Natalya (22 page)

"I never really knew I was ill," she confessed. When he reached out to take her hand, Natalya felt herself flush. "It's all a blur to me, from the time I came on board ship in London until this morning. I knew I wasn't feeling well, even the day we took Adrienne and Venetia back to school, but I thought I had simply caught a chill."

When Grey perched on the edge of the bunk, still holding her hand, Charlotte made her presence known in the doorway by clearing her throat. Instantly his head turned and he gave her a piercing glance. "Leave us."

The girl pressed her lips together. "I'll just fetch Mistress Natalya's tray from the galley, then, and be back in a trice."

There was an undercurrent of amusement in Grey's voice as he remarked, "It would seem that I have chosen, completely by chance, the two least submissive servants in all of London for your maid and my valet."

"I should think that Charlotte would be eager for a respite now that I am feeling better. She must be quite bored by the sight of me."

"She fears that I will try to take advantage of you in your weakened state," Grey whispered, with mock gravity. "Obviously she does not understand our relationship."

"No. Obviously not," Natalya replied in a small voice, feeling vaguely alarmed by her response to his physical presence. "I will have to inform her of the facts on that score."

"Yes. Tell her that you are merely tolerating my company until we reach Philadelphia." There was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Yes, and I'll explain that you are only taking me there out of obligation."

They nodded together, solemnly. After a moment's silence, during which Natalya felt her cheeks growing pinker as she fully felt his intoxicating presence, she said, "Now that I am so much better, I believe I'll resume work on my book. My manuscript is packed in my trunk. I have missed writing, and it seems to be the perfect way to pass the remainder of our voyage."

Charlotte entered with another tray, and Grey stood up, releasing Natalya's hand. "A splendid idea, Miss Beauvisage. There's nothing like romance at sea, especially from the safe distance afforded by fantasy, hmm? I'll have Speed bring you pens and paper." As he watched as Charlotte settle the tray onto her mistress's lap, he neatly caught the dish of pudding that slid off one side. "I perceive that Charlotte's sea legs are a cause for concern," he observed wryly, replacing it. "We'll have one of the crew give you lessons, all right, Charlotte? In the meantime, keep a close eye on Miss Beauvisage. She's a tempting morsel on a shipful of ravening men, and there's no telling who might try to sneak a taste!"

* * *

For four days Natalya remained obediently in her bunk and allowed Charlotte to nurse her back to health. She napped, ate, and wrote her book on a lap desk that Grey's valet brought with a supply of quills, ink, and paper.

Soon, however, she began to grow restless. The plot of her story was fraught with drama and romance, but instead of distracting her, it only intensified her boredom. On the fourth afternoon, Grey poked his head into Natalya's cabin and found her biting the end of her quill and scowling at the sheets of paper scattered across the bunk.

"Would you care for an apple?" he inquired affably.

Her heart skipped at the sight of him, and when he came over to sit down beside her, she could smell the freshness of the sun and sea breeze on him. Was it possible that she had once been held in those arms, kissed by those lips, touched by his strong hands?...

"Are you all right?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"Yes—yes, of course!"

"You were shivering for a moment. Shall I get you another quilt?"

"No, I'm fine. And you have the apple. Charlotte has just removed my luncheon tray and I couldn't eat another bite." Dragging her eyes from his face, Natalya gestured at the papers on her lap. "I'm just struggling with the next scene in my book. I can't decide quite how to do it."

"Will you tell me the plot of your novel, or is it a secret?"

She peered at him from under her thick lashes, wondering if he would laugh. "Well, my heroine, Eloise, has been sent to an Italian convent by her father because he fears that she will be seduced by Charles, the charming but mysterious hero, who appears to be penniless but is actually a duke. Eloise's father means to keep her pure until he can find a wealthy husband for her—"

"But, of course, the forces of passion conspire to thwart Father's plans?" Grey supplied. "I take it that Eloise is a heroine of the hot-blooded, reckless variety?"

Natalya nodded, looking down and straightening the pages of her manuscript. Suddenly she heard Adrienne's voice in her mind, taunting,
How can you write about love and passion if you've never experienced it yourself? I begin to fear that you'll die a maiden, untouched and unawakened!

Noting the flush that crept into her cheeks, Grey refrained from inquiring himself about Natalya's source of knowledge regarding romantic relations between men and women. Again he reminded himself that she
was
twenty-six years old; she had to have some experience in her past. They were silent for a moment, and Grey's eyes strayed to the curves of her breasts, soft and full under the fine cotton of her nightgown. The sharp response in his loins alarmed him and he nearly reached for her.

"I ought to leave you," he said abruptly, standing up, "before Charlotte returns and accuses me of prurient intentions. I'm certain, given your fertile imagination, that you will be able to overcome this temporary barrier in your story. How fortunate you are to be able to invent stories of love rather than live them out. It must be much more satisfying to be able to control the outcome."

Natalya was confused by his tone. Was he mocking her, or did she detect a note of bitterness behind his light words? She watched him cross the cabin, admiring the set of his wide shoulders and the lean lines of his hips. Grey paused in the doorway, then turned back with a kind smile. "You mustn't allow Charlotte to keep you prisoner down here. If you feel well enough, venture up on deck. The sunshine would doubtless do you good, and I'll see to it that the crew behaves."

Natalya beamed like a little girl who had been promised an unexpected treat. "Thank you!"

Charlotte appeared then, wearing an expression of flustered alarm as she squeezed past Grey in the narrow doorway. He bit into his apple, glanced back over one broad shoulder to give Natalya a brief wink, and then he was gone.

Chapter 15

April 21-26, 1814

The sunshine was warm on Natalya's face as she reclined on the captain's chair which was bolted to the quarterdeck. Her curls were pinned up in artful disarray, she wore a simple gown of yellow-sprigged muslin, and her slippered feet were propped on a coil of rope supplied by one of the high-spirited crew.
Pride and Prejudice,
the latest novel by Jane Austen, lay open on her lap. Natalya would read for a few minutes, pause to bask in the sunlight with her eyes closed, sip from her glass of wine, chat with one of the crew or Grey if he happened to be near, then repeat the sequence of events again.

It was bliss.

There was an infectious frivolity about these days, she mused. The men were in excellent spirits, singing and joking as they handled the ropes and climbed the tall, raking spars, all of them seeming to enjoy the presence of a beautiful woman on their ship. Only Fedbusk and Charlotte were openly disapproving of Natalya's conduct, but she would not let their censorious looks spoil her fun. When the sea spray showered her with a fine, fresh mist and she watched Grey St. James laughing with his crew, she felt as if she were in the midst of a magical, light-hearted dream under the sun.

"You're looking very happy, minx," Grey remarked as he hunkered down next to her chair, his grin a flash of white against the golden brown of his face.

"And you're looking very piratical, Captain," she parried lightly. Then she met his eyes, her own aquamarine like the ocean, and said sincerely, "I am enjoying myself immensely, you know. Sometimes I think I must still be ill, and all of this is a feverish hallucination. It seems too wonderful to be real."

He could have said the same thing about her, but he only smiled with secret amusement. Natalya appeared to be unaware of her enchanting good looks, which only added to her appeal. Her hair shone in the sunlight, begging for his touch, her skin had warmed to a pale golden hue, and dimples winked on either side of her inviting lips. Grey tried not to look below her neck, tried to block his response to the sensuous curves of her breasts and hips outlined against her muslin chemise frock. There were moments, though, when he suddenly imagined Natalya lying naked across silky sheets, her body warm and golden in a haze of candlelight. The effort to banish such thoughts made his head ache.

"Ah, here is Speed with a picnic, and not a moment too soon," he said cryptically, rising to take the tray from his manservant. He had been suffering from seasickness for most of the voyage, and thus had little energy to spare fussing over his master, much to Grey's relief. "You're green as pea soup, Speed. I suggest that you get into bed and stay there until we dock in Philadelphia."

The young man looked queasier at the mention of pea soup. "Well, if you're certain you won't be needing me, my lord, I may just have a short lie-down—"

"And do not stir until I summon you!" Grey thundered. "That's an order! And I am not your lord."

"Yes, my lord – I mean, sir." With a grateful smile, Speed took his leave.

Natalya was already attacking the food, tearing a hunk from the loaf of dark, warm, crusty bread and spreading it with butter. "I'm prodigiously hungry," she confessed.

He poured more red wine into her cup and broke bread for himself, pairing it with Wensleydale cheese and a slice of smoked trout. It was a pleasure to see Natalya eat with such relish, and he watched her in silence for a minute before taking a sip of wine and remarking:

"Your nose will be sunburned if you aren't careful."

She gave him an impudent smile. "You sound just like Charlotte. Every day she tries to block the door and persuade me to remain in my cabin like a proper lady. When that fails, she produces a cottage bonnet and attempts to force it onto my head!" Natalya began to giggle. "I fear that Charlotte is quite out of patience with me. She was a good deal happier when I was insensible, I suspect, and she had to feed and dress me like a baby."

Grey watched her savor a bite of trout. "Are your high spirits due to the fact that you'll soon be home again? You must be counting the minutes until we reach Philadelphia."

"Well..." Her smile faded behind a cloud of mixed emotions. "To be perfectly honest with you, I'm trying not to think about it very much. Look what happened to the high expectations you had en route to London. I know that my life will be more complicated. I haven't had to deal with parents for a very long time, and as much as I adore Maman and Papa, I'm sure that they will have ideas of their own about the course of my future." She gazed off across the shimmering blue ocean. "I doubt that we'll be in agreement."

"Parents and children rarely are," Grey replied neutrally.

"I'm not the conventional child, though, am I? I'm perilously close to spinsterhood, some would say, and I've no intention of marrying... especially not to satisfy a lot of silly conventions. Maman and Papa will doubtless allow me to chart my own course with a minimum of interference, but then there are other relatives, and old friends..."

"You have some challenges ahead, but I have a feeling that you'll meet them unflinchingly." Grey gave her an encouraging smile that melted her heart. "My guess is that you were ready for some challenges, and that's why you wanted to return to Philadelphia."

Natalya was touched by his insight. "I know that I want to write, and I want to be with my family in America again, but—"

"If you imagine that you can avoid men, Natalya, you are deluding yourself." Grey got to his feet and bent to rub the stiffness from his lean-muscled thighs. "Every man who sees you will yearn to have you."

She blushed deeply before his bold stare. "But, I'm so
old!"

Grey gave a bark of wicked laughter. "How can you call yourself a writer and be so inept at choosing words? I for one have no desire for thin, insipid girls just out of the schoolroom. My taste runs to
women.
Nay, my sweet, you are not old, but ripe and luscious. Never let anyone convince you otherwise."

* * *

For the next three days, Natalya felt flushed and restless. She was plagued by shocking, carnal thoughts that gave her no peace. Sometimes, while she was dozing on the
Rover'
s quarterdeck, her nipples would begin to tingle or she would experience a hot, congested feeling between her legs. Opening her eyes, she would sometimes discover Grey St. James staring at her, his eyes like molten silver. Other times, her body's physical responses were the result of her own imaginings, and this both alarmed and excited her. She began to dream of taking mad risks, of doing something that would be impossible once she arrived at her parents' house and Grey sailed back to England.