Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  “Well, how is our patient this fine afternoon?” Doffing his many-caped greatcoat, Blake peered at her, his grin faltered, and his animated countenance sobered. “Avery—”

  “I know, Cap’n.” The physician removed his spectacles and rubbed his face. “Given Miss Teversham refuses the hot grog, I cannot ensure she will live to see the morn.”

  Now that got Lenore’s attention, and she fought against the pile of blankets but lost the battle. No doubt the doctor exaggerated the circumstances to trick her into succumbing. But when a tear streamed Lucy’s cheek, Lenore longed to buoy her sibling.

  “I beg your pardon? What do you mean she refuses the hot grog?” With arms folded, Blake shifted his weight. “Since when is it her choice?”

  “But, sir, I would not harm her.” The kind doctor resituated his glasses and stared at Lenore. “What can I do, when she rebuffs my best attempts to treat her?”

  “You make her drink it.” The tone in Blake’s voice left her shuddering, as he untied his cravat, flung the yard-length of linen over the back of a chair, and shrugged from his coat. “Miss Lucilla, go to my cabin.”

  “Cap’n, please, do not hurt my sister.” Wringing her hands, Lucy shuffled her feet.

  “What is this?” Blake chucked Lucilla’s chin. “Is this the spirited scamp who carved her initials in the bowsprit, yesterday? Are you not an honorary member of the crew?”

  “I am, sir.” Lucy bit her bottom lip. “And on my oath, I am at your disposal.”

  “Then you will obey my order, and spend the night in my quarters, as I must tend Lenore.” To her surprise, Blake rested a palm to Lucy’s shoulder and gave her a gentle nudge toward the door. “Go, as I promise to do everything in my power to save her.” In a move that inspired additional anxiety, Lucy suddenly reached for and clung to the captain. And in a moment of indulgence for which Lenore would be forever grateful, he hugged Lucy and set her on her heels. “There, there. It will be all right, girl. Now do as I ask, and, if you are very good, you may sit at my desk and peruse the ledgers.”

  Without further comment, Lucy half-curtseyed and exited the stateroom. At that point, Blake gazed at Lenore and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and she cowered beneath his scrutiny.

  “Stay away from me.” Yes, hers was a pathetic rebuke, but she did not require his interference. “I will be fine, Captain Elliott. You need expend no effort on my behalf.”

  “No, you most certainly will not be fine, if I ignore the obvious and do nothing.” In a flash, he snatched a stool from the wash area, grabbed her, and drew her into his lap. “Obstinate, foolish woman. If you care not for yourself, then what of Lucy? With you gone, you condemn her to confront the world alone. Is that the future you planned for her?”

  “Captain, I protest, as you inflate the threat to my health.” Kicking and squirming in his grasp, she discovered that, in her pitiful state, she presented no match for his brute strength. “I insist you release me, at once.”

  “Avery, I have her.” With a nod, Blake signaled the doctor. “Hold her nose and pour the concoction down her throat.”

  “No.” Panic invested her, when the doctor did as Blake bade, and she choked on the foul-tasting mixture.

  Jerking her head left and then right, Lenore resisted until her lungs screamed for air, but when she opened her mouth, the physician she had considered a friend almost drowned her in the warm liquid. Some of the bitter brew she swallowed, until she gagged, and her stomach rebelled in typical fashion.

  Vicious spasms wracked her gut, and she erupted, but Blake never wavered, as he cradled her while Dr. Avery bore the basin. Then her tormentors assailed her repeatedly in a macabre dance, of sorts, and she wailed in agony. In silence, she vowed never to forget or forgive the captain.

  “This would go much easier if you would cooperate.” Blake brushed a stray lock from her eyes and scowled. Inhaling deep breaths, she tensed when the captain said, “Again.”

  And so began her slow descent into hell, as the brown-haired devil never relented, despite her pleas for compassion. When it became clear he would not yield, she screamed and shouted. Imprisoned in Blake’s vise-like clutch, she could do nothing, as the doctor deluged her with his abhorrent homemade remedy, and somewhere between the violent bouts of retching, Lenore ceded the fight.

  Resting slack in the captain’s embrace, she wept and whimpered, as she gazed into his baby blues and heaped on him an assortment of colorful insults, yet he anchored her. Resolute, he gave her no quarter, which spurred her anew, and she wrestled until she could endure no more. After a final tussle, she capitulated, much to her chagrin and humiliation.

  To her amazement, when she surrendered, Blake smiled, dismissed the doctor, and fed her the peculiar tonic with tenderness of which she never would have guessed him capable. From her former adversary she drew strength, and she consumed more and more of the bizarre cure.

  “Lovely Lenore, you will not die on my watch. Do you hear me? I will not allow it, so you must improve. Now, be a dear, and take more grog.” Chuckling, Blake caressed her cheek as she gulped an impressive portion. “It seems you have developed a fondness for rum, much to my gratitude. And I rather fancy your sedate nature, although I admire your spirit, too.”

  To her credit, in her mind she composed a polite and dignified response, along with a sincere apology for the appalling invective she unleashed earlier, which she hoped to deliver with characteristic grace.

  Instead, she hiccuped.

  “Well, well, that is an excellent sign.” And then her enticing host grinned, which proved quite irresistible, and she tittered. When she shivered, he draped another blanket over her, and she thought he kissed the tip of her nose. But she had to be mistaken. “Miss Teversham, I believe your fever broke, which is no small accomplishment, but we will not celebrate your recovery just yet.”

  Soon the tide turned, a strange sensation, an enticing and soothing warmth pervaded her muscles, suffusing her in a cocoon of tranquility, and she sighed and gladly sipped the now not-so-nasty-medicine. The savage nausea that plagued her had all but vanished, and in its place remained an odd calm. For some reason Lenore could neither comprehend nor explain, she could not stop giggling.

  #

  It was late when Blake stirred, lulled from sleep and inappropriate but altogether tantalizing dreams of Lenore, by a flirty little hum. Rubbing his neck, he stretched his legs and yawned. Several seconds passed before he realized he remained in Miss Teversham’s stateroom, with the decidedly delectable Lenore firmly planted in his lap.

  “Heeeellllooo.” Hugging the mug of rum-laced grog, she snorted as her head bobbed. “Did I wake you, my oh-so-dashing host?”

  “Bloody hell.” He burst into laughter at the absurdity of his predicament, and he wondered how the prim and proper lady would react, if she could see herself loaded to the gunwales. “You are three sheets to the wind.”

  “I beg your pardon?” With an adorable pout, she hiccuped. “I most certainly am not—what does ‘three sheets to the wind’ mean?”

  “It means you have had more than enough rum, Miss Teversham.” What a compelling combination, the demure and decorous gel had tapped into an innate enchantress, and he realized, in that second, he wanted her more than he had wanted any woman. After snatching the sailor’s tonic from her slender fingers, to her groan in protest, he located a cup of water. “Here. You need fluids, lovely Lenore.”

  “Ugh.” She grimaced and choked. “That tastes awful. I want my medicine.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt, but you no longer need it.” Even foxed, Blake found her unutterably appealing, especially in the sheer muslin nightgown she wore. But he tried not to consider that. “Now be a good girl and drink for me.”

  “Say my name again.” She collapsed to his chest and sighed. “I love the way you say my name.”

  “Do you?” How she worked on him, and how she touched him. As the finest brandy, she warmed him from the inside, and he fought to maintain control of his desires
, which ran rampant, much to his chagrin. Not since his days as a randy midshipman had he grappled with his baser instincts, as he had long ago mastered his lustful appetites. No woman commandeered his helm unless he permitted it, but not so with the elder Miss Teversham. Indeed, the bewitching Lenore had found the chink in his armor and scored a direct hit. “Why?”

  “I cannot be sure, but something in the tone of your voice gives me shivers, yet you do not frighten me. Well, on occasion you frighten me.” When she nuzzled him, which he never would have predicted, he lost the battle with his body, a wicked erection ached to wage war in her creamy flesh, and he gritted his teeth. “And your eyes, so blue, twinkle with naughty thoughts. Will you share them with me?”

  Oh, would he…

  “On my honor as a gentleman and as a Nautionnier knight, you will experience my fantasies, in detail, where you are concerned, but not tonight.” It would be so easy to take her, to unhook his breeches, spread her thighs, and claim her. In her present condition, she would not fight him. Actually, she would welcome him. But that was not how he wanted her. “When the time is right, I shall bare all that I am and teach you all that I know—what are you looking at?”

  “Your mouth.” With a finger, she traced the line of his jaw, which he clenched. As a practiced seraph, she squirmed, and the blanket dropped to her waist. Rose-tipped peaks just visible beneath the thin fabric tempted him beyond reason, and he shifted his hips in discomfit. In his mind, he marked the torment, as he would exact equitable recompense. “Your lips are a marvel, and I wonder how they would feel pressed to mine.”

  Yes, her admissions just kept getting better. “My dear Miss Teversham—”

  “—Lenore.”

  “All right, Lenore.” When she squealed, he chuckled. Then it occurred to him that she would not remember a thing about the exchange, given her heightened intoxication, as evidenced by her slightly slurred speech, so he could take liberties he would not otherwise dare. In a flash, Blake bent his head and whispered in her ear, “Lovely Lenore, this I swear on my heir, which you shall birth, soon I shall kiss every inch of your captivating curves, I shall devour the succulent treasure between your thighs, and you will croon your siren song just for me.” Then he braced for a jolt, a sharp reproach, or a slap.

  “But I have never been kissed.” Now that revelation well nigh slayed him, and he would correct that shameful offense against the laws of nature. Unaware of the danger he presented, she teased him with an enchanting wiggle of her bottom and further provoked the beast. “Will you be my first?”

  “Aye.” Then and there, he made himself a promise. “And your last.”

  “I do not understand, as the world seems muddled.” That had to be the understatement of the century, as he had a hunch she had never imbibed rum, or any other intoxicant, to the degree she had that night, and he could just imagine what she experienced. Although she furrowed her brow, she giggled, which he found infectious. “Oh, Blake. Nothing makes sense when you are near.”

  That he counted a priceless confession.

  “It will, eventually.” A course of action took shape in his brain, and he plotted his attack with ruthless precision, yet he would be patient. “For now, you need to eat.” A plate sat atop the table, where Lucy had abandoned it. “And a piece of stale toast will suit our purposes.”

  Without complaint, she acquiesced, and he fed her each morsel. To his relief, she consumed everything he served her. And as Blake cared for his fascinating guest, he pondered a variety of possibilities, none of which he had anticipated when anchoring in Belgium, but it seemed fate had other ideas.

  If he had learned anything as a spectator to the sometimes awkward, on other occasions hilarious, but forever frustrating connubial contest known as courtship, it was that the female sex could always be counted upon to be unpredictable and downright uncooperative. It was for that reason, alone, that he would seek the sage counsel of the married Brethren upon his return to London, not that he required their guidance.

  Yes, as the leader of the rowdy band of sea captains, known throughout the military set as the Order of the Brethren of the Coast, rakehell mariners descended from the famed Templars, the warriors of the Crusades, he had not won his reputation as a ruthless and cunning naval man by arriving late to the campaign. And while his leg-shackled comrades presumed he paid no heed to their haphazardly imparted advice, often communicated in the backrooms at White’s, amid copious sums of the best amber liquor and fine cigars, nothing could have been further from the truth, as he had taken note and committed to memory profuse amounts of knowledge, with the singular goal of easing the path to marital bliss. No, he would not bungle his romance, as had his brothers, in light of his proficiency in the game.

  It was the amassed trove of pertinent information, and the inherent hunter in him, that inspired Blake to seize the incomparable Miss Teversham.

  An impressive belch pierced the silence, and Lenore giggled at what he suspected was another rare breach in feminine decorum for her. Then she wound her arms about his waist, snuggled close, and moaned. “Lucy told me you are unmarried.”

  “Given your professed disdain for my person, I am surprised you inquired.” Comforted by her mere presence, he rested his cheek to her crown. “So why the interest in my bachelor status?”

  “Papa’s death has given rise to so many emotions, and I can hardly decipher them.” For a few minutes, she quieted, and he savored the steady and repetitive beat of her heart. “Prior to receiving the news that my father had fallen in battle, I never really considered the future. It was safe to presume he would arrange a suitable match, as he amassed decent dowries for Lucy and I, and we would do our duty. But now my life is my own to plan, and I find myself harboring hope such as I have never known.”

  “And what do you want?” There was something sad in her tone, and he reflected on the source of her melancholy. “Forgive my intrusion, Lenore. But was your father cruel?”

  “Oh, no.” As she resituated herself, pressing her breasts to his chest, he swallowed a groan and vowed to spend several hours, maybe several days, teasing her nipples with his tongue. “Papa was wonderful, and he loved us very much. As my mother died of a nasty fever when I was very young, he tried hard to be everything to us. Perhaps it is my indulgent upbringing that cultivates a host of fanciful notions, but I long to have a husband and a family.”

  “How does that differ from your father’s intentions?” Never would he have enacted the impromptu interrogation, were she fully compos mentis, but her inebriated state provided the perfect opportunity, and he was too wise to overlook the situation.

  “Well, had Papa survived the war, I would have accepted a candidate of his choosing, as a good daughter should obey her father. Now I should very much like to marry for love. And I want at least six children.” Well, he was more than willing and able to help her beget them, as he might be hard until the New Year. She hiccuped, and Blake smiled. “You must think me a simpleton for such dreams.”

  “Not at all, my dear.” Not when they aligned so perfectly with his aspirations. “So tell me of your ideal candidate. Let me guess, you favor a high-ranking noble with a huge estate and an equally vast fortune.”

  “No.” After another spontaneous emission, which reduced her to a series of intermittent mirth and snorts, she burrowed beneath the blanket and closed her eyes. “I would rather live on Queen’s Street and be happy than on Park Lane and be miserable. And given my less than stellar connections, as my father was only a general, I doubt any pretentious lord would seek my hand. But I would be grateful for a military man.”

  “Any branch, in particular?” Not for a minute did he expect her to declare the navy her favorite, but he was curious how she would respond.

  “I claim no affinity. Rather, my lone stipulation is that he would grant me his heart, as I would vouchsafe the same.” For him, with her, that sealed the deal. With a robust yawn, she rolled her shoulders and then settled.

  For a while, he si
mply sat there and held her. As he cradled her in his arms, he regarded the delicate angles of her arresting profile, the thick lashes he could study for the better part of a sennight, and the beguiling lushness of her lips. Then a soft snore rumbled from her throat, and he stifled a chortle and shook his head.

  With great care, Blake lifted his bride-to-be. Lowering her to the bunk, he eased her to the mattress and then drew the covers to her chin. Relaxed in repose, she quite took his breath away, and he gazed on her as a starving creature and she his feast. Of course, he would not apprise her of his peerage, as he relished the fact that she wanted him, despite his seemingly lowborn credentials. Plus, the shock in her expression when she learned the truth would be the icing on his wedding cake.

  “Rest easy, lovely Lenore, and fret not for tomorrow.” As no witnesses loomed to attend his violation of social strictures, he pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. “That was for me, my dear. Notwithstanding your misgivings, in regard to a titled groom, you are mistaken, as you just swept the pool, struck a lethal blow from which I may never recover, and landed a duke.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The following morning, Lenore truly wished she had died of seasickness, if only to escape the agonizing pounding in her head. When she opened her eyes, she discovered the arrogant sea captain sitting in a chair, slumped to the side and asleep, and bits and pieces of time flashed in her brain, as a staccato of reflections, some pleasant and others not so much. No matter how hard she tried, she could make no sense of the various images, but she remembered in harrowing detail how Blake held her down, while Dr. Avery poured the grog into her mouth. After that horrid experience, everything blurred into nothingness.