Page 7 of The Pirate's Stolen Bride
He released her, and she fell back onto her elbows, flipped over, and scrambled away with her skirt twisted awkwardly around her hips.
“You—youscoundrel,” she seethed.
“You’re getting the bed all wet.” He crouched to open the drawers underneath the bed and pulled out an old shirt. “Take those off. Put this on.”
“I am not disrobing in your presence,” she said loftily.
“Fine. But you are dirtying the only place to sleep. You need rest. I will return shortly to check on you, chérie. There is no point in me changing clothes, considering the storm we are sailing into.”
“What’s delaying you?” She made ashoogesture. “Go on. You’re not wanted here.”
A lopsided grin ticked up one corner of his mouth. Underneath her quiet, composed, ladylike exterior, there was a firecracker with a temper. He’d never met such an intriguing woman, full of contradictions. Despite his stinging cheek—which was some thanks, after he’d saved her life—he liked her.
His grin faltered. She did not appear to feel the same way toward him. “This is my room, your ladyship. You’re sleeping in my bed.”
Her mouth fell open indignantly. He imagined all manner of things he could do with a mouth like that. Rémy closed the door and heard the sharpthwackof a thrown object.
Up on deck, the rain had begun in earnest.
“We have pursuers,” said Freddie. “It won’t be easy to outrun them in this weather.”
“Sail into the storm.”
Freddie groaned.
“The Water Guard will expect us to head for France. We shall therefore head west. Once the storm passes, we can double back.”
“If we’re not sunk by this.”
Rémy grinned. “It will be rough sailing, but we can handle it, mon ami.”
Could his guest? Rémy had his doubts but no time to entertain them.
CHAPTER FOUR
TEA AND NO SYMPATHY
Changing out of her wet clothes while being tossed about in a cramped ship’s cabin was the hardest thing Harriet had ever done. She could barely get a grip on a tiny button with her frozen fingers before the floor tilted and she was forced to brace herself on whatever surface was handy.
She got her spencer off, then her sodden boots. Her bonnet had been lost to the waves, which was a shame. It coordinated so nicely with her traveling costume.
Your ladyship.
She was going to strangle that pirate. Just as soon as she got her stays and chemise off and put on the clean shirt he’d left for her. What she was not going to do was allow her captor to see her naked.
The boat rolled sharply. Nausea boiled up her esophagus. Her hip connected with the edge of a built-in table. She smacked the surface with her open palm out of sheer frustration.
Sitting on the cramped built-in bench helped a little. She was able to strip off her stockings and fight her way free of her dress. On the back of the close-fitted door were two hooks where she hung up her clothes. There seemed little chance of them drying properly, but it was better than leaving them on the floor.
Another roll tossed her to the opposite side of the room. Harriet found herself clutching an empty iron pot. She retched into it.
This was the worst misadventure ever. She should have thrown those tankards at Rémy’s head, instead of mooning over how attractive he was.
Shivering, she crawled into the bed and tucked the blankets around her, keeping the lidded pot close.
She didn’t sleep. Instead, she dozed fitfully. Each time she almost dropped into blessed unconsciousness, the press of warm lips on hers intruded. Harriet rolled over. Where was Uncle Monty? Surely he was searching for her. Clearly, she had been too hasty in judging the Riders. Perhaps geese weren’t good judges of character after all.
The scent embedded in his shirt and bedclothes was oddly alluring. Comforting, even. Each pitched roll of the boat roiled her stomach.
