When she reached down her oar, the man latched onto it, his blue eyes piercing into hers in a way that made her already labored breath rush out of her chest. They were so mesmerizing she completely forgot to reach out her hand to help in into the boat.
He climbed up anyway, grasping the side of the ship, and then several men reached over to pull him into the nearly full dinghy.
Unlike many of the men who had collapsed into the boat, the second his feet hit the bottom, he stood. Without missing a breath, he grasped her about the waist and hauled her up against him. She nearly dropped the oars in her surprise. For a moment, she had a wild thought that he would kiss her. Her eyes widened as his held hers captive. Every nerve tingled as she became aware of all the places his hard body pressed against hers.
Her lips parted in anticipation but he only gave her a small smile and then his hands left her waist as he slipped underneath her arm, sitting on the bench behind her. Grasping her waist again, he pulled her down into his lap.
Confusion knitted her brow and she turned back to look at him. “Sir, what are you—”
The smile returned as his hand came over hers, to clasp the oars. “I thought I might help you row.” His breath was warm against her cheek and it made her tingle in the strangest places.
“Oh,” she exclaimed as his hands grasped hers on the oars. Then he began to move, her body cradled into his as she worked with him to row the boat back to shore.
A flush climbed her cheeks as they swayed back and forth, their bodies moving together. She’d never been this close to a man, so intimately entwined, and her body hummed with the feel of it. If not for the cold seeping into every extremity, it might have been the most exciting moment of her life.
The waves helped push them onto the beach and the men hopped out, pulling the rowboat further onto the shore. Without a word, the man whose lap she sat upon stood and swept her into his arms. Deftly he climbed over the side of the boat and then began making his way up the beach, still holding her.
“Lady Emilia,” one of the stablemen, Creeves, called out from the bottom of the stairs. He must have seen the light or heard the bell and had come to aid the ship. “Are you all right, my lady?”
“My lady?” His voice whispered into her ear.
She turned to look at him, which might have been a mistake, because then her lips were just a breath away from his. She wondered what they might taste like. Salt, of course. He’d just been in the ocean. Blinking, she tried to clear those thoughts. “Y-y-yes. I-I am-m-m the d-d-daughter…” What was wrong with her voice? Belatedly she realized she was shivering despite his heat.
“It’s all right, you can tell me later. I am Captain Jack Andrews. I owe you a debt of gratitude for aiding us. You saved my men’s life today as well as my own.”
She gave a nod as more of the servants began flooding onto the beach. Voices were calling from everywhere, questions were being bandied about from all directions but she could barely understand them as she shrank further down into Captain Andrew’s heat.
Her head lolled onto his shoulder and her eyes drifted closed. “No sleeping now,” his voice called her back.
“H-h-how are y-y-y-you still s-s-s-tanding?” she managed to ask between shivers. His clothes were soaked through and dripping.
“I am used to being wet and cold. But you, my lady, need to get inside.” He barked several orders to his crew and her staff and then he began climbing the steps off the beach and up to her home two at a time.
Either she was too cold to care, or he was exceptionally gentle, because she’d barely noticed any jostling as they climbed. Quite suddenly, they were at the top and he was striding toward the castle. Dimly she was aware of Creeves next to them, panting with the effort it took him to keep pace. “Captain,” he gasped. “Should I run ahead and tell ‘em yer comin’?”
“No need,” he said. She felt a tiny rumble of laughter in his chest and despite the cold, her lips turned up a little. Creeves had gone mad if he thought he’d outpace the captain to the door.
“I-I c-can walk,” she pushed past her lips, her tremor lessening as they moved away from the beach and the strong wind that bit at the shore.
“I’ll hold you,” he murmured, his lips vibrating against the top of her head. “I’ll have you inside in a moment and tucked into a nice warm bed.”
Bed. The word hummed through her head as images of the captain in her room, laying her on her bed, flitted through her mind. Places she’d never even been aware of heated at his words. More thoughts of their bodies pressed together, their clothes falling away, their mouths…
“Emilia,” her father’s voice boomed over the courtyard, interrupting her train of thought entirely.
Captain Andrews quickened his pace yet again, leaving Creeves behind. “She is very cold, my lord. She needs to get inside.”
“This way.” Her father turned as they came beside him and began walking toward the front door. “I trust you’ll give me a full accounting of what has happened.”
Emilia tried to lift her head to reply but before she could even think the words, the captain was answering. “Of course, my lord. I’ve twenty wet and frightened men on the beach. Do you have anywhere I might dry and warm them?”
Her father’s deep brogue bellowed for all to hear. “Bring ‘em intae the main hall.”
“Thank you, my lord,” the captain replied as he strode through the double doors, the warmth of the castle touching her skin. With a sigh, she closed her eyes again.
“No sleeping,” Jack looked down at the lovely woman curled in his arms. He’d strip her down himself and hold her close to warm her freezing skin, consequences be damned, if that was what it took to save her. He owed her nothing less after what she had done for him and his men.
Her lashes fluttered open again, revealing the deep pools of her green eyes. Her gaze was confused as she looked up at him, her sweet mouth puckering in the most delightful way. “Sleep?” she murmured.
“That’s right. Stay awake for me now, my lady. Emilia, is it?” He gave her a smile that felt forced, even to him. In all honestly, he was frightened. More so than he’d been out on the ocean or even when the dinghy had tipped. He’d long ago deemed his own life expendable. Worth little or nothing. But she was another matter entirely. Any woman strong enough to toss herself out onto the open ocean to save a group of strangers deserved all the best life had to offer.
“Mmhhh,” she replied slowly. “You’re warm.”
This time the tugging up of his lips was genuine rather than forced. “And you are quite beautiful.”
Her eyes opened wider then. “That’s kind.” Her head lolled to the side as though she were drunk.
He jostled her in his arms as her father led him up the stairs. It wasn’t meant to be kind, it was the truth. “You doubt my words?” he asked a good deal louder than necessary.
Her head came back up. “My sisters are beautiful. Fiona has flaming red hair as wild as her spirit…” Her voice drifted off again.
“Sisters? How many?” he asked, mostly to keep her talking.
“Two,” she murmured.
“And who is the other?”
“Ainsley. Everyone loves Ainsley. Everywhere she goes people tell her...” Her voice began to fade and her father looked back at them. He was a large man with hair that looked as though it had been quite red, but was now streaked with grey. Everything about him commanded respect, except his eyes. They were filled with worry. Jack was sure his own gaze mirrored the emotion.
“What do people tell Ainsley?” Even to his own tongue, it felt strange to use their given names but he’d do anything to keep her talking.
“How charming she is. So accomplished.” Her head lifted. “And my cousin, Clarissa, you’d like her. She’s English.”
His eyebrow quirked. She had clearly identified his accent as English though he had no idea why that meant he might like her cousin. He disliked a good many English men and women. Besides, he was at least hal
f Scot. The other half was another matter entirely.
“Does she go around saving ships full of sailors too?” He gave her another little jostle just to keep her awake.
Jack heard her father grunt. “She didna’.”
“I didn’t save you. You mostly saved me.” She snuggled closer.
He had the most ridiculous urge to kiss the top of her head, her cheeks, her eyes. “I believe it was you who fished me out of the water.”
Her father opened a door up ahead and stepped into the room. Jack followed. The room would have made him grin if he wasn’t so worried. Books were stacked on every surface, cozy blankets draped across each of the chairs, a fire crackled in the hearth. Not pausing to ask permission, he strode over to it and dropped to his knees. “That feels so good,” she near moaned, her face turning to the flames.
His body clenched at the sound of her breathy voice. Was he responding to her? Damnation, this wasn’t the time to desire a woman. He gave his head a shake, trying to clear it.
Three maids entered the room and for a moment, he held her closer to his body, savoring the feel of her before she was taken away.
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My Laird’s Seduction: A Laird to Love Book 4
Earl of Westcliff
The Wicked Earls’ Club
THE BRAYDENS
Meara Platt
Tynan Brayden, the sixth Earl of Westcliff, peered out of the window of his club onto Bedford Place, knowing he had a choice to make – either remove the last of his clothing and join the beautiful viscountess who was already naked in his bed, eager to share a night of pleasure with him – or leave his bedchamber to discover the identity of the young woman draped in moonlight who was standing alone across the street from his club for the third night in a row and find out what she was doing there.
Was there a doubt of his decision?
He eyed the strawberries and cream, the peacock feather, and the black silk ribbons sitting atop his bureau and sighed. “We’ll have to do this another night, Daniella. Something has just come up.” He intended no pun by his remark, nor was the viscountess clever enough to understand the double meaning in his words.
“Is it my husband?” Daniella, Lady Bascom, leaped from his bed and hastily tossed on her elegant silk gown. “He must have returned to London early. Or never left at all. Why, that deceitful liar! He must have hired Bow Street runners to follow me.” She gathered up the undergarments she’d removed moments earlier and fled from his room without giving him so much as a passing glance.
“Have a good evening,” Tynan muttered as she slammed the door behind her. In truth, he was relieved. Their nights, despite the sex games she often enjoyed playing, had grown quite dull and unsatisfying to him. Intimacy, he supposed, required the participating parties to actually feel something for each other. Something more than indifference.
He returned his attention to the young lady who stood alone on the street, no sign of her driver or carriage this evening, which left her easy prey for any passerby who wished to take advantage. Out there, she was vulnerable. A lost rabbit among a pack of wolves.
“Bollocks.” Three of those wolves had just spotted her and were now about to circle her.
He grabbed his boots, quickly stuffing his feet into them, and at the same time glancing around for the shirt he’d removed only moments ago. Daniella, he realized, must have scooped it up along with her undergarments in her mad rush to flee his chamber. There was no time to grab another, for those three not so fine gentlemen were dangerously close to his little rabbit, eyeing her for their next meal. His little rabbit? No, he didn’t know the girl and had no intention of getting involved beyond rescuing her from this scrape.
Tynan knew he had to move fast. By the sidelong glances these men were casting her, and their sudden whispers to each other, they were about to make their move.
He reached for his pistols and hurried downstairs, hoping to make it out of the club and across the street before the girl was harmed. Not that he should care or feel protective of her in any way. Or that he should still nonsensically be thinking of her as his little rabbit. Where was her family? Did no one notice her missing?
There was a chill to the air on this October evening, a hint of upcoming winter. Tynan felt the wind’s cool prickle against his chest the moment he stepped out of his club. “You there... girl.” He didn’t know what to call her. My darling bunny was not at all appropriate. Was she married? A spinster? No, she looked too young to be on the shelf. But not too young to know better than to be traipsing about London alone at night. “Get behind me.”
She frowned at him. “Do I know you, sir?”
“No, nor do I believe you know those three gentlemen who are eyeing you for dessert.” He turned to the three obviously inebriated men and trained his pistols on them. “Take another step toward the girl and it shall be your last.”
“No need for that, m’lord,” said their leader, an arrogant fellow with a cruel smile and an avid gleam in his eyes that revealed his less than honorable intentions toward the girl. He had no business here. Not that this was one of the finer London neighborhoods, but neither was it anywhere near the worst. The townhouses on Bedford Place were neatly maintained and might have been considered elegant if not for their occupants who were mostly mistresses and courtesans who plied their trade to a fashionable clientele. “We’re willin’ to share her with you.”
The girl scurried to Tynan’s side. “I am indebted to you, sir. I hadn’t noticed them. I’m glad you did.”
Her voice was soft and lilting.
He caught the scent of roses on her skin, with a subtle hint of lemon and summer sunshine mixed in.
She was prettier than he’d expected, but he dared not take his gaze off the blackguards, not while they were obviously mulling how best to overpower him and grab the girl. “Get inside,” he ordered her. “You’ll be safe with me. I give you my word of honor.”
She hesitated.
“I have no wish to spill blood, but these gentlemen are determined to have you. I’ll be forced to shoot them if you continue to stand here and provide temptation.”
“Oh, I see.” She stepped into the club.
He backed in after her, his gaze and pistols trained on the men who were not at all pleased that their little rabbit had just gotten away. He shoved the door closed and called for two passing footmen to stand guard. “Keep weapons at hand. We might have trouble from those drunken fools tonight.”
They both nodded. “Aye, m’lord.”
“Has Lord Coventry arrived yet? Or Sussex or Wainthorpe?”
“No, m’lord,” the older footman said. “Nor any of the other earls.”
“When they do arrive, warn them to remain alert.” He waited for these trusted retainers to take their positions by the door, and then turned scowling toward the girl. “Are you attics to let? Where is your driver? More important, why have you been standing across the street, scouting this building for the past three nights?”
When she did not deign to respond, he tucked the smaller pistol into its holster in his boot, grabbed her hand, and attempted to haul her upstairs to his quarters. She stood her ground and fought back, determined to shove away from him. “Unhand me!”
“Not until I have my answers.” Having no patience for her resistance, he lifted her over his shoulder.
She gasped and pounded on his back. “You gave me your word of honor! Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere we can continue this discussion in private.” He did not particularly care who saw her, but the lords and ladies who frequented the Wicked Earls’ Club expected discret
ion and could not afford to be seen by her... whoever she was.
He marched into his chamber and shut the door behind them, ignoring her startled cry as the latch fell into place. He set her down in the center of the room and moved away, for she was obviously scared of him and he needed to calm her down. “What is your business here?”
“You wretch!”
He growled when she unexpectedly kicked his shin and tried to dodge around him to reach the door.
He grabbed her by the waist and drew her up against him, his intention merely to prevent her escape. To his surprise, she felt soft and wonderful. He released her, but made certain to stand between her and the door. “Why did you kick me?”
Instead of replying, she fumbled through her reticule and withdrew her own pistol. With a small, trembling hand, she pointed it at him. “You assured me that I would be safe with you.”
“Put that thing down before you hurt yourself.” He moved toward his desk and set his own pistol down on it. “You are safe with me. I have no interest in making you my next bed partner.” Although he’d just gotten a good look at the girl and - holy hell - she was beautiful. Auburn hair that was lush and silky, and hinting of curls that were too unruly to ever properly behave. Big amber-brown eyes that were the vibrant color of expensive brandy. And a body that had his heart pounding so hard, it almost dropped him to his knees.
He doubted that she trusted him, and in this moment, he wasn’t certain that he could be trusted with her.
Her lips were tantalizingly soft and pink. He’d been too busy staring at them to realize she’d lowered her weapon. “I may as well introduce myself. Tynan Brayden, Earl of Westcliff, at your service.”
Her lips puckered as he gave a mock bow. “An earl,” she said, placing emphasis on his title. “My goodness.”
He arched an eyebrow, relieved when she finally stuck the pistol back in her reticule. He noted that her hands were still trembling. “Your turn,” he said, purposely keeping his voice gentle. “Who are you?”
Earl of Sussex: Wicked Regency Romance (Wicked Earls' Club) Page 9
