She stood still, poised in between two lives, two futures, and the moment had come to make her choice. She could speak up now, at this the very last moment, and tell Captain Bowen the truth, and go back to her life as the lonely Miss Packard who had no suitors. Or she could keep quiet, not say a word, until the ship sailed and they left England’s shores. She could step into Georgia’s shoes and the role of Mrs Reid Bowen. A memory of his face came to her mind. His blue eyes, his fair hair, tanned skin, the set of his broad shoulders, his warmth, his smile and his voice, even his smell, had already melted into her skin, her blood, into her heart, and she could not, however sensible it might be, do anything to part herself from him.
So Sasha sat down on the bunk bed, and when her ‘husband’ returned and rattled the door knob, she did not open it. She heard him murmur, and the low voice of another man. She tiptoed closer to listen with one ear pressed to the door.
‘Thank you, Doctor. Perhaps you can see her later.’ Reid turned back to the door as the doctor departed and tried again. ‘Georgia? Are you all right?’
Sasha thought it cruel not to reply, so she croaked, ‘Yes. I’m just getting changed.’
As other passengers tried to squeeze past, some with suitcases, Reid Bowen stood and stared at the locked door of his cabin. He supposed that it would be crass of him to suggest that now they were man and wife she was perfectly entitled to dress and undress in front of him. In fact, the mere idea of Georgia in her corset and stockings stirred his blood, but then he sharply admonished himself, mindful of the fact that Georgia was young and well bred and she needed some time to get used to him. ‘I’ll wait out here. Are you feeling better?’
Sasha thought for a moment. Should she be feeling better? No, then he’d want to come in and goodness knew what that might lead to. What did a man expect from his wife within a few hours of being married? Surely not…well… She blushed… She didn’t even dare let her mind wander in that direction.
‘Georgia?’
Suddenly the whole situation seemed too absurd and impossible for words, and Sasha began to giggle, as she imagined an ardent Captain Bowen hovering in the corridor, with high expectations of passion from the very beautiful Georgia. And in reality all he had was…her. Great waves of mirth washed over her, a natural release to the tensions of the day, and she clasped a pillow from one of the bunk beds over her mouth to stifle the sounds. With a deep shuddering sigh intended to control her somewhat out-of-control emotions, she realised that she would have to come clean and tell him the truth. Sasha lay down on the bottom bunk, suddenly very weary. She closed her eyes, thinking that she would just take a few moments to mull things over, and then decide. But all too soon her eyelids became heavy, so heavy she could not keep them open, and her thoughts swirled away into a deep dark sleep…
The rumble of engines and the unfamiliar movement of the ship woke Sasha, hours later. It was dark and she sat up, feeling groggy and uncomfortable in the stiff voluminous folds of the wedding gown. Her corset pinched her waist with cruel fingers and she longed to take it off, free her ribs to draw in deep gulps of air. One way or the other she would have to undress, with or without help. She wondered what time it was, and then rose to her feet and ran her fingers through her untidy hair, scattering pins on the floor.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Sasha lifted her head, glancing to the door, but the footsteps passed and she breathed a sigh of relief. She started tugging and pulling at the gown, investigating ways and means to escape its constriction, kicking off the borrowed shoes and then searching the drawers of the bureau for a tool to assist her, scissors maybe, anything at all. Several times she heard people in the corridor, but they passed on by. Then the moment came when the footsteps stopped and the brass doorknob rattled in its socket. The man who considered himself her husband knocked, calling out, ‘Georgia, open up, sweetheart.’
Sasha braced herself, and slid back the bolt. Swiftly she moved away, hurrying to the far side of the cabin in her stockinged feet, standing in front of the porthole with her back to the man who entered and closed the door behind him. She heard the bolt click home. She sensed his warmth and presence behind her. He smelled of musky maleness, and tangy sea salt, and a faint odour of alcohol…Whisky?
‘God, what a day!’ Reid flung himself down in the chair, oblivious in the gloom of the veil that he crushed beneath him. He pulled off his leather belt, unbuttoned his jacket and loosened the collar of his stiff linen shirt. Then he sat back, his hands dangling, and glanced up at the shadowy figure of his bride. It was dark, too dark; he could not see her, and he rose to strike a match and light the oil lamp fixed to the wall. Carefully he turned up the wick, and then replaced the glass and moved to stand behind her.
‘How are you feeling now? Better?’
Without saying a word in reply, Sasha turned slowly and faced him.
For a moment he blinked, and then looked about, and peered at the bunk beds, and then he took a step forwards and stared at her with eyebrows raised in astonishment.
‘Sasha! What on earth are you doing here?’ Again he looked about. ‘Where’s Georgia?’
‘I—I—’
His eyes narrowed in suspicion and his hands settled on his hips as he took an aggressive stance. Sasha quailed, the colour draining from her face.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Captain Bowen.’ Sasha took a step towards him, and then thought how foolish the formality was. ‘Reid.’ And yet that sounded far too familiar and she again floundered. ‘My sister—’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, you see—’
Suddenly all the little oddities of the day began to flash through his mind: his bride who seemed so much smaller and lighter than he had imagined, her silence, hiding behind a veil, locked doors, and now this young woman standing here in his cabin, the top of her dark head barely reaching to his chin, when blonde Georgia had been almost level with his eyes. They didn’t all add up, and he was still not making sense of it all. He reached out and grasped Sasha by the arm, giving her a little shake.
‘You should not be here, Sasha. I don’t mean to be rude, but you have to go. I don’t intend to start my marriage to Georgia by explaining why I have another woman in my bed.’
Sasha gasped, and pulled her arm free from his painful grip. ‘Sir, I am not in your bed!’
‘Not yet, but I assume that your scheme is leading in that direction.’ He frowned at her, reaching out to try to catch hold of her again. ‘Just go, before Georgia sees you.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ exclaimed Sasha, quite at the end of her patience. ‘There is no Georgia, you idiot!’
‘What?’
‘And as for scheming to get into your bed, well, I—I wouldn’t want to if you were the last man on earth!’ Sasha flounced away from him, her chin thrust up and her mouth set in an obstinate pout anyone in her family would have known to be wary of.
‘Sasha, explain yourself!’
‘No, I won’t!’
‘Yes, you will!’ Reid marched up to her and fastened his hands around her slender upper arms, pulling her towards him and bending his head so that she could clearly see his face, and the anger written on it. ‘You surprise me, Sasha, I did not think you capable of such low behaviour, making a play for a man who has just married your sister!’
‘You did not marry my sister.’ Sasha arched away from him, but this only pressed her bosom closer against his chest.
‘Of course I did!’
‘No, you married me.’
‘But—’
‘Georgia has run away to Gretna Green to marry Felix Westfaling.’
For a moment Reid was dumbstruck, his silence absolute while this information seeped into his understanding. She watched the pupils of his eyes dilate as sudden rage at Georgia’s duplicity ignited. He swore, most rudely, words that Sasha had never heard before, but she deemed them no doubt to be absolutely forbidden in the presence of a lady. She frowned at him, and then he said,
‘Explain to me what the hell is going on!’
She shook her head, not at all liking this Captain Bowen, who was showing a side of his character that she had never suspected. Were all men like that, she wondered, so uncivilised the moment they were presented with something they did not like? Well, he was certainly not going to behave like a rabid animal in her presence! And with a disdainful little arch of her brows and a haughty lift of her chin, Sasha shook her head.
His frown was thunderous. ‘Speak!’ He shook her, not too hard, but hard enough to make her glare at him. ‘Why have I been deceived into marriage with the wrong woman and made a complete fool of?’
Sasha replied, ‘No one has made a fool of you. As far as anyone’s concerned, you are happily married to Georgia Packard.’
‘You can stop talking now. I need to think.’
‘Don’t speak to me like that! Who do you think you are? Just because you’ve put a gold ring on my finger doesn’t mean you can behave so rudely, and it doesn’t mean for one single moment that I would tolerate—’
‘Please, do me a favour.’ He strode up to her then, towering over her, as he barked, ‘Shut up!’
Sasha drew in a sharp breath between her teeth. ‘Captain Bowen, I find I do not like you at all and cannot imagine why I thought you a charming man! One moment you tell me to speak, and the next to—to stop!’
‘Indeed?’ He cast her a sour glance. ‘Well, Miss Packard, I find I do not like you very much, either, and cannot imagine why you are here, pretending to be my wife!’
‘Because Georgia asked me to. She was utterly distraught without the love of her life.’
‘Oh, that’s good, blame your sister.’
‘Well, of course. It was all her idea.’
He frowned. ‘Why would she marry Felix when she’s in love with me?’
‘She is not in love with you. She loves Felix and always has.’
He grunted as he mused on this distasteful, yet not altogether surprising, information. ‘Then why did she agree to marry me?’
‘Because our papa forbade her to have anything to do with Felix.’
‘Wise advice. Pity she didn’t listen.’
Sasha wondered if it was his ego or his pride that was wounded. ‘And I doubt very much whether you were ever in love with Georgia.’
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. ‘How do you know? She may well have broken my heart.’
Sasha leaned her head to one side and gave him a sceptical glance and a wry grimace, clearly indicating that she did not believe so for one moment.
‘Anyway, I’m not pretending to be your wife. I am your wife.’
‘No, you’re not. Your name is not Georgia Louisa Roberta, is it?’
For a moment, Sasha was disconcerted, as she realised the truth of that.
Reid contemplated her, with a furious frown, hands on hips, and then sighed with a shrug of his very broad shoulders. ‘What am I to do with you?’ His glance strayed to the dark glimmer of the porthole. ‘It’s too late to put you ashore, we’ve already left the English Channel.’ He looked about at the enclosed space of the cabin, and then at her. ‘You realise that your reputation will be ruined when this gets out?’
‘Will it?’
‘Most certainly.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do you think? Shall I spell it out for you? You are alone with me, in—in—’ he waved his hand about the narrow confines of the cabin ‘—intimate surroundings, and we are most certainly not legally married.’ He spoke the last three words very slowly.
‘What are we to do?’ she asked, in a rather small voice.
‘Stay well away from each other. I will ask the purser for a bunk somewhere else.’
‘But—’ Sasha now began to worry in earnest ‘—we are supposed to be on honeymoon; if you leave this cabin, there most certainly will be talk.’
‘Hmm,’ he conceded in a reluctant voice, ‘you are right. We must carry on as normal and not arouse any suspicions.’ He shrugged off his jacket. ‘It’s late; let us sleep on it and in the morning we will find a solution.’
Sasha turned her face away as he began to undress, pulling off his boots. She felt the colour flare in her face; she did not know where to look as she glimpsed his chest beneath his shirt, and certainly there was nowhere to hide.
He stopped, realising her predicament, and left on his shirt and breeches, yet his voice held a wry tone as he said, ‘It’s a bit late to be turning missish now.’
Sasha smiled slightly, her humour robust enough to appreciate the irony, and then she realised that she too must undress, for she could not endure a moment longer in the crushing grip of her corset. ‘I would be very glad if you could help me.’ She turned and presented her back to him, her fingers indicating the row of hidden hooks that needed undoing.
He stared at the slim width of her back, his elbows akimbo and still a frown upon his brows.
‘Please,’ Sasha pleaded. ‘I can hardly breathe.’
He took a step closer and stooped, brushing aside the long swathe of her dark hair, lifting it over her shoulder. His fingers felt warm against her neck as he inserted them into the high lace collar and tugged. It was easier than he expected, the hooks slipping in rapid succession as he pulled them apart, the heavy lace fabric of her bridal gown gaping, revealing her shoulders. He noticed she had a few freckles between her shoulder blades, and her skin was very soft and pale. A faint scent of roses and female penetrated his nose and teased his senses. The final hook gave way under his fingers and the gown fell down to her waist.
Blushing profusely, hiding her face behind the curtain of her hair, Sasha turned to look over her shoulder at him, as he stood there still and silent. ‘The, um, corset, too, please.’ Her voice sounded very odd, husky and almost inaudible.
She heard his uneven breathing, and then felt his fingers on her waist as he pulled her closer, narrowing his eyes in the poor light as he peered and tried to make sense of the intricate lacing.
‘Don’t know why you women wear these contraptions,’ he muttered, strangely embarrassed. It was not the first time he had unlaced a woman from her corset—indeed, undressing was a pleasurable part of the act of lovemaking with a mistress—but it was certainly the first time he had ever performed such an intimate service for Miss Sasha Packard. Or was she Mrs Reid Bowen? He frowned again, his fingers tugging ruthlessly.
Sasha tried to speak, quite out of breath for more than one reason. She had to clear her throat to murmur, ‘Maybe we wear them because you men demand that ladies be the height of fashion.’
‘Oh, really?’ He laughed, getting to grips with a stubborn knot. ‘I think you are mistaken; men don’t give a damn, really, they only want what’s underneath.’
Sasha did not think her face could go any hotter, but another surge of colour prickled her skin, and she reached out to steady herself on a corner of the bureau as his movements pulled her slender body about in an effort to free her from the corset. At last it came loose and she heaved a sigh of relief.
‘Besides, with your tiny waist, you do not need such a thing.’ He tossed the corset aside in disgust, and it landed with a thwack of cotton and whale-bones in a far corner. For a moment he stood gazing at her, wearing nothing more than her thin chemise, frilly drawers and silk stockings. She had a lovely figure, and if this was indeed his wedding night it would certainly please him to reach out and remove her undergarments.
‘Thank you.’ Sasha moved away, drawing in a deep breath of air, and turning shyly to face him.
They stood looking at each other, both of them acutely aware of their state of undress, and the fact that they were alone in the confines of this darkened cabin. His eyes narrowed as they roamed over her, taking in at a glance her flushed face, her lips, parted as she breathed rather quickly, and the rise and fall of her bosom. He lingered on her breasts, noting that they were small, yet round and firm, her nipples hardened and showing pink through the fine white fabric of her chemise. His gaze lo
wered farther, skimming over her slim waist and the curve of her hips, down to slender thighs showing above the tops of her cream silk stockings, covering slim yet shapely legs. His impression had always been that she was rather thin and fragile, but looking at her now he found her to be most delightfully formed, slender yet curvaceous in all the right places. He felt his blood stir, yet he resisted the temptation to yield to desire as he remembered their circumstances.
Sasha was all too aware of his examination, and she moved away to fumble in one of her overnight bags for a robe, slipping on the flowered satin and tying the sash firmly about her waist.
‘Well…’ He cleared his throat, and moved to blow out the lamp. ‘We should get some sleep.’
She nodded in agreement.
‘Do you want the top bunk, or the bottom?’
‘I don’t mind,’ she replied.
‘Well, I don’t, either.’
For a moment they stood and stared at the beds, each of them wondering which would be best, to avoid the danger of any further intimacy.
‘Damn ridiculous, if you ask me, giving a couple on their honeymoon bunk beds,’ he grumbled, reaching out to pull aside the stiff sheets of the upper bunk.
Sasha smiled, following his lead and leaning down to tug at the linen of her own bed underneath, ‘It would make things rather awkward. How on earth would we both fit into the same bed and—and—?’ She stopped then, suddenly embarrassed at her own conversation.
He laughed, unabashed as he followed the train of her thoughts. ‘I guess we would have ended up on the floor. More room there.’
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