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“But you said—”
“I know what I said.”
“That is impossible.” Alex’s hold on her temper snapped. “If you think I would share a room with you, then you are sadly mistaken.”
“Am I? Then suppose you tell me just where you are going to sleep
. There is not one empty cabin on this ship.” Triumph gleamed in his eyes.
“But I can’t … I never—”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, and I doubt you’ve ‘never.’ But fear not. I have no intention of sharing my bed with you.”
“But you said—”
“I said that these are your … our quarters. I will arrange for a cot to be brought in here for you.”
“Surely the cot could be placed elsewhere?” she tried in a small voice.
“Certainly. Which crewman would you like to sleep with?” Drake inquired smoothly.
Alex shuddered.
“Exactly,” Drake replied. “So, if there is no further discussion, change your clothes.”
Alex looked at the breeches and shirt she now held in her hands. “Turn your back,” she demanded.
Drake grinned, leaning against the wall. “I see that you insist on continuing this virginal pretense with me. Princess, I know what your world is like and how little importance is placed on virginity—except by vehement fathers and ignorant bridegrooms, that is.”
Alex stared at him for one last moment and realized that she would never win. Slowly she reached behind her for the buttons of her gown, opening them all the way down the back. With shaking hands, she pulled her arms out of the sleeves until the dusty gown dropped to the floor. The petticoat followed shortly thereafter. In her lacy chemise and pantalets, she stared at the floor, praying for courage.
Drake watched her disrobe, his reaction mixed. On the one hand he felt the need to break her, to force her to admit to what she was. He had learned very young, and firsthand, just how hypocritical most noblewomen actually were, beginning with the deceitful bitch who had borne him. And this one could be no different.
On the other hand she looked so very fragile, trembling as she undressed, that he almost believed she was just what she seemed to be—innocent, untouched, and terribly frightened.
In short he felt like a bastard.
Now, as she stood before him, head bowed, so very vulnerable, a third reaction set in. Desire. It exploded through his loins like wildfire, igniting everything in its path. So intense and sudden was this physical craving that it took every ounce of self-control for Drake to remain where he stood and not go to her.
But he found that control.
Cursing himself and the whole situation, he spun around and strode to the door. “I’m needed on deck.”
He slammed the door behind him, leaving a shocked and dazed Alexandria standing in the middle of the cabin.
Chapter 4
“THESE BLASTED SLEEVES ARE endless!” Alex swore under her breath. Impatiently she cuffed them for the fifth time, at last revealing her hands and wrists. Fortified by her excellent meal, she was itching to explore the ship. But her borrowed clothing, it seemed, had other ideas. Putting on the damned shirt had taken forever, and she had yet to attack the problem of the breeches.
At that thought she glared over at the crumpled garment in question. The breeches lay in a disheveled heap on the floor, where she had thrown them moments ago in a fit of rage. Never again would she complain about the layers of feminine attire that Lucy assisted her with each day! They had never given her as much trouble as these simple men’s clothes had.
Well, her initial optimism had been squelched, but grim determination remained in its stead. Alex strode across the room and lifted Thomas’s breeches from the cabin floor. Come hell or high water, these were going on … now. With one purposeful tug the breeches were up. And just as quickly they were down, landing in a black pool on the floor.
So much for the pleasures of a tiny waist. Alex frowned, considering her options. At last a solution occurred to her. With lightning speed she pulled the pins and ribbons out of her once carefully curled hair, which badly needed to be combed out anyway. Then she tied the ribbons together into a crude but serviceable belt.
Now for the breeches. Holding them up to her waist, she looped the makeshift belt around and bound it securely in front. Then with a disgusted sigh she leaned over and rolled the bottoms up again and again until she could walk without tripping.
Boots would be an impossibility, she decided. No man, no matter how young, would have such diminutive feet. Shrugging, Alex slid her bare feet back into her slippers. If she followed form she would be barefoot shortly anyway. She always was when she sailed. It was one of the freedoms she allowed herself when she was alone on her beloved skiff, unchaperoned and unhindered by convention.
