‘On the floor?’ Sasha glanced down at the hard surface of the wooden boards.
‘With plenty of blankets to lie on, of course. We wouldn’t want to get bruised.’ He lay back with a sigh, hands behind his head. ‘Good night, Miss… Sasha.’
‘Good night…Reid.’
She slept a deep and innocent sleep, considering her guilty conscience, not waking until well after ten, and only then stirring at the sound of a knock on the door and the rattle of a tray. Sasha opened her eyes, momentarily confused and wondering where on earth she was. And then her memory was jolted as a pair of masculine legs swung out from the bunk above and her ‘husband’ jumped down, padding to the door in his under-drawers, bare chested, having divested himself of his clothes some time during the night.
‘Good morning, sir,’ the cabin steward greeted him as the door opened.
‘Mornin’.’ Reid yawned, rubbing his chest hairs absently with one hand as he took the tea tray from the steward.
‘You’ve missed breakfast, sir. I was told not to disturb you and your good lady—’ the steward winked ‘—but I’ve put on some sandwiches and biscuits to keep you going. Lunch is at noon in the dining salon.’
‘Very good.’ Reid Bowen closed the door and moved to set the tray down on the bureau, saying with a dry note of amusement in his voice, ‘You can come out now, he’s gone.’
Sasha raised her head from where she had ducked underneath the covers, mortified with embarrassment, spluttering on her words. ‘He—he thinks we—we’ve—!’
‘Of course he does. The whole ship does. We were married yesterday, after all.’
Sasha groaned, diving under the covers again and pulling them over her head. ‘I will never be able to set foot out of here until we reach St Petersburg!’
‘Nonsense.’
She became aware then of a heavy weight and warmth as he sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned towards her, pulling down the covers. She resisted, trying to pull them back up, but he was stronger and the covers came down.
Sasha stared at him wide-eyed, her heart beating very hard as she covered her breasts by crossing her arms protectively over them. ‘You are not going to—to ravish me, are you?’
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes lowering to the swell of her bosom, a speculative gleam in his eyes, and then he smiled, aware of her tension. ‘No,’ he said gently, ‘not right now.’
Sasha heaved a sigh of relief, but she still sat warily as he made no move to stand up.
‘I’ve been thinking, though, while you’ve been snoring—’ he said.
‘I do not snore!’
‘Well, snuffling, then, but you do make a funny noise when you’re asleep—anyway, we digress. As I said, I’ve been thinking—’
‘Good for you.’
He placed his hands one on either side of her hips, and leaned closer, in a manner that was intended to silence her, and yet was more arousing than intimidating as she became aware of his muscular broad shoulders and strong arms, his skin tanned to a honey colour, and his chest liberally covered with golden hairs.
‘Listen to me, please.’ He tapped her lips with his forefinger. ‘Well, it seems that this marriage thing is three-quarters done, and maybe Georgia was right, I should have asked you to marry me in the first place—’
‘What!’
‘Be quiet, you are distracting me.’ His gaze fell to her chemise, suspecting that she was unaware how her current posture pressed her breasts together and made for a most interesting cleavage, but with an effort he raised his eyes to her face again. ‘The fact remains that I am in need of a wife, you are here, of sound mind and body, reasonably attractive—’
‘I beg your pardon!’
‘And my only option is that I do the honourable thing, and marry you properly.’
Sasha stared at him, bewildered, her senses swimming with a heady mixture of attraction, desire and outrage. ‘I—I don’t understand.’
‘As soon as we get into international waters, most probably around midday, I will ask the ship’s chaplain to marry us.’
‘But—’ she stared at him ‘—is that possible? As far as he knows we are already married.’
‘Don’t worry, I will have a quiet word with him.’
‘Can we trust him?’
He shrugged. ‘I hope so. I know Padre Meares from his days in India. I think I can persuade him to be sympathetic and discreet.’
‘What will you say?’ Sasha stared at him, and thought how beautiful his blue eyes were, his nose, so straight and perfect, nostrils slightly flared, and his mouth, not too wide, not too thin.
‘Leave it to me, I’ll make up a plausible tale, something along the lines that you were too ill for the actual ceremony yesterday, but we couldn’t miss the ship sailing, blah, blah, blah.’
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him suspiciously. ‘Will it be legal?’
‘I believe so.’
‘So—’ she blushed, her voice and her eyes lowering, choosing her words carefully ‘—so tonight, you will not be wanting to sleep in the top bunk?’
His voice was even softer, huskier, as he shook his head and leaned closer. ‘No, Mrs Bowen, I will not be wanting to sleep in the top bunk. In fact, I suspect that I will not want to sleep at all.’
Sasha gasped, as his shoulders blocked out the cabin and she felt the heat and warmth of his mouth on hers. It had been a long while since anyone had kissed her, and certainly never like this. His mouth moved expertly on her lips, parting them, savouring their soft pink fullness with his lean male lips, tasting her as his tongue slipped inside. She felt her heart drum and her hands pressed against the rough hardness of his chest, holding him back, and yet she melted as his kiss deepened. His lips strayed then, and pressed to the side of her neck, and down across her collarbone, to the soft swell of her breasts. She shivered, her skin absorbing delightful sensations at the feel of him, and she made a small sound, arching her neck, her hands sliding up over the bulk of his solid shoulders, urging him closer.
He groaned, and it took a supreme effort on his part not to get into bed with her, strip her naked and make love to her there and then, but he pulled back, his breath just as short and sharp as hers, to his surprise, as he had not expected to feel this way about a girl like Sasha.
Sasha felt an emotion stir within that she had never felt before. A feeling of such bliss, and contentment, as though this moment put her whole world to rights. And yet, she knew that Reid did not love her, and was unsure if the feelings she herself experienced were indeed love, or merely the physical effects of a handsome man upon her female senses. She pondered on it, innocent but certainly no fool. She realised with a slow seep of ice through her veins that she could not possibly agree to his suggestion. It hurt, deep inside within her heart, but she drew back and shook her head.
‘No.’
He leaned back, pulling up the covers over her breasts. ‘Don’t worry, I will do the honourable thing first.’
Sasha again shook her head. ‘I—I mean, that is, I’m saying no to your proposal. I do not wish to marry you.’
‘What?’ He frowned at her.
‘You do not love me.’
‘What’s that got to do with it? I didn’t particularly love Georgia, either, but we would have dealt well enough together.’
She felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, and crowd into her throat. How could she explain that she did not want to be ‘dealt’ with, but that she wanted him to love her?
‘I don’t think that’s enough. My—my parents love each other, passionately, and I don’t want anything less from my own marriage.’
‘Well…’ He sat away from her, not looking at her. ‘I can’t say I love you, because at the moment I don’t.’
‘Very well,’ Sasha whispered.
‘Hmm.’ He grunted, and then slanted her a sideways look. ‘What do you propose, then?’
She hesitated, uncertain. ‘I don’t know.’
‘The
ship is putting into Copenhagen tomorrow. Do you wish to go ashore and return to England?’
Sasha considered that for a moment. It was not very much to her liking, but she could see no alternative solution, so she merely nodded, not meeting his gaze.
Reid levered himself up, his tone cool. ‘Very well, then. I will speak to the captain.’ After a moment’s pause, as he contemplated the floorboards and his future, sans wife, he said in a flat voice, ‘I’m going to find somewhere to get washed and dressed. I suggest you do the same; lunch will be served in an hour.’
He collected his clothes from a travelling case, opened the door and departed. Sasha sagged back against the pillow, quite astonished at this turn of events. She pushed aside the covers of the bed and climbed out, padding over to the bureau and pouring herself a cup of tea. It was hot and fragrant. She drank thirstily and the rumble of her stomach reminded her that she had not eaten for a long while. She ate a cheese sandwich, dunked several biscuits in her tea, and then set about finding her clothes, humming quietly under her breath. She lurched and lost her balance several times, as the ship rolled on the increasing swell. Sasha went to the porthole and peered out, but she could see nothing except the dark cobalt sea and a cloudy grey sky. The weather had turned, the wind whipping up white caps of foam on the water. She could smell the tang of salt, as well as the odour of the ship itself, a mixture of paint and rust and a musty smell she could not quite identify.
A knock on the door brought the steward with a bowl of steaming hot water. Sasha avoided his eye, murmuring her thanks as he set the bowl down on the bureau and then he departed. It was quite difficult keeping her balance, most disconcerting, as she stripped off her chemise and drawers and washed. Then she struggled into clean clothes, a neat dark blue skirt and a white blouse, with a tortoiseshell belt to draw in her waist, as she had no desire to restrict herself in the confines of a corset. She slipped on warm woollen stockings, fastened them with plain garters, and then put on her shoes. For a moment she pressed a hand to her mouth as a most peculiar feeling wafted up from her stomach. It must be because she had not eaten for so long, and then bolted down food too quickly. A brisk walk on the deck was what she needed, to clear away all the cobwebs before lunch.
She managed to find her way through the warren of corridors and up steel flights of steps to the deck. The smell of salt was even stronger as she emerged, the wind tearing at her hair that she had braided and fastened in a loop at the nape of her neck. She should have put on her coat, but was loath to return to the cabin, stepping out smartly and taking in deep gulps of air, clutching at the railings now and then as the ship lurched and rolled.
It wasn’t long before she became aware of someone calling her name; turning about, she saw Captain Bowen striding towards her.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ he shouted, his voice snatched away by the wind.
‘I’m taking a walk,’ she shouted back.
She couldn’t hear his words, but she gathered they were not complimentary, even rude, as he grasped her arm and dragged her back inside. In the corridor below he stooped over her, his face marred by a frown.
‘You idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed?’
‘What?’
‘Not even the sailors are out in this wind!’
‘Oh.’ Now that she thought about it, the deck had seemed rather deserted.
‘You could have been swept overboard.’
‘Well, I wasn’t. I’m still here.’ She tidied her hair. ‘Did you speak to the captain?’
‘Yes, I did.’ He frowned, and taking her arm he led her down the corridor. ‘He’s agreed to set you ashore in Copenhagen. He wasn’t too happy about it, I must say, and I’m not sure that I am, either. But I will take you to the British Embassy and you can stay there until a passage can be secured for you back to England.’
She said nothing in response, and fell into step with him as he led her to the main salon, where several officers in crisp white naval uniforms sat in lounge chairs reading the paper or writing in journals. They stood up as she entered the room, and introductions were made. Then Reid showed her to a tub chair in the corner, leaning over her as he whispered, ‘Sit there and don’t move. I have a few things to attend to.’ He nodded his head at the glass-fronted bookcases. ‘Find something to read and stay put.’
Sasha gave him an aggrieved glare, but then he leaned down and kissed her hard and swiftly upon her disconsolate mouth, causing her to gasp.
‘I know what you Packard girls are like, up to mischief given half a chance.’ He smiled then. ‘And that kiss was for the benefit of our audience. Be good now.’
He straightened up and took himself off, leaving Sasha to sit and stare out of the row of small wooden windows, from the corner of her eye noticing the curious glances that came her way. Stay out of mischief, indeed!
Chapter Five
At noon sharp a gong clanged in the hands of an orderly, echoing along the corridors and rousing the officers in the library to converge on the dining room for luncheon. Sasha sat down at a long table, between the Navy men, and across the width of the snowy-white tablecloth set with cut crystal and silver sat Reid. She glanced at him, and he smiled back, with a perusing thoughtful look in his eyes that puzzled her.
A bowl of steaming tomato soup was set in front of her. For a moment she felt the room sway in dizzy circles, a wave of nausea rising from her stomach and choking in her throat. A dew of sweat filmed her forehead, but she breathed in slowly, one hand clenched in a fist beneath the table. It was an ordeal to swallow even one mouthful of soup, and yet she managed to almost finish the bowl before it was taken away. The next course of plump chicken breast in a white wine and mushroom sauce was quickly served. The Captain made approving noises, grasping his knife and fork and attacking his plate with gusto. Sasha hid a shudder as she watched him swallow a mouthful, poked and prodded at her meal, toying with it, gingerly cutting up tiny morsels and placing one in her mouth. The stewards were swift and efficient, the Navy used to eating quickly, and with relief she surrendered her half-finished plate. Next, there was dessert, and Sasha sighed as she eyed a bowl of steamed rum-and-raisin pudding swimming in custard. One of her favourites, and she succumbed to temptation, but was soon to regret it.
Without the presence of a lady the gentlemen would normally pass the port round and light cigars, taking time out for congenial talk. Sasha became aware that Reid was looking at her, with a frown upon his brows. She did not think this unusual, as he quite often seemed to have a look of thunder when gazing at her. But he kept directing his eyes to the door and Sasha realised that he was hinting that she should retire. A great wave of nausea washed over her then, much worse than before, and she prayed that she would make it back to the cabin without disgracing herself.
Reid leaned towards her as he escorted her to the door. ‘Are you all right, Sasha? Your face is white as a sheet.’
‘Yes, thank you.’ But then her stomach rebelled, as the ship heaved and plunged on a steep wave, forcing her body to mimic the action. No matter how hard she tried to prevent it, a dreadful noise erupted from her throat, followed swiftly by the contents of her stomach.
‘Good God!’ Reid jumped back.
Sasha retched again, clinging weakly but ineffectively to the wall, moaning, wondering if there was any likelihood the ship might sink and save her the embarrassment of having to face anyone, especially Reid, ever again.
The Captain advised, ‘Best get your wife down below.’
‘You wouldn’t think such a tiny thing could throw up that much,’ one of the ship’s officers commented, as several of them peered with curiosity from the doorway of the salon.
Someone elbowed him into silence, and Reid swung Sasha up into his arms, carrying her down to their cabin. There he closed the door and set her on the chair in the corner, squatting on his heels in front of her as he peered with concern at her pale, sweat-dewed face, and then quickly reaching for a bowl of water on the bureau as s
he started heaving again. He chucked the water out through the porthole and thrust the bowl under her nose. She was sick again. When at last the dreadful retching subsided, tears crowded in her eyes, and she sniffed, her words muffled as she turned her face aside. ‘Oh, please, do go away.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s awful—what on earth must you think of me?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he chided, his voice infinitely gentle as he wiped her face with a towel she had discarded earlier. ‘I’m in the Army, remember? I’ve seen a lot worse from my soldiers.’
‘But you aren’t married to any of your soldiers.’
‘Well, apparently I’m not married to you, either.’
She smiled weakly at his words, and raised her tear-spiked lashes to glance at him with an apologetic wrinkle of her brows. ‘I’m sorry.’
With one hand he poured her a cup of cold black tea. ‘Here, sip this. It might help.’ He watched as she complied, and murmured, ‘No doubt we will both survive.’
As another wave of nausea gripped her stomach and she leaned over the bowl, retching painfully yet producing little, she wondered what he meant—whether they would survive her sickness, or this so-called marriage?
It was a very long and uncomfortable night for Sasha. Reid stayed with her, helping her to change her clothes and put on a clean cotton nightgown. He sponged her face with a cool cloth and tried to encourage her to eat a few ginger biscuits, the steward swearing that it would help to ease her discomfort. But she could not hold them down and it was only as the first flush of dawn touched the horizon that Sasha at last fell asleep, exhausted and drained.
The weather did not improve at all that day, the iron-clad ship bucking on the steep waves, creaking and groaning in a manner that gave even Reid pause for thought, and to take a turn on deck to discreetly check out the lifeboats. The Captain announced apologetically to Reid that it would be impossible to make harbour in Copenhagen and they were going to carry on. He assured his passengers that, once they were out of the rough waters of the North Sea and into the calmer Baltic, things would settle down. Reid, who had been so preoccupied with caring for Sasha through her illness that he’d forgotten he had asked that she be set ashore in the Danish capital, sincerely hoped so. He watched grimly as Sasha stirred and reached blindly for the bowl.
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