One Night of Passion (23 page)

Once he found his breach, saw the way clear through her stormy objections, he pressed forward without a second thought, reclaiming what she had offered so willingly that long-ago night in London.

Her mouth opened, welcoming him. Their lips melded together and her body pressed to his. The chills that had once racked him now were lost in the heat rising up from his gut, leaving him hard and fevered.

Swept aside in this fervent, boiling tide of emotion were any thought of his mission, Pymm’s innuendos about her loyalties, the memories that had left so many questions between them. All that was left in its wake was one thing.

His restless, unrelenting need for her.

He pulled back for only a second. He needed to hear her haunting voice. He needed her to say the words.

That she needed him as much as he wanted her.

“Oh Georgie. What do you want?”

And then he realized his mistake. Recognized that he hadn’t conquered her resistance as readily as he had thought.

For yes, her eyes burned with unquestionable passion. But that passion was doused in a single moment as she caught her breath and regained her control.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“I don’t want anything from
you
.” Her adamant denial took him aback, allowing her time to escape his grasp. “I just want to return to Naples.”

He ignored her plea, the way her gaze beseeched him to set her free. Whatever they had rediscovered in those precious moments of their kiss was gone. Lost. Leaving Colin just as mystified by this enigmatic woman as ever.

“Why Naples, madame?” he asked, steeling his heart against her appeals.

“What difference is it to you?” When he continued to stare at her, she blustered on, filling the uneasy silence between them. “Oh, if you must know, all our belongings are there. We only planned on being in Volturno for a few days so we left the bulk of our trunks at the villa we are renting.” She let out a long sigh. “Our clothes, the rest of my sister’s sketchbooks and lessons, Chloe’s cradle, and all her extra blankets and nappies and gowns.” She tipped her head to one side. “You wouldn’t happen to be smuggling any extra nappies, now would you?”

“I’m not a smuggler.”

“So you say,” she replied. “And if you aren’t a smuggler, then I see no reason why you can’t sail into Naples and deliver us back to our ordinary lives.”

Ordinary!
That was hardly a word he’d use to describe anything about Georgie.

As for taking her back to Naples . . . he suspected Pymm would probably prefer that they just set this trio adrift and sail for London as quickly as possible.

“Please, Captain Danvers. Let us go and forget that you found me.”

Give her up? Now that he’d chanced upon her again? Give up Chloe, when he had just discovered he had a precious daughter? She truly didn’t know the measure of his honor. Or his feelings for her.

“No.”

“No?” she repeated. “Just like that, no?”

He nodded. “Not until you start giving me the answers I want.”

“And just why should I do that?” she asked, her hands on her hips, her stance taut and fierce.

Her fire made his blood burn anew. This was his Georgie. The woman he remembered.

“If you can’t be honest with me,” she said, “why should I tell you anything? I don’t even know who you are.”

Colin stepped closer, closing the space between them again. Close enough to smell a trace of her perfume, close enough to reach out and pluck the pins from her hair.

Temptation.
The woman was blasted, passionate temptation personified.

He ignored his body’s reaction and sought one from her. “You knew me well enough that night to get into my bed.”

Her eyes widened again, her outrage coloring her cheeks a brilliant shade.

“How dare you!” she sputtered. “I had no choice . . . If I hadn’t—” Once again her mouth snapped shut, her lips drawing a grim, resolute line across her face. When he edged nearer, she balled her fists. “Don’t think about coming any closer.”

Colin cocked his head and studied her. He also held his ground. He didn’t relish the idea of having a matching shiner added to the first one she’d planted on his face, for it still throbbed like the devil, but he wasn’t going to back down. Not now. Not when she stood so temptingly close.

“No choice?” he asked. “I beg to differ. You made every choice that night.” He paused to grin. “Some that surprised even me.”

He reached out to touch a wayward strand of her honeyed curls, but stopped short when she flinched.

What the devil had happened in the ensuing twelve months to change her mind so irretrievably about that night? For then there had been no hesitation between them.

“Well, I’m making a different decision now,” she said, a haughty tip to her chin, an indignant uplift of her brow as frosty as any duchess.

Her outward demeanor did little to convince him of her claims, for he knew she was an accomplished actress. What chilled him was the venom and hatred behind her words—they trampled his tenuous belief that they had any chance of building a bridge of trust between them.

“I want nothing to do with you,” she said, bitterly and defiantly, as if she were trying to convince more than just him. “I’d rather sleep in bilge water than ever share a bed with you again.”

Colin stepped back from her. “Your kiss was enough for me. Besides, I don’t remember asking you to come anywhere near my bunk.” He turned on one heel and strode toward the door. “When Chloe and your sister are rested, you can move into other quarters, something more to your preference.”

Before he could leave, she crossed the room, catching him by the arm. “Will you take us to Naples? Will you let us go?”

“I’ve already answered that,” he said, plucking his sleeve free from her grasp, and shutting the door between them.

Inside, he heard her exasperated sigh and then something slamming into his table. Her fist, he surmised, when that blunt and defiant noise was followed by a healthy curse.

Yet instead of feeling victorious, he wondered at his own stubborn handling of the situation.

How did he expect her to trust him when he hauled her into his arms to steal a kiss like a thief, then ordered her about and made demands like some demented guardian in a Covent Garden tragedy?

No, if he was going to extract Georgie’s secrets, he’d need to coax them out of her, entice her with the same patience that crusty old sailor had once convinced him it would take to catch a mermaid.

All he needed was just the right bait . . .

Much to Georgie’s chagrin, Colin didn’t waste any time seeing them moved out of his cabin and to other, less spacious, quarters.

Georgie did her best to arrange the room to give them each a bit of space, and still be able to navigate around the water casks lashed in the corner, the bucket for their personal needs, and the basket she’d scavenged to store Chloe’s dirty nappies in until she could wash them out.

What had surprised her when she’d been out locating their supplies was how well Colin ran the
Sybaris.
The crew was a diverse lot, actually reminding her of Captain Taft’s own band of smugglers and sailors. But there was one distinct difference—there seemed to be an order and regulation to the ship’s general organization that seemed . . . well, almost naval.

With such a well run and tidy ship, Georgie couldn’t help admiring his skill as a captain. His ship was clean, his men apparently well paid and well fed, and she could see by the riggings and the care taken with the handling of the ship that Colin was a dedicated and capable captain. It warmed her heart to see the
Sybaris
under such good care, sailing as she was meant to be, and Georgie almost felt a debt of gratitude to Colin for carrying on Captain Taft’s legacy.

Still, with everything so trimmed and starched, she wondered how accommodating he’d be to having nappies strung along his ship’s lines? If he protested, she could offer that if anything, it would put the French ships looking for them into a quandary as to what they were signaling.

Georgie glanced down at the seam she was sewing on a new gown for Chloe, only to discover it now ran crookedly. She sighed. She’d like to think she could blame her ill-sewing on her tangled thoughts of Colin, but she’d never been very adept at the task.

“I don’t know why we couldn’t stay where we were,” Kit complained, as she came banging through the door and then flopped down on her bunk in the tiny cabin. She tossed her sketch pad and case of charcoals and watercolors down by her feet and looked up at the ceiling. Her cheeks were flushed, and her hair all fallen out of its pins. Not surprising, since she’d been up on deck, but it gave Georgie pause.

She’d extracted a promise from Kit not to climb about the riggings. Though she had no fear for her sister’s safety, she didn’t want to have to explain to Colin just how it was her young sister could accomplish such a feat.

She hoped Kit’s disheveled appearance was nothing more than a bit of wind damage.

After a few moments, Kit rolled over and said, “Why don’t you just tell him who we are and insist he treat us better? Especially since he is our guardian.”

Georgie whirled around, her finger to her lips. “Sssh! Don’t you ever mention
that
while we are aboard this ship.”

“Oh, really, Georgie, he doesn’t seem the bad sort. Not at all like we thought. I’d say he is rather nice. He was asking me all about Chloe when I was above just now.” Kit reached down and flipped open her sketchbook. “Mrs. Taft always said that a man who liked babies was one you could trust. And he seems quite interested in Chloe. I showed him my drawings of her and he thought them remarkably lifelike.”

Georgie steeled her heart against Colin’s intrusion into Chloe’s life. Any interest, any kindness on his part had to be tempered by the fact that he was their guardian, the selfsame man who had placed a clause in her marriage papers that stated if she were unable to marry Lord Harris, Kit could stand in her place.

Rather nice, indeed!

“No more, Kit. I don’t want to discuss this subject any further. Don’t you remember what Captain Taft always said?”

“A ship has no secrets,” Kit dutifully repeated.

“Aye, no secrets,” Georgie confirmed. “If we are to hold on to ours, we must not talk about our guardian, not here. Not anywhere. Not until we’re off the
Sybaris
.”

Kit let out a long sigh. “That will be some time, for Raphael says we are bound for London.”

“Raphael?” Georgie asked, looking up from her sewing. Her sister had hardly been out of her sight since they’d come on board and already she was on a first-name basis with one of the crew.

“Yes, Lord Danvers’s brother.” Kit sighed again, this time with a definite wistful air of feminine longing. “He’s quite handsome, far more so than Captain Danvers. When we get to London, his brother is going to buy Raphael a commission into the army. I think he’ll look splendid in a uniform and I told him thusly.” She paused from her litany of gossip and sat up on her bunk, “Georgie, was that wrong to tell him that I thought him splendid on such a short acquaintance? Should I have waited?”

Her eyes glowed with the flush of something other than an hour or so of fresh air. And suddenly Georgie started to wonder if Kit’s tousled looks hadn’t been the result of another kind of nature.

Human nature.

She wanted to groan. All Georgie needed was her sister fancying herself in love with Lord Danvers’s brother. The rogue was probably cut from the same unrestrained cloth as his rakish sibling—and if that was the case, she’d probably find that Kit had more than a broken heart to mend when they got off the
Sybaris.

“I think it would be well if you left this Raphael to his work for the time being. You would hate to be responsible for getting him into trouble.”

Kit scrambled off her bunk. “Oh, but Georgie, I promised to draw a picture of him later, when he was off duty.”

Taking one look at the earnest expression on Kit’s face, Georgie realized she needed to nip this in the bud as quickly as possible.

If only . . . Georgie thought for the thousandth time. If only their parents hadn’t died. If only Uncle Phineas and Aunt Verena had held an iota of familial love for them. If only Kit could be dreaming about her first Season now, worrying about dresses and dances and invitations.

She certainly shouldn’t have to be finding her girlish pursuits where they may lie, especially when it appeared that right now her dreams resided with this Raphael Danvers.

Georgie knew full well that if she outright forbade it, Kit would go out of her way to see this Raphael, so “We’ll see” was all she said, which seemed to satisfy Kit, who pulled out her sketch pad and charcoal and continued working on a drawing she’d been doing of Chloe.

Satisfied that Kit was engaged, Georgie decided to venture out and confront Colin.

Now, more than ever, she thought, glancing at her sister, they needed off the
Sybaris.

Especially considering her own reaction to Colin’s unexpected kiss. Her body had come traitorously to life the moment he’d swept her into his arms.

One look into his gaze and she’d known that he still wanted her.

Wanted her with the same wrenching need that filled her heart.

No, that would never do. How could she remain aboard the
Sybaris
in such close quarters with him? She certainly couldn’t trust him to be civilized . . . and from the way her body still trembled at the memory of his touch, she knew she couldn’t trust herself either.

“I’ll be right back,” she told Kit, and went out into the corridor.

The only comfort in all of this was being back on the
Sybaris.
The ship moved with a familiar roll beneath her feet, while her hand trailed along the time-worn railing running alongside the wall.

She’d gone as far as to abandon her shoes and stockings, going barefoot like most of the crew, just as she had as a child. Even her toes seemed to relish the friendly feel of the smooth wood planking beneath them.

How she had loved this ship as a child. Twice Captain Taft had taken them to France, much to Mrs. Taft’s chagrin. Those adventures were some of Georgie’s most treasured memories.