Lady Reluctant

by Maggie Osborne

  “Stop that. For God’s sake, I feel as if I’m being ravaged. Will you wait for one minute?” Gripping her wrists, the Duke pushed her off him and onto her side. Then he sat up and stared down at her as if she had done something wrong.

  It was his idea they undress one another, so she ignored his scowl. Instead, she rolled on her belly and reached behind to point to the tiny hooks running up her back. “Help me. And hurry it along.”

  “Dammit, Blu, this isn’t a horse race. We have all night.”

  Frustrated beyond reason, Blu shifted on the bed to glare at him. “You’re niffy-naffying again,” she accused. “I’ve been more patient than a bloody saint. Now for God’s sake do what you agreed to do!”

  “Or what? You shout for Beau Billy and he slices my throat?”

  “I’ll slice it myself if you don’t bloody hell get on with this!”

  While he considered, Blu kicked at the billowing yards of emerald silk until she managed to free her knees and rise on them. Throwing her arms around his neck she clung to him and landed a few random kisses on his cheeks, his mustache, his chin, before they toppled backward across the bed. His hands on her waist burned through the silk and scorched her skin underneath. The strange prickly sensation thrilled her. Except it seemed as if he were trying to push her away.

  Obviously he required further encouragement. Despite his denial, Blu suspected this must be his first time too; he was as much a squab as she. Fortunately for them both, she knew of a remedy for just such moments. Isabelle had confided that some men needed a bit of assistance to stiffen their resolve, and Blu remembered how to do it. Personally, she thought the remedy peculiar, as the method Isabelle advised was the same method Mouton said would incapacitate a man. This was an instance when she regretted her innocence, but still, Isabelle should know.

  Struggling to stay on top of him, Blu slid her hand down between them until her searching fingers were between his legs. Pleased, she felt the stirring of an erection; all he needed was a little additional help and they would be ready to proceed. Placing her trust in Isabelle’s experience, she closed her hand between his legs and squeezed as hard as she was able.

  He roared.

  His shout of pain bounced off the hut’s roof and Blu found herself flying backward. She landed on her bottom on the carpet in the center of a cloud of silk. Slapping down the damnable skirt, she pushed herself up and stared at him, her mouth dropping open.

  The Duke was doubled over the side of the bed, his hands between his legs. “You... you vicious little savage!” The words emerged in gasps from between his teeth. When he could again speak, he spat out one word. “Why?”

  Instantly Blu understood she had erred. Clearly Isabelle was wrong and Mouton was correct. “Lord. I hurt you, didn’t I?” The crucial question was: How long did the effect persist?

  “No, don’t touch me. Stay right where you are!”

  Halting, she withdrew her hand and clasped it against her skirts. “I’m sorry, Thomas, truly I am.” She hoped he heard her sincerity. “I only wanted to encourage you. To help you along.”

  “You wanted to help?” He sounded incredulous.

  “You see, it was taking so long, and I thought...”

  Pushing to his feet, he leaned against one of the support posts then staggered toward the table. This time he drank directly from the mouth of the wine bottle. “God’s teeth!”

  With a sinking heart, Blu observed the fury growing in his eyes. She suspected he was about to change his mind about cracking her. The thought made her wring her hands.

  “You’ll recover in a moment.” She fervently hoped this was true. “Then we can...”

  “No. We can’t.” Glittering eyes fixed on her face.

  Her worst fear was coming to pass. “Beau Billy isn’t going to be pleased when he learns of this,” she suggested hopefully. Perhaps the threat would work a second time.

  A roar issued from his throat. “You may tell your father that I will fight every man jack on this bloody island, but I will not make love to his savage daughter!”

  Blu wasn’t certain, but she suspected an insult lurked in those words. But if she darted outside for her sword, any thought of putting this right and surrendering her virginity would evaporate. Even now, she cherished a hope the evening could be salvaged.

  “I’ve said I was sorry. Perhaps you only need a moment of rest.”

  The Duke’s eyes narrowed and glittered. His dark brows clamped together in a glare that drove her backward. “Out! Get out of here now!”

  “I made a mistake, and I freely own it. Wait here, and I’ll find out how to fix things.”

  Turning, she almost ran from the fury blazing in his eyes. Once outside the hut, she pulled a deep breath of night air into her lungs and leaned against the trunk of a rubber tree. Tears of anger and frustration stung her dark eyes. He was so beautiful, so elegant, and she wanted him so much. Yet she was leaving as virginal as she had arrived.

  This after having done all he asked of her. She had supped, she had bathed, she had donned this caw-handed gown. And for a time he had seemed willing enough. Then she had made one small mistake. Everyone made mistakes. What could one expect from a squab?

  Now, she had to find Isabelle immediately and discover how to rectify her error.

  An enormous lemon moon swung low over the water, lighting the beach like twilight. Screams and shouts and laughter poured over the cedar fires. Shadows chased and teased through the vines and underbrush, sending drifts of crushed scent into the evening air. Blu saw the men lined up in front of the women’s huts, singing drunken songs and arm-wrestling while they awaited their turn. Plainly, this was not the time to seek out Isabelle’s advice.

  Cursing, she turned toward the great hall. She needed answers and she needed them quickly.

  4

  A sudden hush rolled over the great hall when Blu flung back the curtain and strode inside wearing the emerald silk gown. Men straightened from the game of bones they were playing beneath a palm torch. Others hunched forward over tankards of rum or bub and stared at the strands of silky black hair falling from atop her head, leered at the expanse of creamy breast swelling above her bodice.

  Beau Billy straightened from the pile of gold ducats at his feet and leaned forward to focus on his daughter’s expression. He flung the bones to the ground.

  “Get out!” he roared. Instantly the hall emptied, men disappearing between the cracks of the palm mats that formed the walls. Only Mouton remained.

  Sweeping a tankard of rum from one of the wooden tables, Beau Billy sat at a bench and studied his daughter as she approached. Wordlessly, she gripped one of the tankards littering the tabletop and drained it, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. He exchanged a glance with Mouton and Mouton nodded silently, his fingers dropping to his knife.

  “No,” Blu said irritably, seeing the motion. “I’m not hurt. Nothing happened.” Raising her skirts, she swung a leg over the bench and straddled it.

  “Nothing at all?”

  “Aye,” Blu admitted unhappily.

  “The Duke refused ye? I’ll kill the son of a whore!” Flinging his tankard across the hall, Beau Billy pressed his palms to the tabletop and pushed upward. But in truth, he did not look all that displeased.

  Blu waved him down. “It isn’t finished yet.” Hating it, her face flaming, she explained what had happened.

  “Ye grabbed his balls?” Beau Billy stared at her with amazement. Mouton rocked back on his heels and fixed sparkling eyes on the dark rafters above.

  “I was only trying to help.” Neither man would meet her gaze. They pointedly did not look at each other. “Dammit, you can stop snickering, I need to know how to pull a crow and put things right!”

  “Yer asking us how to juice a man?” Now Beau Billy glanced at Mouton, made a choking, snorting sound and hastily looked away.

  Blu swore. “Isabelle is occupied. So tell me how to do it proper because he’s waiting.”

  Be
au Billy grinned hugely. “Yell have to ask Mouton. This mother’s son don’t know piss about women things.”

  Mouton raised both palms and shook his head. He continued to regard the ceiling, his cheeks sucked inward, his throat and chest working.

  Blu looked from one to the other, her expression tightening on her father. “You know more about women than any mother’s son in the Caribbean.”

  “I don’t talk woman talk.”

  “I need your help.”

  “Men don’t talk such bilge.”

  “There is no one else. And he’s waiting.”

  “Bloody hell!” The amusement faded from her father’s expression as she stubbornly persisted.

  “Show me how to seduce him.”

  “God’s teeth!” At length, he said, “Mouton, show her.”

  Mouton responded as if he had not heard. He stared at the roof palms, the corners of his mouth twitching. Beau Billy swore violently.

  “Pa?”

  “Bloody hell on a plank!”

  “I need your help, Pa. If you won’t help...” She bit her lip and moisture gleamed in her eyes.

  Beau Billy’s fist slammed against the table, rattling the deserted tankards. He scowled at Mouton and threw out his hands. “Ye heard her. They’s no one else.” A stream of cursing spat past his lips, then he fell silent and pulled on his beard. Finally, his chest rose and he glared at Mouton. “Not a word of this, ye hear? Not ever.” He gestured with a chopping motion. “If any whore’s son is peeping through the cracks, rip his heart out.”

  Grinning, Mouton vanished between the mats and after a moment, Blu heard the sound of bodies crashing through the underbrush. Beau Billy sighed.

  “Thank you, Pa,” Blu said softly.

  Her father’s scowl deepened. He drank long from his rum then scrubbed a hand across his mouth. Staring at a point in space, he scraped his thumbnail across the gold disk. He scratched his head, the back of his arms. Then he swore steadily and with great feeling.

  “Pa? How do I make him want me?”

  “Ye don’t grab his balls.”

  “I discovered that. What do I do?”

  He exhaled mightily, then leaned forward and spoke in a half-whisper. “To begin, ye look at him kinda soft like.”

  “Soft like. How? Like this?” She stared at him.

  “‘Twas that how ye be looking at the Duke? Ye don’t look at a man like ye be about to spear him with yer knife!”

  Blu ground her teeth. “Is this better?”

  Beau Billy blinked. “Hell, no! Do ye want to fight him or roger him? Soft—it’s got to be soft like. Fluttery, like a gull. So’s the man knows but he don’t. Understand?”

  “No.” Blu swore. “Show me.”

  Rearing backward, Beau Billy flattened his hands on the table and stared. “Show ye? I can’t show ye. No man can. ‘Tis a female mystery.”

  “Pa, please. How else can I make sense of this? Soft and fluttery like a gull? What in bloody hell does that mean? And that bilge about a man knowing but not.” She flung out her hands in impatience and frustration. “I don’t understand.” Drawing a breath, she leaned forward and stared long into his eyes, trying again, attempting to make her gaze soft like a gull. Whatever that bloody well meant.

  Beau Billy looked appalled. “Jesu, gel. Yer scorching a hole through me brain. ‘Tisn’t how yer do it.”

  “Then show me! I told you I don’t know how!”

  Beau Billy stared at her. His chest puffed out then collapsed, his face congested to a dark plum color. “Flesh of me flesh or no, I’ll kill ye if ye ever mention this event to a soul.” He looked behind him long and hard, swept a slow sharp glance around the hall, then hunched forward and spat on his palms. “God in his wisdom couldn’t give me a son, no, it had to be a daughter.” The gold disk on his chest lifted then dropped like a bit of flotsam riding a tempest. “Yer mam would never have stomped in here like a mule trying to jar short a burr.”

  Blu straightened, offended. “That’s how I walk?”

  “Yer got to walk graceful like. Twitch yer hips like. Only not like ye be trying to. Ye got to say with yer bottom that yer interested.”

  “With my bottom?” Blu glanced behind her.

  Beau Billy didn’t look at her. “Isabelle can show ye how to sway graceful. But ye got to look at ‘em soft.”

  “I was looking at him soft.”

  “Ye were looking at him like a ratter looks at a mouse.” He drew a long, shuddering breath. “Yer got to do it like this.”

  Lifting his large hand, Beau Billy twirled it from the wrist, then posed his fingers under his chin. After tilting his shaggy head to one side, he fixed her with a melting gaze then slowly lowered and raised his eyelids.

  Startled, Blu stared. She had never before realized what fine eyes her father had. For a moment she had a vision of Beau Billy with trimmed hair and beard and the revelation astonished her. Suddenly she understood why the island women looked after him when he passed.

  Her father’s face turned a purple shade as he held the pose. “Are ye marking this, gel? I’ll only be doing it once.”

  Blu wasn’t certain his gaze was soft exactly, nor could it be, but there was something intent and connecting about it. Imitating him, she leaned forward and twirled her fingers before she tucked them beneath her chin. She cocked her head to one side and blinked rapidly, trying to flutter her long lashes like a gull on the wing.

  “‘Tis the spittin’ image o’ yer mother!” Beau Billy stared.

  At the moment Lady Katherine Paget was the last thing on Blu’s mind. “Very well,” she said briskly. “Now that I know about soft, show me how to talk with my bottom.”

  Her father slapped his hand on the table. “Now that is where I draw me sword, gel. Ye’ll have to learn bottom talk by yerself.”

  “Do you want me to be a virgin all my bloody life?”

  He balked and she saw she had pushed him over the water. “If ye stay a virgin, so be it. I’ll not prance about like a dandy-man, not even fer me daughter! If truth be wanted, I’ve not made up me mind to this entirely.”

  “Perhaps I’ve learned enough,” she said, not certain. “More important, will he recover soon?”

  “Soon enough. Just don’t grab his parts.”

  Quickly, she bent to kiss his weathered cheek, then she gathered the emerald silk to her knees and fairly danced from the hall. Now that she knew about looking soft and talking with her bottom, it seemed easy enough. A bit buffle and caw-handed, but not difficult. The evening could be mended. They could resume where they had left off, and the Duke would roger her as he had promised.

  But when she arrived at the hut, it was dark and empty. The beautiful Turkey rug, the table, the china plate, and the carved bed had all been removed. For a moment Blu stood in the darkness listening to the night sounds, listening to the whistling frogs piping love songs from vine to shrub. The Duke had taken French leave.

  Tears pricked her eyelids. Anger and humiliation flamed on her cheeks. He hadn’t waited, he had trigged it. Spinning, she kicked at the hem of her skirts, then ran toward her own hut before anyone could witness her rejection.

  ~ ~ ~

  Beau Billy glanced up from his tankard and his brows arched as the Duke entered the hall. As Blu had scarcely had time to return to the hut, Beau Billy concluded things were not proceeding according to plan. Part of him experienced a surprising sense of relief. He knew Katherine would not approve of this evening’s work. On the other hand, Blu knew near to nothing about the artificial values of London society. This was her world. And here she was long past the age of innocence.

  Another part of him demanded he punish the Duke for insulting him by rejecting his daughter.

  Men faded away from Beau Billy’s table as the Duke approached and sat on the bench across from him. Before speaking, the Duke drained a tankard of bub and slapped the empty cup on the table planks. When he met Beau Billy’s stare, his own gaze was steady.

  “I did no
t bed your daughter.”

  “I heard. Seems she damned near broke yer privates.”

  “She admitted it?”

  “She’s a squab. She believed she was helping.” Beau Billy grinned at the Duke’s wince and eventual reluctant smile. The lad merited his admiration. Most men would have sailed at once rather than confront Beau Billy Morgan. Both men fell silent, regarding each other warily as they decided if further action was required. After a time Beau Billy clapped his hand on the Duke’s back and the tension in the room released in a collective sigh. Men’s voices lifted, bones clicked against the board, and the game resumed. Old Mother Galway continued around the hall, filling tankards and offering ancient goods.

  “You left a message in Tortuga that you wanted to see me,” the Duke said, accepting a fresh tankard of bub from old Mother Galway.

  “Aye. I have a proposition for ye.”

  “I’m not interested, Billy. I’m sailing to England from here.”

  “So I’ve been informed.” Beau Billy enjoyed the younger man’s lifted brow. “I want ye to take me daughter with ye.”

  The Duke’s silence intensified, then a shout of laughter burst from his lips. “No,” he said, still smiling. “With all due respect, that is a proposition I must decline.”

  “I’ll not trust another to the task. It must be ye.”

  “Without meaning offense, Billy, your daughter is a savage. I don’t want her on my ship and that’s an end to it. I’ve washed my hands of this affair.”

  “She’ll be traveling with a party of three.” That’s how Monsieur phrased it and Beau Billy thought the phrasing as elegant as any the Duke might offer. “Ye’ll put her off at the London wharf and she’ll make her way from there.”

  “No.” The Duke’s fingers tightened around his tankard.

  “I’ll pay ye handsomely.”

  “You could offer the Crown’s jewels and I’d still not alter my mind.”

  “Perhaps ye don’t grasp yer alternatives, lad. Ye take me daughter to England, or—I’ll burn yer ship to the water and feed yer guts to the gulls. Now there be yer choice.”