No Choice But Seduction
Page 23
American men could dress impeccably, but they tended not to fancy themselves up with frilly cravats and lacy cuffs as the English gentry did. With Boyd, however, she had a feeling he’d look magnificent to her no matter what he wore, simply because she found him so handsome. That gold-streaked hair, the darker slash of brows, the even darker brown eyes that could be so expressive they provoked her senses to unrecognized heights, and, oh my, his mouth, the thin upper lip, the full, supple lower one, lips she’d caught herself staring at much too frequently on that first voyage. Her attraction to him should have been severely tempered after what he’d done, but it was still there and still just as strong.
If she didn’t have so much on her agenda, plans she was not giving up, things might be different. If marriage was a part of those plans, she might not fight so much what this man could make her feel. She could enjoy a mild flirtation here and there, to add a little spice to her travels, as long as she didn’t take any of it seriously. But not with Boyd Anderson. She’d sensed from the start that a flirtation with him would get her burned. She had no doubt of it.
The tension she was feeling now that she was in Boyd’s presence again annoyed her though. She was also still miffed that he’d more or less hidden himself away from her until now. She should have been grateful that he was going to keep his distance, but it was quite demoralizing to be ignored when she wasn’t expecting to be ignored.
Both men had stood up at her entrance. Tyrus pulled out a chair to seat her. A crewman from the galley was there to serve them and was even semiformally dressed in a waistcoat. He offered her a napkin with one arm, a salad with the other, then left the room to return to the galley for the next course.
Katey picked up her fork before she glanced at Boyd again. His eyes hadn’t left her since her arrival, but at least he was keeping his look impersonal enough to not embarrass her.
“You look a bit peaked,” she told him. “Have you been sick?”
She could have bit her tongue out. That damned fantasy was still in her mind, obviously. But did she have to sound concerned?
“No!”
He said it too quickly and too forcefully. She lifted a brow over that reaction, but realized he might be just as tense as she was, so she made an effort to at least put one of them at ease.
“Actually it’s gone,” she said, and it was. “There’s ample color in your cheeks now. Must have been an odd reflection of the light.”
Tyrus cleared his throat and introduced a neutral subject. “Will you have wine with lunch, Miss Tyler, or wait until dinner before partaking?”
“I’m invited to dinner tonight?”
“Certainly. Consider it an open invitation for the voyage.”
She smiled in concurrence. He’d probably just been giving her a chance to get her “sea legs,” as she’d heard it called, before doing any socializing. And that’s what dinners with the captain were, the only real chance to socialize at sea.
Another crewman showed up, though this one wasn’t from the galley. He bent down to whisper something to Tyrus, who immediately stood up.
“I’m needed topside,” he told Katey. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
The captain appeared embarrassed to be leaving. Boyd noticed it, too, and said, “She’s a grown woman, Tyrus. She doesn’t need a chaperone.”
“She’s an unmarried woman,” Tyrus rejoined. “I’d say she does need one.”
Boyd simply shrugged, replying, “Then by all means, do hurry back.”
Having been discussed like that, as if she weren’t sitting there, was embarrassing enough to put the blush on her cheeks, but that wasn’t what made her blush. She was now alone with Boyd, and the expression in his eyes was no longer impersonal. The moment the door closed on the captain’s back, Boyd was looking at her as if she were the first course.
“Stop it,” she blurted out.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that. It’s highly im—”
He cut in with some blurting of his own. “Marry me, Katey. Tyrus is legally empowered to officiate at sea. We can be sharing a bed tonight.”
She sucked in her breath over such rudeness. And he had to be joking. There was no other excuse when a marriage proposal, crude as that one had been, was too impulsive, even for him.
“Now you add insult to injury?”
He looked as if he wanted to bang his head on the table. “I’m serious. Put me out of my misery.”
She was angry enough to say, “Misery becomes you.”
A long moment passed while she glared and he slowly began looking contrite as he realized just how far out of bounds he’d just stepped. The proposal was inappropriate enough considering all that had happened, but for him to mention sharing a bed in the same breath!
He finally sighed, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t planned. Believe me, I did not—”
“There we are,” the captain said, returning. “That didn’t take long at all.”
Katey managed a smile for the man. She would have liked to have heard the rest of Boyd’s explanation, but it was probably better that she not.
“No, indeed,” she told the captain.
The main course arrived on Tyrus’s heels. While they were served, he mentioned a few interesting Spanish ports that could be reached by morning or even later that afternoon.
“We’ll be passing the port of Málaga first, possibly before evening if the wind remains steady. Cartagena and Valencia can be reached within the week.”
“If you want to stop at only one Spanish town for now,” Boyd added, “I would recommend Barcelona in the Catalunya region. Our country has been trading with them for over forty years now.”
The two men began to mention the merits of each town and some of the things that could be seen, including evidence of the Roman occupation so many centuries ago. They were halfway through the main course when another crewman came in to whisper in Tyrus’s ear again.
The captain stared pointedly at Boyd with disapproval as he stood up this time. Tyrus looked as if he might even say something scathing, but tight-lipped, he excused himself instead and marched out of the cabin.
Katey couldn’t help noticing that Boyd appeared entirely too smug over that abrupt departure, causing her to suspect that both of those “emergencies” the captain had to deal with were contrived—by Boyd. With that thought she stood up to leave. She wasn’t going to deal with yet another outrageous proposal, if that’s what this was all about.
She paused at the door though with the realization that he could just have come by her cabin if he wanted to talk to her alone. He didn’t have to resort to any elaborate scheme. Grace wasn’t always there with her—well, mostly she was. They preferred to pass the time aboard ship in each other’s company rather than alone. But she was usually alone when she stood at the rail with her spyglass—and crewmen passed her by frequently, so she wasn’t really alone there either.
She stopped trying to talk herself out of leaving and put her hand on the doorknob—and felt his hand cover hers. She was startled enough to swing around. She couldn’t have made a worse mistake. He was too close. Their bodies were actually touching. And then their mouths were, too.
Oh, God, she’d known what this would be like. She’d had too many daydreams about him kissing her like this and had cut them off abruptly because it had been too exciting, thinking about it. Yet she’d done so again, and again. She hadn’t been able to resist. But this…it was so much more than she could possibly have imagined.
He drew her up against him with his arm around her back. His other hand moved around her neck, his thumb resting under her chin to keep her mouth at the angle he wanted. Any angle would have been sublime for her. She was afraid she was going to swoon, so many sensations were coming at her all at once. Her heart had never pounded so hard, or so loud she could hear it in her ears. Her blood had never raced so swiftly.
Her own arms slipped around his shoulders. In the back of her mind she told herself it was to keep from falling, certainly not because she wanted to hold him. Yet there really was no chance of her falling when he was now crushing her so closely to him. Her br**sts tingled with that hard contact. Her stomach swirled. And when his tongue thrust between her lips, heat seemed to wash over her from head to foot. It was her racing blood she was sure. It was the taste of him that she’d craved for so long. Anything he did right then would have been—
The opening door banged into them. They leapt apart, but not soon enough for Tyrus not to guess what they’d just been doing.
“Damnit, Boyd—,” he started to explode.
“Not now!” Boyd cut in even more sharply.
He was in no condition for a reprimand. He was himself leaning on the wall for support. And the tone he’d used was apparently one the captain recognized as adamant, because Tyrus didn’t say another word, not with Katey still standing there.
Katey was amazed she was still standing and that she hadn’t yet moved. Her feet urged her to bolt out of there immediately, embarrassment urged her even more, but she resisted with every ounce of will she had left. She couldn’t let this happen again. Boyd’s kiss had been too powerful, had sapped her will, had thrilled her beyond measure. And it would happen again if she didn’t make sure it didn’t. And there was only one way to do that.
“I lied,” she said to Boyd, her eyes locked to his. “I’m very good at it. Didn’t I already mention that to you, that it’s something I excel at? I do it all the time. Ask my maid, she’ll tell you. It’s a habit from childhood, you know.”
“Lied about what?”
“About not being married. I really am.”
Chapter Thirty
ANTHONY WAS LAUGHING as he and James left Knighton’s Hall together. He had been frequenting the sporting establishment for many years. The owner tried to keep him supplied with sparring partners, but most of them found employment elsewhere after a round or two with him. He was renowned for being unmatched in the ring, unless James was around. He’d even given up hope of any good matches, until his brother moved back to London and started joining him at Knighton’s again a few times each week.
The only other man willing and capable of giving Anthony a decent workout was Warren Anderson, but Warren was rarely in London. And Anthony’s niece Amy objected to her husband’s getting bloodied in the ring just for a little exercise. Anthony had been meaning to give the youngest Anderson a try. Boyd was reputed to be pretty good with his fists. But Boyd was rarely in town, either.
At least James was still willing to accommodate him occasionally, though their matches could be brutal and James was usually the winner. His fists were like bloody bricks, after all. But not today.
“Don’t try and tell me you let me win that round,” Anthony said, laughing. “I have witnesses!”
“One lucky punch and you’re going to crow about it all week, aren’t you?”
“A week? Half a year at the very least.”
James would probably have lifted his right brow over that remark, if Anthony hadn’t cracked the skin above it. Instead James merely snorted as he headed toward Anthony’s carriage. They’d ridden over together to Knighton’s, so James couldn’t escape Anthony’s amusement just yet.
“Coming home with me for luncheon?” Anthony asked before he gave his driver directions.
“No, you can drop me off at my club.”
“Ah, of course!” Anthony chuckled. “It prob’ly will take drinking the rest of the afternoon to help you forget that I knocked you out.”
“For all of two bloody seconds!” James growled.
“Time is irrelevant. What’s important is it landed you on your arse!”
“Put a lid on it, puppy, before I do.”
Anthony just grinned. There was nothing he enjoyed more than being one up on his brother, this brother, anyway. Nothing could dent his humor today, certainly not James’s sour looks. Or so he thought.
But one of his footmen rode up suddenly just as the carriage started off. His driver reined in, hearing the man shouting to get their attention.
“You might want to come home now, m’lord,” the footman said as he stopped his horse next to the carriage. “Lady Roslynn is a bit upset—with you.”
“What’d I do now?” Anthony asked.
“She didn’t say. But her Scottish brogue was in evidence.”
“Doesn’t that usually mean Roslynn is angry about something?” James remarked, his own humor suddenly looking much improved.
“Not always,” Anthony mumbled. “But it can.”
James was the one laughing now. “I think I’ll join you for luncheon after all, dear boy. Indeed, I find I’m suddenly quite famished.”
Anthony ignored his brother and told his driver to make haste getting home. He had absolutely no idea what could have upset his wife. She’d seen him off at the door this morning with a kiss and the teasing admonishment for him not to come home with a bloody nose, since she knew where he was going and with whom.
It didn’t take long to reach the town house on Piccadilly. Anthony bounded inside. He hoped he’d find Roslynn upstairs in their room, where James wouldn’t follow, but no such luck. She was in the parlor, in front of the fireplace, tapping her foot. Her arms were crossed over her chest. A sharp gleam was in her hazel eyes. Not upset. Definitely angry. He groaned mentally.
“I’ll be hearing an explanation for this, mon, and I’ll be hearing it now! I canna believe you kept this a secret from me.”
If she didn’t have so much on her agenda, plans she was not giving up, things might be different. If marriage was a part of those plans, she might not fight so much what this man could make her feel. She could enjoy a mild flirtation here and there, to add a little spice to her travels, as long as she didn’t take any of it seriously. But not with Boyd Anderson. She’d sensed from the start that a flirtation with him would get her burned. She had no doubt of it.
The tension she was feeling now that she was in Boyd’s presence again annoyed her though. She was also still miffed that he’d more or less hidden himself away from her until now. She should have been grateful that he was going to keep his distance, but it was quite demoralizing to be ignored when she wasn’t expecting to be ignored.
Both men had stood up at her entrance. Tyrus pulled out a chair to seat her. A crewman from the galley was there to serve them and was even semiformally dressed in a waistcoat. He offered her a napkin with one arm, a salad with the other, then left the room to return to the galley for the next course.
Katey picked up her fork before she glanced at Boyd again. His eyes hadn’t left her since her arrival, but at least he was keeping his look impersonal enough to not embarrass her.
“You look a bit peaked,” she told him. “Have you been sick?”
She could have bit her tongue out. That damned fantasy was still in her mind, obviously. But did she have to sound concerned?
“No!”
He said it too quickly and too forcefully. She lifted a brow over that reaction, but realized he might be just as tense as she was, so she made an effort to at least put one of them at ease.
“Actually it’s gone,” she said, and it was. “There’s ample color in your cheeks now. Must have been an odd reflection of the light.”
Tyrus cleared his throat and introduced a neutral subject. “Will you have wine with lunch, Miss Tyler, or wait until dinner before partaking?”
“I’m invited to dinner tonight?”
“Certainly. Consider it an open invitation for the voyage.”
She smiled in concurrence. He’d probably just been giving her a chance to get her “sea legs,” as she’d heard it called, before doing any socializing. And that’s what dinners with the captain were, the only real chance to socialize at sea.
Another crewman showed up, though this one wasn’t from the galley. He bent down to whisper something to Tyrus, who immediately stood up.
“I’m needed topside,” he told Katey. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
The captain appeared embarrassed to be leaving. Boyd noticed it, too, and said, “She’s a grown woman, Tyrus. She doesn’t need a chaperone.”
“She’s an unmarried woman,” Tyrus rejoined. “I’d say she does need one.”
Boyd simply shrugged, replying, “Then by all means, do hurry back.”
Having been discussed like that, as if she weren’t sitting there, was embarrassing enough to put the blush on her cheeks, but that wasn’t what made her blush. She was now alone with Boyd, and the expression in his eyes was no longer impersonal. The moment the door closed on the captain’s back, Boyd was looking at her as if she were the first course.
“Stop it,” she blurted out.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that. It’s highly im—”
He cut in with some blurting of his own. “Marry me, Katey. Tyrus is legally empowered to officiate at sea. We can be sharing a bed tonight.”
She sucked in her breath over such rudeness. And he had to be joking. There was no other excuse when a marriage proposal, crude as that one had been, was too impulsive, even for him.
“Now you add insult to injury?”
He looked as if he wanted to bang his head on the table. “I’m serious. Put me out of my misery.”
She was angry enough to say, “Misery becomes you.”
A long moment passed while she glared and he slowly began looking contrite as he realized just how far out of bounds he’d just stepped. The proposal was inappropriate enough considering all that had happened, but for him to mention sharing a bed in the same breath!
He finally sighed, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t planned. Believe me, I did not—”
“There we are,” the captain said, returning. “That didn’t take long at all.”
Katey managed a smile for the man. She would have liked to have heard the rest of Boyd’s explanation, but it was probably better that she not.
“No, indeed,” she told the captain.
The main course arrived on Tyrus’s heels. While they were served, he mentioned a few interesting Spanish ports that could be reached by morning or even later that afternoon.
“We’ll be passing the port of Málaga first, possibly before evening if the wind remains steady. Cartagena and Valencia can be reached within the week.”
“If you want to stop at only one Spanish town for now,” Boyd added, “I would recommend Barcelona in the Catalunya region. Our country has been trading with them for over forty years now.”
The two men began to mention the merits of each town and some of the things that could be seen, including evidence of the Roman occupation so many centuries ago. They were halfway through the main course when another crewman came in to whisper in Tyrus’s ear again.
The captain stared pointedly at Boyd with disapproval as he stood up this time. Tyrus looked as if he might even say something scathing, but tight-lipped, he excused himself instead and marched out of the cabin.
Katey couldn’t help noticing that Boyd appeared entirely too smug over that abrupt departure, causing her to suspect that both of those “emergencies” the captain had to deal with were contrived—by Boyd. With that thought she stood up to leave. She wasn’t going to deal with yet another outrageous proposal, if that’s what this was all about.
She paused at the door though with the realization that he could just have come by her cabin if he wanted to talk to her alone. He didn’t have to resort to any elaborate scheme. Grace wasn’t always there with her—well, mostly she was. They preferred to pass the time aboard ship in each other’s company rather than alone. But she was usually alone when she stood at the rail with her spyglass—and crewmen passed her by frequently, so she wasn’t really alone there either.
She stopped trying to talk herself out of leaving and put her hand on the doorknob—and felt his hand cover hers. She was startled enough to swing around. She couldn’t have made a worse mistake. He was too close. Their bodies were actually touching. And then their mouths were, too.
Oh, God, she’d known what this would be like. She’d had too many daydreams about him kissing her like this and had cut them off abruptly because it had been too exciting, thinking about it. Yet she’d done so again, and again. She hadn’t been able to resist. But this…it was so much more than she could possibly have imagined.
He drew her up against him with his arm around her back. His other hand moved around her neck, his thumb resting under her chin to keep her mouth at the angle he wanted. Any angle would have been sublime for her. She was afraid she was going to swoon, so many sensations were coming at her all at once. Her heart had never pounded so hard, or so loud she could hear it in her ears. Her blood had never raced so swiftly.
Her own arms slipped around his shoulders. In the back of her mind she told herself it was to keep from falling, certainly not because she wanted to hold him. Yet there really was no chance of her falling when he was now crushing her so closely to him. Her br**sts tingled with that hard contact. Her stomach swirled. And when his tongue thrust between her lips, heat seemed to wash over her from head to foot. It was her racing blood she was sure. It was the taste of him that she’d craved for so long. Anything he did right then would have been—
The opening door banged into them. They leapt apart, but not soon enough for Tyrus not to guess what they’d just been doing.
“Damnit, Boyd—,” he started to explode.
“Not now!” Boyd cut in even more sharply.
He was in no condition for a reprimand. He was himself leaning on the wall for support. And the tone he’d used was apparently one the captain recognized as adamant, because Tyrus didn’t say another word, not with Katey still standing there.
Katey was amazed she was still standing and that she hadn’t yet moved. Her feet urged her to bolt out of there immediately, embarrassment urged her even more, but she resisted with every ounce of will she had left. She couldn’t let this happen again. Boyd’s kiss had been too powerful, had sapped her will, had thrilled her beyond measure. And it would happen again if she didn’t make sure it didn’t. And there was only one way to do that.
“I lied,” she said to Boyd, her eyes locked to his. “I’m very good at it. Didn’t I already mention that to you, that it’s something I excel at? I do it all the time. Ask my maid, she’ll tell you. It’s a habit from childhood, you know.”
“Lied about what?”
“About not being married. I really am.”
Chapter Thirty
ANTHONY WAS LAUGHING as he and James left Knighton’s Hall together. He had been frequenting the sporting establishment for many years. The owner tried to keep him supplied with sparring partners, but most of them found employment elsewhere after a round or two with him. He was renowned for being unmatched in the ring, unless James was around. He’d even given up hope of any good matches, until his brother moved back to London and started joining him at Knighton’s again a few times each week.
The only other man willing and capable of giving Anthony a decent workout was Warren Anderson, but Warren was rarely in London. And Anthony’s niece Amy objected to her husband’s getting bloodied in the ring just for a little exercise. Anthony had been meaning to give the youngest Anderson a try. Boyd was reputed to be pretty good with his fists. But Boyd was rarely in town, either.
At least James was still willing to accommodate him occasionally, though their matches could be brutal and James was usually the winner. His fists were like bloody bricks, after all. But not today.
“Don’t try and tell me you let me win that round,” Anthony said, laughing. “I have witnesses!”
“One lucky punch and you’re going to crow about it all week, aren’t you?”
“A week? Half a year at the very least.”
James would probably have lifted his right brow over that remark, if Anthony hadn’t cracked the skin above it. Instead James merely snorted as he headed toward Anthony’s carriage. They’d ridden over together to Knighton’s, so James couldn’t escape Anthony’s amusement just yet.
“Coming home with me for luncheon?” Anthony asked before he gave his driver directions.
“No, you can drop me off at my club.”
“Ah, of course!” Anthony chuckled. “It prob’ly will take drinking the rest of the afternoon to help you forget that I knocked you out.”
“For all of two bloody seconds!” James growled.
“Time is irrelevant. What’s important is it landed you on your arse!”
“Put a lid on it, puppy, before I do.”
Anthony just grinned. There was nothing he enjoyed more than being one up on his brother, this brother, anyway. Nothing could dent his humor today, certainly not James’s sour looks. Or so he thought.
But one of his footmen rode up suddenly just as the carriage started off. His driver reined in, hearing the man shouting to get their attention.
“You might want to come home now, m’lord,” the footman said as he stopped his horse next to the carriage. “Lady Roslynn is a bit upset—with you.”
“What’d I do now?” Anthony asked.
“She didn’t say. But her Scottish brogue was in evidence.”
“Doesn’t that usually mean Roslynn is angry about something?” James remarked, his own humor suddenly looking much improved.
“Not always,” Anthony mumbled. “But it can.”
James was the one laughing now. “I think I’ll join you for luncheon after all, dear boy. Indeed, I find I’m suddenly quite famished.”
Anthony ignored his brother and told his driver to make haste getting home. He had absolutely no idea what could have upset his wife. She’d seen him off at the door this morning with a kiss and the teasing admonishment for him not to come home with a bloody nose, since she knew where he was going and with whom.
It didn’t take long to reach the town house on Piccadilly. Anthony bounded inside. He hoped he’d find Roslynn upstairs in their room, where James wouldn’t follow, but no such luck. She was in the parlor, in front of the fireplace, tapping her foot. Her arms were crossed over her chest. A sharp gleam was in her hazel eyes. Not upset. Definitely angry. He groaned mentally.
“I’ll be hearing an explanation for this, mon, and I’ll be hearing it now! I canna believe you kept this a secret from me.”
