He swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bunk. He blew out the lantern, faint light entering through the porthole, starlight and moonlight guiding his hands as he unknotted her dress, unfolding the satin like she was a gift to be unwrapped, a gift for him.
"You are so fair," he said, his words low and hoarse with a Scots burr that sent a frisson of heat down her spine, the richness of his voice stroking across her like the satin. He reached down and traced a line from her neck to her naval and Daphne watched, waiting, wanting to know what he would do next. He pushed the pieces of her dress aside and she sat up, her arms crossed over her breasts as she suddenly felt self-conscious beneath his steady gaze.
"No, do not cover yourself. Your beauty shines in the starlight like...like...stars."
She bit her lip to keep her smile inside at his heartfelt attempt at poetic language. If the words did not trip off his tongue it was not necessary, because his skilled hands could speak for him, and his mouth was clever in other ways.
Alexander demonstrated that now as he laid her back down on the narrow bunk, his arm pillowing her head. He kissed her again, not rushing, taking his time to know her, to explore her, to experiment and determine what she enjoyed. The slight stubble returning to his face rasped across her collarbone, making her shiver in a delicious combination of sensations.
"Oh, yes," she gasped. "That is perfect!"
He raised his head and Daphne thought she saw the brief gleam of a smile on his face, but it was too dark to be certain, and it was of no matter now. She knew where his smiles were. They were in his eyes, and in his hands when he touched her with such care, and, most of all, they were in his kisses.
He paused to pull off his remaining clothing and toss it on the deck, then lay down beside her again, the two of them as close as the ribs of a fan in their space, which was fine with her as she ran her hands over his arms, his back, her caresses earning murmurs of approval from him as he responded in kind.
Her pulse pounded and she knew she was ready for more, until she reached down for him and stilled, holding onto what she had only felt against her before. He rolled atop her, but she put her hand on his chest, which made him pause. Daphne licked her dry lips.
"You are an intelligent man, Alexander, and there is a lot of knowledge in your head, but maybe not enough knowledge. I do not want to stop, but I must tell you--this won't fit."
He buried his head into her shoulder where it met her neck and made a muffled noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh.
"It will fit, Miss Farnham."
"Doctor, I do not know if you have done this before..."
He pushed himself up on his arm and his face was strained and tense in the moonlight, but he took the time to rub his thumb across her lips before placing a soft kiss there, a reassuring move that eased some of the tension from her frame and made her feel safe.
"I have done this before, Miss Farnham. Daphne." He put his finger over her lips when she would have continued protesting, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. "I studied anatomy. I know about women and their parts. Remember? You can trust me to know what I am doing when I say we will fit as neatly as your hand fits in your glove."
"You are certain?"
"I will prove it."
And he did, moving carefully, cautiously. He kissed her again, deep, drugging kisses that made her twine her arms around him and caused her legs to fall open, and he moved his hand down, across her belly, feeling the bones, the skin, watching her reactions and how she responded. When he touched her, finally, in that spot that was aching, he gave a noise of male satisfaction.
"Good girl," he whispered in her ear. "You are wet, and you will see how well we fit. Like this," he said, slipping one finger inside her. She gasped at the sensation and felt herself tighten around him as he withdrew his hand, but then he was back, two fingers easing inside of her body as her back arched. He watched her intently, gauging her reactions, and he was the one who gasped when he slipped a third finger inside and she cried out at the stimulation, her hips moving, seeking more.
Sweat covered his face and a bead trickled down his muscled arm where he was propped above her and she did what she'd been longing to do, turning her head and licking that droplet of salt from his hot flesh.
His mouth swooped down on hers again, one hand gripping her, holding her against the thin mattress but that did not matter because he was stroking her with his other hand. Then it was not his hand probing between her legs and she went still, adjusting, feeling more than she'd ever felt before, but he was true to his word and moved carefully until he was a part of her, his body rigid with tension when he propped himself up on his arms and looked down at her.
"Raise your legs, my dear--ah, yes, just like that. Perfect--so perfect," he whispered, his mouth returning to hers as his hips began to move.
And he was right, as usual. It was perfect, being beneath Alexander's solid bulk, feeling him moving within her, gliding out and returning in a rhythm that made her see starlight even though her eyes were closed now. Her other senses opened to the sound of them moving in the dark, his sweat-slick body gliding against hers, his hands holding her, gripping her as she arched beneath him with a cry of satisfaction, her arms wrapped around his back, and his name on her lips.
"Perfect," he whispered again, driving into her a final time before pulling out suddenly and spending himself on her belly.
There was little room to move in the bunk and she lay draped over Alexander, her back pressed up tight against the bulkhead.
"Why did you pull out?"
His hand stilled from where it stroked her hair, and he sighed.
"I do not want to risk getting you with child, Daphne."
"Oh." Daphne suddenly felt chilled, and put her hand over her flat belly. "I do not think that will be a problem, Dr. Murray. I was with George, and we never had a baby."
"Every man and woman together is a different story, Daphne. There's always a risk."
"I wouldn't mind," Daphne said. She thought about it, cuddling a sweet, serious little baby with red hair. Maybe he would have a Scottish accent, too. It would be better than anything.
In the meantime, though, she was relaxed and sleepy.
"I am glad I did not atrophy," she murmured. "Don't hang the hammock, Dr. Murray, we can fit in here together."
"Only if you sleep on top of me, Miss Farnham."
He managed to maneuver them into a state where they could lie on their sides under the cover, with his arm around her waist to anchor her against him and keep her from falling out.
Daphne smiled to herself. There was a long sea voyage ahead of them. Plenty of time to see what could develop.
Chapter 18
"You look cheerful this morning, Mr. Murray."
Alexander glanced over at Captain St. Armand, who posed on his deck in a white shirt gleaming in the sunlight, the linen open at the neck to reveal too much of his tanned body. Alexander comforted himself with the thought if the pirate kept dressing in that fashion he would develop a chest cold when they moved into cooler climes. Seeing him sneezing, coughing, and red-eyed might turn a young lady's attention to a healthier alternative.
The captain's long legs were in close-fitting buckskins which earned him a second glance from a sailor or two, but Daphne was not there to appreciate the fop. Alexander'd left her sound asleep in the bunk, her hair spread over the cover like a golden shawl.
They'd woken twice during the night to make love, and despite the activity and lack of sleep, Alexander felt like the cock caged on the deck with the other poultry. Crowing seemed the natural response to a night like the one he'd had.
"In fact, one might say you look--smug," the captain continued.
"Nonsense," Alexander said smugly. "I look well-rested, having been rescued from being castaway."
Captain St. Armand looked around, a slight frown on his face.
"Miss Farnham is not with you?"
"Mrs. Murray is resting, Captain. It wa
s a stressful experience for her."
"That explains why you are in charge of the livestock."
Alexander was trying his best to ignore the animal sniffing around his feet. Pompom had looked at him so hopefully when he awoke that he took the dog with him, making a stop first at the sandbox for the dog's use. And to fetch him some water and biscuit. And to put his leash and collar on him for a walk.
"Have you eaten, Mr. Murray?"
"Yes, I stopped at the galley earlier. Did you prepare a place for me to work?"
The captain nodded. "Follow me," but then he paused.
"That animal of yours--is he a ratter?"
Alexander looked down at the fluffball at his feet. Daphne had washed him, thankfully after Alexander's bath, and combed him out, tying a ridiculous scrap of pink satin into a bow on the dog's hair. He looked ready to attack a dandelion.
"I do not know, Captain. He hunted lizards on the island, but I never saw him fetch a rat."
"He could earn his keep if he keeps the rat population down."
"You do not have a ship's cat?"
The captain looked away and mumbled something.
"I am sorry, I did not catch that."
"Cats make me sneeze."
This second mental image, of the pirate captain with eyes streaming tears and a nose swollen and red from sneezing, enhanced Alexander's morning stroll.
"Let's take the dog into the hold and see what happens," Alexander said. Fewer rats aboard ship would make his life easier as well.
* * * *
Daphne awoke refreshed and ready to sing. What a glorious morning! Dr. Murray was, well, amazing was not too strong a word for him. Rogerable indeed! It must be all those years of studying the human body that made him so skillful. Clearly, none of his parts had atrophied from lack of use!
She giggled to herself, then called for her pup.
"Pompom?"
His leash and collar were gone, as was her dear grumpy doctor, so Alexander must have taken the dog for his walk.
Daphne hummed a merry tune as she dressed in her sailor's clothing. It still felt strange to her. Wearing trousers was good for gentlemen, but it would never catch on as a fashion for ladies. Taking care of her needs was much easier when all she had to do was hoist her skirt, but she had to admit it was easier to move in the confined space of the ship and climb above in trousers. No doubt it would be easier to climb trees in trousers, not that she was likely to do that with Dr. Murray watching over her.
Daphne found her way to the galley, where Hill fussed over her and fixed her an egg fetched that morning from one of the hens.
"Enjoy it, miss. Hens can be contrary on sea voyages and may decide not to lay any more until they're on land again."
He'd fried the egg and she savored it, along with excellent coffee. The galley was tiny, but neat as could be, and the cook chattered to her as he worked, about everything from fashions to cooking techniques.
"I am learning how to cook, Mr. Hill--"
"It's just Hill, miss." And he gave her a wink.
She smiled back at him. He wasn't flirting with her, she'd spent enough time with men of fashion to know when they weren't interested in women. Hill was a sweet fellow, but not a competitor for her affection.
"Dr. Murray showed me how to cook on the island," she said as she watched the cook wield his knives with skill. "I can make fish baked in leaves, and I can stew crabs and boil an egg."
"Well now," he said, putting down his knife and looking at her. "I would say that puts you ahead of most ladies then."
"Really?"
"Yes, miss. I grew up working in the kitchen of a fine house, and the ladies there couldn't even make a fire to fix themselves a cup of tea. Can you imagine?"
Daphne looked down into her own cup to hide her embarrassment. She'd been one of those useless ladies before she met Dr. Murray. He was so patient with her, and he wanted to teach her new things. She blushed, thinking of some of the new things Dr. Murray had taught her in the dark. Daphne finished her tea and brushed off her hands, standing and returning the tinware to the cook.
"Thank you for breakfast, Hill. Have you seen Dr. Murray?"
"He was by earlier to fetch himself a bite, and some biscuit for your little dog."
That dear man! Taking such good care of her Pompom! She needed to find both the males in her life and wish them a good morning.
* * * *
"Here's another shilling on the rat!"
"I'll take that, Norton. That doggy's a bruiser!"
The crew lucky enough not to be at their duties were enjoying the action in the hold. Mrs. Murray's little pooch was proving to be a scrapper, and a valuable addition to the crew. Their voices rose as the betting became fierce, and Pompom seemed to love the attention. Perhaps it reminded him of when he'd been a working dog and not a lapdog, and that even fluffy furballs could be useful.
Alexander pulled a biscuit from his coat pocket to give the bichon another small bite for his latest prize. There were four corpses at his feet, their necks broken from a vigorous shaking.
Now the animal was staring down the king of the hold, a low growl rumbling up from his chest. The dog hunkered down, shoulders bunched, waiting for the right moment. He had scratches on his muzzle and his tail stood straight.
The rat looked near as big as Pompom. It crouched, beady eyes darting, not daunted by the cries of encouragement from the wagering sailors.
The dog prepared to spring when a shriek tore through the space. Pompom ignored this, leaping into action when the rat jumped, startled by the high-pitched sound. It was the last move the rat made as Pompom grabbed him and shook his head, snapping the rat's neck. The sailors--at least the ones who'd bet on the canine--cheered mightily at their champion's prowess.
"What are you doing with my precious baby? Dr. Murray, I demand to know what is going on here!"
All heads turned toward the ladder, where Daphne stood, perched on the lowest rung, her blue eyes narrowed in anger.
"Good thing she's your wife, Murray. You handle this," St. Armand said, slinking away.
"Dr. Murray!"
Daphne advanced on Alexander, but was halted by her pup prancing up to her, tail high, a corpse clutched between his teeth.
"Oh, my darling, did you fetch that for me? What a good boy you are, what a fierce hunter!"
She crouched down to pet him, wincing at the fuzzy body dropped at her feet. Meanwhile, the pirates deserted the surgeon like rats fleeing a sinking vessel, easing away from the couple and mumbling excuses as they exited the hold.
Daphne looked up from where she was tickling Pompom under his chin and rose to her full height, tapping her bare foot on the deck, hands on her shapely hips. Hips that were outlined amazingly well by her garments, Alexander couldn't help but notice.
"Well?"
"It seemed to me the animal is less likely to end up in the stewpot if he earns his keep."
"Dr. Murray!"
She looked so adorable in her anger. Her protectiveness of her animal sparked something in Alexander's chest, a feeling that she'd be as protective of anything she loved, whether it was a dog, or a child, or even possibly a surgeon.
He ignored the rats and stepped over to her, taking her by the elbows. She craned her head back to look at him, a frown putting lines between her brows. He put his thumb over the lines and gently erased them.
"Do not frown, Daphne. You don't want to end up all wrinkled like me, do you?"
"You are not so wrinkled, Dr. Murray. Just a little"--she thought about it--"weathered from being in the sun too much. Like a leather shoe left out by mistake."
"Exactly," he said. "It occurs to me, Miss Farnham, I did not teach you a new word today."
She sniffed, her delightful little retrousse nose making even that rude gesture endearing.
"That is because we did not see each other this morning. You, sir, have been busy corrupting my dog."
The dog in question sniffed hungrily around the rats.
If midshipmen would eat them, then the dog was not above such behavior. Watching her precious Pompom devour rats would not improve her temper, so Alexander sighed, kissed Daphne on her unlined forehead and set her away from him.
"My word for the day, Dr. Murray?"
He scooped the animal up in his arms, and scratched the proud pup behind his ear. He'd clean the animal's scratches so Daphne wouldn't rail at him again.
"Your word, Miss Farnham? I believe the word for today is...osculation."
She shaped it out with her mouth, which he watched with interest, then she said it aloud.
"Osculation...but what does it mean?"
"Never fear. I will demonstrate for you later."
* * * *
"Ah, Mr. Murray! So good to see you survived your experience in the ship's hold."
Captain St. Armand was all smiles when they came above, and Alexander turned to Daphne.
"I need to speak with the captain about my sick bay. I will see you at luncheon?"
Daphne nodded, and it was all he could do not to take her in his arms and retreat to their snug berth, but duty called. He passed her the dog.
"And wear your hat, Mrs. Murray. The sun is strong out here."
"Yes, Dr. Murray," she said with a sunny smile of her own. He watched her walk away, her trouser clad bottom drawing his eyes nearly as much as her tight fitting shirt did. He was not the only male to watch Daphne stroll, but when he turned back to the captain, the captain was watching him.
"I have concerns about my wife's safety aboard this vessel, Captain St. Armand," he said bluntly.
"I run a tight ship, Mr. Murray. The men know the punishment would be severe, and likely permanent, if they offered Miss Farnham--pardon, Mrs. Murray--any insult. Ah, here is Mr. Fuller to show you your space in the hold. I will see you at luncheon, Mr. Murray."
With a nod the captain turned away, but not in the same direction as Daphne, so Alexander relaxed a fraction and turned to the mate.
"Come with me, Mr. Murray," Fuller said.
The space in the hold was cramped, but not impossibly so. Most of the room was taken up by a table in the center, and Alexander looked at it critically.
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