Miss Elspeth's Desire

by Imogene Nix

  “I was about to call for Quartermaine. My sister will need to be conveyed topside.” Her hands fluttered toward the cabin door.

  “Then allow me.”

  Before she could demur, he moved within, making a bow to her sister, who smiled prettily.

  “Miss Isabelle, I presume? I am Major Fitzsimmons, and I’m at your command. I have stolen from Mr. Quartermaine the privilege of carrying you above, fair lady.”

  Isabelle laughed. “Good morning, Major Fitzsimmons.”

  Elspeth grit her teeth at the humor in her sister’s voice.

  An uneasy emotion wormed its way through Elspeth. One she had no intention of considering, otherwise she was sure she’d find it lacking in grace. Instead, she picked up the other parasol which lay on her makeshift bed.

  As Major Fitzsimmons gathered up her sister, she caught a hint of rippling muscles beneath his white shirt. Not for the first time since catching sight of him, she wondered about the man. Here was no pampered officer, yet he had courtly manners and was well-spoken. There were no rough edges to him.

  Elspeth trailed them out, closing the door before ascending the stairs leading to the deck and into the sunshine. Mrs. Ellington waited for them, chairs in place and shawls at the ready. Elspeth shaded her eyes, looking out over the ocean as the major settled her sister in the rattan chair they’d taken onboard in Bombay.

  “Captain Elliott tells me we should arrive in Calcutta in another two days, Miss Forster. I’m sure you and your sister will be pleased to be back on dry land.”

  She turned, startled by his words. “Indeed, this has been an extraordinarily long voyage. For both myself and my sister.”

  “Would you...” He indicated the length of the deck. “...take a turn with me?”

  Casting a quick glance at her sister, she bit her lip. She felt torn by his request. It meant time alone with this virile man who made her feel quite off-balance. On the other hand, she surely should look to the interests of Isabelle. A glance at Isabelle showed her reclined in a chair with eager eyes scanning the horizon. Mrs. Ellington had taken the seat beside her, and engaged her quickly in some deep conversation.

  She frowned, feeling quite unnecessary. In a fit of pique, she turned to the major with a smile. “I... Yes. I’d like that, very much.”

  He smiled and the softening of his features, usually so firm and sharp, gave way to the crinkling at his eyes. The look melted an area hidden deep within her chest in the region of her heart. He took her hand, the touch careful. Everything about his manner was correct, yet there was something intimate in the way he placed her hand on his arm.

  With slow deliberation he began the promenade, and she moved with him, their bodies traveling in a smooth and synchronous fashion.

  “How long do you plan to stay in Calcutta?” he asked.

  She focused on the view ahead, the expanse of ocean a vista of blue. “I should think we shall be there for perhaps upward of a year.”

  Her footsteps were muffled by the sounds of men moving like well-oiled machines, in the rigging above her or mending sails.

  “What could possibly entice you to stay for that long, Miss Forster?” He stopped her, one hand firmly grasping hers. The shock and surprise in both his tone and on his face took her aback.

  “I have business to conduct. Merchants to meet with, and I should like to see where the cloth and spices we import are obtained from.”

  He looked startled at her answer before the emotion was hidden away from view. “Miss Forster, that’s a man’s occupation. Not for such a female as yourself.”

  Clear in his tone was a lack of understanding of how vital this mission was, not just to Forster Shipping but also for her personally. Anger and ridiculous disappointment churned, while a deep well of unrelieved frustration arose at the thought of the barriers her gender constantly met.

  “Sir, I am more than capable—”

  “That is not what I meant.” His tone turned conciliatory, as if realizing he’d slighted her, but she held herself stiff. “You are a lady. Learned, but still a woman. It is unsafe for you to...”

  “Major Fitzsimmons, excuse me, but I daresay that glib tongue of yours no doubt weaves a silken thread when required. To me, it is naught but a net. The net that has caught those of my sex for years. Stopped us from participating in trade and economic undertakings which would allow us to feed and clothe families without the need for a man. I am as able as—”

  “Damn it, for all that though, you are a woman.” His cheeks glowed, and his eyes glittered like hard, cold stones.

  His words stilled her. “I am.” She inclined her head. “But that does not—”

  “This is no tame drawing room you are entering. It is a society that lives and breathes patriarchy. The men will treat you with disdain, which is if they will see you. Did you not seek information before setting off on this harebrained scheme of yours?”

  A hot spurt of anger coursed at his words, but a tiny seed of doubt also rose. “I beg your pardon, Major, but perhaps you should return me to my sister now.” She attempted to pull free, but he held her hand tightly.

  “Wait. I should not have spoken so candidly or baldly.” With his hand clasped over hers, she had no choice but to stay and hear his words. “Indeed, I spoke out of turn. I am concerned that you and your sister may be putting yourself in danger without having made adequate arrangements for a male to guide you.”

  “I believe then, that you jumped to a conclusion. I sent a telegraph while in Bombay to my agent in Calcutta. He will act for me and arrange satisfactory accommodation. He will look to Mrs. Ellington’s return home as well. I am neither alone nor friendless.”

  “Forgive me then, Miss Forster. I did not wish to imply that you were unable to arrange such necessary chaperonage.”

  He’d drawn her into the shade, the overhang from the small room at the bow of the ship affording them some privacy. Elspeth was grateful to be out of sight of the prying eyes of the sailors. She took a moment to compose herself before speaking again.

  “Sir, let me tell you once—were I a man, your comments would have resulted in more than the sharp edge of my tongue.”

  “And so I should expect. Forgive me, Miss Forster. Pax?”

  She looked at him, noting the smile curling around those enticing lips of his, his eyes hooding slightly. Delicious heat once more curled in her belly, but this time it wasn’t the heat of anger. The heat spread a languor through her body.

  “Yes, of course, Major.” She couldn’t contain the breathless whisper, and he crowded in. She stepped back, unwilling to allow any close contact. In her mind, consciousness whispered that way led to danger.

  * * * *

  Aeddan knew the moment awareness impinged on the delightful Miss Forster. It was clear in the way her eyes widened, her face flushed, and she stepped back from him. He couldn’t control his impulse and followed her, seeking some small contact.

  A stray red strand escaped from the intricate coil of her hair, and he reached forward, touching the silken thread with his fingers. “So soft.”

  His awareness centered on her. He tucked the errant curl behind her ear. She vibrated at his touch, and her pink lips parted.

  He moved closer, needing to kiss her. Feel the whispering caress of her breath against him. He was a sensualist. He’d accepted that knowledge long ago, had fed it during the years he’d been in India, but never had he wanted that connection with such force, either sexual or of any other variety, until now.

  Now fervor drove him mercilessly. Demanding he assuage the pit of need that grew inside his gut.

  She intrigued him on a level he’d never before experienced. What was it about this woman that she lured him like a siren? He wanted to touch her. He hungered to please her. To taste the warm, fragrant cavern of her mouth, so that he might know more of her. Frustration ate at him, a savage hunger demanding fulfillment.

  “I must...” She swayed toward him, the fingers of one of her hands touching his ches
t, burning him where they fluttered.

  He leaned in, giving himself to the momentary pleasure of touching his lips against hers. They were soft. Warm and plump.

  With great care, he sipped at the fullness he’d found, tasting the very essence of her breath. His hands wound their way around her back as she leaned in. He held her still as she moaned slightly, her body loosening in his caress.

  “’Round ’ere boys. Cap’n wants us to wash the decks.” The cant words of the sailors intruded on him. They wafted from the other side of their dubious screen.

  Aeddan pulled back, letting go of her. At some point in the embrace her eyes had closed, and she opened them now, blinking owlishly. Her face flushed then her mouth opened in an ‘o’.

  “How... How dare you?” Her eyes flashed like shining emeralds as she hurried to straighten her hair, which had been disarrayed during the embrace.

  “Miss Forster, I do beg your pardon.” He bowed, hiding the tiny grin he fought to control. When he straightened he saw the way her lips tightened, lines of white bracketing her lush mouth.

  “I shall return to my sister now.”

  She projected a don’t-touch-me air he found challenging, and his mind dealt with the many ways he could change her attitude. Bring her to heel. Then reality intruded and reminded him that he’d pushed as far as he dared. For now.

  “Of course.” He offered his arm, and she looked at him, disdain clear in the way her eyes challenged him.

  “I think not, sir.” With a swish of her skirts, she moved, gliding across the deck and around the building before disappearing from his sight.

  He waited, cooling his overheated body before following her.

  Chapter 4

  The meal passed in a companionable manner, and Aeddan found himself looking at Miss Isabelle in the lamplight. As tempting as many men might find her, she couldn’t hold a candle to her sister’s shining beauty.

  Even as the light picked up the silvery tones in the strands of Isabelle’s hair, it was the fiery titian with red and gold that roused him. He didn’t question his attraction to her, or just where it would take him.

  “Sir, you have been most secretive about your position in India. We know you hold the position of Major, but with which brigade?” Mrs. Ellington, a faded matron who looked to be in her third decade, addressed him.

  He looked at her, taking in the tightly scraped back, black hair and the outmoded gown of black cotton. She reminded him of a crow beside the two jeweled beauties who joined them at the table. But she was good-natured, and an excellent nurse-companion for Miss Isabelle.

  “Mrs. Ellington, until recently I have been with the Royal Artillery, but am to be redeployed on my arrival in Calcutta.” He was taking a chance telling them this much, but he was going to be in a fix if he couldn’t tell them which regiment. He made a mental note to inform Grundy and spread the word through the ranks on arrival.

  The others at the table continued discussing the current state of affairs in India. Miss Forster looked down at the empty plate.

  He waited as the cook’s boy cleared them away, pouring himself another drink from the decanter, then indicated toward her and she looked up with a nod. He refilled her glass and sat back, studying her. The burnished gown accenting the slight tan of her skin gave her the look of an avenging goddess.

  “Indeed, Major, so you have been in India for some time?”

  Miss Forster was watching him, her face shuttered, and he wanted to sigh. He’d scared her earlier with his advances. While he sensed a deep well of passion in her, she was an English gentlewoman. She would need time to accept him. He’d settled on her in his mind as the perfect consort, and the thrill of the chase rippled through his body. Awareness flooded him the first time he’d seen her, and that intensity continued to grow, like a conflagration banked just before it roared into life.

  He nodded. “Yes, several years.”

  Miss Forster fiddled with her napkin, obviously uncertain. “We have heard tales of men bringing back Indian ways when they return to England.”

  She glanced under her eyelashes at him. Teasing him. For an instant surprise flared, then he felt a smile inching across his face.

  The tigress has claws.

  “Miss Forster, India is a land with many things to recommend it. Perhaps after you have been there a while, you might tell me what you have found the most intriguing?”

  She looked away, and the loss of her gaze signaled the end of their private repartee.

  “I... Uh. My sister has been unwell again today. I do hope it isn’t a relapse.” Her words were muffled, and he frowned in Miss Isabelle’s direction. She touched Miss Forster’s hand, as if attempting to reassure her.

  “Elspeth, I am sure I will be well by the time we make landfall.” Clearly, these two women had a close relationship, and the illness of the younger sister concerned him.

  “Perhaps when we make landfall, you might visit the infirmary? There are many well-respected physicians there.” He hoped she would. He’d seen the ravages of malaria firsthand, and he would hate to see it take its toll on Isabelle.

  Miss Forster—Elspeth—cast him a grateful glance. The look warmed him.

  “I have been telling Isabelle that since we left Bombay.”

  Isabelle did look pale. Beads of moisture formed on her face, and he frowned.

  Elspeth must have spied it too as she laid her napkin on the table. “If you will excuse us? I had best see my sister to rest. Gentlemen, thank you for an interesting night.”

  He nodded, then as the senior lady of the group, she rose and the others followed suit. She smiled faintly, and for a moment her eyes rested on him. He returned her gaze, watching for her reaction. Then Elspeth glanced away and left the room.

  A faint scent of English rose wafted in the air, and he inhaled deeply, realizing it was the same scent he’d smelled on her outside, during the day...during their encounter. He savored the essence before his thoughts were interrupted by the captain placing a decanter before him.

  “Major, will you have another port and share what you know of the unrest between the government and the Amir?”

  He leaned back, uncomfortably aware that though the question was innocent, his knowledge of the situation was far more detailed than he could share. “I have heard that an envoy was sent to Sher Ali Khan. The envoy was refused. Turned back.”

  Captain Elliott looked scandalized. “Surely not? That would lead to...”

  “Indeed, there are those who are already saying that in Bombay.”

  In truth he knew that Lord Lytton had sent Neville Chamberlain to meet with the Sher in the full knowledge that the mission would be turned away. He, himself, had also been directed to act as a covert viewer of the Afghani machinations. His location secured well before the Russian envoys had arrived in Kabul.

  With his report written immediately after viewing the meeting, he’d hurried back to Bombay with information of the Amir’s wish to keep Afghanistan neutral in the unstable political climate.

  The travel had been arduous, twenty days on horseback and a further ten by rail, but he’d had to stay ahead of anyone tracking him. He couldn’t even use the dubious speed of the electric telegraph as the information he carried was too important. If it was intercepted by anyone, their advantage would be lost. Everything he did would strengthen the position of the empire.

  “The information that the mission was denied was transported via telegraph. Apart from that...” He shrugged. Let them draw their own conclusions.

  A rap came at the door, and the captain gave the command to enter. Quartermaine hurried in. “Captain, Miss Isabelle has taken a turn. Miss Forster thought you should know.”

  * * * *

  Isabelle lay still on the bed, Elspeth eying her with increasing concern. In the last few days since Isabelle collapsed after the dinner, she’d castigated herself. She and Mrs. Ellington had been nursing her in shifts. Now she was waiting for the other woman to take over and allow her a brea
k.

  The bubble of worry consumed her, tearing at her mind. The cabin had somehow become her prison, and she hated it. Hated being on the ship and powerless. The vagaries of female emotions had never before assailed her. Now she vacillated and second-guessed her every action. All the while the thought ate at her did I do the right thing by agreeing to this adventure? The loss of Ellie had been a blow, but to lose Isabelle…

  The door of the cabin opened and she heard the swish of skirts on the planking. “Miss Forster, go up top for a while. Take some air and rest. We’ll be fine here.”

  Elspeth turned grateful eyes on Mrs. Ellington. “You’re sure?”

  The question was rhetorical. She knew she needed to escape from the confinement of the small cabin.

  At Mrs. Ellington’s nod, she sighed. “Just for a while then.” She quickly grabbed her gloves and parasol from the small table in the center and headed for the door. “Call me if...”

  “I will. But I doubt we will need to call you. Now go. Shoo!”

  The door opened and she trudged out, not paying attention. “Oomph!” She connected with a hard chest, and strong hands caught her. A tingle rippled through her body.

  Looking up, Elspeth glanced into Major Fitzsimmons’s eyes. The momentary concern for her sister disappeared, replaced by something of an equally concerning nature—the confusion of emotions she experienced around this man.

  “Oh, I do beg your pardon. I wasn’t...”

  “All is well, Miss Elspeth?”

  She frowned at his use of her name while an odd sense of vertigo assailed her. Emotions welled and ebbed, leaving her light-headed for just a moment, before that too fled.

  “Yes, thank you, Major. I was going up top to take some air.” Her voice sounded breathless, as if she couldn’t control even that most basic function.

  “Then take my arm and I will join you.” His hands fell away, and for a moment loss flooded her, only to be replaced with calmness as he slid her arm through his. “Your sister?”