-shaven and his skin was as clear and smooth as a woman’s. But his masculinity was equally as evident. She had seen it in his eyes, in the way he carried himself. No, the Duke’s virility was not in question; she only wished to God she knew what was. A stream of cursing flowed around the wine goblet as she raised it to her lips.
By the time he returned, she had finished the second half of the wine bottle and had opened another.
“Here. Put this on.”
Catching the gown he tossed her, Blu lifted it to inspect yards and yards of emerald-colored silk and puffed satin. Tiny seed pearls and silk roses adorned the bodice, sleeves, and hem.
“The heat has fried your wits,” she said finally. Drawing a breath, she forced her voice to a tone of reason. “If I hang this on me, I’ll sweat like a pot boy. The bath will go for naught. Besides, I’ll just be peeling it off again.” Anyone carrying a full set of sails should be able to grasp the logic in her explanation.
He didn’t.
A thrust of determination firmed his chin. “It would please me to see you wearing that gown.”
“God’s teeth!” If it wasn’t one bloody blind, it was another. Muttering, she lifted the gown, seeking an opening. The emerald silk defeated her. “I could have been cracked ten times over by now.” Throwing aside the gown in disgust, she planted her fists on her hips and glared. “If every man jack off a ship insisted on this sort of bilge, Isabelle and the others would still be as virginal as I am! This is not how it’s supposed to be done. Even a squab such as I knows that rnuch. You don’t add clothing, you take it off!”
Turning aside, as cool as winter rain, the Duke tipped a bottle over his glass. She had to concede he did it with impressive elegance. Aside from Monsieur, everyone Blu knew would have swallowed directly from the mouth of the bottle.
“Blusette.” The sound of forced patience had returned to his tone. “If you wish to rut like an animal, I suggest you join those on the beach.”
“But I chose you!”
“Then we shall proceed in a civilized manner.” She glared at him. “Or not at all. If we are agreed, then I beg you to dress yourself and kindly pin up your hair.”
It was acquiesce or choose the beach. Blu stared, then kicked viciously at a table leg, sending hot stabs of pain up her leg. The sound of shattering china gave her a moment of grim pleasure. She didn’t like this, didn’t fancy it at all that she was dancing to the Duke’s tune. Being gainsaid was not her usual experience and it was not one to relish.
For half a moment she considered advising the Duke to go bugger himself. She also considered fetching her sword from outside the door and airing his ribs.
Then she considered what she would miss if she did either. His naked mouth, those hard tight thighs. Her opportunity to become a woman.
She swore between her teeth. “If this is what it takes to put wind in your sails—then I’ll bloody well do it.” Hanging a skirt on her bones was the silliest idea she had heard, but if it pulled a crow and hurried things along...
“For which I thank you.”
Still glaring, she faced him, slid out of her torn shirt and threw it aside, then opened the cord at her waist and slipped her kicks over her hips.
Thomas sucked in a breath and felt his groin tighten sharply as her body emerged. Good God, she was lovely, as lovely a woman as he had seen. Open and uninhibited as a child, but definitely a woman. The sun had traced a dark wedge where her collar lay and the tanned arrow pointed to full rounded breasts tipped with pale rose. Swallowing, he stared as her breasts fell forward when she bent to push at her breeches. Milky hips appeared, joined by a triangle as dark and feathery as a raven’s wing. Her long legs were strong and well shaped. Untouched by sun, they were as white as pale cream.
He drained his wine in one swallow and placed the goblet on the table. Heat fired his loins and he forgot he had been ordered to make love to this woman on threat of his life. No man could have refused her, seeing her as she was now. She stood before him with shy pride, candlelight casting provocative shadows over her glorious naked body. When she looked at him before she dropped the gown over her dark head, he thought it likely that a face such as hers had launched a thousand ships toward Troy.
Continuing to stare at her, he marveled that such a rose had blossomed amid the poisonous thorns on Morgan’s Mound. Then she spoke.
“Instead of just standing there gawking, you could help me with these damned hooks. Bloody hell!”
A sigh escaped his lips. Then, smiling at his fancies, he asked her to hold her hair out of the way as he fumbled with the hooks running up her back. Alas, this was not the timid daughter of a country earl. This was Beau Billy’s daughter, about as rose-like as a sand viper.
Nonetheless, seeing her as she was now, he wanted her. His fingers trembled with desire as they brushed against her warm skin. Stepping back, he stared at the fragile whiteness at the nape of her neck as she twisted her hair up and pinned it into a careless pile atop her head.
“Well?” she asked, turning for his inspection. “Now can I take this bloody rig off?”
“Blusette.” His voice was thick. “Don’t speak. Just stand as you are and... don’t speak.”
“Don’t speak? God’s balls but you have more rules than a king’s agent!”
She was utterly lovely. The candlelight cast golden shadows across her breasts and her long throat. Her hair gleamed like watered silk. Had she lived in London, she would have conquered all who saw her. But she would have powdered away the tiny freckles sprinkled across her nose and she would have rouged her cheeks and lips. Such would have been a pity as a woman like this had no need of artifice.
Imagining her in London society made him smile. It was a tribute to a scrap of soap and a few yards of emerald silk. The sow’s ear had become a silk purse, but only momentarily. If she could be believed, she had engaged in a duel earlier and had bested her opponent. That was her life. Tomorrow she would don her man’s shirt and breeches and resume a life he didn’t care to imagine. In a week she would stink again, and her lovely oval face would slowly vanish beneath fresh layers of soil and grime.
“Duke, can we please get on with this? You must admit I’ve been patient, but...”
For the first time he recognized the nervousness behind the small quick movements of her hands, saw the apprehension she tried to conceal. For the first time it occurred to him that perhaps she truly was a virgin, a possibility he had dismissed. If so, his honor as a gentleman demanded he proceed with care and consideration despite the futility of honor on this island. When the next ship put into Morgan’s Mound, most likely Blusette Morgan would be among the women working the beach, painted and perfumed for business. The thought saddened him.
“How old are you?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes, lifted her hands and sighed. “Nearly nineteen. How old are you?”
“Nearly thirty.”
“Surely that is old enough to know how to do this.” She looked at him, planted her fists on her hips, and tilted her head. “You have rogered a woman before, haven’t you? Or is this your first time too? If it is, that would explain much, but...”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. In her own way, she was charming. “My dear Blusette, I was attempting to know you better as you suggested. As this is your first experience, I thought if you were relaxed...”
A sound resembling a wail emerged from her lips. “I don’t want to be relaxed. I want to get on with this. I want it over. I want to be a real woman, and I want to see you naked! I want you to stop niffy-naffying!”
“I’m flattered,”
he said, trying not to laugh. “Very well, we’ll dispense with further discourse.” Smiling and shaking his head, he moved to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside him. “Come here. And bring the wine.”
“Finally. God be praised. Now, can I take off this rig?”
“At the right moment I shall undress you.”
It sounded lovely. Happily, Blu ran to the table and tucked two wine goblets under her arms and reached for the bottle. He had required some coddling, and this whole thing was taking more time than she would have believed, but the Duke was finally looking juicy. And so was she. Jesu, she was ready. Every time she gazed into his silvery gray eyes or glanced at his naked mouth, she quivered inside. When she let herself think ahead to what was about to happen, her knees turned as soft as seaweed and she felt as if she would fall down. That being the case, she thought, pausing, why was she wasting more time serving them another draught of wine?
She didn’t want wine, she wanted to get to the rogering. The wine bottle slipped from her fingertips and she lifted her elbows, letting the goblets crash to the carpet. Grinning eagerly, she grabbed up the cumbersome hem of her gown and ran full tilt across the hut and jumped on him, smashing him flat across the bed.
In an instant, she had straddled his body and felt the thrill of his heat beneath her. Pinning his shoulders with her hands, she pushed her nose against his neck and sniffed blissfully.
“I love the smell of you!”
“‘Blusette, this isn’t the way to...”
“As soon as I get you peeled, I want you to stand up so I can see you, the way I did for you. Then, I want you to kiss me.” Only hours had elapsed, but she felt as if she had been waiting and dreaming about this moment and this man all of her life. Leaning over him, she jerked and yanked at his stock. “Dammit. How do I get the bloody thing off?”
“For the love of God, get off me. Slowly is how—”
“There, I’ve almost got it.”
“Dammit! Now you’ve torn it.”
As the stock was torn, she jerked it away without care and threw it to the floor behind her. Enthusiastically, she began tugging at his silver waistcoat, the ivory buttons pulling loose beneath her fingertips.
Lady Reluctant Page 5
