“That you do not intend to wed them, as they may want.” James sighed, looking around as he lowered his voice. “She is a young lady, after all. It does not matter where she has come from, or that she is not titled. She deserves the same respect, and has the same wishes, as any other lady. I should hate to think that she is hoping for something that cannot happen.”
“I am free to marry whomever I please,” Simon replied.
James chuckled. “Does that mean you do intend to wed her?”
“If you must know, I plan to make a proposal of marriage upon our return to England. I will arrange for our ship to sail to Scotland, after we have offloaded our cargo and seen it sold at auction, where she and I will, hopefully, make our way to Gretna Green. After that, we will return to our voyaging, and she will be at my side, as my wife.” Simon had kept the secret to himself, but James was his dearest friend. Besides, he was the only other person who knew who Jemima was, and he felt he might burst if he did not tell someone.
“Your father will be rolling in his grave,” James teased, grinning. “But I am happy for you, friend. In truth, I never thought I would see the day where you would find someone to tolerate you enough to wed you. You must hold onto her, for you will not find another of her ilk. She is a rare species.”
Simon smiled. “I believe she is, and I have no intention of letting her go. I must only hope that she wishes to wed me.”
“She would be a fool not to.”
“Is everything ready for our departure?” Simon changed the subject, his heart thudding at the idea of being married to Jemima. Could he really be so blessed? It truly seemed as though serendipity was at play, for if neither of them had suffered through their lives in England, then they would never have found one another.
James nodded. “It is, my friend. One more port, and then onwards to England. By the time we come this way again, you may well be a married gentleman.” He paused. “Although, you know it is a grave superstition to have a lady aboard a vessel, do you not?”
“How about a young lady disguised as a gentleman?” Simon chuckled.
“Ah, you have me confounded on that one, my good man.”
* * *
Harry leered at Jemima in the corridor of the ship’s underbelly. It looked familiar, and yet entirely foreign. Shadows shifted and swirled all around her, seeming to take on a life of their own, pressing in upon her in the same manner as that evil man.
“Ye think you’ve won, don’t ye?” Harry chuckled darkly. “Ye think yer safe, but yer not. Lord Beaurgant will find ye, and when he does… ye’ll think what I tried to do was a mercy.”
Jemima shook her head frantically. “He will not find me. He cannot. He does not know where I am. He will never trace me here. Even if he were to, Simon would protect me.”
“He can’t protect ye from the law, sweeting. Yer engagement still stands. The moment ye set foot back on British soil, he’ll claim what’s his, and he’ll take it by force if he has to.” Harry stepped forwards, and Jemima found her body was frozen to the spot. “Just as I’m goin’ to.”
As he lunged at her, Jemima awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in her bed. A cold sweat dampened her forehead and made her shiver, as she frantically glanced around the room, to make sure Harry was not hiding in the gloom.
It was a nightmare, nothing more. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal, but she could not stop her heart from racing. It had felt so very real, and his words lingered in her mind as she sat there, hugging her knees to her chin.
Impulse spurred her on to throw back the covers and slip out of bed. Dressing quickly in her gentleman’s garb, she crept out of the bedchamber and crossed the room, letting herself out onto the upper deck. A bright, swollen moon shone down upon the ship, whilst a blanket of beautiful stars glittered effervescently in the clear night. The ocean was surprisingly calm, a veritable looking glass to reflect the sky above.
Pulling her cap lower over her head, she kept to the shadows, making sure none of the evening’s crew spotted her as she tiptoed below decks. She did not stop in her descent until she reached the brig—a room she had never visited. The corridor leading up to it was abandoned, with no sailors daring to tread here at night.
Taking a tremulous breath, she opened the door to the ship’s prison and stepped inside, closing it behind her. Four cells stood before her, but only one had an inhabitant within it. In the anemic flicker of a single candle, she could make out the horrid features of Harry, though he was now camouflaged beneath layers of dirt and grime, collected across the three weeks he had been down here.
Carefully, she approached, though she was wise enough to keep a safe distance between herself and the bars. Behind them, Harry sat in the corner, his head lolling against the wall as though he were asleep. However, the sharp intake of his breath let her know that he was anything but.
“Harry?” she said, steeling herself.
“I was wonderin’ if you’d come to me,” he replied, his tone cold. “Have yer changed yer mind? Are you lonesome, Miss Barton? Are ye seekin’ a man’s company?”
She pulled a disgusted face. “Nothing of the sort.”
“Then why are ye here?” In truth, she did not know. She had merely felt an unyielding drive to come and visit with him, to assure herself that he was safely behind bars.
“I…I suppose I was curious.”
“About what?”
She shrugged. “That you were still here and were not wandering the ship at your leisure.”
“You wouldn’t be breathin’ if I was.”
Her blood ran cold. “What will they do to you, when we reach Cape Verde?”
He laughed bitterly. “They will put me to death, most likely. The British Navy love to make an example of a fella. Even if I were to tell the truth, they’d lynch me for it. Funny, isn’t it, how an assault on a lady is deemed worse than an assault on a man?” He grinned at Jemima. “Then again, it’d be satisfying indeed to see the look on they faces, if I revealed what you were.”
“You would not. You said it yourself, your sentence would be far graver if they were to find out you attacked a young lady.” Her hands were shaking, for she had not contemplated the idea that he might give her away.
“Wouldn’t I?” He glowered at her. “If I told ‘em what you were, they’d send you right back to England, to face whatever it is yer runnin’ from. I doubt ye want that, but I don’t rightly care what you want.”
She realized she needed to find a way to persuade him against revealing her identity. “What if I were to speak to Lord Burhill and Captain McMorrow on your behalf? What if I were to convince them to leave you in Cape Verde, without a trial? They would have to dispense with your services, but you would be a free man.” She did not like the idea of doing so, for it meant that Harry would be free to harm others, but she could not see another way.
Harry frowned. “Making deals with the devil, are ye?”
“If that is what it takes, to purchase your silence.”
He remained silent for a moment or two. “Let me think on it. I’ll get someone to send for you when I’ve made me decision. It’s not somethin’ to be taken lightly.”
“No, it is not.” Jemima stood taller. “But remember, if you do not accept this, then you will be doomed to hang, as you have said. What would you prefer, Harry? A life of freedom, in return for silence? Or a death sentence, for the sake of one moment of revenge?”
He smiled. “Yer a smart lass, ain’t ye?”
“I have to be.”
“Like I said, I’ll think on it.”
“Well, do not wait too long, for we will arrive in Cape Verde in a fortnight.” She turned away without another word and hurried back to her bedchamber in the Captain’s quarters.
She did not know if she had done the right thing, or if she could even persuade Simon and Captain McMorrow to make such a deal, if Harry accepted. But what else could she have done? If he revealed that she was female to the British Navy, there was every po
ssibility that they would march her back to England themselves, tearing her away from Simon in the process.
And she refused to be returned to a gentleman she did not love, and could not stand, when she had found the person she had been looking for her entire life. If they tried, she would fight them, every step of the way. For she would rather throw herself into the ocean at this very moment than be a slave to that wretch, Lord Beaurgant.
Chapter 30
A fortnight passed by in the blink of an eye, with Simon and Jemima growing ever closer.
They continued to spend their evenings together, though they had made the decision to retire to their separate rooms to sleep. The temptation was simply too great, otherwise. Already, Simon found it increasingly difficult to be close to her without kissing her and touching her in the most tantalizing way.
With Brockmire fully recovered from his pleurisy, he was a near-constant presence within the Captain’s quarters, causing them to be more careful in their affections towards one another. If they were caught, it would spell disaster. It was troublesome enough that James knew of their courtship, but he was loyal, and knew how to keep a secret. Brockmire, on the other hand, had always been a loose cannon.
I crave her. She is in her bedchamber at this very moment. And I wish I were with her. Simon swallowed thickly, trying to shake off the sinful thoughts that plagued his mind.
Simon had only to brush Jemima’s hand by accident to feel the stirring of his arousal, and the desire to carry her into his room and make love to her. Now and again, he caught her glancing at him with an intense gaze, that seemed to suggest that she had similar feelings towards him. At times, the tension was unbearable, but he had made his promise to uphold her honor, and he would not go back on that.
A knock at the door distracted him from his work, though he had already been distracted by thoughts of Jemima. They had parted ways an hour previously, and he had not been able to think of anything else, since.
“Come in,” he said, anticipating Brockmire. Instead, his eyes widened as he saw Jemima on the threshold, a pail of water in her hands.
She smiled wantonly. “I thought you might care for a bath, My Lord.”
“I…I should like that very much,” he replied, in awe of her. He had come to learn that she was as passionate and sensual as she was intelligent and beautiful. Truly, he felt he was the most fortunate gentleman in all the world.
“Very well, My Lord.”
He remained in his seat as she came and went, filling the tin bath with bucket after bucket of steaming hot water. Before long, the bathtub was full, and Jemima closed the door behind her, turning the key in the lock. They had learned their lesson after James had burst in on them, and they would not make that mistake again.
With a shy smile, she held up a bath sheet and covered her eyes with it. “You ought to undress, My Lord. I will not peek, I promise.”
He chuckled, his heart pounding as he stood from his chair and crossed the room. Pausing beside the bath, he began to undress. His breath had grown rapid, his member already swollen with anticipation, as he unbuttoned his shirt and cast it to the floor. He kept his eyes fixed on Jemima, silhouetted behind the bath sheet, as he unfastened his trousers and let them fall.
Naked, he stepped into the hot water and sank down, letting it embrace him in a liquid caress. However, he could not relax, knowing that Jemima was close by. Looking into the mirror opposite, he watched as Jemima lowered the bath sheet and moved around the side of the bathtub, sinking to her knees beside him.
Taking a cloth, she dipped it into the water, and began to draw the wet fabric across his arms. Her gaze never left his, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as they looked upon one another. He closed his eyes in pleasure as she moved the cloth across his chest, and up the sides of his neck, smoothing away the tension of the last week or so. Letting his imagination run wild, he imagined there was no cloth, and it was simply her hands, running across his body.
“Does that feel nice, My Lord?” she said softly.
“It does.” He smiled, enjoying the gentle sensation.
He gasped as the cloth dipped below the surface of the water and trailed across the muscles of his abdomen. She moved ever lower, his eyes blinking open in surprise as he felt her hands slide around his eager member. She had turned her gaze away from him, her eyes fixated upon his arousal. She looked stunned and intrigued, all at once, letting him know that she had never seen such a thing before.
Covering her hands with his, he guided her, showing her how to please him. She smiled in shy curiosity, as she moved her hands slowly up and down, his body tensing with the exquisite sensation. Knowing that he could not contain himself if she continued, he stilled her hands and urged them gently away.
“Did I do something wrong?” Jemima frowned in concern.
He shook his head. “Not at all, my darling. It is simply that I wish to bring you pleasure, whilst we are alone. It has been much too long since I have touched you.”
Holding her face in his wet hands, he rose up and kissed her full on the lips, catching her mouth in his. He had missed this, so very much. His kiss grew in fervency, as her fingertips smoothed through his curls, tugging ever-so gently. He was intoxicated, body and soul, by Jemima. Even her kiss made the rest of the world melt away, leaving only the two of them, in this room together.
“Will you join me?” he murmured, his body rippling with bliss.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, kissing his cheek tenderly.
“Will you join me in a bath?”
She drew back in surprise. “How would we fit?”
He chuckled. “I will make room, my love.”
“What did you just say?” Her eyes widened.
“I said…my love.” He smiled up at her. “I love you, Jemima. I have wanted to tell you for a long while, but I could never find the opportunity. Now, seeing you here, I could not call you anything else. You are my love.”
A broad smile turned up the corners of her plump, sweet lips. “And I love you. I have loved you for longer than I care to admit.” She dipped her head to kiss him firmly on the mouth, where he could feel the curve of her smile as she reveled in the moment.
Breaking away, she stood up and began to remove her clothes. He watched appreciatively as she shrugged her shirt from her shoulders, letting it drift down to the floor. Next, she unbuttoned her trousers and stepped out of them, leaving her in naught but her pantalettes and her bandages. He swallowed thickly as she reached behind her back and undid the knot that held the bandages together.
It was almost more than he could take, as he saw her full, swollen breasts, bathed in the glow of the candlelight. He gripped the edges of the bathtub as she pushed the waistband of her pantalettes over her hips, letting them crumple to the ground so she could step out of them. Naked as the day she was born, she stood before him with shy pride, her cheeks flushed with pink.
“Come into the water,” he urged, holding out his hands to her. Tentatively, she took them in hers, and clambered over the edge of the bathtub, where she sank down into the hot water with him. Fortunately, the tin bath was wide enough to accommodate them both, though he reached out to pull her into his lap, giving them more space.
He dragged in a shallow breath as he felt her sit down, her legs wrapping around his waist. His member stood proud between them, resting against the curve of her stomach. Desperately, he longed to lift her up and feel her sink down onto his eager length, but he could not do that. He had promised. Instead, he held her close, looking up into her eyes. She put her palms to his cheeks, and leaned in slowly, their lips meeting in a frenzied kiss.
His tongue danced with hers as he relished the touch of her bare, damp skin against his hands. Eager to taste more, he moved away from her lips and traced kisses along her jaw, before turning his attention to the elegance of her neck and the smooth line of her throat. She gasped with every kiss, her hips moving against him, spurring on his pleasure. Kissing his way along her collarb
one, he sank into the pillowy softness of her breasts.
Cupping one in his palm, he bent to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. She cried out, arching her back and writhing in his lap, bringing him closer and closer towards a wave of pure ecstasy. Knowing he could not allow that to happen, he focused everything on her, moving his hand lower beneath the surface of the water.
Sliding his hand along her secret lotus, he sucked more intently at her nipple, prompting her to rake at his back with her fingernails. He groaned against her, as he pushed his fingers into her willing sex. She collapsed into him, burying her face in his neck as he began to move in and out, wishing he could feel that delicious heat around his member.
Soon…when we are wed. Soon.
As he brushed his thumb across her swollen bud and continued to nip and suck at her erect nipple, his fingers moving in a steady rhythm, he felt her tense suddenly. A cry escaped from her throat as she gripped him to her, her muscles tightening around his fingers as a wave of pleasure crashed over her. She trembled in his arms as her bliss subsided, his arms wrapping around her as he pulled her close.
A Ravishing Night With The Mysterious Earl (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 21