Redeeming the Rogue (21 page)

And he didn’t. He held her until she fell asleep. He thought to take her back to her room, but by then he was too exhausted himself to stand. So he held her.

Phineas came back to say Mrs. Summers and Kathleen were doing better, now that the sea had calmed. He moved them to the same room so neither would be alone.

“Wasn’t Eva with Kathleen?” Rafferty asked in a whisper.

Phineas shrugged. “Not tonight.” He nodded toward the woman in Rafferty’s arms. “What are you going to do with her?”

“Hold her.” He smiled down on her tousled head. Her ladyship had turned to him when she was scared. Him. A common Irish bloke with a bad haircut. Such an opportunity to hold her in his arms was unlikely to present itself again. So for now he’d take pleasure in this. “I’m going to just hold her. It’s what she wants.”

Phineas nodded and quietly disappeared down the stairway. Rafferty planted a soft kiss on Arianne’s head, taking care not to wake her, then whispered into her dreams, “It’s what I want too.”

SORE AND DAMP, ARIANNE OPENED HER EYES IN the dim light of the stairwell. She wasn’t dead. She took a tentative breath to test that theory. A soft snore accompanied by a warm, moist breath sailed by her ear. Rafferty. She smiled. Such a delicious feeling to be in his arms. Hearing the rhythm of his breath in sleep felt more intimate than anything she had shared with the Baron.

Thoughts of intimacy and the Baron reminded her that Mrs. Summers would be expecting her in the cabin. Arianne had best find her way back before the woman began to point fingers and make unjust accusations.

A soft light slipped through the window on the door above them. The powerful engine sent tremors through the walls, pushing the ship through the sea. The
Irish Rose
had survived the storm, just as Rafferty had said it would. Now it was time for her to survive as well.

She tried to slip unnoticed from Rafferty’s arms, but the oilcloth covering them pulled on his skin. He woke and blinked like an owl before wincing painfully as he shifted his position. “Good morning.” He yawned. “Is it morning?”

“It’s early,” Arianne murmured. “I should go back.”

His arms tightened around her. “You don’t like sleeping on the floor here with me?” he asked in jest, his lips slipping into a silly half smile she loved.

“I like it too much,” she answered. “But Mrs. Summers will be worried about my welfare.”

He loosened his arms, allowing her to stand. “Best keep the oilcloth, love. It’s less revealing than the robe.”

She stopped and looked at him. Did he say what she thought she heard?

“What?” His eyebrows raised in question.

She shook her head lightly, then pulled the cloth across her chest. Rafferty slowly gained his feet, his stiff motions suggesting his back was not appreciative of the time spent sitting in the corner. It was difficult not to stare at all that lovely male flesh unfolding for her benefit. Making a conscious effort to look him in the eye, she tried not to be distracted by his bare chest, or the number of scars that marked his skin, a vivid reminder that Rafferty was a most unusual diplomat. “Thank you,” she said tenderly. “Thank you for keeping me safe.”

“I preferred the way you thanked me before,” he said, straightening to his full height. “On the top deck that first night.”

The kiss! He remembered! She’d tentatively kissed him that night for helping her board the
Irish Rose
. She’d never forget that sense of being desired. There could be no harm in repeating that moment. She stepped close, demurely closed her eyes, and offered her lips to him.

 

RAFFERTY HAD BEEN CALLED MANY THINGS BUT NEVER a fool. He’d regretted not showing her the full depth of a real kiss that first night. He wasn’t about to let this second opportunity pass, even if it meant he would pay for it with a slap across the face.

He slipped his hands beneath the oilcloth to find the natural curve of her waist. Then he pulled her against his chest, letting his hands roam up her back, keeping her tight. His lips claimed hers. As soon as she parted them with a soft gasp, his tongue took advantage and explored with abandon. He thought she might pull away. Much to his surprise, her hands slipped up behind his head, pulling him down for more.

Sweet Jesus! His hands slid up her sides until he could cup her unbound breasts in his hand. His thumbs found the rosy centers that he had glimpsed last night and quickly stimulated the nipples into two hard berries that he yearned to taste. They scraped across his chest as his arms lifted her, then set her down so that her back pressed the wall.

One of them broke the kiss; he wasn’t sure who. Urgent need pulsated through him while his lips found her cheek, her neck. He heard her gasp, but she didn’t push away or protest.

He could have her right there. His John Henry was fattened and ready. Want and need throbbed with such a passion that he could barely think straight.

A door latch clicked. Immediately, he put his hands on the wall by either side of her, shielding her with his body. She pressed her forehead into his chest. Tiny puffs of heated air slid over his stomach toward the waistband of his trousers. Sweet Jesus, this was agony.

Footsteps ambled down the steps.

“Rafferty? Good lord, man,” Briggs said. “Where do you find the stamina?”

The captain continued down the winding steps. Once he had passed their floor, Arianne let out a long breath and straightened. He did so as well. Jesus! What the devil was he thinking? This wasn’t some common strumpet.

“I . . . I have to go now,” she said.

Rafferty just shook his head. She started to leave when he remembered. “Your maid is in the room with Mrs. Summers. Where will you go?”

“I can’t stay here.” She looked down her front. “Not like this. I need to change into something suitable. For that, I have to go to my room.” She took two steps down the passageway, then stopped. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

 

SHE SHOULD FEEL HUMILIATED FOR HER ACTIONS, BUT she didn’t. She’d used up all her shame on the Baron. The sad truth was she hadn’t felt a fraction of the fervor with the Baron that she had just now with Rafferty.

She’d been alone for so long, desperate to find the contentment her brothers had found with their spouses. The intense hunger and blazing desire that she’d just experienced in Rafferty’s arms was so much more than the Baron’s polite pressing of lips. She’d never wanted more of him, not the way she wanted with Rafferty. Perhaps Karl recognized that as well. He’d freed them both from a passionless marriage.

Looking back toward the stairwell from her cabin door, she saw he was still there, watching. His hands pressed on either side of the passageway as if he alone held the
Rose
together. From this distance, she could see that she’d failed in changing him into a nonthreatening, suitable negotiator. He looked predatory and male and ready to charge down the passageway and claim her once again. Christopher, she wished he would. A titillation lifted the tips of her breasts and raced to that center between her thighs. The feeling was so intense, her fingers almost slid to that very place to fill the void she felt there. She opened the cabin door and escaped inside before she did something she knew she would regret.

She could see now that the Baron had not desired her in the same way as Rafferty. Even so, the Baron had abandoned her once he had sampled her in that private way. Rafferty could do the same. Rafferty only wanted her because he believed she was a lady, she reminded herself. Once he learned the truth, he would feel betrayed and leave. Arianne leaned back against the cabin door, reliving her body’s response to Rafferty’s hands and lips. Would she forever live in this cruel hell where granting the one thing that her body craved would lead to another abandonment?

She couldn’t risk that. This time, she reassured herself, she would keep her legs pressed tightly together. The voyage must soon come to a close, and Rafferty would bid her farewell. This time she would part with her head held high.

 

RAFFERTY WAITED UNTIL SHE ENTERED HER CABIN, AND then waited some more. She might come back. If he had his way, the door would open and she’d run back down the passageway and into his waiting arms. He didn’t expect that to happen, of course. But then he hadn’t expected her to return his kisses with such passion. Who would have suspected that beneath her cold and aloof exterior, and beneath those yards and yards of starched stiff linens and restrictive laces and Lord knew what else, a real woman smoldered? A real woman who if . . . if Captain Briggs hadn’t interrupted, the men in the boiler room would have heard scream of pleasure.

The thought twisted his lips. Would she have let him go so far? Or more to the point, would he have been able to stop if she resisted? Lord, her skin was so soft and scented. She was quality goods, top-shelf. No question about it. But she didn’t hold that over him. She’d been open . . . accepting.

Her cabin door hadn’t opened. She was probably regretting turning to him for comfort when she was vulnerable. Chastising herself for coming on this trip to help improve the likes of him. And he repaid her efforts by taking advantage.

He shook his head. One thing was certain. He’d best find and deal with Toomey this time, because after Lady Arianne reported his abhorrent behavior to Lord Henderson, Rafferty would be tossed out of the Home Office on his arse.

He returned to his cabin, washed and changed, then stretched out on his mattress, but sleep wouldn’t come. The room was too empty, too condemning. As much as he pounded the pillows, they couldn’t duplicate the feel of Arianne in his arms, curled in slumber. In the end, he dressed and joined the ship’s crew in the dining saloon as a hearty breakfast was set on the sideboard. Most of the men who had worked through the storm were sleeping after a long night of hard labor. The few who made it to the saloon were tired but pleased with their performance the night before. Captain Briggs took the empty seat next to Rafferty.

“I know I can’t take the place of your father or your uncle, Rafe, but I feel I should offer some advice. I don’t think Lady Arianne would take kindly to knowing you’re pumping her maid.” Though Rafferty tried to hide his surprise, a bit of it must have caught Briggs’s eye. “I saw her legs between your own, and a bit of nightgown. I know you weren’t just diddling in the corner.”

Though tempted to reply to the “diddling” comment, Rafferty chose to let it pass. “You won’t say anything?”

“To Lady Arianne? Of course not. But if you must varnish the cane, pardon my French, you should do it in your cabin.”

Rafferty’s lips twisted at the irony. “I assure you, that won’t happen again.”

Briggs started to leave, but Rafferty grabbed his arm. “There’s something else for us to discuss.” Briggs sat back down.

“You heard about the break in the boiler room?”

The captain averted his gaze. “Yes. Quick thinking on your part, using your shirt to bind the break.”

“And Kelly?” Rafferty’s voice was grim.

“He’s got some blisters on that meaty arm of his, but he’ll be all right. I’ve seen worse,” Briggs replied.

“I don’t want to see ‘worse’ coming from this ship,” Rafferty argued. “I thought you said the
Rose
was seaworthy.”

Briggs’s chest puffed out. “We managed the storm last night. A pipe break like that could have happened anywhere.” Rafferty caught the captain’s gaze and held fast.

“All right,” Briggs admitted. “We’ve got some rust where we shouldn’t, and some belts are wearing thin. We’ve got some patches on pipes that need replacing. The sails need work, but we rarely use them. The
Rose
could use a good overhaul, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking it’s time for the
Irish Rose
to retire,” Rafferty said quietly.

“Retire?” Briggs’s face twisted with indignity. “She’s a good ship, lad. She’s seen better days, true, and traveling the Atlantic is a challenge, but she’s been a good, reliable vessel.”

“She’s a ship of the past, Briggs,” Rafferty replied. “Her engine isn’t as efficient or powerful as the new liners. Her cargo holds aren’t large enough to make transatlantic trips profitable anymore.” Rafferty’s gaze bored into that of the captain. “The
Irish Rose
isn’t worth risking your life or the lives of the crew.”

“So what are you going to do?” Briggs studied his hands.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Rafferty admitted. “But whatever I do, I won’t forget you, Briggs. You may not be my uncle, but you’ve been as close to one as a man can be. I won’t forget you and the crew in my plans.”

“That’s all an old sea dog can hope for.” He stood and shook Rafferty’s hand. “Your uncle was a good man. He’d be proud of the man you’ve become.”

Rafferty thanked him and watched him leave. Then he sat back and watched the calm sea glide by the saloon’s window while he pondered the ship’s fate.