Much Ado about a Widow (The Widows' Club Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  Good gracious! Before the sailor could say or do anything further, Georgie pulled off her pelisse and draped it around St. Just’s front. That should provide some warmth and somewhat preserve decency. Even better . . . “Perhaps he can make it to his cabin. Wouldn’t that be best?”

  “Can you walk, Captain?”

  The marquess swayed, took a step, and stumbled. He shook his head. “No strength in my legs.” He sat down hard on the bench, and Ayers succeeded in stripping his breeches down to his boots. “Get the blankets around his back, Chapman. Cartwright, help me with his boots.”

  Draping thick wool covers around St. Just, Chapman tucked them in as best he could, given that her blue pelisse still covered his front. The boots finally thumped to the deck, and Ayers stripped St. Just’s stockings and trousers completely away.

  “Another blanket, Chapman.” The lad took off at a run.

  “Can someone go get him some hot tea, for goodness sake?” The violent shivering that wracked the marquess scared Georgie more than she wanted to admit. “We’ve got to get him warmed up. You fetch the tea and I’ll stay with him.”

  “Barnes is supposed to be boiling the water. I’ll see what’s taking him so long. Cartwright, go check our course and, when Chapman returns, start to hoist the sails. You’ll be all right with the captain, my lady?”

  Nodding, Georgie sat beside St. Just, who pulled the blankets around himself closer, still shivering. “Are you sure you can’t make it to your cabin, my lord? You’ll be much warmer and recover quicker.”

  Shuddering so hard the bench vibrated, he shook his head.

  This was madness. She had to do something to get him warm. Like Lulu. To the devil with propriety, then. He’d saved her dog. Now she’d help him as best she could.

  St. Just had hunched over, not moving.

  “I’m going to try to keep you warm, my lord. Keep the cold off you until you can make it to your cabin.”

  “T-t-thank y-you.” He sat straight up, looking around in confusion. “Wh-what do you pr-propose to do?” Trying to pull the blankets around his shoulders better, he glanced down and spied the small blue coat covering his front. “What is this?”

  “My pelisse, but it’s not nearly large enough and it’s rather wet from where I tried to dry Lulu off.” There simply wasn’t enough material in it. But what else could she use to help keep him warm?

  The only other thing on deck that was warm, of course. It had worked with Lulu, so it would work with him. And as it was only for a short period, Society did not need to know.

  She slid closer to St. Just, turning so she faced him. Her leg pressed up against his, and he moved back, not understanding. “Lord St. Just, stay still please.”

  At that his brows furrowed a bit.

  “You need to get warm before you freeze to death or catch a severe chill or something much worse than that. Now stay still.” Georgie managed to press next to him again, then, without warning, she tossed the sodden pelisse to the deck, grasped him around the waist, and pulled him directly against her chest.

  The incredible cold sucked her breath right out of her lungs. This was like embracing a block of ice from her father’s ice house. Her shocked gasp filled her ears.

  Or perhaps he had gasped; she couldn’t tell. But St. Just had stiffened and gone still at her embrace, save for an occasional shiver. Now he was attempting to pull away. But she wasn’t having any of that. “Be still,” she hissed. “The least you can do is allow me to keep you warm until more blankets and hot tea arrive.”

  “Well, if it’s the least I can do.” His ragged voice held a touch of his normal, arrogant humor that usually irritated her so much. At the sound of it now, however, she rejoiced deep in her heart. Surely he wouldn’t speak like that if he were dying.

  His arms came around her, pressing him against her even more firmly. Soaked chest to soaked chest, so that every muscle of his hard body seemed to touch her.

  Georgie gasped again, but not from the cold. Heat burst through her, as though the sun had miraculously reappeared, shining as intensely as on a midsummer’s day. Slowly she pulled back and gazed into his eyes, more black than gray now, with a fierceness in them that stirred her in places deep within. Places that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

  “Here you are, Captain.” Ayers appeared from nowhere, holding out a blanket that he draped over St. Just’s shoulders.

  Startled out of that heated moment, Georgie pushed away from St. Just and jumped to her feet. Cold exploded across her wet chest, distracting her from the mortification of being caught in such an inappropriate embrace. Not that it was wrong to attempt to save someone’s life, but it must have looked exceedingly . . . intimate. Had been extremely intimate.

  Clutching her arms across her sodden clothing, Georgie backed away as Chapman arrived, a steaming mug of hot tea in each hand. “Here, Captain, my lady.” He thrust one at her, which she just managed to grab before the sailor turned to St. Just. “Have a sip, my lord. Get yourself around this, and you’ll be right as rain.”

  St. Just nodded, taking the cup in both hands and seeming to savor the warmth. He took a huge swallow and groaned. “God, that’s good.” He peered up at Georgie with an impish grin. “Very good indeed. Thank you.”

  Cheeks heating despite the cold wind sweeping across the deck, Georgie backed away another step, heart beating like a galloping horse, her gaze still locked with St. Just’s. What was happening to her?

  Rather than risk staying to find out, she turned on her heel and fled to the relative safety of her cabin. As she’d known all along, one should never trust a pirate.

  Chapter Eleven

  Trembling as though she’d been in the water too, which anyone might assume looking at her dampened state, Georgie reached her cabin and fought to calm herself before she entered. She mustn’t let Clara suspect anything had happened. Not that anything had happened, actually, although clasping a naked, wet man to one’s bosom as though he were one’s hope of heaven might be considered something. No. She slowed her breathing, trying to calm her heart, which had gone from a steady beat to a fluttering tempo to a fast boom, boom, boom like a drum someone was banging with a huge mallet. Act calmly and everything would be fine. She abandoned the untasted mug of tea on the floor beside the door for one of the sailors to find. If she tried to drink something this moment she’d choke.

  She opened the door, and Lulu bounded off the bed, running to her feet and leaping up on her. Another wave of relief coursed through Georgie. “Lulu. Oh, Lulu.” She gathered her dog into her arms, burying her face in the animal’s fur, thanking God again for her survival. Whatever she might be unsure about, her gratitude to St. Just for rescuing Lulu was not in doubt. She clasped Lulu to her, squeezing her tight.

  Lulu yipped and wiggled to be put down. She seemed to be suffering no ill effects whatsoever from her dip in the frigid water. “She doesn’t even feel cold, Clara.”

  “Her thick fur helped a good bit, I think.” Clara shook out a hefty piece of toweling and draped it over the back of the chair. “She was cold enough when I brought her here, but I’ve been drying her off ever since, and she seems fine. Is Lord St. Just doing well, also?”

  Georgie started, then berated herself. If she didn’t want to appear guilty she must not jump like a deer when someone spoke his name. “He appeared to have taken no hurt that I could tell, although at first I believed him dead. He was so still and pale. I don’t know what I would have done . . .” Her throat thickened, cutting off any further speech.

  “He’s that heroic, I’ll give it to him, my lady.” The maid grabbed up the piece of linen again. “There’s not many would jump into the Channel to save a dog. Here, let me dry you off before you catch the croup. Lulu’s got you wet enough you look almost like you went into the sea.”

  Continuing to cluck over her mistress, Clara draped the fabric against Georgie’s chest. “Let’s get you out of these wet things and into a warm—” The maid ceased both rubbin
g and speaking. “How did your back get soaked, my lady?”

  Georgie cringed and drew the toweling closer around her. “Uhhh . . .”

  A loud knocking at the door saved her from further inquisition. “Will you see who that is, Clara?”

  The disgruntled maid marched to the door and pulled it open.

  Georgie continued to rub herself briskly with the linen. She’d had no idea she’d gotten this wet when she’d pressed herself against St. Just. Unconsciously she closed her eyes to better remember the feeling of his body against hers.

  Clara shut the door.

  “Who was it?”

  “One of the sailors, my lady. Returning this.”

  Opening her eyes, Georgie found Clara staring at her accusingly, her mouth pursed and brows lowered.

  Georgie’s damp blue pelisse dangled from her hand.

  Drat it. She’d forgotten she’d wrapped it around St. Just. How did she explain that? Perhaps, in this case, honesty was the only option. “I gave it to Lord St. Just.”

  “He’s taken to wearing women’s fashions, now, has he?” Clara’s gimlet eye didn’t waver.

  “He was freezing before my eyes, Clara. What was I supposed to do?”

  “Well, I must admit, your disrobing before him probably warmed him better than any blanket.”

  “Clara!” Heat tinged Georgie’s cheeks. Taking the pelisse off hadn’t warmed him nearly as well as her embrace of his naked body had. “You act as though I stripped down to my chemise, which I assure you I did not.”

  “And so how did the back of your dress become wet? Something has soaked it through.”

  Unable to devise a rational response, Georgie resorted to simple denial. “I have no idea. I’m certain I do not know what you are talking about.”

  “Lady Georgina.” The maid’s face fell into somber lines. “I understand that you were grateful to his lordship for rescuing Lulu. There’s not many would do such a thing. But to then allow the man liberties as part of that gratitude—”

  “I did no such thing.” Georgie fanned her hot face with her hand. That wasn’t how it had been at all. Not really. “He was shivering, and the sailors went to get blankets and hot tea, but they took so long, and he seemed to be worsening. I couldn’t stand there and watch him hurting and do nothing, could I? I just couldn’t.” Plopping down into the chair, she put her face in her hands. Even if there had been nothing untoward in her gesture, if word of it ever got out, her reputation would likely suffer.

  “It might have been harmless, my lady. But it may not have looked so.” Clara shook her head sadly. “Here, stand up. I need to get those wet things off you before you take a chill.”

  Silently, Georgie complied, standing like a statue as Clara stripped the sodden clothing from her body. Her attitude toward St. Just had gone from disdain and loathing this morning to admiration and compassion in the span of a few short hours. The possibility that those feelings would continue to change, or perhaps grow, gave her pause. She’d not thought of enjoying passion with a man in a very long time. When contemplating marriage with Lord Travers, neither passion nor even affection had ever crossed her mind. That union would be based on duty to her family alone. She had already experienced the perfect love of a husband in Isaac Kirkpatrick. In accepting her father’s choice of husband, she had understood that her lot in life from now on would not include that deep abiding love that had made her marriage a heaven.

  Only now she’d discovered similar stirrings for another man.

  Clara dropped a fresh, warm nightgown over Georgie’s head, and she pulled it down over her body, smoothing it with her hands.

  What might it be like for his hands to touch her like this?

  She jumped when another hand brushed her neck, an eerie chill racing down her spine.

  “Did I shock you, my lady?” Clara busied herself with smoothing down the collar of Georgie’s nightgown.

  “Yes, you did, rather,” Georgie said, moving away from the maid to sit at the table. Her legs were suddenly not steady at all. If St. Just had experienced anything like the heat and desire that had poured through her body when they clung together on the icy deck, shouldn’t she at least consider the possibility of him as a suitor? Their first few meetings had not been auspicious by any means, especially the one in this cabin yesterday afternoon. However, he had more than made up for those shortcomings by rescuing Lulu. At this very moment Georgie could have been prostrate on the bed, weeping for the loss of her beloved pet, had it not been for St. Just.

  Of course, Lulu would never have gone over the side if his lordship had not spirited them away to his ship, but that was neither here nor there. The point now was that he’d risked his life, and very nearly lost it, saving the animal.

  And he’d been so solicitous about her health this morning, making certain she was cared for and received the proper treatment. Although his methods, and the enjoyment he seemed to derive from them, left much to be desired from the man.

  Georgie sighed. Lord St. Just could be seen either as her savior or her tormenter, depending on how you chose to look at him. As always when she had a problem to solve, she worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Somehow that always seemed to help her arrive at the best solution. And the dilemma of how she truly felt about Lord St. Just was a thorny one that might require more than that for her to chew on. A royal banquet might not even be enough to allow her to disentangle the difficulty posed by this particular marquess.

  * * *

  Tucked into his bunk under half a foot of blankets—each of his men had gladly contributed one from their own bunks—Rob finally ceased to shiver. It had taken him seemingly forever to remove the one remaining article of his clothing. He’d been shaking so hard he thought he’d never shed his sopping small clothes.

  For the first time he cursed his refusal to bring Lovell with him. Rob never did when sailing, finding freedom from his valet part of the adventure of the sea. Well, that decision might just cost him his favorite pair of boots. The seawater had soaked into them, and Rob had no idea how Lovell would care for them. They sat over in the corner where Chapman had thrown them when they’d finally brought him down to his cabin. When he got up, in a month or two perhaps, he’d set them upright and hope the valet could salvage them when he got home. Meanwhile he’d have to wear the spare pair he kept on the ship, though they didn’t feel as good as the others.

  Turning onto his back, quite a chore under all this weight, Rob cautiously brought his arm out from beneath the covers and settled it behind his head, his favorite position for sleep. The cabin had warmed remarkably after Ayers had stoked the stove, so Rob could relax and drift off to some much-needed sleep.

  The trouble was, despite all that exertion in the water and the cold that had exhausted him even more, he wasn’t sleepy in the least. All thought of sleep had fled the moment Lady Georgina had pressed her body against his. At that moment, he’d thought himself dreaming some erotic fantasy that was a precursor to death. Would have continued to believe it had it not been for the hard evidence of her coat tossed onto the deck and retrieved by one of the sailors. If the coat was real, then surely all the rest was as well.

  He closed his eyes so he could better live that moment again when her breasts had first rubbed against him. Even through the layers of clothing and stays, the sensation had been so sensual his nearly frozen cock had stirred to life. As it was again now, simply remembering her warm and soft in his arms.

  God. He blew out an exasperated breath and pounded his forehead with his fist. The lady was his best friend’s youngest sister. Brack would hang him from his own yardarm if he even suspected Rob had had carnal thoughts about her. He had to think of something else, something not amorous at all. Why was his mind a blank, save for the image of Lady Georgina in her blue dress, the fabric sticking to her chest and arms where she’d grasped Lulu. And him. Rob groaned. This was going from bad to worse.

  He stared at the low ceiling of his cabin, searching for some probl
em there that could claim his attention, but absolutely nothing presented itself. They were heading once again for the Cornwall coast; the waters had calmed somewhat, so likely the lady wouldn’t be ill again. A fortunate circumstance, despite the removal of a perfectly good reason for him to visit Georgina.

  Damn. He’d inadvertently slipped and called her by her first name earlier, when for one agonizing moment he’d believed she’d been about to jump over the rail after the animal. Not an unforgiveable sin . . . However, he mustn’t slip up and call her that without being invited to use her first name. Society frowned upon gentlemen who did not abide by that rule. He hoped she had been too distraught at the time for it to register. If not, he was sure he would hear about it in a matter of hours.

  “Grrrr.” His stomach rumbled loudly. No wonder. He’d had breakfast and precious little else all day. The cup of tea Ayers had brought had been delicious, but Rob could do with something a bit more substantial. In fact, a full meal would not come amiss, now that he thought of it. He consulted his pocket watch on the table beside the bed. Lucky thing he carried it in his jacket rather than his breeches, or it would have been lost to him like his boots. The hands stood at ten minutes past seven o’clock. No wonder he was ravenous and not at all sleepy. The warm bed might be inviting, but he wouldn’t linger here. Not alone. The thrill of his adventure had left a definite ache in his groin he’d love to appease.

  The image of Lady Georgina lying in his bed, naked, her marvelous red hair fanned out over his pillows, made him catch his breath. His cock sprang to attention as well, eagerly bumping against the sheet. God, this would never do. Why had he become infatuated with this woman? Other than the fact that she was beautiful, witty, and strong. Rob groaned. Such thoughts would surely lead to madness.

  Hastily pushing back the mountain of covers, Rob sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, wincing as he did so. His vigorous kicking in the water had made his calves sore. Still, hunger outweighed that insignificant pain. He stood, grabbed his breeches, and pulled them on, tucking his shirt carelessly into the waistband.