Expedition of Love (8 page)

"I'll see to it right now, missy.” He patted her cheek then moved down the corridor to his cabin. “Oh, and Kris, I believe we have several crew members who could use a bit of your cure."

"I'll take care of it."

She knocked on the cabin door and warned Mr. Thomas she was entering then pushed inside. A flash of shame crossed her thoughts as she realized she hadn't given Doctor Baxter the same courtesy. Had she been so worried about him that she barreled inside without thinking, or had the ship really tossed her into his room?

Mr. Thomas groaned from his bed. “Miss Peterson, you really shouldn't be here."

"I understand you won't drink your tea?"

He turned a bit green and winced.

She hurried to his bedside and lifted his head from his pillow. Pressing the cup to his lips, urging him to drink, she realized her body had absolutely no reaction to the young man other than motherly. He looked so childlike and pathetic.

"Please. I can't take anymore,” he said.

She laid him down gently and bathed his brow with the cloth. “You'll feel better soon, Mr. Thomas. The tea will take care of most of the upset. You'll be happy to hear we're almost though the storm."

He groaned in response.

She checked to make sure he had enough tea and adjusted his covers. His nightshirt gaped open, but no hair teased the edge of the cotton. His smooth chest, although quite nice, did not affect her. No tightening in her stomach or swelling in her breast. Her scientific side found the facts interesting, while the female side was suddenly terrified.

Absently, she instructed him to take more tea in a few minutes then turned toward the door, her pulse skittering with fear. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be attracted to Stephen Baxter. It just wasn't possible.

Several hours later, exhausted from struggling against the turbulent rocking of the ship, making gallons of tea, and constantly thinking about Doctor Baxter, it was past time for luncheon. Although, the crew ate a somewhat normal meal, she knew that their seasick guests wouldn't be able to stomach much, but they needed something to sustain them.

She prepared some dry toast and yet another pot of tea and made her way down the corridor. With Mr. Walters tending his fellow student, and Mr. Anderson apparently enjoying the entire adventure with her father above deck, left her in charge of the doctor.

Her face flushed as she reached his door. “You're being silly, Kristina,” she fussed at herself. He's only a man.

Lifting her hand, she knocked firmly.

"Who is it?"

His voice was weak, stiffening her spine against her ridiculous fears. The man needed nourishment. “It's Kristina Peterson, Doctor. I've brought your dinner."

She heard his low moan and reached for the door handle. He didn't want her assistance or food, but he was going to get it, like it or not.

Bustling into the cabin, she made her way to his bedside. His color seemed better, but there was no mistaking the anger in his eyes.

"You may as well stop glaring at me, Doctor. I won't leave until I've seen to your comforts.” She set the tray on the bedside, then sat down on the bed. “I've made some dry toast and some more tea. Which would you like first?"

"I'm quite capable of feeding myself,” he growled.

"I'm sure you are, but to be perfectly honest, I don't trust you."

"You don't—of all the—Miss Peterson, would you kindly leave?"

"No.” She went about pouring his tea, enjoying the huff and puff of his indignation. Over the years she had noted how men tended to growl and snarl when they found themselves at a disadvantage, especially around a woman.

She turned to find him propped up in the bed with a grim frown and a deeply furrowed brow. A sense of disappointment niggled at her thoughts, as he wouldn't need to be held to take his tea.

"Here you are, Doctor Baxter. I'm glad to see you've improved.” She handed him the cup and their fingers brushed, causing treacherous goose bumps to ripple across her skin. Determined to ignore them, she turned back to the table to retrieve his toast and avoid his steady gaze. It unnerved her.

"I'd feel even better if you would leave,” he said.

Her discomfort vanished with his grumbling. Oh, what an old bear, and so much like her father when he was sick. “I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you might enjoy some company after being confined all day."

He closed his eyes on a sigh after sipping his tea. “Miss Peterson, under any other circumstances I would greatly enjoy your company, but this is highly improper."

The devil that her father claimed possessed her at times perched atop her shoulder. “Well, Doctor, you shan't worry any longer. Your virtue is quite safe."

His mouth fell open as she stood.

Withholding her laughter, she strolled to the door. Pausing, she looked back over her shoulder. “You will eat your toast and take all of your tea, or I shall have to return and force feed you. And don't think I won't. Good afternoon, Doctor."

Her show of strength faltered once she left his cabin. Hurrying to her room, she collapsed on her bed with a pounding headache. Verbal jousting with the man wore her out completely, not to mention the foreign yearnings stirring inside her, but this had to stop. She could not be attracted to him. She simply didn't have the time to fool with such things.

Her last thoughts as she drifted off to sleep were of an adorable looking scientist struck dumb by her scathingly impudent remark.

Edwin tapped at his daughter's door. “Kristina?"

"Come in, Papa."

He didn't care for the odd tone of her voice. Moving to the bedside, he found her lying atop the covers, her eyes closed, and in her nightclothes at such an odd time of day.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

He brushed her cheek as he sat down on the edge of her bed, not sure if she felt feverish or not, having no real experience in dealing with such things.

She opened one eye then closed it again.

"Kristina?"

"I've only a headache. Not to worry, Papa."

His worry dissipated, but only somewhat. “I thought you might like to take in the sunset with me. It's quite spectacular. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'll be fine. But I don't believe I care to go up top at the moment. Thank you anyway.” She patted his hand where it rested against her shoulder.

"Well, in that case, I'll leave you to rest. Do you want me to call for you at dinner?"

"I don't think so."

He sighed with a soft hum. “Very well.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead then left.

Something was deeply troubling his daughter, something she didn't feel comfortable discussing with him. That was the only time she ever got a headache, but then Mrs. Cory, Edwin's housekeeper was there to ease her mind. And she did have a rather close relationship with Mrs. Stillwell, the young widow who lived next door. But neither of them were there at the moment, and he was at a loss as to what he should do.

Making his way above deck, he wondered what could be troubling her. Surely not the fact she had to play nursemaid to their guests. She'd done that sort of thing before without the slightest difficulty. Perhaps he should have insisted she bring a female companion. But what female would want to go traipsing off into the wilds of Argentina?

Edwin smiled. His Kris, that's who. But how to solve her problem, whatever it was?

His gaze lit upon Stephen leaning against the railing taking in long deep breaths. Setting aside his quandary for a moment, he crossed the deck.

"I'm surprised to see you up and about, Stephen."

"I needed some fresh air."

"You don't look too pale. I see my daughter's tea has worked its wonders."

"Yes. It did seem to do the trick, thank heavens. Where is Miss Peterson? I wish to thank her and apologize for my surly behavior earlier."

Ah, so his friend hadn't taken too kindly to being looked after by Kristina. Pride perhaps or something else? Could his supposed surly behavior be the source of her problem? If so, why would that bother his daughter? Her hide was too tough to be put off by a man's ill temper. She had received plenty of his over the years. Then again, if Stephen was the source of her dilemma, perhaps he could also be the cure.

Edwin frowned deeply. “She's not feeling well and has decided to stay in her cabin."

Stephen pushed away from the railing, his pale brow wrinkling. “Didn't she take some of her own concoction?"

"She claims it's not seasickness.” He sighed dramatically. “I'm worried about her, Stephen. She didn't wish to join me in taking in this magnificent sunset. Quite unlike her. I've never known her to be sick. She is always exceedingly healthy."

"Perhaps we should pull into the next port and have a physician take a look at her."

"No, no. I'm sure if it were anything serious she would tell me. She's not foolish.” He chuckled. “Not usually. No, I'm sure she'll be fine. Probably some female thing or another troubling her. Well, I need to speak with the captain. Excuse me, Stephen."

Edwin strolled away, wondering if his friend would take the bait.

For another thirty minutes, Stephen stood staring out over the ocean wondering if Miss Peterson was all right. He doubted she could still be upset about that unfortunate scene with Mr. Walters the evening before. As a matter of fact, she didn't seem the least bit distressed by it. Had something else happened since then?

He strode across the deck and hurried down the steps to her cabin, unable to bear his hypothesizing any longer. Whatever was wrong with her, he intended to find out. She obviously hadn't said anything to her father about Mr. Walters’ untoward behavior, and if something else had occurred, she may also have kept that to herself.

He knocked softly on her door and was answered with a soft moan.

"Who is it?” she called weakly.

"Doctor Baxter."

She opened the door while grasping her forehead and squinting. Pain evident on her face, she peered at him through glazed eyes. “What can I do for you, Doctor?"

"I came to see what I could do for you, Miss Peterson. Your father says you aren't feeling well."

Her shoulders sagged as she leaned against the doorframe, her robe gaping at the base of her throat exposing a small patch of her creamy skin. “Just a bit of a headache. Nothing serious. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

"Thanks to you."

She smiled with a slight nod. “You're welcome."

"I, um, am curious as to the cause of your headache. When Edwin said you weren't feeling well, I was afraid that perhaps something might have happened to upset you."

She shook her head and winced. “No. Just an everyday annoying headache."

Her eyes slid closed for longer than a moment, almost as if she were asleep on her feet. Before she could slip to the floor in a mound of peach colored satin, he scooped her up and cradled her against his chest.

Her eyes popped open as her arms flew around his neck. “What are you doing?"

"You're exhausted, Miss Peterson, and I should have left you to your rest."

"I am at that,” she breathed, and laid her head against his shoulder.

Resisting the urge to bury his face in her hair, he crossed the cabin to her bed, nearly stumbling from the feel of her body pressing against his. All the feminine undergarments, the corsets and stays were missing, leaving only the delicious feel of Kristina shifting sensuously beneath the supple fabric.

Stopping by the bed, he hated having to let her go, and for a moment he thought he felt her arms tighten around him, but that had only been his imagination.

Regretfully, he lowered her to the sheets and covered her with a blanket. “I will make it known that you are not to be disturbed until morning."

"Thank you,” she said.

He smiled down into her heavy-lidded gaze. “You're welcome. Now get some rest."

Without thinking, he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek that had escaped her thick braid. The momentary touch of her silky skin drew his fingers back to her face, inducing them to stroke the delicate contours.

Her lids slid closed with a soft sigh.

His back snapped straight. What the devil was he doing? With hastened steps, he left the room. Crossing to his cabin, he felt the burst of adrenaline that had rushed through his veins at the sight of her fade. Being sick for most of the day, eating nothing more than dry toast and tea, left him as weak as a babe.

He collapsed on his bed, thankful he hadn't dropped her when he suddenly decided to play the gallant. Flinging his arm over his eyes, he prayed she wouldn't remember how he stroked her cheek.

So inappropriate, so forward, so—exquisite.

Chapter Five

Kristina opened her eyes with renewed strength, and welcomed the beam of morning sunlight coming through the portal. She dressed quickly, but took more care with her hair than usual, after feeling like a ragamuffin the day before. She wondered how the rest of the passengers and crew fared on such a glorious morning.

The memory of Stephen carrying her to bed popped into her mind. No, that couldn't be right. She had dreamed that and the part where he caressed her cheek. Hadn't she?

She stared into her dressing mirror trying to remember, to discern fact from fiction, but it was no use. Her headache threatening to return, she put thoughts of the previous evening out of her mind.

What did it matter anyway? Whatever occurred was perfectly innocent and meant nothing. And yet she enjoyed the feel of his fingers against her cheek—if it really happened.

Drat, she thought with a sniff. She couldn't simply ask the man. If it had been merely a pleasant dream, she would be beside herself with embarrassment.

A soft knock at her door pulled her from her silly thoughts. “Who is it?"

"Joshua, miss. Your father thought you might like your breakfast served in your cabin."

"How thoughtful,” she said, as she opened the door. “Thank you, Joshua."

He nodded and placed a tray on the small table in the corner of her room.

"How is everyone feeling today? You look well,” she said.