Gentle Rogue

  This is for you, conscience. “No.”

  “Thank God!”

  His obvious relief made her smile. The kiss he treated her to then made her groan. Accompanied by the slow movement of his hips, the sensations built again gradually, but escalated and surpassed anything she’d felt before, until the crowning glory was upon her, exploding in tiny shocks that left her dazed. She’d cried out, but the sound had gone from her mouth to his, and as his own climax was reached, was given right back to her.

  Still dazed, Georgina was having difficulty believing she’d felt what she did, that anything could feel like that. But she held fast to the man who had shown her what her body was capable of. Feelings of gratitude and tenderness mixed with something else that made her want to thank him, kiss him, tell him how magnificent he’d been, how euphoric she felt now. She didn’t, of course. She just continued to hold him, occasionally she caressed him, finally she kissed his shoulder so softly, he couldn’t possibly have noticed.

  But he did notice. James Malory, connoisseur of women, jaded aristocrat, was in such a state of heightened awareness, he felt each and every little movement the girl made, and was touched by her tenderness more than he cared to admit. He’d never felt anything like it, and it was bloody well frightening.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  “I understand now why people do this sort of thing.”

  James sighed in relief. That was just what he needed to hear, some silly bit of nonsense to put things in their proper perspective. She was just a wench, albeit a prime piece. But she was no different from any other woman he’d set out to seduce. With the challenge gone, there was nothing left to hold his interest. So why didn’t he get off her and send her back to her own bed? Because he bloody well didn’t want to yet.

  He rose up to his elbows to gaze down at her. Her skin was still flushed, her lips appeared well-ravaged. With his finger he gently tried to sooth them. And there was a soft look in her velvety-brown eyes that for some reason delighted him. It certainly wasn’t a look he was accustomed to from her. Usually her eyes expressed her nervousness, or frustration, or outright irritation, so amusing in her lad’s disguise…By God, he’d forgotten about that, her masquerade, her reasons for it. There was still the mystery of her to hold his interest, wasn’t there?

  “This sort of thing, George?”

  The fact that his brow went up told her more plainly than words that she’d amused him. Well, so what? The mannerism wasn’t quite so annoying just now, either. “That wasn’t very romantic sounding, was it?” she inquired softly, feeling incredibly shy all of a sudden.

  “Not very loverlike, either, but I didn’t miss the point, dear girl. You enjoyed yourself, did you?”

  She couldn’t quite manage to say the word, so she nodded, then felt a delicious thrill at the smile he bestowed on her. “Did you?” Georgie! Are you mad to ask him that? “I mean—”

  He threw back his head in laughter, rolled to the side, but brought her with him. She was now looking down at him, a bit more in control in this new position, until he opened his legs and she slid between them.

  “What am I going to do with you, George?”

  He was still laughing, and hugging her to him. She didn’t really mind his amusement, except, as usual, she’d missed the joke.

  “You could stop calling me George, to begin with.”

  As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. She went very still, hoping she hadn’t brought her deception to mind with that remark. But he became just as still. The smile was still there, but the change in him was almost palpable. The sardonic autocrat was back.

  “And what, pray tell, should I call you? By your true name perhaps?”

  “Georgie is my true name.”

  “Try again, sweet, and this time make me believe you.” No answer. In fact, her expression became quite mulish. “Ah, so I’m going to have to drag it out of you, am I? Shall I bring on the instruments of the Inquisition, whips and racks and all that?”

  “That isn’t funny,” she retorted.

  “I daresay you wouldn’t think so, but I might find it entertaining…No, don’t squirm, love. It feels delightful, but I’m in the mood for explanations just now. And why don’t we begin with the reason for your charade.”

  She sighed and laid her head on his chest. “I had to leave England.”

  “Were you in trouble?”

  “No, I just couldn’t stand it there another day.”

  “Then why didn’t you leave in the customary fashion, by purchasing passage?”

  “Because the only ships crossing the Atlantic were English.”

  “I imagine that’s supposed to make sense. Give me a moment and I might figure it out…then again, I might not. What the deuce is wrong with English ships?”

  She leaned up to frown at him. “You wouldn’t find anything wrong with them, but I happen to despise all things English.”

  “Do you indeed? And am I included in that package?”

  When his brow went up this time, she had the greatest urge to yank it back down. “You were. I haven’t made up my mind whether you still are.”

  He grinned, then chuckled. “I’m beginning to see the light, George. You wouldn’t happen to be one of those hotheaded Americans, would you? That would certainly account for the accent I haven’t been able to place.”

  “And what if I am?” she demanded defensively.

  “Why, I’d consider locking you up, of course. Safest place for people who like to start wars so much.”

  “We didn’t start—”

  He kissed her silent. Then, holding her head in both hands, he kissed her thoroughly, until she was breathless enough for him to announce, “I’m not going to argue dead issues with you, dear girl. So you’re an American. I can forgive you for that.”

  “Why you—”

  What works is worth repeating, James had always found, so he silenced her with another kiss, and kept this one up until she was quite dazed. By then he was aroused himself, and sorry he’d teased her.

  “I don’t give a bloody damn what nationality you are,” he said against her lips. “I wasn’t involved in that ridiculous war, didn’t support it or the policies that led to it. I was, in fact, living in the West indies at the time.”

  “You’re still English,” she said, but with very little heat now.

  “Quite true. But we’re not going to let that matter, are we, love?”

  Because he asked while he was nibbling on her lips, she couldn’t think of a single reason that it should matter. She gave him a whispered no, and began some nibbling of her own. She’d felt the change in his body when it occurred, and had an idea now what it meant. And in the back of her mind came the thought that the questioning might end if they made love again. Of course, the fact that those marvelous feelings were stirring inside her again had nothing to do with it.

  But a while later, after the bedsheets were a bit more rumpled and she was once again rolled on top of him, though only partially this time, he said, “Now, shall we discuss how I felt upon discovering that you’re a wench rather than the lad I took under my wing? My mortification in recalling the times you’d assisted me at my bath, the times that I…disrobed in your presence?”

  With it put that way, Georgina felt absolutely terrible. Her deception alone was bad enough, but much worse was allowing the captain to put himself unknowingly into positions that he now found embarrassing. She should have confessed the truth that very first day when he called her into the area of his bath. Instead, she had foolishly thought she could make it through the whole voyage without being found out.

  He had every right to be furious with her, and so it was with a good deal of hesitancy that she asked, “Are you very angry?”

  “Not very, not anymore. I’d say I’ve been adequately compensated for all embarrassments. In fact, you’ve just paid for your passage and anything else you’d like.”

  Georgina drew in her breath sharply in disbelief. How could he say somet
hing like that after the intimacy they’d just shared? Easily, you ninny. He’s an Englishman, isn’t he; an arrogant, blasted lord? And what did he call you? A wench, which says plain enough how lowly he thinks you.

  She sat up slowly. By the time she looked down at him, her features set in lines of fury, there wasn’t a single doubt in James’s mind that she felt insulted.

  “You could have waited until morning before you got nasty again, you son of a bitch.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “As well you should!”

  James reached for her, but she bounded off the bed. He tried to explain, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, George.”

  She whirled around to glare down at him. “Don’t call me that!”

  He was beginning to see the absurdity in what was happening, which kept his voice calm as he pointed out. “Well, you haven’t given me your name yet, you know.”

  “It’s Georgina.”

  “Good Lord, you’ve my utter sympathy. I’ll stick with George, thank you.”

  Was that supposed to coax a smile from her? With the expression of feigned horror that accompanied it, it almost did. But not quite. That crack about having paid for her passage hurt.

  “I’m going to bed, Captain. My bed,” she said with stiff hauteur, and she pulled it off superbly, even standing there naked. “I would appreciate it if you would arrange other quarters for me in the morning.”

  “So we’re seeing the true George at last, are we, complete with a formidable temper?”

  “Go to the devil,” she mumbled as she came around the bed, swiping up her clothes as she went.

  “All this huffiness, and all I did was pay you a compliment…in my fashion.”

  “Well, your fashion stinks,” she said, then added as an afterthought that was laced with contempt, “sir.”

  James sighed, but after a moment, as he watched her march across the room, her dark brown hair swishing about that cute little backside of hers, he was grinning, almost laughing. What a delightful surprise she was turning out to be.

  “However did you manage a full week of meekness, George?”

  “By biting holes in my tongue, how else!” she called back at him.

  He did laugh this time, but softly, so she wouldn’t hear. He turned on his side to watch her antics as she threw her clothes down in her corner in a demonstration of feminine pique. But almost immediately she realized what she’d done and retrieved her shirt to put on. That done, she started to get into her hammock, but hesitated, and after a moment, retrieved her breeches and yanked them on, too. Apparently satisfied that she was properly covered for the moment, she rolled into her hammock. Her ease with which she did so, however, recalled to James’s mind that she’d never really had any difficulty with that precarious bed.

  “You’ve sailed before, haven’t you, George, in addition to your jaunt to England?”

  “I think I have proven, quite adequately, as you put it, that I’m not a George.”

  “So humor me, dear girl. I rather like you as a George. And you have sailed—”

  “Certainly,” she cut in, then turned over to face the wall, hoping he’d take the hint. But she couldn’t resist adding, “I own my own ship, after all.”

  “Of course you do, dear girl,” he humored her.

  “I really do, Captain.”

  “Oh, I believe you, indeed I do. So what took you to England, hating it as you do?”

  She was still gritting her teeth over being humored. “That is none of your business.”

  “I’ll get it out of you eventually, George, so you might as well tell me now.”

  “Good night, Captain. On second thought, I hope your headache returns…if you even had one, which I’m beginning to doubt.”

  She heard his laughter this time. He simply couldn’t prevent it when it occurred to him that her display of temper tonight would be as nothing in comparison to how she would feel if she ever learned that he’d known she was a female from the start. The next time he got bored, he might just tell her, merely to see what would happen.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  James stood next to the hammock a long while the next morning, watching the girl sleep. The moment he had awakened, he had regretted not bringing her back to his bed last night. A man of strong drives, he very frequently woke in an amorous mood, and any female found snuggling at his side was treated to more of what she experienced in the night.

  It was for that reason, several days ago, that he’d been so sharp with Georgina for being up and about before him, for he then had no excuse not to have her dress him, as was her supposed duty. He’d had one hell of a difficult time getting his body under control at first, but somehow he’d managed.

  He smiled at the thought that that problem would no longer be a problem. He no longer had to hide the fact that he found the wench extremely desirable. Yes, he most definitely regretted his decision last night to give up sleeping beside that soft little body, to allow her her one night of pique. There’d be no more of that. Tonight she’d share his bed again, and stay there.

  “Show a leg, George.” He kneed her hammock, setting it aswing. “I’ve decided not to announce to our little world at sea that you’re other than you’ve been appearing to be. So get those lovely breasts tucked away again, and go fetch my breakfast.”

  She merely stared at him, eyes only partly open. She yawned, blinked up at him, then came fully awake with a widening of those velvety-brown eyes.

  “I’m still to act as your cabin boy?” she asked him incredulously.

  “Excellent conclusion, George,” James replied in his most obnoxious dry voice.

  “But…”

  She paused as the idea of going on as she had been really set in. She wouldn’t have to tell Mac, then, that she’d been discovered. She wouldn’t have to explain what had happened—as if she could. Even she wasn’t sure what had happened, but she was positively sure she didn’t want anyone else to know about it.

  “Very well, Captain, but I want my own quarters.”

  “Out of the question.” He held up his hand when she started to argue. “You’ve been sleeping in here for a week, dear girl. To move now will give rise to entirely too much speculation. Besides, there are no other quarters, as you well know. And don’t think to mention the fo’c’sle, because I’d put you under lock and key before I’d allow you to return there.”

  She frowned at him. “But what difference can it make, if I’m still thought to be a boy?”

  “I deduced the truth easily enough.”

  “Because of that silly confession of mine that was so embarrassingly naive,” she said with half-disgust.

  The smile he gave her then was one of the tenderest she’d ever seen. It made her catch her breath, it was so heartwarming.

  “I thought that confession of yours was rather sweet, my darling girl.” The back of his fingers brushed her cheek. “You wouldn’t happen to be feeling, ah…nauseous now, would you?”

  His touch had a powerful effect on her. Well, that smile had really done it. But she wasn’t going to make another mistake like the one she’d made last night, to leave herself wide open for his derision again. Besides, what had happened last night couldn’t happen again. This man was not for her, even if he did make her pulses race and her insides quiver. He was an Englishman, for God’s sake, and worse, a despised aristocrat. Hadn’t his country just put hers through four years of hell? And even before the war, her brothers had been railing against England’s highhandedness. That couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much she might wish it could be. Why, her brothers wouldn’t even let the man in the house! No, James Malory, lord of the realm, was definitely not for her. She had to keep that in mind at all times from now on, and make sure he knew it, even if she had to lie through her teeth.

  “No, Captain, I’m not feeling a bit nauseous. You promised a cure and it apparently worked, for which I thank you. I won’t need any more doses.”

  That he was still sm
iling told her he wasn’t buying her attempt to put him off even a little. “A pity,” was all he said, but that was enough to make her blush.

  “About those quarters…?” she prompted as she crawled out of the hammock and put a little distance between them.

  “No longer under discussion, George. You’ll stay here and that’s the end of it.”

  Her mouth opened to argue again, but she closed it just as quickly. She could give ground on that, as long as he understood she wasn’t his to command in every way. Actually, if she couldn’t have a room to herself, then his cabin was preferable to any other quarters. At least here she would be able to remove her bindings and sleep more comfortably for the duration of the voyage.

  “Very well, as long as the sleeping arrangements remain the same.” That was putting it plainly enough. “And I don’t think I should be scrubbing your back anymore…sir.”

  James almost laughed. How prim the little wench was sounding this morning, and entirely too demanding. He wondered again what kind of life she led when she wasn’t sporting breeches. He supposed he had to rule out dockside doxy after last night.

  “Need I remind you, George, that you’re the only cabin boy I’ve got. You put yourself in that position, so you’ll stay in it until I tell you otherwise. Or have you also forgotten that I’m captain around here?”

  “And you intend to be difficult, I see.”

  “Not at all. I’m merely pointing out that you yourself give me no choice but to insist. But you aren’t by any chance thinking I mean to take advantage of you just because you were so accommodating last night?”

  She eyed him narrowly, but his expression gave away nothing. Finally she sighed. Until he gave some indication that he might force his attentions on her, she really had no choice but to be fair and assume the man wouldn’t bother her unless invited to do so.

  “Very well, we’ll go on as we did before…before last night, that is.” With the concession, she even offered him a tentative smile. “And now I’ll dress more thoroughly, as you suggested, sir, then fetch your breakfast.”