“Merciful heavens, what happened?” The petite cook-maid shuffled her feet, as she retrieved a broom. “Did Cap’n make you sleep in here?”
“Oh, no.” Alex snatched her house slippers from the floor and slid them onto her feet. Then she scooted to the edge of the small sofa, dropped her legs over the side, stood, and stretched. In an instant, she flinched, as her body ached in places she never knew she could ache. “My darling brother was only too happy to surrender his bed, but I insisted he retain the use of his chamber, given his size and the fact that he must replenish his energy to oversee repairs to the Intrepid.”
In that moment, Alex could have choked on her tongue, because nothing could have been further from the truth. The previous night, after sharing a painfully quiet meal, Jason had stormed into his quarters and slammed the door behind him. Seconds later, when he unlatched the bolt, she had allowed herself a scrap of hope, which he swamped beneath a pile of blankets and a pillow.
So the estimable captain had resolved to make the situation difficult for her, while she had anticipated otherwise. Much to her chagrin, his level of resistance, though somewhat admirable, was not normal. The stronger sex rarely refused Alex Seymour anything. With a playful bat of her lashes or a coy smile, she could bend the most stalwart man to her will. Even her brother Damian was susceptible to her tears, which she had deployed on occasions too numerous to count, for a wide variety of infractions, in order to save her posterior.
Yet Jason remained immune.
“Are you hungry?” Molly folded the blanket. “Shall I cook some breakfast, ma’am?”
“Please, do so.” Alex nodded once, as she considered her predicament. “As I am famished.”
“How do you prefer your eggs?” Molly stacked the bedding and pillow at one end of the sofa. “Scrambled, boiled, fried, or over easy?”
“Scrambled, please.” She frowned, as she posited her next move. “And you must call me Alex.”
At one time, prior to his engagement in Cara’s plot to catch Lance, Jason had been Alex’s most ardent pursuer. She had only to crook her little finger, and he came running. Now he seemed impervious to her powers of persuasion, so how could she reverse course?
“Would you like a slice of ham, Alex?” Molly tarried at the range.
“Yes, if it is not too much trouble.” In silence, she revisited Jason’s provocation.
“It will take only a minute to prepare.” A hairsbreadth later, a tempting aroma filled the primary living space.
Studying the efficient cook-maid, Alex dissected Jason’s words. Had he sought a wife capable of providing such basic services as cooking and cleaning? Or was his challenge a test of her mettle? Whatever the case, she would not fail. Regardless of his intent, she would prove herself worthy of his affection and a betrothal. After all, how hard could it be to complete such menial drudgery?
“Molly, I hate to be a burden, as you were hired to care for Jason, alone.” Alex shrugged into her robe, belted it tight, and then strolled into the kitchen. “If you would teach me, I could assist in your duties.”
“I beg your pardon?” Molly dropped her cooking utensil into the pan but quickly retrieved it. “No offense, ma’am, but you do not appear suited to charwork.”
“In that I cannot argue.” With a chuckle, Alex lingered at the servant’s side. “But it is never too late to learn untried skills, and I pride myself in my willingness to attempt new occupations. And I should dearly love to confound my brother.”
“I am not sure. You have very fine things, and I would hate to spoil one of your beautiful dresses.” Molly furrowed her brow, peered at Alex, grabbed her hand, and skimmed her palm. “Just as I suspected. No calluses and soft as a baby’s bottom. I would wager your beau prefers you as such.”
“Perhaps we can broker an agreement, something that would benefit us both?” Alex retrieved a napkin and a fork from a drawer. “You admire my perfume. I shall make you a bargain. A bottle of France’s finest scent, in exchange for your housekeeping expertise and best recipes.”
“Oh, no. That is not necessary. If I help you, I will do so because I want to, not for personal gain.” Molly frowned, as she seasoned the eggs and ham. “And Cap’n pays a fair wage.”
“I have offended you.” Alex retreated and retrenched. “I apologize, Molly, as I never meant to insult you. I had thought to reward your services, in kind.”
“Have a seat at the table.” Molly dished the meal. “And there is hot water in the kettle, if you wish to make tea.”
“Perfect.” Alex located a serviceable pot and a canister of tealeaves and then halted. “How much should I use?”
“You have never made tea?” Molly blinked. “You must live in a grand home, ma’am. And I am not certain it is proper for me to use your given name.”
“Nonsense, as I am no snob.” Alex picked up a spoon and opened the canister. “Now, how much tea for the pot?”
“Mother says the rule of thumb is a spoon for you and another for the pot.” After conveying the plate to the table, Molly retrieved a cup and saucer from a small cupboard. “You should eat, before the food gets cold, ma’am.”
“Will you not call me Alex?” She pulled out a chair and sat. “As I would dearly like us to be friends.”
“Really?” Molly poured a cup of tea and passed it to Alex. “I have very few friends, as I do not socialize much, beyond my work or church on Sundays.”
“How sad for you.” Alex sipped the steaming brew and could have cried. “Oh, the tea is wonderful, and I made it, myself. I feel so powerful. You simply must show me everything, as I would prove to Jason that I am self-sufficient.”
“All right.” Molly chuckled and settled in the opposite seat. “I will make a trade, if you are willing.”
“Name it, dear Molly.” Alex attacked the eggs. “I am at your disposal.”
“It is embarrassing to admit, but I am a strain on my parents, and I would marry before my younger brother and sister suffer.” The charwoman stared at the floor. “As you seem a very fine lady, I wondered if you might help me catch a husband.”
Alex choked violently.
“Is something wrong with the food?” Molly leaped to her feet, rounded the table, and smacked Alex on the back. “Are you ill?”
“Everything is delicious.” Alex swallowed hard and downed a healthy gulp of tea. “You caught me by surprise.”
“I am sorry.” The cook-maid shifted her weight and tugged on her long braid. “Are you unfamiliar with the matter, as I know some may consider my request rather bold for a woman?”
“Oh, I am quite versed in bold behavior, Molly.” If only the poor servant knew the truth. “So has a particular gentleman caught your fancy, or are you speaking in general terms?”
“There is someone special.” Molly compressed her lips. “Tom Penniman, the stablemaster in Plymouth.”
“How charming.” Alex envisioned her sea captain and smiled. “Is he a man of character and good standing? And does he share your affection?”
“Everyone speaks well of him, and he brings me flowers every Sunday, after church.” Molly refilled Alex’s cup. “And thank you for your friendship. I must confess you are not what I expected when you appeared on the doorstep.”
“Oh?” She recollected their initial meeting. “What did you presume?”
“I had thought you one of those London society ladies, who have no interest in maids beyond how we serve them, much less consider us people with feelings.” Molly bowed her head. “I am sorry I misjudged you, as I should have known Cap’n would abide no snobbery in his kin.”
“No, Jason would not.” A chill shivered down Alex’s spine, as Molly had provided food for thought. “So you must tell me all about your conquest, and I vow to bring him to his knees, in no time.”
Molly gasped. “But I do not wish to injure him.”
“I refer to a proposal, Molly.” Alex giggled. “And it will not hurt your Mr. Penniman to kneel.”
#
> By the time Jason returned to the cottage that evening, he was exhausted. After securing his horse, he rounded the side of the small structure and then paused. Closing his eyes, he willed himself to resist the temptation Alex presented, but his body reacted to the mere thought of the brown-haired beauty.
Against his better judgment, he had allowed the source of his discomfit to remain at his rented lodgings, when everything inside him argued he should have sent her back to London. So why had he permitted her to stay?
Because Jason wanted Alex.
It was with that singular thought dancing in his brain that he entered his temporary residence and found the one person he desired most, sitting on the sofa, with a serious expression, and concentrating on a repair to a shirt. “Good evening, sweet lady.”
“Hello, Jason—ouch.” Wincing, she stuck her injured finger in her mouth, and all manner of naughty imaginings assailed him. “Is it possible to bleed to death from countless pinpricks? And how was your day?”
“Productive.” He laughed. “And how about you? Have you assisted Molly with repairs to my clothes?”
“Actually, I completed the mending, myself, because Molly feared I might ruin one of my dresses.” Alex held a shirt for his inspection. “She promised to bring a frock more suited to heavy labor, tomorrow.”
“My compliments to the seamstress, as I can scarcely note the stitches.” Then he slipped his hand inside the sleeve and pulled the garment taut. “Uh—Alex. We seem to have a minor problem.”
“Oh?” She gazed at the lace-edged cuff. “Did I miss something? Is there another tear?”
“Not quite.” With a chuckle, he held the sleeve for her scrutiny. “You sewed the end shut.”
“What?” She wrenched and tugged at the fine lawn. “This cannot be possible. Blast.”
Jason burst into laughter.
“And just what do you find so funny, Jason Collingwood?” With an impressive scowl, she yanked the offensive item from his grasp. “After all my hard work and bloodshed.”
“There, there, my dear.” He surrendered to another fit of guffaws but quieted when she cast him a fiery glare. “It is only a shirt, and you are new to such work.”
“Bloody hell.” With a groan, she rummaged through the remainder of the mending pile, emitting one unladylike curse after another. “I repeated the same mistake on several sleeves. Oh—I attached the end of this collar to the other.”
“Molly will help you set it right, in the morning.” He patted her back. “Perhaps I should wash up, while you serve dinner.”
“I will not ask Molly to correct my error, as this was my task, and I shall complete it if it takes until dawn.” Crestfallen, Alex sighed. “And I did so wish to please you.”
“You think me vexed?” For a scarce second, Jason pondered his next move, as he knew from past experience he could not be too careful with the delectable Lady Seymour. With that in mind, he settled on a half-hug and then sought shelter at the washstand. “I am proud of your effort, love. Now dish our meal, as you should replenish your strength, if you intend to sew all night.”
“You are horrible to make sport of my mishap.” Alex stomped to the stove.
“Something smells delicious.” Jason peered over his shoulder and winked. “Did you prepare the food?”
“No,” she replied, with a precious pout, and he longed to bite her lip. “Molly cooked before she departed, but she pledged to teach me a few of her best recipes, later this week.”
“Lord, save us.” Jason rolled his eyes, as he could only conjure the potential for disaster. “Just try not to burn down the house.”
“Blackguard, you take that back.” Wielding a wooden spoon as a weapon, Alex bared her teeth. “I can do anything, if I am so inclined, and I am most definitely inclined, sir. Now not another word, or you will wear the contents of this pot.”
Jason clamped his mouth shut and splayed his palms in mock surrender. And then they sat and ate in silence. How disarming Alex was as she glanced at the mending pile and furrowed her brow. And how it touched him that she cared so much for his good opinion. Perhaps there was hope for them. “Stop worrying about it.”
“I can’t.” She drew her napkin from her lap, stood, and gathered the dirty dishes. “Once I have cleaned the kitchen, I shall redo the repairs.”
“Alex, do not overtire yourself.” He caught her by the wrist. “I will not have you waning, and it is enough that you tried.”
“This was your idea.” She snatched his plate. “And I will do it right, or I shall cede the fight.”
And so Jason adjourned to his comfortable chair, lit a cigar, sipped his favorite brandy, and pretended to read the latest edition of The Mariner’s Mirror. But Alex captured his attention to the detriment of all else.
Humming a flirty little ditty as she tarried, his not-so-pampered princess washed, rinsed, dried, and stowed the dishes and utensils. And as she toiled, she attacked, albeit unknowingly, every reason he had composed for delaying their betrothal—and of that there were many.
Never had Jason shared his concerns regarding marriage and war, as he believed the two inextricably intertwined, given his father’s occupation, subsequent demise in battle, and Jason’s mother’s related heartbreak and death, soon after.
At the ripe old age of twelve, Jason had been orphaned. An elderly uncle had liquidated the humble estate and purchased a midshipman’s commission in the navy, aboard the HMS Perseus, and Jason had gone to sea and never looked back.
But Lady Alexandra Seymour had changed everything from the moment he spied her in the Richmond’s ballroom, bedecked in red velvet, as an enchanting seraph. Never had he seen anything so lovely, in his life, and the incomparable Lady Seymour had struck a blow from which he might never recover.
“What is it about dishwater that makes my skin so dry?” With a grimace, she rubbed her hands. “And my nails may never be the same.”
“Complaining already?” Jason chuckled, as he could not resist baiting her. “You may quit your campaign and return to London, at any time.”
“I make an observation, you horrible man. Am I not allowed a measure of protest, given the circumstances? And I would remind you that Seymour’s are made of sterner stuff.” Alex sorted the clothing, assessing her various mishaps, and groaned with each new unfortunate discovery. “How could I have made so many mistakes? It will take all night to set it right.”
“Shall I massage cream on your palms?” How he ached to touch her, and the mere suggestion woke the beast below his belly button.
“No, thank you.” Alex plopped onto the sofa, grabbed the scissors, and attacked the stitches on a shirt. “I can take care of myself.”
“My dear, I do not doubt you in the least.” And then he flinched and shifted in his seat, as she ripped apart two haphazardly joined swaths of fabric with violence of which he had not presumed her capable.
With renewed focus on the quarterly maritime journal, Jason compressed his lips against laughter, as his heretofore-prissy debutante swore a blue streak that could make the crustiest sailor blush. The remainder of the evening passed in an awkward mix of uncomfortable, tension-filled silence interspersed with spontaneous invective. After a couple of hours, he yawned, stood, and stretched.
“The hour is late, and I am for bed.” To his surprise, she portrayed no outward sign of acknowledgement, so he bent and placed a kiss on the crown of her head.
In an instant, Alex gasped and peered into his eyes, and what he spied in her blue depths had him reconsidering his intent to retire, as his loins erupted in flames. Tempting fate, he nudged her nose with his, and she trailed her little pink tongue along the sumptuous flesh he loved to suckle.
The walls fell away, the floor tilted beneath his feet, and the light from the fireplace and candles dimmed, as desire enveloped them. Alex glanced at his mouth and then returned her gaze to his, in an unspoken invitation. And how he longed to take what she offered—and more, without hesitation.
Warning b
ells pealed in his ears, and Jason retreated. “You should put down your mending and rest, as I have other shirts, thus my need is not pressing.”
“I will sleep as soon as I complete my work.” She frowned, and disappointment weighed heavy in her countenance, as she gave her attention to her task. “Goodnight, Captain of my heart.”
And there it was, the familiar endearment he relished more than he was willing to admit. “Pleasant dreams, Alex.”
With that, Jason found safe haven in his modest quarters, as he threw the bolt, not that he expected his errant society miss to accost him in the middle of the night—he should be so lucky. As a man on a mission, and he was most definitely of a singular mind, in seconds, he stripped naked, snatched a small towel from the washstand, and slipped between the sheets. Reclining amid the pillows, he draped the cloth over his crotch, blew out the candle, closed his eyes, envisioned his lady, and put four fingers and a thumb to most excellent use.
#
It was early the next morning when Jason, preparing to depart for the docks, entered the great room and found Alex sound asleep, sitting in the same position on the sofa. With her delicate features relaxed in repose, she could have passed for one of Botticelli’s angels. But he knew better.
At her side, in a neat stack, his clothing had been sorted and folded. Without waking her, he picked up a shirt and examined her handiwork. Though he fancied himself no authority on sewing, never had he enjoyed such expert repairs, and it pleased him beyond words that his lady had taken such pride in her work. After pulling on his greatcoat, he bent, rested his palms at either side of her head, and studied the only woman who had ever inspired serious contemplation of a trip to the altar.
Her long brown hair had loosened from the severe topknot she had sported the previous night. The fine-boned, heart-shaped face, serene and sublime in slumber, often occupied his dreams. Classical features, finely arched brows, and a cute little nose had snared his interest at first sight, as had her curvaceous figure. And her mouth—now that exemplified perfection and begged for a kiss, something he had indulged on occasions too numerous to count.
Brethren of the Coast Box Set 2 Page 34