How to Be a Proper Lady

by Katharine Ashe

  “You flirt with them.”

  “I make difficult work seem appealing.”

  “And Jonah’s fawning when you assigned him to clean the head just now? What was that, his sheer idiocy?”

  “He is very loyal. He gladly does what his captain wishes, unlike some sailors who shall remain nameless although we both know exactly who I’m talking about.”

  He shook his head, his look incredulous. “And I suppose if you told Jonah to jump into the belly of a whale he would do it without hesitation.”

  “Very clever. I am really astoundingly impressed.”

  “What? Would you prefer classical references from the stories you read to them at bedtime like a nursemaid reads to her infant charges? No wonder they all make dog’s eyes at you.”

  She was getting to him. She could see it in the tight sinews of his neck, the taut line of his jaw. She was making the cool, confident Pharaoh agitated, and the success swirled inside her like a dram of gin. Beneath his crystal gaze she did feel a bit drunk. A bit reckless. Like the girl she had once been.

  “Jealous of their devotion, Seton? Perhaps if you read to them they would make dog eyes at you too.” She waggled her brows.

  “This is no way to captain a ship. These men are all half in love with you.”

  Her heart did an odd little jump, but she forced a shrug.

  “If it works, who’s to complain?” She allowed herself a taunting smile. “Is that why you’re distressed that I’ve been avoiding you? Are you half in love with me too, then?”

  “Good God.” He scowled. “What do you take me for, a complete fool?”

  “A man must be foolish to fall in love with me?”

  “That, and nearsighted and bereft of the capacity for rational thought, not to mention in possession of a death wish.”

  That stung, and she didn’t like that it stung. She struggled for a retort and words tumbled through her lips.

  “I’ll wager I can make you fall in love with me.” Oh, God.

  He cracked a hard laugh. “I dare you to try.”

  “Do you?” Her cursed tongue! “All right. What shall we wager?” The unbidden words just kept popping out. But there was something exciting about the idea, something dangerous and tempting that she should not feel.

  His mouth actually hung open. But holy Magdalene, what a mouth. She could nearly taste him with her imagination, male heat and smooth command. Pity he was looking at her like an escapee from McLean Hospital. And of course, pity she couldn’t stand him.

  “You are mad,” he said in wondering tones. “Aren’t you?”

  “I never back down from a dare. How do you think I got here? A mere woman?” She gestured aft to the quarterdeck.

  “You are serious.” His eyes narrowed. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Afraid I’ll win?”

  “Patently, no.”

  “Then let’s agree to terms. If I win, I get your new ship.”

  “No.”

  “And if you win, I will return to England with you.”

  He went perfectly still. Viola struggled to breathe evenly. She didn’t know where her words had come from. She did not wish to return to England.

  On the other hand, it might be worth it to watch him squirm while she hung all over him in an effort to seduce him. She would not meet with success. He had a heart of stone and a will of iron and he would win. But she could always turn right around and come home afterward. After seeing Serena. Her half sister. The countess.

  Oh, good God, what had she done?

  “The duration of the wager?” he finally asked.

  “A fortnight.”

  “A fortnight?”

  She lifted a brow. “Men have fallen in love with me in minutes before.” Aidan always claimed he had.

  He looked at her with clear disbelief. “I have no doubt that some men are equally as mad as you.”

  That was rather lowering. And more than a sting. It actually hurt.

  Her ire flared. “Perhaps you are as well, pirate scum.”

  “Again with the insults. You are losing your moral high ground.”

  “My high ground is well enough. Will you take the wager?”

  He studied her for a silent moment, his ice eyes enigmatic now. “Yes.”

  She found it a bit difficult to breathe. But she’d gotten herself into this. And she now would have to touch him, and feel the heat simmering beneath his skin again, as she had in the corridor. A touch that had left her sleeping fitfully every night since.

  His eyes glimmered. “Regretting your impetuosity already, Miss Carlyle?”

  Her pulse stumbled. “I said do not call me that aboard my ship.”

  His perfect mouth slid up at one edge, and this time the grin was purely confident. “Name your terms.”

  Terms? He must speak to her with deference and allow her all sorts of liberties with his person.

  Her cheeks flamed. His gaze shifted across them and the slightest crease appeared in his cheek.

  “You must remain aboard at all times,” she said in a rush, “even when we come into port, until the end of the fortnight, unless I disembark as well, and then you go with me where I go.” Goddamn him for doing this to her, for making her tongue say things it should not and for being so arrogantly gorgeous she was quivering with anticipation.

  “All right.”

  Beneath his steady gaze, her thoughts tangled. But she must see this through. Her pride was at stake. “If you disembark for any other reason, you forfeit the wager and I win automatically.”

  “And the corollary terms? If you throw me off, you forfeit the wager and I win?”

  “Exactly.” She would not. She had borne his unnerving presence for a fortnight already. But in his light eyes now was calculation. This was a foolish mistake. Her gaze dropped to his lips. A colossally foolish mistake.

  “And at the end of the fortnight you must tell the truth,” she added. “No lying about it just so you will win.”

  “Of course.”

  She thrust out her hand. “Agreed?”

  He encompassed it, and her entire body got hot. His grip was strong and she wanted to feel that strength elsewhere. To feel his hands on her. She was a disloyal tart, daring a man to touch her while her heart belonged to another.

  “At the end of the fortnight, Viola Carlyle, you will board my ship and sail to England with me.” He spoke quietly and steadily, entirely unlike her shaking insides.

  “At the end of the fortnight, Seton, you will regret that you ever came within a league of Violet Daly.”

  He released her and walked away, completely at ease, unaware of the shimmering air about him. She stood immobile, staring at his back until he descended belowdecks, cursing herself and him. She would make his life unendurable. With her attentions she would force him off her ship and he would leave her alone. Then she would take up with Aidan exactly where they’d left off last when he held her and told her she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

  But the notion of embracing Aidan again didn’t speed her heartbeat now. Not Aidan at all.

  Chapter 7

  My lady,

  My father, brother, and I are delighted with your latest pamphlet on the Despicable Conditions that Manchester textile workers are forced to endure. Your prose exhortations continue to inspire the people of Britain to seek justice.

  With the most sincere apologies, however, I must beg you to remove The Mermaid from the office. Her size and State of Undress have caused discomfort to our clients and not an insubstantial Lack of Focus among the press operators. If you prefer, I will be most happy to arrange for her disposal.

  Josiah Brittle

  Brittle & Sons, Printers

  Dear Mr. Brittle,

  I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience the statue has caused. Pray arrange for her Return to Sender to the following address: Mr. Peregrine, The Falcon Club, 14½ Dover Street, London.

  A siren belongs where she will wreak destruction most effec
tively-not on poor laborers but on the indolent rich who best deserve it.

  Sincerely,

  Lady Justice

  Chapter 8

  Viola Carlyle was shameless.

  Overnight her prickly combativeness transformed into sloe-eyed glances and lowered lashes. Jin might be amused if she weren’t so good at it. Convincing. As though she truly wished for his attentions. She enacted the role of a demure female throwing out lures like an actress trained for the stage, but with a great deal more finesse and the advantage of a pretty face and perfectly shaped body.

  The body he was now able to fully appreciate again.

  She discarded the sacklike coat, donning instead a fitted waistcoat that hugged her breasts and narrow waist and emphasized the delicacy of her form. The sash slung from shoulder to hip bore a single small pistol, the hilt of a short dagger pointing at an angle designed to draw a man’s attention where it should not linger. The ungainly hat went too, replaced by a brimmed cap when she was atop and nothing when she was belowdecks. Her thick tresses, bound only in a queue as he had first seen on the dock weeks earlier, shone like satin in the sunshine and tangled in the wind, brushing across her lips.

  She did not make the mistake of giving up her command to him. She maintained firm control over her ship and her crewmen’s activities to a reasonable degree, leaving to Jin his regular duties. But now she proffered her commands without taunting or insults, instead with modulated tones that suggested she had every faith in him to carry out his responsibilities.

  She was beguiling, gracious, and not in the least bit obsequious or overly retiring. She was damnably alluring, like a gently bred female withholding favors she would eagerly relinquish to a man worthy of her-but only that man.

  She was a conniving, manipulative she-devil.

  More than anything as yet, all of it went further toward convincing him that she belonged in English high society. Beauty and subtle flirtation combined with a quiet, confident mastery of her realm marked her as the aristocrat she was meant to be-her mother’s daughter if not her father’s.

  But for two decades Jin had played games far more perilous. He knew how to handle this. He kept his distance.

  She made it difficult. She began taking her meals with the men. When he was atop, she made it her business to be there as well. She clearly believed proximity was the key to her success. He found himself walking away from her more often than he liked. No man dictated his actions, and certainly no woman. Not for twenty years. But her nearness distracted him. Too much.

  Following the clouds and high winds, then the single sunny day on which he had agreed to the wager, rain finally came. He was settling into his cabin preparing for bed when Becoua appeared.

  “Clouds parted a bit, sir. There’s a few stars showin’. Thought you’d like to know, seein’ as the captain’s asleep already.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Maalouf.”

  Becoua turned, then paused. “Master Jin, Captain’s smelling of flowers lately, ain’t she? Perfumey like?”

  “I had not noticed.”

  Becoua met his gaze with a bemused question in his own.

  Jin shook his head. “Back to work, sailor.”

  The boatswain grunted and shuffled off. Jin passed a hand across his face, then gripped the back of his neck. He must assess the ship’s direction by the stars. It might not clear again for days.

  She stored the sextant in her cabin.

  She was there now. He had known it since she walked past his door earlier, trailing the scent of flowers mingled with rich herbs. She had indeed taken to wearing perfume, an East Indian attar of roses and golden champa. A heady, lush fragrance that mingled with her woman’s scent and even at a few paces away seemed to reach out and touch a man precisely where he most needed it.

  Blatant.

  Shameless.

  And it was having its effect. The rest of the ship smelled like sweat and unwashed men and its master smelled like a lady’s boudoir. Jin now fully regretted eschewing the Boston brothels before embarking upon this journey. With her soft, dark-eyed glances and beguiling scent she had him hard, and hard put not to teach her a lesson in what it meant to tease a man who had gone too long without a woman.

  If he was frustrated, her crew members must be as well. Becoua’s confusion proved it.

  Irresponsible she-devil. Or perhaps merely insane as he had first thought.

  He went the few steps to her cabin door and knocked. It opened on a woman as unlike a shipmaster as could be. Her unbound hair fell about her face in waves like costly Russian mink. She wore only a thin white shirt, its laces untied and parted over the cleft of her breasts, and breeches. An open book rested in her palm.

  Slowly, her wide, hazy eyes seemed to focus. Her lashes flickered, a rose veil suffused her cheeks, and for a moment she looked flustered. Then she lowered the book and offered him a feminine smile with a mile of calculation behind it.

  “Calling so late, Mr. Seton. What a pleasure.”

  “Do you always answer the door to your sailors dressed like that?” He gestured to the creamy expanse of soft womanhood visible at her parted shirt, perfect swells of temptation.

  He was.

  Tempted.

  One corner of her smile lifted. “Not at all. I was expecting you.”

  “You’re more likely to drive me to jump ship with further insults and transparent bravado than with this.”

  “There are two ways I can win this wager.”

  “There are two ways I can as well.” He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb. “You will not endure my indifference for long. Your pride will get the better of you. You will throw me off the ship out of sheer vexation.”

  “That might be the case if you were actually indifferent.” Her gaze slipped to his mouth where it lingered momentarily, then down his chest. Slowly, like a caress. And his body felt it. Like a caress.

  She met his regard again. “But you aren’t.”

  He crossed his arms with careful nonchalance and allowed himself to grin, but he knew why he was trapping his arms. His hands. “You would like to imagine so.”

  “The other day, standing in this corridor,” she said softly, a seduction of sweet, rich femininity, “you wanted to kiss me.”

  “If I had wanted to kiss you, Viola Carlyle,” he replied just as quietly, “I would have.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He did not respond, merely regarded her as though she hadn’t insulted him, a glint of pure confidence in his eyes. Viola’s mouth was unbearably dry. She wanted a cup of wine in her hand and Jinan Seton out of her sight. This charade was unendurable. The more she was obliged to bat her lashes and stand close beside him on deck wearing considerably less than she usually wore to bed, the more difficult it was to convince herself it was all an act. She had answered the door in her present state of undress because she’d been attempting to read a book she loved as a girl, and instead spent the time imagining how it would feel if he were to put his lips on hers.

  “What are you reading?” He asked it as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  “A book,” she snapped, his perfect, breathtaking mouth and arms and everything far too close. “Is this conversation you’re attempting to make?”

  “Ah. The return of the shrew.” He grinned, sending her belly into tingling somersaults. “I may leap overboard yet.”

  “I can only hope.”

  He had the audacity to chuckle. “Come to think of it, I prefer this attitude to the other. I appreciate honesty in a sailor.”

  “Don’t you mean in a woman?”

  His eyes seemed to shadow. “In anyone.”

  But those words were not his thoughts; she saw it in his face and knew beyond doubt that this man had been betrayed by a woman and it had wounded him.

  Abruptly beset by a most pressing urge, then Viola did a very foolish thing. She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest and heard herself murmur, “I am always honest.” She was in thi
s. Despite herself she wished to be near him, and to touch him.

  Beneath her palm his chest rose and fell sharply, but his voice remained even.

  “You are playacting a role that neither of us is enjoying. Put an end to this wager. It is childish and you know you will lose.”

  But she didn’t feel like a child. The way he looked at her with such crystal intensity even as he remained aloof made her feel very much like a woman. She should remove her hand from his body. Beneath fine linen-far too fine for a common sailor-he was all contoured muscle.

  “What if I don’t care to lose?” Her fingers spread and she felt him, his heartbeat and heat, and a soft tension gathered in her. She traced a fingertip to the laces of his shirt and with the smallest movement stroked the linen open.

  Skin. Male skin beneath her touch, firm and hot. She pushed the fabric aside, baring hard collarbone and sun-darkened man. Her breaths stuttered. “And if I’m enjoying the wager itself?”

  He caught her wrist in a strong grip and slid her hand fully beneath his shirt.

  The air sank from her lungs. For a moment he simply held her there, her palm pressed to his skin over his flat nipple. Then he leaned forward, bent his head, and spoke low.

  “You needn’t strap me to a mast in order to undress me, Miss Carlyle. I am more than happy to oblige you at any time.”

  “Are you?” Dear Mother Mary, he must feel her trembling. She wanted to sink her fingers into him, to order him to oblige immediately. Oh, God, she really wanted to feel him-more. And to feel more of this strange, delicious quickening inside her. She’d never felt it before. Not for any man. Except Aidan, of course. Possibly. Or perhaps not.

  What was happening to her?

  He whispered at her brow, “Say the word, Captain.”

  She stilled. In the close space she could draw into her senses his man’s scent. He smelled so good, intoxicating and familiar and warm. “You do realize you just called me captain?”

  The pad of his thumb slipped over the tender center of her wrist.

  “I did.” There was a rumble of laughter in his voice. “Fancy that. Must be because I am awaiting an order.”