Page 12 of A Siren for the Duke

“Bloody hell,” Lionel cursed under his breath. “Matteo, take the wheel. I have to handle this,” he instructed his quartermaster and stalked angrily across the upper deck.

Jemima didn’t even seem to notice him until he grabbed her elbow, and when she whirled to face him, he was shocked by the frightened look in her eyes. Touching as it was, he was still angry, as he would now have to explain her presence to the crew.

“I told you not to leave the cabin,” he said through gritted teeth, then tugged her forcefully along with him.

Lionel was fuming. Jemima’s stubbornness had alerted the crew of her presence, sure, but more importantly, it now cast doubt on his character as a Captain. Even though this was his last sea voyage, perhaps forever, he wanted to remain on good terms with his crew, who had been nothing but faithful to him. Keeping a woman hidden aboard without telling them was a serious violation of trust, and he knew that unless he addressed it quickly, they would forever be suspicious of him. And he did not want to be marooned on some small island off the coast of Morocco.

As soon as they were back in his small cabin, Lionel slammed the door behind him and started in on her.

“What part of ‘stay inside and remain silent’ did you not understand?!” he shouted angrily. It was the Captain’s voice that he used when his crew did a sloppy job at something that could cost a life.

“I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

“You could have been hurt. The high seas are no place for a lady!” he scolded.

That seemed to reawaken her fiery spirit. No longer meek, she marched closer to him and looked up at him defiantly. It was a little stirring, honestly. Even though she’d been soaked through by the salty water, he could still catch a faint scent of the rosewater perfume she used. Still the same after two years. And… her gown was quite wet. The fabric clung to her slender form, leaving little to the imagination. He could not let down his guard, though. Just because a pretty woman was aboard the ship did not mean he could slack off. Perhaps that was where the bad luck legend came from…

“You cannot keep me locked up in here. And since when do you care? You’ve been gone for two years.”

Her upper lip was curled in a sneer, wild but beautiful… and suddenly he remembered why he’d fallen in love with her so long ago. His heart pounded in his chest, a tempestuous symphony that matched the storm outside. He could feel the weight of their argument lingering in the air, each word exchanged like cannon fire in the confines of his small cabin. He had not meant for things to escalate, but the emotions had overwhelmed him, and he had lashed out.

However, as he stood before Jemima, his eyes tracing the delicate lines of her face, all thoughts of their disagreement seemed to dissipate like the mist over the open sea. The sight of the wet clothes clinging to her body awakened a primal desire within him, stirring him to the depths of his soul. The very essence of her being seemed to beckon him, like a siren luring a lost sailor toward treacherous shores.

Lionel closed the small distance between them, his steps measured yet purposeful. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingertips grazing Jemima's cheek, tracing the trail of a raindrop down her porcelain skin. Her eyes, a comforting shade of hazel, widened in surprise, mirroring the storm swirling within Lionel's own being. He swallowed thickly, waiting for any sign from her that this was unwanted. She did not back down, so he brought his other hand to rest gently on Jemima's waist, his touch a gentle caress against her damp clothing. His grip tightened ever so slightly as he leaned closer, their breaths mingling in the confined space of the cabin.

“I am a different man, Jemima. I am not who you once knew,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back, swaying in the unsteadiness of the ship.

That was all it took.

Their mouths met in a searing kiss, a fusion of desperation and longing. Lionel's hands, once firm against her waist, explored the curves of her body, igniting a fire that blazed through his veins. Jemima's fingers tangled in his dark curls, pulling him closer. Lionel felt as if she could merge their souls into one in this manner.

Their desires burned, an inferno in the cramped cabin. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the intensity of their shared moment. The thunder outside crashed, echoing the passion that surged between them as rain continued to hammer against the porthole, as if nature itself could not contain the force of their burgeoning love.

Suddenly, she tore herself away. Jemima’s eyes flashed with something he did not recognize. Anger? Betrayal? Maybe lust? Her next action greatly surprised him. The sting of Jemima's hand meeting his cheek cut through the air, silencing the remnants of their desires. Lionel's head snapped to the side, his eyes widening in shock as the echo of her slap reverberated in the cabin.

"What...?" Lionel began, his voice tinged with disbelief, his hand instinctively reaching up to touch the reddened mark on his face.

Jemima's eyes blazed with anger, her chest heaving with a mixture of indignation and betrayal.

"How dare you!" she spat, her voice trembling with suppressed fury. “You left me for two years, and then you think because you can offer me protection aboard a ship, you’re entitled to me whenever you please?”

“I said no such thing!” he protested.

“Well, you certainly implied it!” she shouted.

He wanted to rage at her, to yell and scream and make her see his way, but he did not know who could be listening outside the door. As Captain, he still needed to maintain his manners.

“You’re disembarking at the next port. We have some cargo to offload in Morocco. We shall deposit you there on our way to the Caribbean and make arrangements for you to return to your family in England.”

“No! Please! My aunt is in Jamaica! Please take me with you, I had been planning to go to the Caribbean all along!”

“That is much further away. I’m sure we can find a schooner or a clipper heading to France or Spain. Your brother holds some land in Avignon, does he not?” Lionel asked smoothly, clasping his hands behind his back as he was prone to do when giving orders or discussing business.

“Perhaps,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent. Then I shall send word to him so he knows to come and collect you. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. This cabin is your home until we reach Morocco.”