Chapter Seven #2
“I received an anonymous tip, via courier, practically the day I arrived in Calcutta, advising me of the date the convoy was due in Cadiz to deliver the rifles, and warning me that someone meant to sabotage the delivery. I barely had time to inspect my warehouse—where I found nothing amiss—before I sailed for Spain. I made it to the coast mere days before the convoy arrived.”
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes heavenward. “Naturally. Why on earth would you not hare off in hopes of heading off disaster on your own recognizance, while woefully outmanned?”
“What would you have done?” he demanded.
“Oh, I dunno. Notified the Spanish and British authorities?”
He surged to his feet, dragging a hand through his hair.
The blanket tumbled to his feet. “And said what? I didn’t have a clue who’d sent the message, nor what type of sabotage to expect.
Furthermore, I did not wish to jeopardize the sale in the event the missive was a ruse meant only to lure me away from Calcutta. ”
She did not appear convinced. “What happened when you got there?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his biceps, and glared down at her.
“I saw the convoy turning into French waters. I…” He hesitated, certain she would take issue with his choice of action.
“Also noted the presence of a Spanish naval ship fast approaching. Thinking she would come to my aid, I tried to force the cargo ship back on course.”
Her eyes went wide as saucers. “You did what?”
“Madam, kindly keep your voice down.”
Scowling furiously, she obliged. “Are you saying you sailed between your cargo ship and one of the privateer vessels?” Her aghast expression said he was the worst sort of imbecile.
He gritted his teeth and edged close to her chair. “I am not a fool, Gwen. I assumed my captain would recognize my ship and discern my intentions. Under the assumption he was being coerced by the privateers, I hoped my presence, and that of the Spanish warship, would offer him a way out.”
Without warning, she sprang to her feet, bringing the two of them toe to toe. Her sweet scent whipped at his already inflamed senses. She smelled of fresh-cut flowers and everything that was feminine, as if she’d bathed in petals before visiting him. She smelled very, very good.
“You played right into your saboteur’s hands, sir. You could have been killed.”
Indeed, his ship had been hit, care of the Spanish navy. His crew had barely gotten the vessel to the shore of a nearby private island they frequented to receive repairs. He opted not to share that detail.
“And another thing—”
“What now?” he growled, uncertain why her poor opinion of him should make him so irascible.
She poked him in the chest as she spoke, emphasizing each word. “I do not like being loomed over.” She poked the hardest on the word loomed.
He caught her offending hand in his, holding it captive. “No?”
She made no attempt to pull her fingers free as she glared up at him. “No.” Her chest rose and fell with her labored breathing.
His own breathing was none too smooth.
His gaze raked over her face, settling on her mouth. So close, and her body an arm’s reach away. All he need do was tug the hand he held toward him, wrap one arm ’round her waist, and lower his mouth to hers.
So close.
His cock hardened into a fierce erection that strained against undergarments he was exceedingly grateful he’d taken the time to don under his loose trousers.
With a muffled curse, he released her and paced away, scrubbing a hand over his stubble-covered cheek. When he reached his bed post, he curled one hand around it in a grip it so fierce he wondered that the wood did not splinter.
He kept his back to her while he fought to regain control. “It grows late. You should go.”
“But we’ve still so much to discuss,” she said in a voice that sounded much too close.
He pinched his eyes closed briefly, then, gathering his courage, turned. As he feared, she’d followed him.
She stood very still, arms hanging at her sides, eyes wide and filled with what appeared to be remorse. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Her dimple flashed in and out of view. “For poking you, and for implying you’d acted foolishly. It’s just…” She bit her lower lip and his self-control began to crumble, like a precipice eroding under his feet.
The need to touch her overwhelmed his good sense and had him reaching toward her to finger a lock of her unbound hair. The flaxen strands felt like the finest silk, as he’d known they would. “Yes?”
She lowered her gaze to the open collar of his shirt. “I got angry when I thought about what could have happened to you. I know that makes no sense. We barely know one another.”
It didn’t. Neither did the hunger clawing at his insides, urging him to take her in his arms and feast on her mouth, to strip her of her ugly gown, then memorize every curve, every hollow of her body with his eyes and hands and mouth.
“Forget it, Gwen,” he said, his voice rough. “We are both on edge. We do have more to discuss, but that conversation will have to keep. There is one thing I must know tonight, however.”
Her shadowed gaze drifted up to search his. “Go on.”
“Will you continue on with our ruse, knowing what you now know of this affair?”
Her chin came up. “I would not dream of abandoning you, sir. That would almost certainly spell disaster for you. I could not live with myself.”
She meant it. She would put her own safety on the line—for him. “I owe you my sincere thanks, Gwen. In truth I do not know how I will ever repay you.”
“It is not such a big thing I’m doing. After all, you are innocent of the crime.”
He could only stare at her. Then his gaze dipped to her mouth. By God, he wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted to kiss her all night. One kiss—to seal their arrangement.
“Well, then,” she said, uttering a small, self-conscious laugh, almost as if she’d discerned his intent. “I bid you goodnight.” She turned and hurried toward the adjoining door.
He followed. Now that he’d decided to kiss her, everything in him railed at the notion of letting her go before he accomplished his goal.
Oblivious, she crossed the threshold. “There is one thing more I wanted to mention,” she said, pivoting to face him. “Oh,” she said, apparently startled to see him standing so close.
He raised one arm, pressing his forearm into the doorjamb and his forehead into his forearm. “Funny, I had something to add, as well.”
“Oh? Go on.”
“Ladies first.”
She licked her lips. “Hardly worth mentioning, of course. Perhaps, tomorrow—”
“I insist.” And afterward, he would kiss her goodnight. Thoroughly. Perhaps she would invite him into her chamber.
She lowered her voice. “It goes without saying, certainly, but just to be one hundred percent certain we are of the same mind: the marriage will be in name only.”
His insides clenched. He straightened away from the doorjamb and blanked his expression—he hoped. “Of course,” he agreed.
“What was it you wanted to say?”
He searched his mind and finally landed on something viable. “It’s along those lines. The marriage will be in name only—so long as you understand we must make a good showing.”
“A…good showing?”
“When we are in view of others—such as when we move in society.”
“Oh.” The smile she sent him was almost smug. “That shouldn’t be a problem. I do not move in society.”
He took a perverse pleasure in returning her smile. “You do now, Mrs. Devereux.” Before she could reply, he closed the door, very deliberately, in her face.