Sea Scoundrel (22 page)

“Wel , the Marquess of Andover said—”

Patience perked up. “The Marquess?”

“Dammit, Patience, don’t be a fool. The idiot was not the Marquess. He said he was, because that’s al Angel talked about. He thought to satisfy her then take advantage of her.” He turned to Angel. “You don’t know what a ladybird is.” Angel sniffed. “I thought I did.”

“Does anyone know?” He looked from one to the other. “A lightskirt?” He thought they’d know that one. He was wrong.

“A mistress?” Surely they—

“What
is
a ladybird, Captain?” Angel dared ask.

Grant stopped for a moment, feeling the need to cal forth some form of dignity, though uncertain of how to convey it.

Looking at their expectant expressions, he knew he was drowning, sucking more water for air than a whale. That a pack of schoolgirls should fluster him so, but he wouldn’t let them.

He straightened. “When a man has a ladybird, she performs certain, ah, tasks.” He sat and steepled his fingers. “That is to say, she usual y—” He cleared his throat, sat forward. “Most unmarried men have ladybirds, however, some married men also enjoy....”

Grant coughed and stood, again, then he sipped his brandy, faced them, shook his head, and began to pace again. “You see men have certain needs. Wel , as to that, so do women.” His arms went up in defeat. “Patience! Tel them what a ladybird is.”

Leaning on the mantle to regain his scattered wits, Grant waited for Patience to enlighten her girls without shocking them. His men would lambaste him over this, if they ever heard of it.

Patience took a deep breath. “A lightskirt is ... a woman who ...” She looked at him with regret. “Grant, I don’t know, either. I asked Aunt Harriette, once, and she made me memorize the Book of Proverbs.” She wagged her finger at the girls. “But it is a very bad thing.” Grant rubbed the back of his neck and checked his pocket watch, relief fil ing him. Three in the morning. No wonder they were al exhausted. “Go to bed, girls. We’l speak about this again tomorrow.”

The girls sighed in unison.

Patience stood beside him, as if declaring them al ies.

Then her hand crept into his pocket and he knew her motive. He sidled close to make it easy and decided not to mention her pink face.

It was some time before goodnights were said and they were final y alone. “I have ruined their chances,” Patience wailed. “I have taken their parents’ money under false pretenses. And, oh, Grant, I spent some of it. How wil I ever repay them? Worse, how can I repair the damage I’ve done my poor girls?”

“Poor girls?” He laughed. “I made it sound worse than it was. Don’t worry anymore tonight. We’l find a way to repair the damage. I promise.” How, he did not know, but for Patience, he guessed he would try anything.

She accepted his word with a sigh of relief and pul ed the bosom insert from beneath her shawl. “And where did you find this dratted thing? I suppose I should be glad it wasn’t on the bal room floor.
That
would have added dignity to the evening.”

Grant laughed. “Patience, with you, nothing seems to be as dark as I imagined. Thank you for that.” He stepped back.

“It’s late and you’re sleepy. You should go to bed.”

“Not yet. Do you have to go, or can you stay a while?” That she wanted him to stay pleased Grant. He kissed her ear. “I’ve a need, Patience, to find us a bed, and to finish what we started in the carriage, then to hold you in my arms and ride the wave of satisfaction together.” She smiled, trust and something more, in her eyes.

Consent though it be, her faith was nearly enough to change his mind. Nearly. He locked the study door and led her by the hand to the oversized settee. He eased her to her side leaving space for him. When she opened her arms, his heart swel ed.

“I’ve thought about this a long time,” he said, as he lay facing her. “I want to hold you because we need to be together like this, both of us.”

Patience sighed. “I’m glad you want this as much as I do.” Grant almost told her, just then, how terrified he was of the way she made him feel. He knew he could talk with her about anything, because they were friends. They real y were. But he dare not give voice to his fears. Especial y now.

He ached, literal y, to awaken Patience’s slumbering passion. Confident that these
lessons
he taught his enthral ing pupil would not lead to marriage—which neither of them wanted—he kissed her lightly, smiling into her emerald eyes. Mesmerizing eyes. “You’re a sorceress,” he said. “You weave your magic and I submit wil ingly to your enchantment.”

She laughed, and the melody of it soothed him. He began a kneading motion with his fingers, massaging across her shoulders, down her back, to the base of her spine

“Mmm,” Patience purred. “I’m sailing on a warm breeze.” He continued to stroke along her spine, and without his noticing, she’d opened his shirt. She slid her hand inside to slowly stroke, from his neck to his waist, then back. Lord, if she didn’t stroke lower. He caught his breath each time her fingers came near, then stopped.

Final y she scanned his face, almost as if she was looking for a signal she should continue.

for a signal she should continue.

“Tel me what you want, love,” he whispered. “Let me hear you say it.”

“I want you to kiss me.”

“What do you feel when my lips meet yours?”

“Silk, warm, then cool, in turns. Your kisses make me feel like I’ve stepped into a lake, refreshed, tingling.” Grant fitted his mouth to the invitation of hers, slanting first this way, then that. He ran his tongue across her lips and when he could wait no more, into the warmth inside. She tasted of honey and wildflowers and responded like the brightest of pupils. He stopped to catch his breath. “When you step into that lake,” he asked. “Have you no fear of drowning?”

“‘T’would be a sweet way to go.” Patience could not get enough of Grant’s kisses and the intensity of her need did frighten her, though she was loath to admit it for fear he would stop.

When her strokes reached Grant’s waist, and she felt him shudder, she dared slide her hand inside the band of his trousers.

He grasped that hand, stopped it. “God’s truth, Patience. If you continue, I won’t be held responsible.” Embarrassment fil ed her and she pul ed away. “I’m sorry.” He released a long, slow breath. “It’s not that I don’t want your touch—I do, badly—but I crave it too much ... for my sanity and your wel -being. “I want tonight to be for you, Patience, not me.” He cupped her face and kissed her again. Pul ing her so satisfyingly close, Patience thought she might take to bleeding if they separated. She closed her eyes, wanting more, fearing it. Aching for his mouth on her breast again, she unbuttoned her gown.

Grant’s eyes smoldered at her blatant invitation. When he helped her with her buttons and lowered her dress to her waist, she knew he wouldn’t stop this time.

Almost reverently, he accepted her offering. Pleasure purled through her as he closed his mouth over her, more than satisfied at her size, no bosom inserts necessary.

When, at the same time, he slid his hand up the inside of her leg, Patience held her breath, expel ing it only when he found her center. She arched against his hand, but froze in shock when he sought her core. “Grant!”

“Let me, Patience.” He nipped her lips. “Let me touch you like this, please.” As if he understood how much she wanted it, he stroked her, and a sweet spiral of pleasure lifted her higher than she’d ever been, before, almost outside herself.

“There’s so much to teach you,” he whispered. “So much you don’t understand. I know I don’t have the right to bring you the fulfil ment of marriage, but this, love, let me give you this.”

Grant’s heart trebled its pace at her nod. Such a look he saw in her eyes, of trust, of longing, and of something he dare not question. Never had he wanted to pleasure a woman so badly, to bring her release.

Cal ing up every bit of experience, Grant played Patience like a fine instrument, bringing her slowly to the brink, then letting her glide toward rest, before raising her up again. He trailed kisses from her lips to her breasts, stopping to suckle, drawing sweet cries that fed his sense of power and mastery. He took pride in her expressions which moved from shock, to wonder, to rapture.

She trusted him enough to relax and al ow him to cast his own spel , opening herself like a bud come to flower. When she soared mindlessly, up and over the precipice, he rejoiced in her ecstasy.

Cal ing his name, Patience sought his lips in a frenzy of need, and Grant drank the sounds of her fulfil ment like a man parched. He sustained her climax until he feared she might faint then he lowered her slowly back to earth assuring her of his arms around her as she calmed.

He pressed his lips to the beads of moisture on her forehead, touched her parted lips with his, and covered her legs with her skirt. Then he brought her against him in a gentle, sheltering caress. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he whispered, and she did.

Grant chuckled as he throbbed ruthlessly against her. And as the clock on the mantle marked the night’s passing, a startling revelation came to him. For the first time in his life, his need to take had been surpassed by his need to give.

Watching the wonder of newfound passion wash over Patience, seeing her turn to him with desire, had been, perhaps, one of the greatest experiences in his life. Grant shifted in discomfort and tucked that knowledge where it could
not
be examined further. And with dread, his need became nothing more than a dul reminder. Settling his vixen more neatly against him, he sighed.

Fast upon its wings, came her sigh, bringing him a joy so pure, Grant did not believe he had ever known this serenity.

Savoring, he al owed himself to drift into sleep.

* * *

When dawn broke outside the window and teased Grant’s lids with gentle fingers of light, he covered Patience with her cape and carried her to her room. Slipping her gown the rest of the way down her hips, he pul ed her chemise up to cover her, and settled her in her big bed without waking her.

A sharp, biting regret that he could not climb in beside her, take her into his arms, and lose himself in peaceful oblivion

—tonight, every night—chased Grant down the stairs like doom nipping his heels. And as he opened the front door, he vehemently denied the shifting of a deep-rooted principle within him, a tenet subtle, yet grave, but impossible to define.

Strangely, he was as glad he could not define it as he was that the shift had come.

Did the hope of new beginnings beckon?

Or was he set on a col ision course that could ruin him?

Despite the afternoon sun tracing the window, the scent of kidney and eggs, a morning’s feast, permeated the dining room.

Acute awareness of her uninhibited passion in Grant’s arms last night disconcerted Patience and stole her appetite. Not so, the snarly captain eating a robust breakfast across from her. “I am going to stay and make sure you succeed in your goal, Patience,” he said. “Cal it blatant foolishness on my part, but I feel a certain responsibility to see you settled in that cottage with a rose garden and a white kitten. Hel , I’l even help you find your old nurse. I won’t rest ‘til it’s done.” Her old urge to throw something at his head intensified.

He waved his fork in the air. “Free to sail the seas for the rest of my life, I wil be happy in the knowledge that four self-indulgent noblemen have found vexatious wives to deliver the misery they deserve.”

Patience tossed her napkin at his head. “Grant St.

Benedict, you are a pompous ass, and I don’t need your blasted help!”

“You know, you
still
have the vocabulary of a guttersnipe.” She retrieved her napkin from the floor, silently acknowledging the truth in his statement. She had acted the child just now, yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. So many emotions assailed her this morning, every word and action, his and hers, seemed either tilted or topsy-turvy. “I suppose you expect me to thank you for this tremendous sacrifice?”

“Seeing the five of you settled wil be thanks enough, I assure you.” He refil ed his plate then proceeded to eat in a manner that brought Horatio to mind.

They had been at daggers drawn since late morning when he returned. She was terribly self-conscious over what happened last night, but he acted as if nothing of significance had. And why should she be surprised by that?

He’d experienced not so much as a thimbleful of emotion the entire time she’d known him.

She wished she could be so unfeeling.

When she woke this morning, the memory played in her mind with such detail, she nearly burned to cinders.

Previous to this, any such indulging with Grant, she’d considered harmless. But now....

She did, however, experience a perverse satisfaction in the knowledge that the indiscretion would give Aunt Harriette apoplexy, if she knew of it. Warranted, of course.

She expected she’d go to hel now, quite possibly a price worth paying. She sipped her tea regarding the snarly man-beast with narrowed eyes. Curse her, if he wasn’t beast with narrowed eyes. Curse her, if he wasn’t handsome, whoever he was.

Last night he’d been Grant; this morning, the Captain.

Grant had caused her downfal —wel , helped with it, at any rate—so she was perhaps safer with the Captain.

“I always thought you too young to take on husband-hunting,” he said. “Now you’ve proved it. Society would as soon accept me as a chaperone for the girls before they’d accept you, after last night.”

She raised a brow. “Last night?”

He had the grace to flush. “The bal ,” he said.

“Oh. And you think they’l accept a sea captain who attends affairs to which he has not been invited? You feel
you
wil lend propriety to this situation? A man who seduces—”

“Patience, stop it!”

She’d shocked him. Good.

“The girls,” he whispered.

“I was as innocent as they when I boarded your ship.”

“Lady Patience, none of us is as innocent as we were when you boarded.”

Pensive, she rose with a cup of tea and strode to the window. “Even I know it’s impossible for you to chaperone the girls. I need a better idea. A much better one.”