Dare rested his hand on the latch. She was in there. Miss Emma St. James. He was not sure if this was the worst or the best thing that had ever happened to him. He had wanted her back from the second he’d let her go…but had not imagined anything like this.
He unlocked the door and slowly opened it, pausing at the picture presented to him. Emma had donned a white frock and straightened herself into order. Her hair was smoothed back, but still, little curls managed to escape and frame her face. She sat primly on the chair by his desk, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Had it not been for the cannon with which he shared his cabin, she could have been in any drawing room anywhere in Mayfair.
He bowed low with a grimace, for his wound still pained him, and she gave him a slight incline of her head. He held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the main cabin. His day cabin stretched the length of the ship and boasted a long oak table, polished smooth. Paned windows graced the length of the cabin, revealing a stretch of stars in the cloudless sky.
He silently pulled a chair for her and she sat before the table with the supper laid out for one. Supper consisted of some sort of stew, which he hoped she would find palatable. He sat beside her, motioning her to begin to eat.
It was a relief that the clandestine nature of her presence on board required their silence. It was so much easier for him without the expectation of conversation. Emma, however, was proving recalcitrant when it came to supper and refused to eat, motioning for him to go first.
Seeing that speech was required, Dare leaned forward and whispered in her ear, breathing in her scent and almost forgetting what he intended to say.
“I’ve already eaten. Please eat,” he lied.
She raised an eyebrow, questioning his veracity, and his stomach chose that moment to betray him with a loud growl. She frowned and shoved the spoon at him.
He relented, seeing that he was not going to win, and took a hearty spoonful of the stew, pleased that it was reasonably edible. He handed her the spoon, since of course only one had been provided, and she took a bite of the stew, smiling her appreciation.
He buttered some bread and handed it to her, pleased that she accepted it with a bite. They took turns eating from the soup bowl and sharing the bread. There was one glass of wine, most likely from his recent smuggling acquisition, which they shared.
The intimacy of eating in silence, sharing a meal from the same bowl and glass struck him powerfully. He was not accustomed to happiness, but breaking bread with Emma filled him with an easy contentment. When at last they had eaten their full, he was still hungry for more—more Emma.
He was treading on dangerous ground, for he knew she was trusting him to keep her safe. Still, when he looked into her large, blue eyes or glanced down at her generous décolletage, he could not keep his body from desiring more.
They had been alone in a room before, even overnight if one could count the time when he had been shot and she performed surgery. But this was different. He was recovered enough to act on his desires. There was no chaperone. He needed to speak to her but realized, to do so, he needed to be close. And to be close to her was dangerous. For him. For her.
He leaned toward her, her unique scent of lavender soap filled him with longing. “Miss St. James,” he whispered, and then realized he had nothing more to say. What could he say? He paused and the silence stretched on awkwardly. He pulled back only to be arrested by her wide eyes, staring at him intently. He floundered, unsure.
She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, her breath warm on his skin. “Thank you, Lord Darington, for saving my life.” She paused, then added, “Again. I cannot think of what would have befallen me if you had not interceded.”
Dare nodded and leaned in, breathing faster than he was accustomed to. “It was my pleasure.” He paused at the word, surprised it had emerged from his mouth. It was truer than perhaps he should admit.
“It has put you in an awkward position.” When she leaned forward to whisper to him, her bosom brushed across the back of his hand as it rested on the table, driving out all logical thought. “This crew…it is new to you?”
He blinked at her, struggling to focus on her words, not the gentle pressure of her breast on his hand. He murmured an explanation of the loss of his crew and the unorthodox way he found a new one, though all his focus was on her bosom.
“Oh, that is terrible!” Emma leaned back, which Dare did not appreciate in the least. She leaned forward again and it was all he could do not to turn his hand over, so he could cup her breast. “I am sure you can inspire those men to reformed behavior.”
Dare wished he could agree with her, but he was better acquainted with the sort of men who were now his crew.
“I am sure you will find Harcourt.” Emma smiled with confidence.
The ocean was a big place, and all he could do was continue the course Harcourt had laid and hope for the best. His chances of success were slim, but if Miss Emma St. James would accompany him on his search, he would spend the rest of his life a happy man.
* * *
Emma stared into the dark eyes of Captain Lord Darington knowing two things. First, she should not be with this stoic man alone in his cabin. And second, there was no place she would rather be.
It was getting late, the time when people considered going to bed. The ship had grown quiet, and it was clear the majority of the crew had retired for the night. There was only one bed in the side room. It was one thing to spend the night with an injured man who needed immediate medical attention. It was another to spend the night in a small cabin with a man who was fully functional…with only one bed.
“It is getting late.” His breath was soft on her cheek. “You must need sleep.”
Her pulse rose, and she glanced into his cabin, where the bed was clearly visible. Where were they going to sleep?
“I will sleep here in the ready room. You will take my cabin.” He stood from the table, straight and tall. He offered his hand and she took it, allowing him to help her rise.
“No, I insist you must get your rest. You are still recovering.” She stood on tiptoe to whisper back. It was impossible to be close enough to speak in a hushed tone without brushing up against him.
“It would be most improper.” He looked down at her, and she realized her chest was brushing against his arm. There was no way to avoid it, and if she was honest, she hardly even tried.
“I do believe we left propriety behind a while ago, probably at the point you shoved me into a chest. Or possibly when we checked into the hotel under an assumed name as a married couple.”
Dare sighed. “Definitely when I fired on an English ship within sight of the shore.”
“Oh goodness! Shall you get in trouble for that?” Emma said, gasping and causing Dare to put a finger to his lips to remind her to keep her tone low.
He leaned down to her again. “Only if it is reported. They cannot report what I took without admitting they were smuggling, so I hope we are in the clear.”
“You did it for me.”
“Of course.”
“But why?” Emma asked. She was pushing, but after all she had been through, she gave herself license.
Dare frowned at her. “You must think very little of me if you think I would see you in peril and not act to correct the situation.”
“Yes, of course. You would do the same for any lady.” Emma looked down. Of course he would protect any lady in distress. She knew that full well.
“I would,” agreed Dare. “But…”
Emma looked up. “But?”
“But none would cause me such pain to see in a similar situation.” Dare’s demeanor had not changed, but the admission, Emma knew, was not a common one.
“Thank you.”
“Emma,” he whispered to her, his cheek brushing against hers.
She stepped closer and placed a
hand on his chest. His arm naturally wrapped around her. She leaned into his embrace, resting her head on his chest. This was where she belonged. She belonged to Lord Darington.
She looked up, and he brushed his lips against hers. Tremors of excitement coursed through her. She was not satisfied with just a taste. She ran her hands up his dark-blue naval coat, twining them behind his neck. She pressed closer and their lips met, slowly at first, then with growing pressure and need.
Suddenly, Dare broke off the kiss and stepped back, breathing hard. He shook his head and stepped to her side to speak. “Forgive me. I should not…will not take advantage.”
“You did not.”
“I did. Forgive me, I… You are too tempting… Must not.” He shook his head and took her by the elbow, walking her into his cabin. He grabbed a blanket, then backed away from her into his ready room as though she might explode. “Stay there,” he mouthed. “Sleep.”
He closed the cabin door and locked it, then slid the key under the door. She picked up the key with a smile. No matter what happened, at least she was with the man she loved.
Her smile faded as she remembered she was hidden on a ship with treacherous men going after an even worse man. She stared at the locked door. She hoped she and Dare would make it through alive.
Thirty-six
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Emma woke to the sound of tapping. She was confused for a minute, trying to get her bearings. It was still dark, and she was sleeping in a small bunk in a room that was gently swaying.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Emma sat up, her memory flooding back. She was on the Lady Kate, sleeping in Dare’s bed.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Emma grabbed the blanket and flung herself out of bed, having to catch herself, as she was not accustomed to the roll of the ship. She fumbled for the small key in the darkness and struggled to unlock the door.
Finally, she was able to open the door to find Dare in his shirtsleeves, illuminated by the orange light of a lantern. Of course she had seen him in states of much less dress, but still her breath caught.
“What is wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing. Past four. Morning watch already up.” He stood tall and solemn.
Emma rubbed her eyes. “You start the day at four in the morning?”
“Aye.” Dare ducked his head as he entered. “Forgive me. Need fresh linen. Go back to sleep.” He walked past her and opened his sea locker, pulling out some items.
Emma wrapped the blanket tighter around herself and stepped onto its edges to protect her bare feet from the cold. Watching him gather his clothes to dress for the morning was rather domestic. She liked it.
He leaned down to her, and she thought he was going to give her a kiss on the cheek, as if they were an old married couple. “Lock the door and stay hidden” was what he whispered instead.
“When will you return?” she whispered in return, feeling now she was becoming a little too domestic.
“Noon.”
That meant she would have the next eight hours to sit by herself, locked in his small sleeping cabin. “Forgive me but where are my books?” asked Emma, hoping she was not pushing too much.
Dare frowned. “Books?”
“My medical books. And my novels. I would like to read to pass the time if you do not mind.”
Dare’s frown turned into a painful expression. “The books went overboard, so I could make room for you in the trunk.”
Emma was silent for a moment. “I see. Well, it was done in my service, so I will thank you. Of course, now I will never know how the Captain’s Curse ends.” She meant it as a joke, but Dare took it to heart.
“If we survive, I shall buy you—”
“No, no, do not trouble yourself. I am indebted to you in ways I can never repay. I was only thinking of how to pass the time.”
Dare frowned again and returned to his sea chest, retrieving a burgundy-leather-bound book. “This is my logbook. Only book I have. Very dull perhaps, but it records the actions I have taken.”
“Oh, yes, that sounds interesting. What better than to read about a real naval adventure.” Emma grabbed the book eagerly, relishing the opportunity to know her enigmatic sea captain better. She tried to take the book, but Dare held it fast, frowning at the leather volume.
“Did you not wish me to read it?” she asked, wondering why he had not let go.
“Yes. If you wish.” He slowly peeled his fingers off the leather book and she took it. He continued to regard her and the book, so she opened it up, curious what he had written the day before.
“You did not write in your log yesterday,” she observed.
“Much of yesterday will never go in the log,” he muttered and with a last, longing glance at his log, he left the room.
Much to Emma’s dismay, he took the lantern with him, so she had to wait until dawn to begin reading his log. She dressed in her warmest frock and wrapped her cloak around her against the damp sea air. There was no window in the room, but a hatch, which could be opened, so the cannon could be rolled out to fire. Cracking open the cannon hatch for light, she eagerly began to read of Darington’s life.
Emma pored over the pages of the log, each page drawing her deeper into the life of the Earl of Darington. The log was a study in understatement. He was careful to note details, longitude and latitude, actions taken, accountings of prizes secured, all written in a simple, straightforward, detached prose.
He wrote about the most harrowing and exciting of times, but all without emotion. He was not a man to let his sentiments show. In fact, if she had only read the log, she would think he had no emotional reactions to anything in his life.
Reading the impassive prose, she realized he had been positively gushing with emotion when he had been with her. Far from being reserved because he was indifferent, he only appeared indifferent because he was so reserved. If she had any lingering doubts regarding his affection for her, they faded as she read his log.
He must love her. The truth was in his kiss.
Despite the uncertainty of their situation, there were a few things of which she was sure. She admired him. She loved him. And she had every reason to hope he loved her in return. Perhaps they should kiss some more, so she could better ascertain his true feelings.
Emma lay back on the bunk, hugging the logbook to her. Yes, she must explore this further.
* * *
As soon as the light would allow, Dare scanned the horizon for any sign of the ship. He even climbed up to the crow’s nest himself to scan the horizon for any sight of the Kestrel. He saw none. He had continued in a straight line from the last sighting of the Kestrel, hoping for luck to be on his side, but apparently it was not.
How long would he continue to look for Harcourt with Emma hidden in his cabin? How long could he hide her from view?
The morning seemed to drag on. He saw no sign of the Kestrel and all he could think about was Emma in his cabin, reading about his life. He had never before allowed anyone to read his private log. Not even Kate had ever cracked it open.
He wondered what Emma thought of him. Was she repulsed by the life he had led? His log certainly chronicled life at sea without flinching. It described the actions, the ships he had taken, the men he had lost. He had been in Emma’s presence with hardly a stitch on, but felt more naked, more exposed now, knowing she was reading his log. What must she think of him?
Dare had never been so eager for the midday meal. He waited in his ready room for the tray to be brought, then locked the outer door and tapped on the door to his private quarters to release his female contraband.
She opened the door, holding her precious log. Her face was bright but inscrutable. He motioned for her to enter the ready room to eat, and they both sat down at the table. He wanted desperately to know what she thought of him now, but could not find the words to as
k.
“Are you finished?” he whispered gruffly, pointing at the log.
Emma leaned close, her breath in his ear. “Yes, it is a fascinating read. Thank you for lending it to me.”
She leaned back to eat, though he wished she would say more.
“Hope it was not dull,” he whispered, desperately fishing for answers.
“Not at all. I have admired you from the first day we met, and I admire you even more now.” Her breath in his ear sent shivers down his spine. She gazed at him with warm eyes. It was everything he needed to know.
“Was there a reason you removed some of the pages?” she asked quietly.
Dare frowned. “Removed pages?”
“I was reading along in your log and was just getting to an exciting part when I came to a section where a page was missing. I thought perhaps they contained scenes too bloody to have me read,” she whispered with a smile, putting her hand on his arm.
Dare took his logbook and flipped through the pages. “No, I have not removed anything. Though…” He paused, belatedly realizing that some of his adventures were not of the sort a lady ought to read. “Perhaps you should not have been reading the log.”
“Oh pish! I love a good adventure. And I have enjoyed getting to know more of your life.”
Dare flipped through his log, trying to find what pages she thought were missing. Much to his surprise, he found a page had been cut from his log. Only one was missing, and it was done carefully, so unless you were reading through the log, it would be difficult to notice. Who had cut the page? And why?
“What did the page contain?” she whispered, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“Nothing of consequence.” He flipped back and forth to remember. “We had been asked to deliver some messages for the Crown to the governor at Madeira.”
“Madeira?”
“Small island off Morocco. Has an English governor. We anchored off the shore and rowed in but got lost in heavy fog. When we got closer, I realized we had rowed into Ilhas Desertas, a rocky island next to Madeira. Took us a while, but eventually we made the delivery.”
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