This was the worst news possible! Drat Cicely’s single-mindedness. Eugénie would have to find some way out of this. Mr. Munford could never discover who she was. “I thought I’d remain in my rooms if he calls. As to the party”—she rubbed her temples—“I’ll tell Maman I have a sick headache and remain home.”
They stepped into Cicely’s bedchamber and she started unlacing Eugenie’s gown. “That won’t work. You never have a headache.”
“At this rate I shall have an enormous one.”
“I’ll just have to remain next to you.” Cicely started on Eugénie’s stays. “Don’t worry. I won’t give him an opportunity to take any more liberties.”
“Do you not think that once he knows who I am, he will leave me alone?”
“I think it may be worse. He could see you as a way to increase his status in life. In any event, we cannot take the chance. Some men like to ruin women.”
Eugénie glanced over her shoulder. “How would you know anything like that?”
Cicely smiled smugly. “Papa told me. Which is the reason I am always careful when I flirt.”
“I should have slapped him or stabbed him with my dagger, anything to prevent him from touching me.” Of course, to do that Eugénie would have had to have been in her right mind, which she obviously had not been. How could she have allowed him to caress her as he did? Her face burned with shame.
“You cannot blame yourself. It would have been difficult to do anything to stop him,” Cicely said as she finished unlacing Eugénie’s stays and Eugénie started on Cicely’s gown. “Remember that bunch of drunken oafs was passing by. To have drawn their notice would have been worse.”
That was a valid point. In point of fact, she had been trapped, and Munford took advantage of the situation. How had he got the idea that Eugénie would enjoy being kissed? Had she given him a signal she didn’t know about? Oh, why hadn’t she paid more attention when Mrs. Whitecliff had explained all of those kinds of things? “I still do not understand how it happened. Or why.”
“You are very beautiful. What man wouldn’t want to kiss you?” Cicely paused. “Was it wonderful?”
“That’s the worse part.” A small sigh escaped Eugénie as she remembered the feel of his firm lips on hers. “Once he started, I didn’twanthim to stop.”
“Oh dear, if only he were the right gentleman for you. Come to think of it, if hewasa gentleman he’d marry you after taking such advantage.” Cicely sighed as well. “I do so hope Mr. Grayson wants to kiss me.” She paused, wrinkling her forehead. “Though not until he’s declared himself.”
Eugénie finished unlacing her friend’s stays. “You barely know him. Are you sure you wish to marry him?”
“Absolutely. He is just what I’ve been looking for.” Cicely smiled saucily and donned her nightgown. “He said I had an insightful mind. Papa always says I should marry someone who likes my mind. That way he won’t become bored with me.”
“Why then do you spend so much time with your appearance?”
“Mama said I need to attract the right type of gentleman.” She gave Eugénie a considering look. “Perhaps that was the problem this evening. You’ve allowed yourself to become so brown, you could be taken for someone of mixed blood. Our cook has a cream you can use to lighten your skin again, andthat gown”—she kicked the offending garment—“shall be burned tomorrow.”
Eugénie donned her nightgown and climbed into the bed. It was a bitter truth to swallow, but her mother had been right. She needed to look and act like a lady, or she’d come to a bad end. Particularly when she liked being kissed so much. If only Mr. Munford were a gentleman, and one who wanted to wed. Why couldn’t she have met the man she wished to marry, as her friend had? Someone who would help her look after her family and keep them safe from predators such as Mr. Howden.
She lay awake for a long time after Cicely’s soft breathing took on a regular pattern, reliving Mr. Munford’s caresses. The way he’d cupped her breast, the warm slide of his tongue against hers. The way his hand held her derrière. A warm throbbing began between her legs. What did it all mean? Eugénie turned her pillow and punched it.
Maudit!How was she supposed to stay away from him when all she wanted was to kiss him again?
Nathan Wivenly lay in the large bed, staring up at the high, beamed ceiling of his elegant prison. He didn’t even know how long he’d been there. For weeks after his capture, he’d been delirious from the bash his head had taken from one of the ship’s booms. He still didn’t know where he was being held, who had him, or why. Only that they were French and the leader was upset at Nathan’s injuries and subsequent condition.
If his captors applied to Watford, Nathan supposed he’d be worth something in ransom. Yet whoever held him might deduce that his nephew would have the British navy after the pirates when it came time to collect.
Best thing he could do for everyone was to find a way to escape. He studied the room for the hundredth time since he’d woken The only open windows large enough to crawl out lined the top of the outside wall, a good twelve feet up. All the shutters of the lower ones were fastened shut from the outside. He’d briefly considered trying to kick them out, but that would bring the whole house down on him, even if he had the strength to break the thick wooden planks. Though he’d been regaining his health, he was still not back to normal.
The door had a regular lock, but he was no longer in possession of his dagger, or any other implement, to pick the damned thing open. All he could do was to continue to act as if he had not recovered. If his captors believed Nathan was still weaker than he was, he might be able to overpower one of the servants.
The door opened and a small, pretty, light-skinned mulattress, who’d never come before, entered the chamber followed by the largest Negro male he’d ever seen. Now was the time to start getting answers. “Who is yourpatron?”
“You are Nathan Wivenly from St. Thomas?” the woman asked in perfect English.
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s right.”
She smiled up at the man. “He will help.”
What the hell was she talking about? “In case it’s missed your notice,” he said in his driest tone, “I’m being held prisoner, thus any aid I might be disposed to give you is rendered moot.”
