But the sight of her in that light muslin gown, wet and clinging to those lovely long legs, the way it had draped, tan-talising, at the junction of her thighs, the way her breasts, sweet as apples, had curved above the demure neck of that gown, had driven him insane. The fact that he could tell, even if she was too innocent to realise, that Conroy had been equally inflamed by the sight had been the final straw.
The man had been behaving perfectly properly, he had no doubt. Conroy was a gentleman. And, damn it, so was he and a gentleman had needs and he going to find that high-class brothel that Melville had recommended. His conscience stirred at the recollection of Clemence’s face when he had taunted her with the implication that he had gone there last night.
He wished now, as he stood in front of the shady porch, the white muslin curtain blowing in the breeze and the scent of flowers drifting from the garden behind the high fence, that he had done. Which saint had said it was better to marry than to burn? He couldn’t recall, but he was certainly burning and here was the remedy.
Half an hour later, reclining in a hammock in that fragrant, shady garden, a glass of planter’s punch to hand and a pair of very lovely ladybirds slipping slices of fruit between his lips, he ruefully concluded that the flames might be doused a little by alcohol, but they were certainly not extinguished.
Confronted by Madame’s selection of highly skilled girls, he had realised that he did not want any of them. None of them was tall and slender and green eyed. None of them looked at him with a clear, innocent gaze that seemed to go right inside him and turn his brain to mush. His body wanted them, it would be impossible to deny the very visible evidence of that, but however willing the flesh, the spirit was decidedly disinclined.
‘Thank you, Madame,’ he had said, looking out at the hammock swinging between two breadfruit trees. ‘But I am hot, tired and in need of little refreshment, that is all.’
And now he was comfortable, cool, refreshed and feeling every bit the bastard Clemence had called him. But short of going back and making love to her—after which he would have effectively tied her to him—there was nothing to be done about it. Nathan closed his eyes and wondered just how many weeks it was going to take to get back to England and safety.
Chapter Fifteen
‘I really do appreciate you taking my dog as well, Captain Melville.’ One-Eye settled, hackles raised, into a corner of the cabin, showing none of the becoming gratitude his mistress was attempting to convey. The three sailors it had taken to get him up the gangplank had retired, grinning. She must remember to tip them later.
Captain Melville, with only the faintest suggestion of gritted teeth, waved away the remark. ‘Not at all, ma’am. Captain Stanier has explained that you are very attached to the animal and that, given that this is the first time you have been from home, it is important that you retain your, er…pet.’
‘Indeed?’ Clemence slid a sideways glance towards Nathan, who was further down the same deck, directing sweating sailors loading cannon balls. ‘How very thoughtful of Captain Stanier,’ she said sweetly, ‘but I know I am depriving one of your officers of his cabin. Who should I thank for this comfort?’
She had a very good idea, having seen a valise with the initials R.C. being carried out. She and Robert Conroy had rapidly progressed to first names as they’d struggled with the wet dog yesterday.
‘Mr Conroy, Miss Ravenhurst. He takes the Third’s berth and so on.’
‘And some poor midshipman ends up in a cupboard?’ Clemence said with a smile. ‘What happened to the Second Lieutenant?’
‘He has given up his cabin next door to Captain Stanier.’
That was useful to know; she must remember to be very discreet in what she said to Eliza. And it was distinctly disquieting to think of Nathan sleeping only the thickness of the thin partition away. They had exchanged the minimum number of polite phrases that morning. He showed no signs of suffering from an evening of dissipation, from which she could only conclude that either he had not indulged in one or had a remarkably hard head. Or had been otherwise engaged than in heavy drinking.
Whatever he had been doing,
she had most certainly not forgiven him for yesterday afternoon and he showed no signs of remorse, so the sensible thing would be to stop thinking about him. Or at least, to try, which was not easy when her body still appeared to be remembering the whole incident in graphic detail. Clemence put her new reticule on the lower bunk and surveyed her new home.
This was, in fact, an inferior cabin to the one she and Nathan had shared, less than half the size with the two bunks one above the other and only a flap-down table. And no privy cupboard, either; they would have to improvise with a chamber pot and a corner-curtain. Nor was there a porthole; their only ventilation came from louvres in the door. This was home for possibly two months; it was a good thing they had so little luggage.
Eliza was already putting things away as the captain took himself off with a bow and an invitation to dine with him and his officers that evening.
‘Under there, dog.’ The maid pointed to the space beneath the lower bunk, but One-Eye simply ignored her.
‘I think we’ll have to chain him up outside the door,’ Clemence said, popping her head outside. ‘There’s a hook.’
‘Fred says he’ll take him for walks and deal with that sort of thing.’ Eliza stood in the middle of the small space, a pile of underthings in her hands, turning round and round as she tried to find somewhere to put them.
‘Fred?’
‘Street.’ Eliza looked decidedly self-conscious. ‘These will have to stay in the bags under the bunk, that’s all,’ she pronounced.
‘Eliza?’ The only response was a wiggle of her hips as the maid got down on hands and knees. ‘Are you and Street walking out?’
‘He should be so lucky,’ the maid remarked, straightening up. ‘I’ve only just met him. Still, he’s a fine figure of a man.’
‘He is certainly that.’ If one judged by sheer expanse. No doubt a responsible mistress would forbid her maidservant from associating with a man of bad character—even if he had recently reformed. But this was hardly a normal situation. Clemence tried to imagine arriving at whichever stately home was the Dowager Duchess of Allington’s current residence and introducing herself with her entourage of one mulatto maid, one ex-pirate, one decrepit hound and one small trunk.
For the first time Clemence started to wonder just what this unknown relative might be like and just how different life as one of the Ravenhurst clan would be from the one she was used to. The apprehension was almost enough to displace the dull ache of unhappiness about Nathan. But not quite.
But still, unpacking and making the best they could of their new quarters did pass the two hours before Midshipman Andrews presented himself with the captain’s compliments and the suggestions that Miss Ravenhurst might wish to see the departure from on deck.