Miles Before I Sleep (21 page)

“No, my lord,” she said truthfully.

“I’m going to keep my hands where they are. I am not going to move them or try to take liberties. I just want to hold you like this. Say,
yes, my lord and master
, if this is acceptable to you.”

“Where’s my maid?”

“She’s over in the shadows,” he said. “Can’t you see her?”

Andrea turned her head and squinted at the shadows trying to see Ruth. From the previous night when he bit her wrist, she knew how inky the dark shadows truly could be. “No, my lord.”

“She’s not objecting, are you?”

“No, my lord. It’s just that….”

“Then say what I asked you to say.”

Andrea sighed as she turned her eyes back to the ocean. “Yes, my lord and master.”

“Say it again, Miss James.” His face was by her ear and she could hear him inhaling the scent of her hair.

“Yes, my lord and master.”

They were both breathing heavily, but she suspected for different reasons.

“Andrea, tomorrow I want you to wear your corset as tightly as you can. And every time you feel the tightness, I want you to remember the feel of my hands upon your waist. Would you do that for me?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Yes, my lord…?” He tightened his hold on her waist,  squeezing not only with his fingers, but closing his hands more tightly together.

“Yes, my lord and master.”

“And every time you think of my hands on you, I want you to try to breathe in. I want you to be breathless every time you think of my hands on you.”

“Yes, my lord and master.”

Suddenly, there was a shrill whistle and Andrea and Lord Ironwood jumped apart.

“She’s here,” a sailor shouted.

Footsteps could be heard running from all directions. Among the people running toward them were Ruth and Miles.

“You said she was in the shadows,” Andrea accused.

“Forgive me for wanting a few minutes alone with you.”

“Miss James,” Ruth shouted, her hands around her extended belly as if she had to carry it externally. “I looked up and you were gone.”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were behind me.”

The smirk on Ironwood’s face said he knew she was not. “Miss James had a bit too much to drink. I thought I should get her out of there before she couldn’t walk.”

Andrea gasped that he would cast the blame on her, even if it were partially true. But Andrea had been trained too well to contradict him or even to mention that he practically forced her to drink the last glass.

Miles reached them in a few long strides and punched Lord Ironwood in the mouth. “That’s for not taking a chaperone with you.”

Lord Ironwood smiled snidely, his lip swollen and bleeding as he reached up and touched the painful spot.

Miles had not intended to hit him again, but when he saw the smirk, he could not stop himself. This time he punched him in the gut doubling the man over.

“And that’s for the bruise on her arm.”

Miles seized Andrea by the wrist. He caught her off balance and she would have fallen if not for his quick reflexes.

“Criminy!” he cursed. He wrapped his arm around her waist and began leading her out of the crowd.

“Miles, please, I’m fine,” she protested taking short quick steps to try to keep up.

“You’re soused.”

“I’m no such thing. I tripped because you pulled me off balance.”

“How many drinks did you have?”

Her lips tightened into a line because she did not want to answer. Reluctantly, she admitted, “Three.” She wanted to protest that she had not wanted the third one at all, but she was afraid of what he would do to the marquess. Yes, she felt tipsy though certainly not as much as she had when she drank it medicinally. Lord Ironwood had said she had swayed. She had not thought she did, but perhaps she was too inebriated to know.

“You’re soused,” he repeated dryly.

“I’ve had more than a bowl of porridge today.”

Miles stopped in his tracks, but kept his focus on the deck ahead of them. “You had half a bowl of soup for lunch and exactly nine bites of your dinner, and three of those bites were no bigger than your thumbnail.”

“I would’ve finished my lunch if you had not abandoned me by myself at that big table.”

“You should’ve had Phillip take it to your stateroom.”

“And how was I supposed to eat my dinner when my best friend gave me the cut-direct?”

Miles swung around to face her and held her by her upper arms. “How do you expect me to react when you let that man bruise you? Then you cut your sleeves and waved it in front of my face like a red cape in front of a bull.”

Andrea looked as close to tears as he had ever seen her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know it would leave a mark. He told me if I was open to his courtship, I should not cover it up.”

Andrea pulled her arms free and ran to her cabin.

27

When Andrea missed breakfast, Miles sent a tray of food to her cabin. In addition to her usual porridge and a bowl of fruit, Phillip arrived with a variety of other breakfast selections.

“I suppose you’re going to report back to him what I ate.”

Phillip blushed to the root. “Yes ma’am. Also, I’m supposed to tell you, Lord Ironwood has requested you be assigned to his table.”

“Thank you, Phillip,” she said closing the door.

“Ruth, come pick out what you’d like.”

“Miss James, I’m fine with anything left on the tray.”

“I wasn’t planning on eating at all, but I suppose since Phillip has gone to all this trouble….”

Ruth looked at the tray and picked up the porridge making Andrea frown. She assumed Ruth would choose the pastries or the English breakfast of eggs, sausages, beans and crumpets with marmalade. But Ruth, not aware that Andrea nearly always ate the oatmeal, took the least appealing item from the tray. Andrea took the bowl of fruit and the crumpet.

“You really should eat more,” Ruth said mixing some of the orange preserves into her porridge.

“You put marmalade in your porridge?”

“There was no sugar. If it tasted bad, there is so much more food here, I could have something else. But it’s tasty.”

Andrea peered into the bowl of fruit. It no longer contained fresh berries of any kind. This far into the voyage, it only consisted of apples, pears, oranges and a variety of dried fruits.”

Andrea sighed and ate half the bowl before placing it back on the tray.

“Do you want anything else?”

Ruth, now finished with her porridge, picked up a pastry with her fingers and began pulling it apart, and placing a bite at a time in her mouth.

Andrea then offered the rest to her guards, who finished off everything on the tray including the half-eaten bowl of fruit. She spent the rest of her morning altering a dress to go with the tightened corset. It had been a while since her father put his foot down about corsets and Andrea knew without pulling the corset apart and re-cutting and resewing it, she was limited to tightening it to the limits of the garment.

By lunchtime, Andrea’s waist was three inches smaller and so was her sage green dress.

“Heavens, it’s been a long time since I’ve worn my corset this tight,” she said her hands upon her ribs.

“Women in the French court would be envious of you. You’re just beautiful.”

She stretched as she tried to draw more air into her lungs and smiled as she remembered how the marquess wanted her breathless as she thought of him. It was strangely unsettling to feel the tightness while imagining his hands on her waist. When she closed her eyes, she could really feel it and it gave her a heady drunken feeling.

She was surprised when Miles knocked at the usual time and collected her for the midday meal.

“I understand that man has requested you be allowed to sit at his table.”

“That is my understanding as well.” She tucked her hands behind her back when he did not offer his arm.

“You don’t have to sit with him just because he requests it.” He looked at her askance to see if she had trepidations, but found a determined look on her face.

“Miles, you know I’m looking for a husband and he is the only one who acts interested. How can I not? Besides, my mother would be delighted if I could make this match.”

Saying that much while walking left her short of breath. She put her hand on her ribs and drew as deep of a breath as she could manage.

“Your father would not approve of that corset.” His tone was flat and emotionless as if he were trying to tamp down his irritation.

“My father has no say-so anymore after he betrothed me, without my knowledge, to your cousin.”

“You know nothing of the man your father promised you to, Miss James.”

Andrea’s eyes darted to his at the formal address. She bit the inside of her lip and tried to hide her hurt.

Miles and Andrea parted ways at the entry of the dining room. She was surprised to find Lord Ironwood already seated at the table.

“My lord,” she said, lowering her eyes and dropping to a slight curtsy.

“Have a seat, my dear,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

Andrea began looking around for the paper with the day’s menu printed on it. “Did they forget to give us menus?”

“I’ve already ordered for us.”

“Oh. Thank you, my lord,” she said placidly.

Disappointed that she would not be allowed to select her meal, she sighed softly. Andrea knew if she had had her season and met the marquess then, she would have capitulated in all things in hopes of gaining his favor. Miles had spoilt her. She must put her training back into effect. Surely, she could eat whatever the waiter set in front of her without complaint as she had her whole life.

“I see you did as I requested,” he said, with brows raised and a slight grin. “Though I would have liked to have seen you go even smaller.”

“It’s as small as the corset would go. As it is, I spent all morning altering the dress to fit it.”

“You sew? How common.”

“Yes, my lord. Since I was old enough to thread a needle, I have sewn dresses for my dolls. Rarely does a gown come from the modiste that I do not make a change. I am forever removing lace and flounces, or making alterations so they fit better. Like you, my mother thinks it beneath me, but is it so different from embroidery?”

Andrea watched as his hand went to his bruised lip as he eyed Miles over her shoulder and she realized he was not listening.

“Can you feel my hands on you with every breath?”

“Yes, my lord and master.”

The marquess’s head swung around to the nearby tables to make sure no one heard her. She did not really understand why he liked to hear her address him that way but she was sure it pleased him the night before.

“You will not address me like that in public.”

Andrea knew the ship’s captain was often called ship’s master or on naval ships, master and commander, but she did not grasp why he would desire to be called lord and master.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Better.”

A waiter brought the food he had ordered and set it in front of them. Andrea knew by both the sight and smell it was a curry dish. She recoiled slightly.

“I can’t eat this,” she said immediately.

“It’s Indian curry and it’s delicious.”

“It really isn’t Indian.”

“Of course it is. The whole world knows curry comes from India,” he said. “Are you a twit?”

It took a moment for Andrea to get past the shock of him insulting her at the dinner table. She smiled pleasantly, unsure exactly how to respond. “My father has an office in India. I have been there twice. I have never eaten this kind of food when I was there. How many times have you been to India?”

Ironwood’s hands flexed before he balled them into two tight fists. “It is probably from a region of India you know nothing about.”

“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I can’t eat this.”

His face became hard and unyielding. “I’ve ordered it for you and you will eat it.”

The richly spiced entrée was ladled over a bed of rice, nearly coating it all. Perhaps if she just ate the rice he would not notice.

“Yes, my lord,” she acquiesced, holding eye contact.

She picked up her fork and ate a nibble of rice. At least the tight corset gave her an excuse to leave most of it on her plate. When she picked up her naan, he dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clatter. “You will stop this nonsense at once. Eat the damn curry.”

“No, my lord.”

“Then put your hands in your lap and don’t eat another bite of anything,” he stormed.

“Yes, my lord.” To an outsider her tone might have sounded tightly polite, but Andrea could hear the slight defiance in her tone.

If necessary, she would spend the rest of her meal sitting erect and still.

“You are hurting no one but yourself with your willfulness,” he said.

“I am not being willful. You put this food in front of me, without consulting me, and expect me to eat it.”

“It’s delicious, which you would know, if you tasted it.”

Andrea lifted her head. “I have eaten curry several times. I have nothing against the flavor.”

He slammed his hand down on the table and hunched his shoulders as he leaned towards her. “Eat. It.” His voice was low and menacing.

“No.”

“I require one thing from you and that’s obedience.”

“You said you would care for me and pamper me. Forcing me to eat this shows neither of those things.”

“I also said I would punish you if you don’t mind me.”

She stared at him, refusing to drop her gaze the way he enjoyed. “No proposal has passed your lips. Nor has an acceptance passed mine. You do not own me or have any say.”

He sat back in his chair crossing his arms over his chest. “If you were my wife, you would have been sent to your room to await your punishment the second you refused to eat.”

“Being told I could eat nothing on my plate is not punishment enough? Even prisoners get bread and water.”

She picked up the naan, tore off a large section and put it in her mouth.

The marquess’s eyes narrowed, his bruised lips curled inward and set into a hard line. Suddenly, he lunged at her and ripped the bread from her hand. He threw it on the floor and stomped his heavy black boot on top of it.

Andrea pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

“Sit down until I dismiss you.”

She stared at him as she walked to the back of her heavy chair, picked it up and carried it towards Miles’s full table.

Miles rose, moved his chair to the side to make room, and then crossed to assist her. He held the chair for her as she took her place then returned to his seat.

“May I?” she asked, indicating his plate with a nod of her head.

He picked up the remainder of his meal and put it in front of her. She did not care that she used his utensils as she took a bite, defiantly staring across the room at the marquess.

Red-faced with rage, Clive Treymaine, Marquess of Ironwood rose, throwing his linen napkin on his plate and stalked out.

When the noise level in the room suddenly escalated, Andrea became acutely aware of the scene she just caused. She pushed the plate away and turned to Miles.

~*~

Andrea’s face, which moments before wore high color, had suddenly gone pale. She looked lost and frightened.

He had watched the scene unfold. From a subtle change in her carriage, he knew when the food had arrived that something was amiss. He could not hear their conversation over the other diners’ voices, but it looked as if he was scolding her. When she turned her head down and placed her hands in her lap, the man had the gall to smile at her downturned face. Miles’s blood began to boil that he would treat her that way. When he ripped the naan from her hands and threw it to the ground, Miles was on the verge of going over there to pummel the smirk off the lord’s face, but settled back in his chair when Andrea stood up.

“I need to go to my cabin,” she whispered, setting her hand on his arm.

“I’ll escort you.”

Andrea kept her head high through the dining room. Miles stopped and spoke to the maître d’. “Have Phillip send Miss James’s maid to her room and bring a sandwich at his earliest convenience.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miles turned back to Andrea, but she was gone. He rushed after her and caught up with her as he stepped on deck. Andrea stood at the rail gasping at the salty air, her hand at her collarbone.

“I can’t….”

Andrea fainted before she finished her sentence.

Miles swore. He was not near enough to catch her. Then he cursed her corset and Ironwood as he scooped her up off the deck. Her long limbs dangled unwieldily, making it difficult to maneuver through doorways and narrow gangways.

“My room,” Miles said to the guards who took one look at them and reached for her doorknob. “Her maid is on her way. Send her in immediately.”

“Shall I go for the doctor?” one of the burly sailors asked.

“Yes.”

He suspected she fainted from a combination of having her breathing restricted as well as the distress she suffered. Although he doubted they truly needed the doctor, he would feel better hearing it from someone knowledgeable. As gently as he could, he carried her in and placed her upon his bed. He could not say why he had taken her to his suite. Perhaps, it was because it was larger or perhaps he did not want to be asked to leave. He knew if he took her to her stateroom, as soon as Ruth and the doctor arrived, he would be pushed out the door, left alone to worry in his quarters. He needed to be there the moment she woke up, to see her eyes and hear her voice, so he would know she was all right.

Miles wet a cloth and bathed her face. After a few seconds, her eyes began fluttering.