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She watched him take the gangplank onto the ship, and without hesitation jumped down from her vehicle, calling to Gunther that she would be right back. She dashed across the avenue, running headlong into a sailor in her mad rush.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” The young sailor steadied her and then immediately, shyly, dropped his hands.
“Sailor … please, just a moment,” Sassy said breathlessly. “That man, the one with the turban and robe?”
“Whot? You mean Abdul?” the sailor asked in surprise.
“Yes, I suppose that I do mean Abdul. Does he sail with your ship?”
“Aye, he does. Queer one though—better give him a wide berth, Miss,” answered the young sailor.
“Your meaning?” She gave him a winning smile.
He was not immune to her charms as he stuttered, “Ye be the prettiest thing oi ’ave ever clapped eyes on, and that one, well, has a hard way with the ladies. Oi’ve seen him, er, rough, oi ’ave.” He clucked his tongue. “Acts loike he be a bloomin’ king, and he be naught but a servant. His master be a sheik, though.”
“Thank you,” Sassy said and turned to cross back to the carriage.
Gunther stood looking at her with great disapproval. “Miss, if you don’t mind my saying so, you shouldn’t be hobnobbing with the likes of that sort.”
“Don’t worry, Gunther. Now I suppose we must hurry back to school for the afternoon lessons.”
* * *
The marquis, his beaver top hat tilted low on his head, his cane swinging from his gloved hand, had witnessed Miss Winthrop’s mad run across the avenue and her subsequent conversation with the young sailor.
He was both astonished and irritated. What was wrong with her, chatting up that young sailor? The lad had not been able to take his eyes off her. Damn, didn’t she know what effect she had on men?
After moving to a better position behind a stack of large wooden crates, he was able to hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Something about the man with the turban. Why the deuce was she interested in that blackguard, and why was she involving herself in things better left to men?
In spite of himself, he felt a welling of pride. She was indomitable. She was courageous. She was … she was his! Bloody hell, but it came down to that. Sassy Winthrop was his, and he meant to claim her soon.
He frowned darkly as he moved away from the large crates he had used as cover and made his way onto the ship where he had an appointment with the captain.
* * *
The clatter of thunder was shattering as lightning sliced through the dark sky, and many of her young students huddled together in fright.
Sassy put away the lessons and suggested they all take a break and enjoy some hot chocolate. She steered them, laughing and less nervous, towards the kitchen, where she sat them at the large utility table, pulling chairs around from the nearby dining area.
Molly’s mother smiled and did not seem put out at all as Sassy helped her prepare the sweet drink and encouraged the girls to chat and forget their fears.
Watching them sip their brew and lean into one another to laugh and chat, Cook nudged Sassy’s shoulder and said, “You be the best thing ever happened to this school … but stay out of the headmistress’s way if ye can. She means ye ill. Gunther heard her talking with one of the lads that helps him in the stables, and he didn’t like the sound of it.”
“Thank you, Cook. I shall keep it in mind.” Sassy smiled reassuringly at her but felt a moment’s uncertainty.
She busied herself and the girls with cleaning up and putting away their mugs while they watched the storm give way to a lighter sky. As the rain subsided, leaving the afternoon sun to dry up the huge puddles it had left behind outside, Sassy and her class returned to their classroom. She put them to the task of conversational French. This was heartily enjoyed as they teased one another over the various mistakes each made, and the remainder of their afternoon passed quite pleasantly.
Supper was a dull affair with Sallstone calling down rebukes on nearly everyone’s head before she finally left them in peace.
When Sassy finally retired to her room and, soon afterwards, her bed, she sighed heavily, thankful the day was at an end. She closed her eyes and suddenly was transported through time and space. Her magic encased her in a cloud that was both soft and warm, and then she saw him.
He stood in a dimly lit room, and they were alone. Ah, yes, once again, she was in his bedroom. How could she know what it looked like?
Was this her imagination fueled by her inner magic?
He was clothed in ballroom attire: black velvet, black breeches. His white cravat was tied fashionably; his white-on-white waistcoat, detailed; his black, shiny hair billowed about his handsome, irresistible face; and the sight of him thusly drew on her need for him, a need she could not deny. She, unlike he, was totally naked.
She should be embarrassed. She should feel awkward. She didn’t.
