Miles turned the wing chairs to face the table and carefully removed the dishes from the tray.
“Miss James,” he said, sweeping his hands at one of the chairs.
“Thank you,” she said, taking her seat and smiling at him. She could not help it. She missed him over the past couple of days. After she fled from their quarrel over her mother and his cousin, she had expected to feel uncomfortable with Miles. But he did not act as if the spat had changed anything.
“Are you planning to stay in your stateroom the rest of our journey?” he asked, tilting his head until he drew her eye contact.
“Yes, actually. I think I’ve caused enough problems.”
Miles sighed, but said nothing. He should have known she would take the blame on herself.
“You shaved your beard,” she said casually.
“I was hoping to gain favor with one of the female passengers.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding deflated. She placed her serviette in her lap and tried to make her next question sound conversational rather than probing. “One in particular, or are you just casting your net?”
“You don’t remember telling me you hated my beard?”
Andrea gasped. She had been so embarrassed over the other things she had said, that she had completely forgotten that she told him she hated his beard. Her face grew warm with embarrassment.
“I am never touching sherry again.”
Miles laughed and touched her hand reassuringly.
“Normally, a young lady is allowed to sip it and stop as she begins to feel its effects. It all went to your head at once and being your first time, it hit you hard.”
Andrea nodded as she picked up her soupspoon and took a small bite of her bisque.
“I’m sorry I said bad things about your cousin Shamus. Maybe you should tell me about him.”
“First of all, my cousin’s real name is Rory. The name Shamus—well, let’s just say if you called him Shamus, he won’t answer you.”
“Rory?” Andrea puzzled as she thought back five years. She had forgotten his name nearly as soon as he said it. When she read the letters, the name Shamus did not ring any bells with her. Since Richard’s letter said they had danced together, and she had never forgotten Miles Huntington’s name, she had easily made the connection. “I’m sure that’s probably how he was introduced to me, but that was a long time ago. So, Shamus is a nickname?”
“More of a family joke.”
“I see,” she said, even though she really did not understand.
Andrea set down her spoon, folded her hands in her lap, and stared at her bisque.
“I’m sorry I hurt your cousin’s feelings. I don’t usually say such horrible things.”
“You were upset,” he said. “Your father should have told you before he ever contacted Richard. A little communication would have gone a long way.”
A humorless chuckle escaped her lips. “It would’ve saved you from traveling across the ocean.”
“Or maybe Rory and I would have come sooner to become reacquainted with you before this went so wrong.”
“I doubt it would have helped. I really did not like Rory when I met him. I’m afraid at his first mention of warehouses, I would have walked away and not spoken to him again.”
Miles tried valiantly to stifle his grin. “Poor, Rory. He’s not that bad anymore. He actually has other interests.”
“Such as his mistress?”
Miles sighed. Rory was like a younger brother to him and he did not want to malign him. However, he also did not want to guide Andrea down a path that would lead to his cousin.
“I’ll have you know, neither of us has a mistress at the moment.”
“At the moment? Does that mean you had a mistress?” Andrea asked daringly. She could not explain why she was acting so common, but she found it easy to say things to him that she would never dare say to anyone else. Was it the fact that he never seemed shocked, nor acted annoyed by her questions, which emboldened her? Although he sometimes seemed amused by her questions, he never avoided them.
“Would you be shocked if I said that I did?”
She looked at him considering his question. Was it possible to feel jealousy that he was doing that with a woman when she had no claim on him, nor any desire to do that herself? “Frankly, yes.”
“But you’re not shocked about Rory having one?”
“Not particularly. Your cousin is of average looks and personality….But I find you to be above average in both. It seems to me, there is no reason why you shouldn’t be happily married”
Miles waited until her gaze met his, inordinately pleased that she liked his looks and personality. “I’ve been waiting for the right woman.”
Andrea sighed as she put her bisque aside, and cut into her veal. “Do you suppose there’s someone in the world waiting for me to come along?”
“Yes,” he said simply. “He’s probably someone right in front of your face, but you’re too adverse to the prospect of marriage to see him.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I can’t believe you think I’m adverse to the prospect of marriage. I have always known that I would marry after I finished school.”
He frowned at her as a sudden thought occurred to him. “So why this sudden curiosity about Rory?”
She paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. She lowered it back to the plate and met his gaze. “My father did not get where he is by taking no for an answer. If my father wants me to marry him, eventually, he will find a way to make it happen.”
“Be that as it may, Rory would not marry you against your will.”
She ate a bite of her veal before speaking again. “Any man would be a fool to let my inheritance slip through his fingers,” she said firmly. “It won’t be so bad. You’ll still be my friend, won’t you?”
Miles gaped at her, completely confused by her about-face. “After everything you’ve been through, you’re just going to capitulate?”
“Miles, I’ve always known I was not going to be afforded the opportunity of a love match—I don’t even believe in love, to be honest—and since my father seems dead set against me marrying someone with a title, what choice do I have?”
His eyes narrowed at her. What female didn’t believe in love—what human did not believe in love? Was it because she had never experienced it herself that made her doubtful, or was there something else? Did her mother’s guidance scare her from the prospect? But it was the possibility that she had never felt loved that troubled him the most.
Miles put his elbows on the table, interlaced his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands as he regarded her. “So, are you looking forward to being out from under your parents’ thumbs?”
“My parents’ thumbs, my husband’s thumbs. Is there a difference?” she asked airily.
“I suppose it depends upon the husband. You need a husband with no thumbs,” he said, holding his hand out, his thumbs tucked out of sight.
Andrea laughed. “Or at least one with small thumbs so I don’t have to cut his meat.”
Miles laughed as well.
Andrea liked the sound of his laughter. It was genuine and loud and it filled the room with happiness.
Andrea suddenly sobered. “Miles, what am I going to do?”
His smile faded into a sympathetic grin. “I suppose if you married before your parents caught up with you, your problems would be solved.”
“I had come to that same realization. But whom shall I marry?”
Andrea sat back in her chair, knowing the man she wanted to ask was the one man she could not. He would have to offer himself to her of his own accord. She knew it would destroy his friendship with Rory and she could not ask him to make that sacrifice. He must do it of his own volition. When he realized he sacrificed his friendship, she did not want him to blame her.
Andrea bit her lip, waiting and hoping that he would offer himself.
Miles stared at her waiting for her to ask. He had made it clea
r, he was attracted to her and yet she sat in the chair biting her lip as if waiting for him.
“Would you like me to introduce you to some of the unmarried passengers?”
When Andrea felt the lump in her throat, she automatically pushed herself forward in the chair, erecting her carriage. “Thank you, Miles. That would be quite helpful.”
Miles would have had to be blind not to have seen her reaction. He should have expected it. Despite their conversation, he did not think she had believed him about making love. Men still frightened her—and after being attacked by Clyde Sully, how could she help it?
Hoping to distract her, Miles reached across, cut off a piece of her veal, and ate it just to see what she would do. “What you need to do, is to find a man who has his own money and doesn’t need your father’s.”
“Even rich men’s eyes light up at the thought of my inheritance.”
Andrea reached over to his plate, cut off a bite of chicken and ate it. “Oh, that’s really good. What do you call it? I think I’d like to order it sometime.”
“I’ve been wishing I ordered the veal since I saw yours. Do you want to switch plates?”
Andrea’s whole face lit up. “Could we?”
“I see no one here to judge us.”
Andrea and Miles switched plates and continued their meal.
“If I’m to invite eligible men to dine with us, I suppose you should tell me what you like and don’t like.”
Her head tilted sideways as she considered it. “I never really thought about it.”
“We know you don’t like pudgy redheads. Or is it Irishmen you hate?”
“Your cousin is more American than Irish,” she pointed out.
“So you hate Americans.”
“I don’t hate Americans. I don’t really know any, accept you, and I don’t hate you.”
“But an Englishmen would be preferred—one with the title, I suppose.”
Andrea shrugged. “Yes, I suppose I would prefer that.”
“How old?”
“He should be out of school—preferably someone who is already established.”
Miles picked up his glass and took a drink while she spoke. “Absolutely. He has to have enough money to support you in case your father disinherits you.”
Andrea’s eyes grew wide. The possibility never occurred to her.
“Don’t worry, the men who can afford a cabin on this ship, can usually afford a wife.”
“But not too old either under thirty-five would be better than over. My father is forty-eight. I really wouldn’t want to be married to anyone that old.”
“No, I wouldn’t dream of looking for anyone that old for you, unless they were incredibly rich, had a great personality and were on the verge of croaking….”
“Oh, no, people would say horrible things about me. Besides I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life either.”
“I’ll mark Richard off my list.”
Andrea gasped. How could he consider marrying her off to one of his relatives and an ill one at that? She looked into his eyes and a slow grin crossed his handsome countenance. Her stomach clenched a peculiar way, making her look down at her food as she wondered if there was something wrong with her dish.
“I was just jesting, Andi. What else?”
Andrea had given little thought to a future husband’s attributes. “I don’t know. I suppose I should just trust your judgment.”
As they finished eating, Miles noticed she had not touched the bread pudding or olives. He picked up an olive and popped it in his mouth. After a minute, he stepped to the porthole.
“No!” she gasped, when she realized what he intended to do.
Making sure there was no one below, he spit the pit out the window. “Oh, sorry about that,” he called out the opening.
He turned, giving her a mischievous grin.
She looked mortified, covering her mouth with one hand. Suddenly, she giggled. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
He held the bowl of olives out to her. “You want to try? I bet with a little practice you could spit them all the way into the water.”
“I couldn’t.”
Miles put a black olive in his mouth and held one to her lips. She hesitated a moment but eventually gave in.
“Now, the trick is to send it flying with a hard burst of breath at a forty five degree angle. Don’t let your cheeks poof out.” After a quick glance below, Miles let it fly. “Right in the ocean. Your turn.”
Andrea spoke a few token protests before he got her to step up to the window. She looked around and spit, but it landed on the deck below. Andrea ducked down afraid someone would see her. “I can’t believe I did that!” she said laughing.
Miles placed another olive at her lips. When she took it between her teeth, he gave her a quick kiss.
“That was wonderful for a first try,” he said, squirreling the little stone in his cheek. “Come here and stand behind me. Reach around me and put one hand on my diaphragm and the other on my rib cage.”
Again, Andrea hesitated.
“I’m not trying to seduce you, Andi. This is purely instructional. If you’d like, we can have the guards come in and chaperone.”
“Purely instructional?”
“Absolutely. I have no ulterior motives.”
Reluctantly, Andrea closed the gap. She allowed him to place her trembling hands on his torso. Even through his shirtwaist, she could feel the firmness of his stomach.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
A moment later, his ribs filled with air and she felt his abdomen constrict as he spat the pit.
She instantly stepped away from him.
He noticed the blush on her cheeks. Her skin was so fair that the color in her face was quite becoming. As tempting as it was to kiss her again, he had promised that he had no ulterior motives so he tried to ignore his impulses.
“It’s your turn.”
She stepped up to the porthole and he moved up behind her.
“May I?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her without touching her.
“Purely instructional?”
“Of course.”
He put both hands on her abdomen. “I may know what the problem is. Your corset may be keeping you from taking a deep enough breath.”
Andrea dismissed the idea immediately, “Two years ago, I might have agreed with you, but this corset is not really tight at all. My mother wanted me to get down to a twenty-two inch waist, but I kept fainting when my waist was still twenty-four inches. Papa put his foot down and would not let me cinch my waist tighter than twenty-eight inches. He burned all of my smaller corsets and dresses and told the seamstress she would not be paid for any dress with a waist smaller than twenty-eight inches. Mama was so mad she did not talk to him for a week.”
She was talking unusually fast, but didn’t know if she should credit it to his hands on her waist, or all this talk about her undergarments. Either way, she was thankful she was facing away from him.
He leaned in and said quietly in her ear, “Remind me to thank your father. I prefer a more natural waist.”
Andrea felt as if she couldn’t breathe, and covered his hands with hers. His hands were warm and firm against her stomach. His touch both frightened her and made her core feel strangely giddy.
“You can do it,” he encouraged. “Breathe deep.”
After taking a deep breath, the olive pit flew from her mouth and sailed in an arch into the sea.
“I did it! I actually did it!” she cried, turning in his arms.
She embraced him without any conscious thought as if she did that sort of thing all the time. She didn’t know who was more surprised.
As she suddenly realized what she was doing, she pulled away slightly and looked into his face to see if he was shocked or angry that she had taken such liberties. A wide smile graced his handsome face. His hand moved to her cheek. Andrea stretched her neck, her heels lifting off the ground until her lips met his
.
His long fingers moved from the side of her face to the back of her neck, but he resisted the urge to deepen the kiss or pull her against him. He cursed Lillian James and vowed he would do nothing that would frighten her. He wanted her curiosity to set the pace of her foray into love.
Changing the angle of his neck, Miles’s mouth moved against hers lightly, languidly. As she responded, so did his body and he pulled away before his lustful urges took him too far. His breath was coming fast. He looked into her face as her eyes fluttered open. He had to make sure she wasn’t scared or embarrassed or any of the other things that might be going through her head.
“I guess we have two things in common now. We can both spit an olive pit at least ten feet and we like kissing each other.”
Her cheeks darkened prettily and she lifted her hand in front of her mouth. “That’s so embarrassing. Do we have to mention it out loud?”
“Which one?”
Andrea laughed and shook her head.
She was so beautiful like that and Miles wondered if she found reason to laugh often. Her wide smile was infectious and he just wanted to kiss her again.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said abruptly, feeling the room was suddenly too small. “Maybe you can point out a few men you’d like to meet. Get a wrap and I’ll my go to my room and change out of this waiter’s jacket.”
As Miles crossed the room, Andrea called to him. “Wait,” she said, carrying the olive bowl to him. “Take the last one.”
Miles tentatively reached toward the last olive, knowing it wasn’t polite to take the last one. Should he suggest she take it? No, if she wanted it, she would have eaten it after he left, and not offered it to him. He plucked it up and threw it in his mouth. Before he could thank her, she put the bowl to her lips and drank the ounce of brine pooled in the bottom of the bowl.
It was at that moment, Miles not only knew he was madly in love with her, he also knew he was the man meant for her. Other men would not try to break through her icy exterior to find the playful woman inside. They would not care that her mother had intentionally scared her to keep her chaste, nor would they take the time to make her comfortable so her first encounter would not be a self-fulfilling horrible experience.
Miles Before I Sleep Page 15