Page 21 of Much Ado about a Widow

“My lady!” Clara looked scandalized. “Don’t borrow trouble. We’re in a tight enough fix as it is.”

Without warning, the ship bobbed violently. Caught off guard, Georgie stumbled backward into the bed behind her. The back of her knees caught the edge of the bunk, and she sat down hard. She grabbed the railing that ran around the bunk, pulling herself upright. Excellent idea to have something to help keep a sleeping person in bed if the ship took a notion to pitch like this. And the person most likely occupying this bed every night was . . .

A flurry of heat shot through her, as if she’d suddenly stepped into the blazing sun of a summer’s day. Not that merely sitting on a gentleman’s bed was improper, especially if he wasn’t present. Or maybe it was improper. She certainly felt wicked all of a sudden. Shuddering, she leaped to her feet. “Something is happening.” More than she cared to admit, too. She hurried to the porthole and gasped.

The sandy beaches of Portsmouth were speeding by her, as though the ship had put up its sails and . . . “Drat the man!” Oh, but she longed to be able to curse him properly. “He’s set sail with us.”

“He does seem to have given us no options.” Clara sniffed, her eyes beginning to moisten. “And all our belongings back in the carriage.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I shudder to think what your gown will look like when he introduces you to his mother.”

“That is the very least of my worries now, Clara. Although, as you are my lady’s maid, I suppose it is only right that it be your first concern.” She patted the maid’s shoulder. “We will devise a way to make him pay for this affront as well.”

A key grated in the lock. Lulu growled and stalked toward it, the fur on her back rising straight up.

“Not yet, Lulu.” Georgie gathered the leash. “Don’t bite him quite yet.”

Her dog stopped advancing on the door; however, the growling did not abate. Better be safe. She gathered Lulu into her arms. “I’ll give you the signal.”

The cabin door swung open, revealing Lord St. Just, an impossibly broad grin on his face. “Wait until I tell you what my men and I just did.”

“You don’t have to tell me, my lord. I already know.” Georgie glared at him and held Lulu tighter. The little animal was shaking, and Georgie was sure if she loosened her grip Lulu would launch herself at the unwary marquess. Serve him right too.

“You do?” He frowned and cocked his head, which made him look like a puzzled puppy. Lulu looked just like that whenever she was unhappy. But what did he have to be unhappy about? He was the one who had kidnapped her.

“You have set sail, my lord, with me and my maid aboard against our wills. Many sensible people call that kidnapping.” She’d always known this man was a pirate. In fact, she’d told her brother so. She handed Lulu to Clara before the dog could leap out of her arms and tear at his lordship’s throat. If anyone was going to attack the marquess, it would be Georgie herself. Plant him a facer and see how he liked being set upon.

“Oh.” The impossible man was all smiles again. “Yes, we had to put out or miss the evening tide.” His grin had returned, showing many straight, white teeth. “But we did manage to steal your trunks, Lady Georgina. If you will consider yourself abducted again, at least rejoice in the fact that you will have clean linen throughout the ordeal.”

Georgie blinked. What an unusually thoughtful gesture from Lord St. Just. The man deserved credit for that at least. And since they had already set sail, there was likely no going back. She’d have to make the best of a bad bargain and pray that it all came to rights eventually. If Folger and the other servants were still alive, and she certainly hoped they were, they would likely inform her father of her abduction as soon as they could reach Blackham Castle. Of course, they would have no idea where she’d been taken so he certainly would wonder where she was. She’d have to worry about that later. “Thank you, my lord. That was very . . . thoughtful of you.”

St. Just’s smile threatened to crack his face in two. “My utmost pleasure, my lady.” He stepped aside, allowing her to precede him into the passageway. “My mate has taken both trunks to your cabin. Well, it will be your cabin as soon as Ayers finishes removing my belongings from it. I usually use it as an office, and it has become quite cluttered. He is now elevating it to the status of stateroom fit for a lady.”

St. Just’s grin was intolerably infectious, especially when he was being maddeningly charming—as he was now. She supposed this charming, boyish demeanor and desire to help others, no matter how misguided, was what had endeared him to her brother. In her experience, Jemmy was seldom if ever wrong about people. Of course, there was a first time for everything.

“Thank you. That is very kind.” She managed to clip the words without biting her tongue. “This way?” She inclined her head toward the darker recesses of the passageway. Silly goose, of course they wouldn’t go back toward deck. What had come over her?

“Yes, just there, on the opposite side from my cabin.” His gray eyes bright, he indicated for her to go ahead of him through the cramped space.

Something in his voice—she had no idea what—made her stomach drop. True, that could be attributed to the swaying of the vessel, although it was not nearly as rough as she had believed it would be. She’d never been on a ship before, so she didn’t know what it was supposed to feel like. Still, she must keep her mind on her task, which was . . . What was it she was attempting to do?

Despite the cold weather outdoors, here, inside, was quite warm, making her head all a muddle. As she was no longer actively trying to escape, Georgie didn’t quite know what her purpose should be now. The present goal, she supposed, was to settle into her cabin and devise a letter to be posted to her father as soon as they reached Cornwall, explaining everything and asking his forgiveness for being kidnapped in the first place. Although how he could blame her for what had happened she certainly didn’t know. Still, she didn’t doubt he would. At least it would give her something to do. Doing anything was always better than simply staring at the walls, waiting for something to happen.

With a nod, though she now couldn’t fathom what she was agreeing to, Georgie stepped cautiously toward the door he’d indicated, indeed identical to his. “Thank you, my—”

Without warning, the ship pitched violently to the left.

Georgie shrieked, flailing out for some sort of purchase. She’d have fetched up hard against the wall had it not been for St. Just, snaking his arms around her just in time.

“Steady, my lady.” Effortlessly, he engulfed her in an embrace that was strong, and safe, and warm. Her back lay fully against an iron-hard chest, her head cupped in the cradle of his shoulder.

She’d not actually realized how tall he was nor how solid his arms and chest were. For the briefest of moments she relaxed against him, indulged in allowing herself to imagine he was Isaac, with his strong arms holding her, making her feel safe and loved once more. Oh, but she had sorely missed that close, intimate contact this past year, no, almost two years now. How she missed him still.

She shook her head—she refused to go down that path of misery again. Isaac would never come back to her, would never hold her again, never kiss her. The sweet memory of his love she would keep forever, but nothing else. Sadly, the only arms allowed to embrace her now were those of Lord Travers.

Frightful thought. For the briefest moment she clung closer to Lord St. Just, as if he could shield her from her fate, but that was silly. She had willingly agreed to marry Lord Travers in exchange for her father’s good will. A steep price to be sure; still she was prepared to pay it. If only Travers were not quite so abhorrent. If only St. Just were not so devilishly good-looking . . .

With a gasp, she pulled away from Lord St. Just. She could not allow herself to dally with his lordship on board this ship or any place else. And certainly not right outside her bedchamber. Retreating until her back bumped into the door, she held out a hand as if she were fending off the gentleman. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I do apologize. The Channel is quite choppy this time of year.” He still held onto her arm, and she was actually glad of it. She was so muddled by the bobbing and twisting ship—and by his touch on her arm—she had not paused to consider just how uncomfortable this journey that she did not want to take was actually going to be. Or how she might tolerate the voyage at all. Some people, she had been told, managed quite well, with few ill effects. Others, however, struggled with devastating sickness. Hopefully, she would be the former type of passenger.