The prospect of her forthcoming nuptials curiously saddened her, for he had left her with no illusions as to the reason for the wedding. It was nothing more than a means to salvage both their reputations. At least he’d had the decency to be honest with her, even if that honesty had wrecked those daydreams of which she had grown so fond—Nathaniel declaring his undying love, whispering sweet words in her ear, kissing her fully on the lips…She clamped the thoughts down, labelled them as childish and silly and unrealistic. He was kind to her, and undoubtedly concerned for her welfare. But it was quite clear that he did not experience the same battery of overwhelming emotions that afflicted her on his mere touch. The thought of his kiss was enough to bring a gentle glow to her cheeks, and the memory of that one stolen night when she’d…Blazing heat engulfed her body. Yet he’d never even alluded to the incident. Burly Jack’s words echoed in her mind: When a man’s been at sea long enough he ain’t too fussy over women, George. Anythin ‘will do, as long as she’s willin'. It was not a pleasant realisation.
When Nathaniel entered the cabin, it was to find a rather pale-faced ship’s boy sitting glumly on his cot. ‘Dinner will be here shortly.’ It had become their usual custom to eat together at his table, waiting until Bottomley, the captain’s personal cook, had departed before Georgiana emerged from the night cabin. Let his officers think it strange that their captain no longer invited them to the splendour of his dinner table once or twice a week. His concern rested more with the woman before him. ‘Have you a little more appetite than last night?’
With Georgiana shut away from the world, the sun-kissed pale golden hue on her face had begun to fade. She was naturally of a white complexion, but within the dim light of the night cabin the pallor of her fragile skin seemed exaggerated and a little unhealthy. ‘I’m afraid that my idleness has sapped my hunger.’ She saw the worry ignite in Nathaniel’s dark eyes and sought to reassure him. ‘But I’m sure that your cook’s excellent skills will tempt my appetite.’ A smile lit up her face. ‘You’re spoiling me with all this good food. I should be dining on hard biscuit and salted beef stew like the others.’
Nathaniel crooked an eyebrow. ‘Imagine the outrage if it became known that Captain Hawke had offered his betrothed a diet consisting of weevil-clogged biscuit and salted beef. Why, I should be barred from entry to all the fashionable places!’ He held a limp-wristed hand to his brow as if he were London’s greatest fop.
‘You’re teasing me again!’ She laughed, then, holding herself with regal dignity, affected to fan herself in the manner of a lady at a high-season assembly. ‘La, Captain Hawke,’ she said in her best imitation of the flirtatious tones she had heard those same ladies employ, ‘do you not know the latest on dit? Why, weevilly biscuit and salted beef are quite the rage in all the most fashionable establishments!’ Her long raven lashes batted seductively and she delivered him a most artful look through them.
If the marine posted outside the captain’s day cabin thought anything unusual in the peels of laughter that emanated from within, he was wise enough not to comment upon it. The most he allowed himself was a little sidelong glance at his fellow sentry.
Only when Bottomley had delivered the dishes did Georgiana emerge from the tiny room that had become her prison. The table had been covered with a pristine white tablecloth and laid with a finely decorated dinner service and plain silver cutlery. The flickering light from the branched candlestick centrepiece reflected in the silver serving dishes, casting a warm glow around the cabin. Chicken cutlets, a leg of mutton, gravy soup, puréed potatoes, fried potatoes and even a seed cake. Nathaniel had brought his own provisions as well as those for his officers. The food was indeed tasty but, in truth, she had no appetite despite Nathaniel’s obvious efforts to cajole her.
‘Perhaps a little wine?’ Nathaniel made to fill her glass from the heavy crystal decanter.
Normally she declined, knowing that her papa had never allowed such a thing. Indeed, she’d not grown used to the daily ration of a gallon of beer and the strange-tasting grog in all the time that she’d been aboard the ship. She drank what she could, but Georgiana’s generosity with sharing her ration had soon made her popular amongst her shipmates. But strangely tonight, in a daring gesture of defiance, she accepted the captain’s offer. ‘Yes, thank you, sir, that would be very nice.’ She sipped the wine delicately, wondering what her stepfather had caused such a fuss about. The contents of her glass were not particularly pleasant and had, in fact, a slightly sour taste, not that she would admit as much to Nathaniel.
Captain Hawke lounged back in his chair, watching Georgiana with an unreadable expression upon his face. After a little silence he said quietly, ‘Are you going to tell me what’s making you so miserable?’ He took a small sip from his own glass.
His question was so unexpected that Georgiana inhaled the mouthful of wine she was in the process of swallowing, and then proceeded to cough and splutter its remains down the front of her white linen shirt and waistcoat. One warm large hand clapped her heartily upon the back. By the time the coughing had subsided enough for her to speak, Georgiana had regained some measure of composure. ‘Miserable? Whatever makes you think that I’m miserable?’ she queried in a still-croaky voice.
Nathaniel fixed her with a knowing stare. ‘I’ve seen men face flogging around the fleet with a cheerier countenance. Come, tell me what ails you.’ His hand squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
Still seated, she glanced up at the concern clearly writ upon his face. She wanted to say, I’m betrothed to a man that I’ve come to love, and he would marry me only because I’ve pushed him to such a dire situation that he has no other option to escape complete ruination of his beloved career. And, because I’ve done such a terrible thing, I fear that he’ll grow to hate me. But all she actually managed was, ‘I fear you’re mistaken, sir. I’m only a little anxious over your position if my identity was to be discovered.’
‘You mustn’t worry, Georgiana.’ He stroked the errant lock of hair from her brow. ‘It will all be over soon. Hold fast until then.’
Georgiana’s spine tingled with the closeness of his presence behind her. And the warmth radiating from his light touch on her shoulder had ignited a spark of inexplicable excitement within her. In a few days she would be his wife. His wife, no less. And the knowledge set the pulse racing in her neck. She tried to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘How do you propose to effect this replacement of George Robertson? Won’t anyone notice that I’m gone?’ She took what could only be described as a swig of wine.
‘Notice? Georgiana, you’ve been hidden next door too long. Every blasted man on this ship has expressed a profound interest in your state of health!’ Nathaniel placed his other hand on her opposite shoulder and began to massage the taut muscles beneath.
A slow warm delicious sensation had started within the core of Georgiana’s body. She allowed the magical motion that his hands were weaving to continue, even though every shred of common sense warned her otherwise. Burly Jack’s words slipped far from recall. ‘Really?’ Her blue eyes opened wide.
‘Yes, really,’ retorted her captain. ‘Can’t be working them hard enough if they’ve time to dwell on the welfare of m’ship’s boy.’ He tried, and failed, to sound strict.
One small hand touched to where his were still so busily working on her shoulders. ‘You don’t suppose that they have an inclination that I’m not a boy, do you?’ Another gulp of wine descended.
‘Most certainly not.’ A butterfly kiss flitted to the crown of her head. ‘They’re steadfastly convinced that you’re my nephew. It seems that they regard the dratted boy with some affection.’ The long tanned fingers paused in their ministrations. ‘I can’t think why!’ he added with an impudent glimmer. ‘Can you?’ Glossy dark locks parted to reveal the soft white flesh at the nape of her neck. His thumb moved to caress it in a slow sensual circle.
She sat rooted to the spot, unable to move. Touched as if by Midas to cold static metal, exce
pt the blood pounding through her veins and the rampant heat rising through her body proved she had not turned to gold. ‘Nathaniel,’ she whispered slowly, ‘I don’t think that you should be doing that.’
‘Doing what?’ he enquired with a tone that belied innocence.
Her words were hushed and breathy. ‘Your fingers, touching. touching my neck.’
‘Yes,’ he said solemnly, ‘you’re quite right. I shouldn’t be doing this with my fingers.’ And he bent lower until his mouth met her neck.
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Georgiana in a soft moan. ‘I…I didn’t mean …’ Words ceased as he nuzzled the tender skin with the full force of his lips.
She melted beneath the flame of his touch, a silky smooth sensation washing over her, dragging her down into a spiral of leaping desire.
‘Georgiana …’ Her name escaped his lips as he pulled her gently up from the chair. She felt the warmth of him against her. ‘Sweet Georgiana.’ His hands slid over her shoulders, down over the coarse linen of her shirt, and down further still to close around her buttocks.
‘Nathaniel,’ she gasped, ‘we must not …’ Her thoughts struggled out from beneath the feathery down of his embrace.
He moved his hands in a sensual massage, sliding his fingers against her hips, stroking with an increasing intensity.
‘Nathaniel …’ A yawning need was growing within her. Every caress, every touch, banked the fire higher until she thought she would expire for want of his hands upon her skin, for his lips to claim hers.
His mouth nibbled the soft lobe of her ear as his fingers found passage beneath her shirt, basking on the smooth satin of her back. ‘Georgiana!’ His words were low and husky, stirring her blood to run faster, wilder.
Her skin tingled beneath his touch, ached for more. The long tanned fingers fluttered against her stomach, then traced a path higher, to splay against the coiled linen strips that hid her breasts. Even through the thickness of the bindings her nipples tightened. She arched, driving herself against his palms, clutching his hands harder to the coarse wound cloth. His tongue lapped against her neck, sucking the sweet nectar of her skin. At last his fingers found the knotted end of linen strip. She reached her searing lips to his—
A knock sounded against the door.
Georgiana’s heart lurched in her chest.
‘Wait where you are,’ Nathaniel ordered loudly.
A voice floated through the wooden panelling, sounding suspiciously like Lieutenant Anderson’s dulcet tones. ‘The prisoners are requesting your presence, sir.’
Nathaniel stared down at her, his eyes darkened to a smouldering black, the starkness of reality intruding on their passion. His breath came harsh and ragged and the glisten of sweat showed upon his skin.
Georgiana tensed in his arms as the lieutenant’s voice delivered her back down to earth. The sparks extinguished within her flashing eyes and her cheeks glowed hot and pink. She could still feel the warm press of Nathaniel’s hands in a place they most certainly should not be. She glanced up at him, suddenly afraid.
‘Lieutenant Anderson?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Make them wait. I shall be along presently.’
The footsteps receded.
She relaxed in his strong arms, daring to breathe again. ‘Nathaniel, we should not have …’ Her face burned scarlet.
‘The fault is mine. I should not have. But you’re a very tempting woman and—’ he crooked a smile ‘—we’re soon to be married. I’m very much looking forward to that day.’ He raised one dark winged eyebrow, and delivered a chaste kiss to her forehead. ‘Until then I shouldn’t take advantage of you. Please—’ he touched a kiss to the rosy swell of her lips ‘—forgive me.’ Finally, and with some considerable reluctance, he prised his hands from her body, fixed her shirt neatly back into place and escorted her back to the night cabin. ‘Hold fast, sweetheart, just a few more days to wait.’ He executed a bow, hastily donned his undress coat and strode from the cabin.
Chapter Eight
How could a girl of one and twenty survive undiscovered amidst a crew of seafaring men? For the umpteenth time Walter Praxton pondered the conundrum, returning again to his ultimate conclusion that it was impossible. That led him to extrapolate two possible scenarios. Firstly, that on the remote chance she had managed to hide her fair sex, she was likely to have expired from the hardship of life at sea. Secondly, and perhaps even worse, if it was known that she was a woman, then what men in the confines of a ship at sea would not rejoice in the comfort that her body offered? Mr Praxton allowed himself the indulgence of remembering just how very appealing Georgiana Raithwaite’s soft curves were, her slim body pressed to his. No matter that she had spurned his kisses, had thrust herself from him. Even the memory of that heaving bosom, those flashing eyes, drove him instantly to a state of arousal.
What would he do if she had been badly used, had fallen, as Edward Raithwaite so aptly put it? Would he still want her then? But Walter Praxton knew the answer before even the question had formed in his mind. Her image obsessed him, goaded him. The one woman who seemed immune to his handsome looks. The one, alone, who had not succumbed to the enticement of his charm. How ironic that it was she above all others that he wanted. More than wanted, for want did not come near to describing the utter determination that burned in Walter Praxton’s breast. He would have Georgiana Raithwaite if it was the last thing he did.
Georgiana lay alone on the bed, reliving her shocking conduct of earlier that same evening. Now that Nathaniel was no longer present she was able to think clearly and with a good deal of sense. She could not deny that their encounter had been more than pleasurable. Indeed, it had left her with a most unladylike appetite for more. Her eyelids shuttered and she pressed her palms to her forehead. Dear Lord, was it really the prim and proper Miss Raithwaite who had encouraged Nathaniel Hawke in his…his…? The word would not form upon her tongue. The same Miss Raithwaite who’d readily thrown herself into a fast-flowing river to escape similar attentions from Mr Praxton. It seemed that common sense was long forgotten when Nathaniel turned his charm on her. And therein lay the problem. She could not blame the man, for she knew with absolute certainty that had she repulsed him at any point he would not have pressed her, would have behaved as the perfect gentleman. Not only had she failed to deter his actions in any way, but had positively encouraged him. When Lieutenant Anderson’s interruption had sounded, it was not relief that had flooded her senses, but disappointment.
Mama had once alluded to wanton women who, without a shred of decency, undertook illicit and intimate relations with men. How horrified she would be to realise that her own daughter was now of that ilk. And Papa? Why, he would beat her senseless and disown her if he ever discovered that truth. Georgiana felt guilty at what she had done, and afraid of the powerful emotions that seemed to have the ability to turn her into a pathetic heap of quivering jelly. So much for all that she’d learned!
Nathaniel Hawke was a good man, a man of honour, and a man who had been some months at sea without the company of women. She had no idea how he amused himself back on land, no idea if he kept a mistress, or had affairs. No doubt he did, didn’t all gentlemen? His affection seemed real enough when he kissed or even touched her. Surely the hoarse desire gravelled through his voice could not be feigned? Yes, he wanted her—even through all her naïvety she understood that. But now, beneath the cool light of her calm analysis, she realised that any man starved of women for such a time might behave in the same manner. Jack was right. Anyone’ll do, as long as she’s willin’, and hadn’t she proven herself to be more than willing?
Anger clenched at her teeth, compressed the fullness of her bruised lips. He’d called her a very tempting woman—wasn’t that proof that the nature of his affections lay with a woman, any woman, rather than Georgiana herself? Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. She would not cry. Never. She had plunged herself into this ridiculous situation, and therefore she would deal w
ith it the best she could. Rallying her courage, she held her chin high and carefully, calmly weighed up the evidence.
Her history proved that such wantonness had never previously assailed her. Indeed, she’d found Walter Praxton’s kisses repugnant. Coupled with this was the fact that she’d drunk two whole glasses of wine, ignorant of their possible effect. Perhaps an excess of such a beverage could produce unladylike behaviour. Her head did feel rather light and fluffy since consuming the sour liquid. Finally, she had been virtually imprisoned within the tiny night cabin for days, and could not such a confinement result in a type of brain madness that might explain the strange effects Nathaniel Hawke was having upon her person? Yes, indeed, the evidence was strong and glaringly obvious. Georgiana felt rather less guilty and a little more woolly-headed. Now that she thought about it, the ship seemed to be rocking in a dizzy, uneven manner. It was shortly after this observation that the brilliant idea made itself known to Georgiana. Brilliant was perhaps not the word that Nathaniel Hawke would have chosen to describe it.
The moon was full and high in the night sky when Georgiana stole silently from Nathaniel’s cabin.
‘Feeling better, Robertson?’ the marine sentry enquired.
She pulled the hat lower over her head. ‘Yes, thank you, sir, a bit. The captain thought some fresh air might help.’
‘Does he know that you’re up and about?’ Suspicion creased the marine’s brow.
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