One Night of Passion (35 page)

Over on one side of the deck, Georgia and Kit were settled in repairing lines and ropes. Beside them, Chloe was happily tucked in her cradle, playing with a small toy horse Livett had carved for her.

He hadn’t really had a chance yet to thank Georgie for rescuing them, since their first task had been to put as much distance between themselves and the
Gallia
as possible, before the French crew regained consciousness.

After they had set Bertrand and his crew adrift, Georgie had escorted him down to her cabin, with Mr. Pymm in tow, and returned the packet of documents to them.

Her undetectable hiding spot? Chloe’s dirty nappy bucket.

There, tucked in amidst the stained and smelly cloths, had sat the destiny of England, Nelson’s very life.

Colin had to wonder if Mr. Pymm would be putting
that
bit of information in his full report.

As he walked over toward Georgie and Kit, he found himself feeling a bit uneasy. Whatever was wrong with him?

Oh, he knew. He’d admitted he was in love with Georgie during the long night he’d worried about her fate at Mandeville’s hands. To be honest, he’d fancied himself in love with her since the Cyprian’s Ball.

But in truth, now he knew the measure of the living and breathing woman before him, not just the mysterious and intoxicating Cyprian who’d stolen his heart that long-ago night.

His dreams of a quiet respectful wife, a cozy hearth, and years of domestic bliss had been blasted away in the past twenty-four hours. Now he knew what he truly wanted—a partner, someone whose heart thrummed to the same salt-soaked rhythm that claimed his.

Glancing across the deck, he could only hope and pray that Georgie shared those selfsame dreams.

Her bold, inviting smile offered him hope that she did. And her eyes, those dark, mysterious eyes he adored so much, called to him like the sirens of old, leaving him crazy with want, full of wishful thinking.

As he followed that tangible thread that tied their hearts together, making his way slowly across the deck, a new purpose filled his stride.

Yet for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what to say to her . . . where to begin.

When he had treated her so poorly, when he had doubted her so completely . . . how did he start over?

He supposed it was akin to repairing a ship, one line at a time, one beam after another, until there was nothing left to do but unfurl all the sails and hope like hell it held together.

“Has either of you taken a break?” he asked.

Georgie shook her head. “There isn’t that much more to do.”

He had to admire her tenacity, for there was enough to keep the two of them busy for a week.

Kit, however, did not share her sister’s dedication. She frowned at the large pile of ropes and lines, and then cast an annoyed look toward her sister. She was more than ready to call it a day.

“Those can wait until tomorrow,” he told Georgie.

“Oh yes,” Kit said, setting aside her work without hesitation. “I want to go look for my sketchbook. I lost it last night.”

“I’ll ask the crew and see if anyone has seen it,” he offered.

Kit beamed. “Thank you, Captain Danvers.” She glanced around the deck. “By the way, where is your brother? I haven’t seen him.”

“He’s been assigned below. He’s skimming out the waste in the bilge.”

Kit’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Why, he’ll smell like a—”

“Yes, it’s my hope that a day or so below will help curb his tendency toward telling untruths.”

“Untruths?” she asked, her attention now all his.

“Yes, at his age, he should know better than to go about lying to ladies.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What lies would those be, Captain?”

Colin shrugged. He hated to hurt the girl or even embarrass her, but he suspected once she knew the truth, she’d be put out enough never to want to speak to Rafe again. Or at least for as long as the rest of their voyage.

He leaned forward and whispered into her ear.

As he suspected, his revelation as to Rafe’s real age worked. Kit Escott might not look like her sister, but she shared her sister’s fiery temperament.

“He’s twelve?” she burst out, rising to her feet, her hands balled into fists.

Colin nodded.

“But he told me he was—” Her mouth snapped shut, her pert mouth drawn in a thin, cold line. “Are you positive? Twelve?”

He nodded again.

“Oh! I never!” she sputtered. “And he never will again, mind you.” She stomped off toward the ladder, a woman vexed.

Georgie rose to her feet, watching her sister depart. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”

“Do you think I hurt her feelings?”

She shook her head. “Oh, I think that was inevitable. But you’ve given her something to be indignant about, which in itself ought to soothe over her embarrassment. But I wouldn’t want to be in your brother’s shoes if he decides to venture into her path in the next few hours. You’re likely to have to fetch him out of the water.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Colin told her.

They both laughed, and their shared good humor gave him the measure of hope, the prod to take that last hazardous step across the chasm and reach out to her.

“Georgie, I am so sorry. I’ve failed you in so many ways,” he said.

She shook her head. “I haven’t been much better.”

“No,” he told her, the depth of his regrets filling his words. “I failed you when I signed those betrothal papers. Pymm nearly had a fit of apoplexy when I asked him what sort of man he found Lord Harris to be. He’s so furious over my mishandling of your betrothal that I doubt he’ll ever forgive me—nor can I expect you, the most grievously injured person in all this debacle, to pardon my inexcusable indifference on the matter.” He paused for a second. “Georgie, if I had known, I would never have allowed such a match, never have signed the betrothal agreement.”

She started to say something, but stopped.

“I know, I know,” he said. “I should have met you beforehand to see that you were indeed happy with the match, or at the very least I should have read the betrothal papers.”

Her eyes widened, in what he guessed was a mixture of outrage and horror.

“You have every right to be furious, but in my defense, I was in a hurry. I was on my way to be—” He stopped short of telling her he’d been on his way to his own wedding. That could wait for another time. “My mind was on other matters. My father wasn’t very good at managing his estates or his legal affairs. When he died, I inherited more than just a title; there was a rat’s nest of paperwork.”

She didn’t look all that appeased by his explanation . . . well, his excuses.

“I know, I should have straightened out the tangle and paid more attention to what I was signing. But my solicitor assured me that your match to Lord Harris was a love match—”

“A what?” she burst out “I’d have rather been married to a—”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that now. But given that Harris was willing to forfeit your dowry to your uncle for the privilege of your hand, I assumed he was in love with you.”

Georgie’s gaze swung up. “Say that again. My dowry? What dowry?”

“Your dowry. Whatever was left of your father’s fortune at the time you married was to go into your and Kit’s dowries. Now granted there wasn’t much left given the lavish lifestyle you and Kit were raised in, but—”

She held up her hands. “Stop right there. You are jesting, aren’t you? My father had no fortune, and as for lavish, I am frightened to think of what you might regard as frugal if you think the life we’ve lived has been lavish.”

Now it was Colin’s turn to shake his head. “You have me at a loss. I saw the bills submitted by your uncle. Tutors, milliners, stationery, gowns . . .
shoes,”
he said with a grin. “I’m no judge of lady’s shoes, but that pair of yours is expensive—you can’t argue that.”

“Those shoes were borrowed. Or rather inherited. From Mrs. Taft.”

“Then where did all the money go?” Colin wondered aloud.

“Uncle Phineas,” he heard Georgie say in a low menacing tone that made him fear for the other man’s life. “Why, that scurvy, no account, baseborn son of a—”

“Uh, uh, uh—” Colin warned. “Not in front of Chloe.” He pointed at their daughter’s crib.

Georgie bit back the rest of her curse. After she took a deep breath, she continued, but in no less restrained a fashion. “When I get back to London, I’m going to—”

“You mean
we,”
Colin said. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. I suspect that your uncle and my solicitor conspired together.”

“Perhaps I should inform my guardian,” she teased. “I hear he is a ruthless fellow.”

“Hardly ruthless when it comes to you. More like helpless.” He held out his hand. “I think it is about time we were introduced. Truly and completely.”

She started to hold out hers, but stopped. When he looked down to see why, he realized her hands were coated in tar from the ropes. They were probably blistered and sore as well. Hardly the silken, delicate fingers of a lady, but to him they led to heaven.

Ever so gently, he reached out and took her hand in his. “My name is Colin, Baron Danvers, of late Captain Danvers of the
Sybaris,
at your loyal and dedicated service, ma’am.” He bowed low over her hand, and brought her fingertips to his lips.

One of the sailors above hooted and whistled, and soon most of the men were cheering and adding their own cries of appreciation for the lady who had saved their lives.

Georgie glanced above, her cheeks pink at the praise being showered down upon her.

Or was it Colin’s attentions that were bringing such a pretty blush to her features? He hoped it was the latter.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord. My name is Miss Georgiana Escott.” She paused for a second. “Though it is rather sad to have to go back to being just Miss Escott.”

“Why is that?” he asked.

“I was rather fond of being a widow.”

“Ah yes, the poor Mr. Bridwick. Whatever did happen to him?” Colin teased.

“A fever,” Georgie said, taking a step toward the rail, looking out over the waves and striking a melodramatic pose worthy of the best Covent Garden thespian. “It was rather heart-wrenching for a man so young to die so suddenly. We’d only been married a short time.”

“A very short time, I gather,” he muttered.

She shot him a sidelong glance. “Jealous?” A smile played on her lips.

“Extremely,” he told her, drawing her into his arms. He ignored the rising cheers of his men and pulled her closer. “But rest assured, there will only be one man in your life from here on out. Besides, you won’t be Miss Escott for long. Once we get to London, as your guardian, my first bit of business will be to see that you make another name change. To Lady Danvers.”

“Is that an order?”

“No, a promise.”

“Good,” she said, tipping her chin up so her lips were just a hairsbreadth from his. “See that you keep it. I may even like marriage this time around.”

With that, she pressed her lips to his. Her mouth opened, inviting him to venture forth, offering him her forgiveness, her understanding, her faith in him.

Colin didn’t hesitate, swooping forward to claim her gift.

She moaned, soft and welcoming as his tongue sallied to meet hers. Her body melding to his, ever so willingly . . .

He would never let her go. Never again would he fail her. For if he lived to be a thousand years old, he wouldn’t forget the feeling of triumph, of completeness at having Georgie in his arms again.

Then through the roar of his awakened blood, of his growing passions, he realized his entire crew was witness to their kiss.

Cheers and cries of encouragement surrounded them.

He broke away from her and immediately spied the dangerous gleam in Georgie’s eyes at his abrupt departure. But then the din from his men must have registered for her as well, because she glanced up and around and acknowledged the noisy calls of approval with a whispered, “Oh my.”

“I fear there are no secrets on a ship,” he told her.

“So I’ve been told.” She glanced around, her mouth pursed, her brow furrowed. “What if I were to take Chloe below. I’m sure it’s time for her to go to bed.” She sighed. “It’s too bad I’m not the least bit sleepy.” She slanted a glance at him.

“I could carry her cradle down for you.” Then he grinned. “And I fear I’m not the least bit sleepy either.”

Georgie leaned forward and whispered, “So I hoped.”

*  *  *

When she’d dressed for the Cyprian’s Ball, Georgie had felt more than a little bit of trepidation. Now she was terrified.

She’d gone to the galley and borrowed a chunk of lye soap from the cook. The gregarious Scot had also given her a small bucket of sand and water, so she could get the tar off her hands and face. Then in a gesture of true appreciation, he’d dug around in his stores and brought out a small jar of violet-scented lotion.

“ ’Tis for my Lizzy back home,” he’d confided. “But I think you’ll be needin’ it afore she does, lass.”

She’d pulled out her only decent dress, the white muslin, and smoothed it out as best she could before she donned it. As a final touch, she unwrapped Mrs. Taft’s shoes and tucked her feet inside them.

From the corner of her bunk, Kit let out a snort as Georgie smoothed and prodded her unruly hair for the hundredth time, as if she could poke it into some semblance of order. “It’s not like he cares what you look like, nor are you likely to stay in that gown for very long.”

“Kathleen Escott! What a scandalous thing to say,” Georgie scolded, though she could hardly fault her sister for her astute insight. “I’m just having a late supper with Captain Danvers.” She hastily went back to attempting to tame her hair.

“Supper. Is that what you call it?” Kit rolled on her back and snorted again. “I won’t wait up for you.”

“Call for me if Chloe awakens,” Georgie said, blowing a kiss toward her slumbering daughter and one for her sister.

Just as Georgie started out of the cabin, she bumped into Rafe.

There was no doubt that he’d been wading in bilge water all day, for he stank to high heaven. But obviously the budding Lothario didn’t realize his own odorous disadvantage—or that his brother had spilled the soup to Kit about his true age.