Defiant: 5 (Noble Passions) Page 7

  And she’d ignored him.

  In the end, she’d taken him in hand again and he’d allowed it.

  Because honestly, they’d done that. It could not be undone. What could be the harm in allowing it one more time?

  Or twice?

  But they couldn’t do anything more, he resolved. Most especially not the tasting she kept whispering about. And lord, he wished she would stop whispering about it because when she whispered about it, it made him think about it. And when he thought about it, he weakened.

  As it was, they were heading for a dangerous precipice.

  So when she walked her fingers up his chest on the morning of the third day, he frowned at her. “You shouldn’t be draped over me like this.”

  Her smile was devastating. She nestled closer. “I like being draped over you.”

  His arms, unaccountably, tightened. He knew he should let her go—should probably push her away—but he was too comfortable like this. Her warmth soaked him like a summer rain. He traced her arm with a thumb. “You’re far too soft.”

  She frowned at him.

  “I mean far too tempting.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It could be.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. It was a little frightening, how easy that had become. Because once they returned home, it would be forbidden to him. The thought only made him hold her closer. “I’m only human, Sophia,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to get carried away.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  It would be a disaster. She had a prince, an earl and a nabob waiting for her back home. Much better men. Much worthier men. “I don’t want to ruin you.”

  She drew her fingers through her shorn locks. “I’m ruined already.”

  “It will grow back.” To his own ears, his tone seemed doubtful.

  “I’m not referring to my hair. I ran away, Ned. From London. From the season. There will be all manner of talk.”

  “Ewan and Edward will do something to protect your reputation. You know they will.” Doubtless they had already concocted some fiction, some emergency drawing her away from the glittering lights of the season. Languishing relatives did die on occasion.

  His reassurance did not banish her frown.

  “Darling,” he said. And even as the word slipped out, he knew he shouldn’t have said it. He could absolutely not say it again. Ever. “What’s wrong?”

  She peeped up at him. He winced to see tears welling in her eyes. “I just hadn’t thought about it until now.”

  He thumbed a salty drop away. “Thought about what?”

  “Ewan. How frightened he must be.”

  Ewan? Frightened? Not likely. “He will be very worried about you.”

  “Oh, not that.”

  “Then what?”

  “I should have realized. I should have thought it through.”

  “What, darling?”

  It killed him, the sight of her trembling lip. Fat tears welled and trickled down her cheeks. “When word gets out that I am ruined, he will be ostracized. And after all he’s done to become someone of stature.”

  “No one can take that from him.”

  She put out a lip. “Society is a fickle mistress.”

  Ned couldn’t help barking a laugh. “Do you think Ewan gives a fig about Lady Jersey and her cronies? Or anyone else for that matter? But it hardly signifies. Word won’t get out. If I know your brother—and I believe I do—not a whisper will be heard about all this. We’ll get you back home. You will reenter the season, find a husband and all will be well.”

  He had no idea why his reassurance only made her cry harder. He had no idea how to comfort her so he held her and nuzzled her hairline. He’d become accustomed to the short locks. He most certainly preferred her long, bouncing curls, but he found he no longer cared. She could be bald and he would still love her beyond sanity.

  And surely this was insanity.

  After a long while she sniffled and glanced up at him. “Ned?”

  “Yes, Sophia?”

  “What if we never get home?”

  “What? Of course we will.”

  “The ship is crippled. We’ve likely been blown far off course. What if we’re in the middle of the Atlantic and cannot find our way home?”

  “I’m certain Captain MacDougal and his men can get us safely back to England.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” He hoped. “Now close your eyes and get some rest.” Lord knew there hadn’t been much sleep last night. Last night the rolling had been particularly violent. When it seemed she might protest, he kissed each lid in encouragement.

  To his relief, she fell silent. He held her tight, against the wild pitch of the ship, and she fell asleep. After a while, he fell asleep as well. And he dreamed of her. Dreamed of having her and holding her in his arms forever.

  It was a lovely dream, made even lovelier by the sultry warmth curling in his veins as he reached for wakefulness. It wasn’t often a man awoke to such pleasure, but when he did, he was helpless in its clutches. Which was probably why he did not stop her. Could not.

  He might rot in hell for it, but he did not stop her.

  Because she was tasting him.

  Her mouth, a velvet sheath, enclosed him. Her tongue, questing and soft, dabbed at the tip of his cock and lapped. She made some noise; it rippled through him in hellish shivers.

  “Ah, Sophia.” His fingers tangled in her hair, tightened. She took him deeper. Warmth cascaded down his spine, trickling to his core. Heaven. Hell. He could lie here, allow this until eternity came knocking on his door. But then, he couldn’t. He would never last that long.

  She took hold of him, at the root of him, and added fiendish strokes to her stimulating suction. He threw back his head and let the pleasure wash over him. Mindless, delirious bliss swelled. A pressure built in his balls, need clawed at his gut, the urge to explode rose within him, but he held it back. He couldn’t, absolutely couldn’t release in her mouth. She was a lady. A future princess, perhaps. He could not debase her like this, even though from all appearances she was enjoying her work. He shouldn’t—

  Her fingers slipped lower, dancing over the hard nuts between his legs. A new urgency shot through him like lightning. And then, when she touched the tender spot a bit lower, when she dandled his pucker, he seized. His body constricted and despite his determination to wrench away at the very last minute, he was powerless to do so.

  Scalding delight swamped him as his crisis took him. She murmured something, a dark rumble, and the vibration shot him higher. He clutched her head and lost himself.

  She took him in. Every drop. And then lapped for more, sending quivers and quakes along every nerve.

  “God, Sophia!” he cried, yanking her up his body, folding her in a frenzied embrace. When he kissed her, he tasted himself on her lips. It maddened him, pleased him, scorched him.

  “Did you like that, Ned?” she asked with a smile.

  “Like it?” He kissed her again.

  “I told you I was curious about the taste—Ned! What are you doing?”

  She gaped as he pushed up the tails of the shirt, baring her mons. “Hush, Sophia.” He lowered his head.

  He’d been curious as well.

  Edging lower, he opened her with his thumbs and stared down at the most beautiful flower. She squealed when he lapped her, but as he continued, as he licked and nibbled and sucked, her thighs parted more and she began to sigh. And then moan. And then warble.

  He was careful not to enter her, though God he wanted to thrust a finger in. Or two. Or something else. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. That was one thing they would not explore. Though it nearly killed him, he would keep her pure.

  She deserved better than a man like him. Whether her future husband was an earl, a duke or fucking prince, he would not steal the choice from her.

  She tasted so sweet; her arousal flowed over his tongue like honey. And for all her innocence, she was the most passionate woman he�
��d ever known. In the end when she neared the precipice, her legs clamped around his head, her nails scored his scalp. She thrust up into his mouth. And when she came, shivering and shaking and dousing him with cream, she cried his name.

  A tremendous satisfaction welled in his chest as he eased back up to kiss her, to hold her again. He’d made her come. He’d shown her the glory of passion and the thrill of carnal knowledge.

  He should be ashamed. He should be repentant. Knowing her brother, he should be afraid. But he was not. He was proud. A little smug.

  Until he remembered—someday, someday soon, he was going to have to let her go.

  He did not know how he would survive it.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophia stared at Ned as he slept.

  What he had done… Oh, what he had done!

  When he’d brought her to completion the first time, with his fingers, she’d thought surely there could be no greater pleasure. She’d been wrong. The sight of his head between her thighs, the feel of his mouth working her most tender flesh, had been shocking, astounding, exquisite.

  Had she known how it could be between a man and a woman, she would never have waited so long.

  Although she was certain it would not be like this with any man. It would be like this with Ned and Ned alone.

  Other boys had kissed her and tried the snatch a surreptitious caress but none of them had had this effect on her. In fact, they’d left her cold. All Ned had to do was look at her with that certain glimmer and she melted for him.

  She was utterly besotted with him—she always had been—but now her feelings for him were even stronger than before. How could they not be? With their seclusion here in this little cabin, they’d come to know each other again and his cold façade had begun to crumble, stone by stone. For years she’d believed he did not like her, maybe hated her. But with this, their new exploration, she knew that to be untrue. He didn’t hate her in the slightest.

  She had no clue why he had pretended to but it hardly signified. He was not pretending now. Now she saw nothing but warmth in his eyes.

  It was adorable the way he resisted her advances and then always eventually succumbed. Frustration and hunger raked her as she thought of the one thing they had not done. She wanted him. All of him. She wanted to feel his weight on her. She wanted him to claim her as a man claimed a woman.

  She understood his reticence, though. He was a gentleman. She was a lady, or something like that. He’d told her numerous times he did not want to despoil her. La! How she longed to be despoiled. By him. It was not her aim to trap an honorable man in a marriage he did not desire. Simply to have him. To know.

  She laid her head on his shoulder and stared up at his face, then curled herself closer. Even in his sleep, his arms wrapped around her.

  Patience, she reminded herself. Patience.

  She’d seduced him into letting her please him with her hand and then with her mouth. And then he’d taken her…there. Surely she could seduce him into more. Everything. She just needed to be patient. And diligent in her attempts.

  * * * * *

  When he awoke, Ned noticed two things. First, the ship had stopped rolling. Second, he was alone on the bunk. A hint of panic scuttled through him. He lurched up and scanned the tiny chamber. Empty.

  Damn and blast.

  She was gone.

  Where the hell had she gone?

  And why did he feel so…alone?

  He threw off his covers and hunted for his boots, yanked them on and stormed through the hall, bounding up the steps two at a time, cursing under his breath. The sight that greeted him on the deck was a shock. The sunlight, beating down in a warm wash, blinded him. He shaded his eyes and scanned the ship for a glimpse of her.

  Sailors bustled in the riggings; several had been set to work repairing the sails. The foresail luffed in the wind but the sail on the aft mast and the mainsail were dropped. Others cleaned the debris from the wood planks and worked lengths of rope.

  But of Sophia, there was no sign.

  MacDougal saw him and hailed him over. He clapped him on the back. “How are you holding up, Wyeth?” he asked.

  “Well.” Ned nodded, surprised to realize he hadn’t cast up his accounts in days. Maybe he was finally getting his sea legs. “We seem to have survived the storm.”

  MacDougal frowned. “Barely.” He set his hands on his hips and looked up at the cracked mast. They were lucky this was not a single-masted schooner, else they would be stranded. “That storm was a right harpy. Blew us far to the north.”

  “Will we be able to return to England?”

  The captain’s jaw firmed. “I wouldn’t dare fail. The McCloud would skin me alive if I didn’t bring her back unharmed. Based on our current position, it would take several days, but with one sail down it could take longer if the wind is not with us.”

  Speaking of her… “Have you seen her?”

  “Aye. She’s a curious thing. I believe she’s in the storehouse feeding the chickens.”

  “There are chickens aboard?”

  MacDougal clapped him on the back. “What do you think you’ve eating, boy?”

  It did make sense if one thought about it. Ned just hadn’t thought about it. “Where, exactly, are these chickens?”

  The captain pointed the way and Ned hurried off to find her. It was silly, this thread of anxiety skirling in his gut. She was on the ship. She was safe. She was feeding the chickens.

  They weren’t dragons, for heaven sake.

  But still, his heart did not calm until he saw her. Then it swelled.

  She was bent over, sprinkling dried corn and grain into pens holding a flock of clucking creatures, and cooing to them.

  Bent over and cooing.

  He banished a wayward urge.

  “There you are,” he said, annoyed at the tremor of relief in his tone.

  She straightened and sent him a dazzling smile. “Oh Ned. Isn’t it a beautiful day? The storm is over. The sun is shining and the sky is so lovely.”

  “Where did you go?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I had to get out of that box. And I didn’t want to wake you—”

  “You should have woken me.”

  “The air is so crisp and clear, isn’t it?”

  “You shouldn’t have left.”

  “I stood on the bow and watched the water for, oh, hours it seems. So soothing. And then I went to visit cook in the kitchens.” She chortled. “A bit of a mess in there. Wouldn’t have wanted to be in that room during the storm. Knives everywhere.”

  “You—”

  “And then I sat down with Tandy—”

  “Tandy?”

  “One of the sailors, Ned.” She leaned closer and whispered, “He has one eye but he’s very nice. He taught me how to tie a knot. Although I can’t remember what it was called. But it was definitely a knot.”

  “I’m sure it was.” He shook his head, trying to hold back a smile. This was the Sophia he knew, enchanted, fascinated with every aspect of life. Something as simple as learning a knot was an adventure for her. He would envy her enthusiasm if it did not plague him so.

  “And then I came here. To feed these poor souls because everyone else has been too busy.”

  “They’re chickens.”

  She eyed him. “I’m certain they have souls.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to think about it.” He wanted to eat chickens, not ponder the nature of their being.

  “I’m certain they do.”

  “Sophia—”

  She frowned him silent. “You must call me Andrew,” she reminded him.

  “Andrew.” How odd that was, calling her by a boy’s name when she was so blatantly female. And how odd that everyone else seemed oblivious to the truth. “We should return to our room.” Surely the urge did not stem from his desire to call her Sophia again.

  She gaped at him. “But we’ve only just escaped.”

  He tried not to find it lo
wering, her estimation that their recent activities were something one needed to escape. He failed.

  “And there’s so much to be done.” She clucked her tongue and waggled a finger at him. “You should offer to help.”

  He had. Hell, he had. He’d been refused. “I’m of no use.”

  “Nonsense.” She took him by the arm and dragged him back up on deck and introduced him to the one-eyed Tandy. He spent the next few hours sitting beside her on the sun-splashed deck, repairing nets and rigging ropes, bracing against the bite of the wind and the occasional spray from an unruly wave. And he loved it.

  Maybe he wasn’t utterly useless after all.

  He didn’t fancy being a sailor but there was probably something productive he could do in life.

  Percy joined them after a while and they chatted as they worked. The others came out too, Wrotham skulking about as though the sun might cook him, followed by Billingsly and his wife, who took a turn on the deck. Lady Prudence twirled her parasol as she strolled, as though she were on promenade in Brighton. She didn’t look their way though. It was probably beneath her lofty station to notice men working.

  Tandy was just explaining the use of the belaying pin—a nasty-looking club—when a cry floated down from the riggings. The sailors all leaped to attention and rushed to the rail, peering out to the west, so naturally Ned and Sophia followed.

  Ned saw nothing, nothing but endless ocean. But after a bit, a tiny speck appeared on the horizon. MacDougal came up next to him at the rail.

  “What is it?” Ned asked.

  The captain sucked on his teeth. “A ship.”

  “Lovely,” Prudence chirruped. “We’re saved.”

  Ned did not miss MacDougal’s frown. On the face of it, it would seem the captain was displeased at her lack of faith in his abilities. Ned knew this was not so. MacDougal pulled out his glass and studied the approaching ship. His frown deepened.

  “She’s flying British colors but something doesn’t feel right,” he muttered.

  “Feel right?” Lady Billingsly sniffed. “Feel right? It’s a ship. With all its sails. Doubtless that captain can be persuaded to take us to Italy.”

  “She’s riding too high to be a merchantman. And in these waters…” He shook his head. “I don’t like the cut of her jib. You’d better go below.”