“Facedown, Mr. Moore, angle his mid-chest across the bench.”
America’s own pulse soared when she found a heartbeat in his neck. It was thready, but he was alive. “On my signal, you will press on his back with all your weight, Mr. Moore.” America took hold of Phaeton’s arms like they were oars and leaned back. She pulled them forward, over his head, and then signaled Moore to press on his back.
“The prone pressure method. Very scientific.” She pulled on his arms. “Onboard ship, we put a man over a barrel and roll it back and forth.”
With each pull and press, seawater shot out of Phaeton’s nose and mouth, until a sputtered cough gave up nothing more. With an involuntary jerk, he came to life and began to shiver. Her own body ached under the fatigue of tension. A deep exhale released hours of emotional strain and tautly held muscle. She looked up and returned Moore’s smile.
“Well done, Miss Jones.” Moore took off his coat and covered the trembling body splayed across the bottom of the dinghy. Phaeton’s moan came from the depths of hell, but it sounded like heaven to her.
“Seems you’ve got more lives than a cat.”
Reluctantly, Phaeton shifted his gaze away from America to the man speaking. Dexter Moore stood at the foot of his bed holding his hat. After a change into dry clothes and two pots of hot tea, he almost felt himself again. Except for the bruised ribs, the sore jaw, and the swollen eye. A sharp pain shot up his side as he spoke. “Bugger off.”
Moore checked his watch. “As a matter of fact, I’m off to town. Yanky Willem will likely reemerge somewhere east of the Tower, where he has yet another of your ships in dry dock, Miss Jones.”
America sat bedside and closed the book in her lap. “A few alterations and a fresh coat of paint to disguise appearances, perhaps?”
“Awfully bold of Willem.” Phaeton pressed for details. “What are your plans, Dex?”
“Contact London Port Authority. Between Scotland Yard and Thames patrol, we should be able to cast a net from the Isle of Dogs to Limehouse.”
She grabbed her bottom lip with upper teeth and slowly released. He loved that adorable nervous twitch of hers. Perhaps too much.
Dexter rattled on. “Not to worry, Miss Jones, a man on the run makes mistakes.”
She managed a smile. “Let us hope so, Mr. Moore.”
Dexter cast a longing gaze her way. Phaeton didn’t much care for that look of his. “Well, I’m off then.” Fingering his bowler, the man backed away from the bed. “Don’t want to miss my train.”
America rose to see him out of the hotel suite. Phaeton listened absently to snippets of conversation. “We’ll be following along behind you, Inspector Moore, as soon as Mr. Black takes his rest.”
She stood at the bedroom door with her hands on her hips. “Phaeton, you really must try not to glower at Inspector Moore.” She sat on the edge of his bed and swept a palm over his forehead. “He quite bravely defended me from the pirates and stayed on when I would not give up on you.”
“Ah, there you see.” Phaeton hissed a bit when she pressed gently on his taped ribs. “Sorry.” She withdrew her hand only have it caught up in his. He pressed his lips to her knuckles. “It was you, Miss Jones, who insisted on staying behind. The rest of them would have left me out in the drink to rot like a bit of leftover sea lion dinner.”
“Indeed, you may well have expired, Mr. Black, for I do not believe the harbor seals have any experience with artificial respiration.”
Phaeton grinned. “Speaking of which, I believe my buoy companion to be none other than Edvar the Sneaky.”
“Aha!” Her smile warmed his entire body. “More proof I am right about your powerful little ally.”
“These proofs of yours.” He tut-tutted. “Proofs of piracy, proofs of Edvar, proofs of... love?” He pulled her close, kissed her softly, and pressed for more.
She broke off the kiss to stare for a moment. “I was so afraid I had lost you.”
Heavy-lidded, liquid brown eyes crinkled. “And I you, Miss Jones.”
She climbed on his bed and readily returned his affection.
America opened her eyes. The pale walls of the room glowed a rosy hue. She estimated the time close to sunset. They had slept the entire day away. She smiled, listening to Phaeton snore peacefully beside her.
Her affection for him had grown tenfold during the few weeks they had known each other. A disturbing thought, given Phaeton Black was completely unsuitable. Suitable as a lover, perhaps, but not as a suitor.
She pushed a few stray hairs off his forehead, and he pulled her close. Could she possibly be in love with this man? She trembled at the very thought. He would break her heart if she allowed any further emotional attachment. Inwardly, she steeled herself for the days ahead. With two of her ships returned to her, she could begin to build a new life for herself. There would be no time for a man whose happiest pastime was bed sport.
No, the theft of the fleet, her father’s death, and the loss of the warehouse had taught her a painful lesson. Count on no one. Only that simple notion wasn’t exactly true. There had been one man.
A soft tapping at the parlor door launched her up off the bed. A hotel page stood in the hallway holding two telegrams addressed to Mr. Black. She asked for a bath to be readied and ordered a huge, hearty breakfast.
While Phaeton read the wires, she removed a package of perfumed bath salts from her toiletry case and swished the fragrant powder into the steaming tub.
“Seems Dex wasted no time briefing Zander Farrell on my presence in Portsmouth.”
She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Undo me?”
His fingers deftly played over a row of covered buttons.
“Corset, please.”
“Demanding little fishwife.”
She snorted while he dutifully unlaced. “Will you be in a great deal of trouble at the Yard?”
“No more than usual.”
She stood up and stepped out of the dress; the corset fell forward and released her breasts. She folded the red doxy dress over a chair and removed the corset. Stripped down to chemise and pantalettes, his gaze followed her around the room. “And your other wire?
“The Baron is dead. Internment is set for later in the week.” Phaeton refolded both missives. “Doctor Exeter delivers his father’s confession to Farrell and Chilcott late tomorrow morning.”
“Such an odd old man, the Baron. I felt both pity and revulsion for him.” She untied the ribbon on her chemise.
His gaze moved to the edge of lace barely covering the tips of her breasts. “I should try to be there.”
“Well then.” She stepped forward. “After a good warm bath, a hearty meal, and plenty of sleep, we shall make the early morning train.” The chemise dropped off one shoulder.
He swallowed. “Bath?”
She smiled. “You and I, in the tub together. What do you say, Mr. Black?” She helped him stand up and removed his bed clothes. The thin, linen shirt tented from arousal.
“I see the duke suffered no serious injury.” She stood by the polished copper tub and admired his erection.
His eyes turned feral. “Come closer.” He tore off her chemise and ran his hand down into the back of her pantalettes. Her body quaked in response to his urgent, sensuous touch. The cake of soap fell from her hand and plunked into the water.
He pulled her back onto the bed and yanked off her underwear in one swift move. Like a beautiful injured god, he stood above her, panting. He opened her legs and stroked until she moaned. He kissed and suckled each nipple, trailing his tongue past her navel. He stopped just short of the curls below. “Someday, I mean to taste all of you, Miss Jones.”
A surge of heat rose from her chest to her cheeks. What devilish sort of lovemaking did he speak of? Vaguely she recalled an illustration in the Kama Sutra. A man’s face buried between a woman’s legs. She bit her lip. “Now?”
He tilted his head. “I shall save it as punishment. When you have been a very, very bad girl.”
She threw back her head as he whipped her desire to a new frenzy with fingers soaked from her arousal. He placed one then two inside her and stroked while his slippery thumb circled her swollen nub. Her hips jerked and she trembled to the rhythm of his fondling. “Yes,” she gasped. “More.”
“Might this demand of yours involve my cock?”
America reached up and placed a hand on the hard, rippled surface of his bruised torso. “Does this hurt?”
He guided her hand down to the rigid staff that slapped against his belly. She massaged him softly and his eyelids lowered over a sable-brown gaze. “All I feel is pleasure.”
His fingers changed to a rapid cadence and caused an untamed spasm of arousal. She mewled a wild cry and he growled a deep snarl. On all fours, he crawled across the bed and mounted her.
Chapter Twenty-three
A SOFT RAIN PELTED THE ROOF OF THE TRAIN STATION. Phaeton waited for a porter to check the lady’s trunk and gazed absently at the gabled skylight. The light drizzle washed a layer of soot down glass panes. He collected the luggage tickets and joined the Harbor Master and America on the platform.
“A copy of the magistrate’s seizure order and request for an immediate hearing, lass.” Captain MacLeod handed her two envelopes. “Ye’ll file the first with the courts and the other is yours to keep. Scotland Yard will no doubt wish to share these with London Port Authority, aye, Mr. Black?”
Phaeton sprung his watch cover and checked the time. “A formal accusation of piracy should motivate the Thames patrol.”
The big Scot scrutinized the bruises around his eye and the swelling along his jawline. “If yer ever in need of employment, do not hesitate to call me. Any man who takes a beating, a keel haul, and shows up for work the following day—”
“Due in large part to the nursing skills of Miss Jones.” Phaeton smiled at her.
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Aye, a pretty lass and a glass of whiskey. Lovely cure.”
America blushed a peachy tone. The same color her pale copper skin had flushed last night, from chest to high-set cheekbones. Once before bath and supper, and again after. He had taken his time when he pleasured her a second time. Phaeton ran a finger inside his neck collar and pushed the memory away. A nagging disquiet gnawed around the corners of his mind.
“Several steamers made port last night.” The elder gent nodded to a number of travelers crowding onto the platform. “Best ye climb aboard, morning train always leaves on time.”
America flung her arms around the captain’s great bulk and kissed both of his ruddy cheeks. “I cannot thank you enough.”
“There isna’ much I wouldna’ do for you or yer father, lass.” As the train pulled away, MacLeod called out to America. “I can have her crewed and ready for service the day she’s yours again.”
Stuffed with passengers anxious to get to London, the compartment suddenly became warm and humid. Phaeton lowered a fogged window as the train chugged out of the station, and America leaned out to wave.
Phaeton snaked an arm around her waist and settled her beside him. They were only seconds out of the station before a new wave of uncomfortable, disturbing sentiments nearly overwhelmed him. Truth be told, he was more than taken by her. Soon the little minx would capture him body and soul. From the very start she had wormed her way into his life and now he could hardly believe it himself. He was soft on Miss Jones. What a horrifying development this was.
Despite his cautionary frame of mind, he studied the charming mole on the side of her neck as she conversed in French with a passenger across the aisle.
He lowered his voice. “Un baiser entre vos jambes, Mademoiselle?” She turned and raised a brow. The way she looked him up and down and licked her upper lip was a joy to behold. Instantly blood rushed from his brain to his lower extremity. “You wish to kiss me where, Mr. Black?”
“Slipped out. Pay no mind.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “The keel haul mangled the faculties.”
“Hmm.” Her grin feigned a playful curiosity. “I do hope there’s no permanent damage.”
He really had to cease these debauched, lurid flirtations with her. Phaeton sighed. Perhaps their return to London would put some distance between them again. He would return to his pursuit of Qadesh and she, as well, could expand on her suit against the Dutch pirate.
Phaeton could not help wondering if he was in as much danger from Miss Jones as Yanky Willem. Not that she wished to see him locked up in Newgate prison, but there were other ways to leg shackle a man. His gaze dropped to her hand and traveled over slim fingers. The large blue sapphire sparkled above the gleaming gold wedding band.
“Mr. Black, you are perspiring.” America opened her reticule and removed a delicate handkerchief.
Phaeton’s leg tapped nervously. “Miss Jones, might I ...” Great saint’s bollocks, he had to change the subject. “Might I ask how the Harbor Master came to know you and your father?”
“Captain MacLeod was my father’s first mate for several years.” She patted his forehead with the cloth square. “Not sure how he came to be employed.” America drew her brows together. “He came aboard in Port of New Orleans, under some duress, as I recall. The very day maman abandoned me to my father.”
She shrugged. “Maman promised me I could watch the parade that year. Then she gave me away.” America’s gaze drifted past him to the rolling green countryside of Surrey. “I missed Fat Tuesday. Mardi Gras.”
“And your father never explained?
“Never.” She sighed. “After a few years, I stopped asking.”
The rail car lurched a bit as the locomotive braked to a stop in Petersfield Station. She straightened up and met his gaze. “You would enjoy the Lent festival in New Orleans, Mr. Black. There is much drinking and dancing along Canal Street. Women bare their breasts for doubloons.” Her full lips turned up a wry sensuous smile.
He almost forgot he didn’t laugh.
She cupped his hand with hers, but kept her eyes lowered. “While I have the chance, I mean to mention your act of bravery the other night. In the face of a very real threat to your person, you distracted the pirates so that Inspector Moore and I could safely make our escape from the ship. And you endured great pain and hardship for your trouble.” She lifted dark lashes to meet his gaze. “You are my hero.”
He hardly knew how to react to the sweetness of her sentiment, so he pressed for more. “And?”
“And?” Her quizzical brow caused him to grin.
“And, I make you tingle.”
She inhaled a breath before she smiled. “Yes. You do.”
Her eyes were pale green this morning, flecked with bits of rust and gold. At the moment, he could not think of anything more hellish than having to say good-bye to America Jones.
Mercifully, he survived the remainder of the commute into town by training his attention on two disturbing newspaper reports in the Telegraph and the Times. The bloated corpse of a middle-aged male had been found facedown at the edge of the Branch Hill pond in Hamstead Heath. With no signs of assault to the body, it was assumed the man, likely inebriated, had taken an accidental fall and drowned.
He pieced together all that he knew, thus far, of the naughty and dangerous apparition known as Qadesh. With the old Baron gone and her nest on the Thames demolished, he and Exeter found themselves back at the first square of the game board. He spent the remainder of the trip, from Whitley to Waterloo Station, lost in a puzzlement over the case.
America waited by the hansom as the porter fastened her trunk onto the back of the cab. Phaeton handed the man his gratuity and joined her. “Do you still have those bank notes on your person?”
“Of course.” She loosened reticule drawstrings and withdrew the cash.
“Keep them. Use the money to get a flat for yourself. At least until your ships are returned.”
She stepped back a bit and gulped for air. “An unnecessary expense, don’t you think, Mr. Black? I am perfectly comfortable with my small—”
“I thought we were getting on well, Mr. Black.” She bit her lower lip. “Have I done something to displease you?”
“Just the opposite, Miss Jones.” His gaze shifted away then returned. “I find you entirely too pleasing.”
She frowned. “Then, I don’t understand.”
“Not long after our first encounter, you called me a Lothario, libertine, adulterer, and a profligate debaucher.”
She swallowed. “I believe most of those opinions were Mr. Moore’s.”
He met her gaze, steely-eyed this time. “They were also accurate.” He placed his hand on her arm and helped her into the cab. Once inside, she released the clasp and lowered the window.
“Neither a precise nor faithful evaluation of your character, Mr. Black.”
“We are two people tossed together in a moment of time. I caution you not to make any more of our friendship, Miss Jones.”
Phaeton nodded to the driver and the cab lurched off into a mangle of traffic. Something knotty and off-putting roiled in his stomach. Shoulders slumped, he made his way toward a queue of cabs at the curb. He coughed to relieve the tightness in his throat.
“Frankly, Miss Jones, I do not foresee a vacancy in the near future.” Mrs. Horsley shook her head and set a fast clip down the corridor.
They passed a sitting room papered in a cheerful yellow rose pattern with comfortable furniture and a lovely set of windows that overlooked the lane. It would be very pleasant indeed to live in such a place while she waited for her ships to be returned to her.
“There is such a shortage of suitable accommodations for young ladies in the city.” The very tall woman with the elegant neck and long pointed nose paused at the door.
Apparently, there was not a single room to let a young woman in all of London. America bit her lower lip and quietly evaluated whether there truly was no room available or this turn away had something to do with her copper complexion. “Might I inquire again, in a few weeks time? It is possible a tenant could leave unexpectedly.”
The Seduction of Phaeton Black Page 21