Miles Before I Sleep (14 page)

With a frustrated sigh, Andrea persisted. “Don’t speak for all men, just speak for yourself. If you and I were married, and I didn’t want to be the receptacle of your carnal urges, and asked you to find a mistress instead of using me, would you?”

Miles heard more than her question; he heard the undertones of the words she chose to describe the marital act. Not once did she say making love.

“Andrea, I’ll answer your question if you’ll answer mine. Are you attracted to women?”

“No! Why would you ask me that?”

“Because you are so repulsed by the thought of making love.”

Andrea made an unladylike snort of derision. “Only men would call it making love.”

“No, Andi, everyone calls it that.” Then a repulsive thought entered his head making his blood boil. “Did a man force himself on you, is that why you find the marriage bed so abhorrent?”

“No! I think that was Mr. Sully’s ultimate goal this morning, but I have been sheltered to the point where I was practically cloistered away from men and boys my whole life.”

A flood of relief washed through him. He could not believe the strength of his emotional response to the thought that someone might have done that to her. Still he didn’t understand why she seemed so vehemently opposed to the marriage act.

“Have girls at school filled your head with horror stories?”

“The girls at school know nothing.” Her eyes we fighting to stay open, making him realize just how drunk she really was.

“But you do?”

“My mother told me.”

Miles tilted his head to one side as he contemplated that information. “Your mother lied to you.”

“No, she didn’t. I saw proof. The day we sailed from New York, my father sent my mother flowers to apologize for making her endure him the night before. She felt so poorly the next morning, she had to lie down and rest.”

Miles eyes narrowed at her. “Three dozen white roses?”

Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Those flowers were for you. I woke up the florist in the middle of the night so I could have them on the ship before you left. I knew it was your first ball, and I knew you hadn’t had fun. I wanted you to think of it and me fondly.”

“But there was no card.”

“The next morning, when I realized you were just a child, I asked your father to intercept the card.”

Andrea frowned. “Why would my mother lie to me?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe she didn’t want you infatuated with a man who wasn’t a duke.”

Miles opened his pocket watch and snapped it close with a scowl. He reached for the sherry and poured her another glass. “Drink this, then off to bed with you.”

“Please, Miles, I don’t think I could stand to feel any dizzier than I do now,” she said, pulling her hair over one shoulder and loosely braiding it.

He watched her fumble with the braid and decided she had probably had enough. Her glassy eyes blinked slowly.

He picked up her ribbon and held it out to her. “Do you need help?”

She eyed the ribbon then lifted the braid towards him. “I’d probably just knot it.”

“Would you like me to find you a lady’s maid to help you with your dress?” he asked as he tied off her braid.

Andrea shook her head wildly. “I’ll just sleep in my dress. It’s already ruined; a few wrinkles can’t hurt it.”

Miles extended his hand to assist her. “I’ll help you,” he said, knowing she would be less than steady on her feet. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I am too tall,” she said abruptly.

He laughed and pulled her more tightly against his side when he felt her sway a little. “Actually, I think you’re perfect. I bet you grew at least four inches since the last time I saw you.”

“Since breakfast? Is there a seamstress aboard?”

“Since I saw you five years ago,” he clarified. They stopped at the edge of the bed. He turned her towards him. “Because you’re tall, if I wanted to kiss you, all I would have to do is lean forward a bit and your lips would be right there. If you were short, well, let’s just say it would involve stooping.”

“Do you want to kish me?”

Always
.

“Yes, but I shall not, because I would be taking advantage of your condition.”

“If I wanted to kish you, would I be taking advantage of my condition or yours?”

A wide grin spread across Miles’s face wondering if she had intended for that to sound as it did. “If you still want to
kish
me when you’re sober, let me know, but there will be none of that now.”

“I’d rather sleep on top,” she said as he reached for the covers. Even in her inebriated state, it seemed too personal to sleep between the same sheets where a man slept.

“Sit down and I’ll take off your shoes.”

Miles crouched down on one knee and moved her skirts aside. He was surprised to find out she only wore one slipper. He looked towards the sitting room expecting to see she had stepped out of it on the way to bed, but it was nowhere to be seen. “You only have one shoe on.”

“It came off when that man attacked me.”

“You’ve been sitting here this whole time with just one shoe on?” Miles suppressed his smile. He found it a bit endearing that prim and proper Andrea would not have mentioned her missing slipper. He wondered if she ever secretly slipped off her shoes under her skirts while having her tea.

“It hardly seemed appropriate to discuss it in mixed company,” she said.

Considering everything else they had discussed, a bare foot was hardly scandalous.

“Well, good night, Andi,” he said, knowing she would probably feel uncomfortable reclining while he was still in the room.

“Thank you for the flowers. They were really beautiful.”

“It was hardly appropriate for me to send them to you at your age.”

Miles crossed the room, but her voice stopped him before he was gone. “You never answered my question about the mistress.”

“If you were my wife, you wouldn’t want me to have a mistress.”

17

“Damn it, Miles. There is a reason for rules aboard ship,” Levi Bloodworthy yelled. “You can’t just ignore the rules because you own the ship.”

Miles wanted to say he could do whatever he wanted, but he did not want Levi to quit. “She’s my fiancée, Levi. Have a heart.” Miles cast a boyish grin at the Captain.

Levi’s brow lowered in response. “Have you found a chaperone yet?”

“Not yet. I thought I’d go down to steerage and see if there’s anyone who’s worked as a lady’s maid—if not that, some old deaf woman or someone who speaks no English.”

“You’re incorrigible! You stood in front of her father and let him believe you had no idea where to find her.”

“He told me to do whatever it takes, and that’s what I did.”

“Christ! How can you be so flippant about this? That young woman could have been raped today and now I have to have that man whipped. Do you have any idea how barbaric that looks to the passengers?”

All humor had disappeared from Miles’s countenance. “No one is more upset about what happened to Andrea than I am. If it were up to me, I would throw that man overboard. It disgusts me as well, this business of flogging, but the men have to understand we will not tolerate accosting any passenger. I want every man down to the cooks and porters there.”

“Aye, I thought we could do it at the watch change at 4:00 AM. The passengers will be asleep and the blood can be washed off the deck before they rise.”

With a deep scowl, Miles nodded his reluctant approval. “The engine will be running as soon as that slide valve is replaced, so the noise should drown out much of the sound,” Miles said, walking over to the window and looking out over the vast ocean.

“I want you there, also,” Levi said. “You need to see what your actions have caused.”

Miles fought mixed emotions. He wanted the man punished, but he had never witnessed a flogging. “Can’t we just throw him overboard and be done with it?”

“It’s one hundred lashes for this serious of a crime, Miles. He will be lucky to live through it. We will be finding blood drops high and low for days.”

“Christ! Maybe we should wait and turn him over to the authorities when we get there.”

“They have no jurisdiction over what happens at sea. He was caught in the act. Justice at sea is swift and severe. It is the only deterrent we have to keep it from happening again. Trust me; I dislike this as much as you.”

18

Andrea emerged from the bedroom some four hours later dressed in the tangerine dress. She had fashioned her hair into a chignon and was glad to see Miles had located her stray shoe. She had slept through the engine being restarted and the hammering to repair the splintered doorframe.

Andrea was mildly disappointed to find herself alone in his suite, but pleased to find a domed tray sitting on the table. She removed the lid to reveal an assortment of small dishes. It was an odd assortment, she thought, as she plucked half a strawberry out of a bowl of fruit and popped it into her mouth. There were almonds and olives in small bowls and little cubes of cheese and slices of ham on a plate. She lifted a cover from a small square silver dish and found it filled with sardines. Lastly, there was a ramekin filled with bread pudding. It was far more food than she could possibly eat, but she supposed Miles just asked for an assortment because he didn’t know what she liked.

She longingly eyed the ebony olives. They were one of her favorite treats. However, knowing she would have to spit out the pits, she opted not to eat them. Then again, there was a porthole where she could dispose of the unsightly stones. Andrea took the whole bowl with her to the porthole and ate them one after another, dropping the fleshless pits out the opening until every olive was eaten. Since she was alone, she put the bowl to her lips and sipped the small amount of brine out of the bottom of the bowl as she had done when she was little. She smiled at her daring.

After eating her fill from the other foods, Andrea decided she should begin repairing the tear in her dress. It would help her pass the time. Andrea tentatively opened the doorway. She was greeted by a large sailor with a surprised expression.

“I just have to get something from my stateroom,” she said as she avoided looking him in the eye. She left the door ajar and hesitated when she saw another sailor posted at her door. “Excuse me, this is my room.”

The sailor looked past her to the first sailor to see if he should let her, pass before he stepped aside. The door had been repaired, but the raw wood had not yet been stained to match.

Andrea had not been prepared to relive the attack in her mind when she entered the room. By the time she retrieved the needle and thread, her hands were shaking and her pulse was racing. She ran out of her room and into his, slamming both doors in the process and throwing the bolt on his.

~*~

Miles Huntington’s brow lowered as he entered the corridor that housed their staterooms. The two men posted to keep watch were at neither door but stood between the rooms talking.

“Mr. Huntington!” one of the sailors said upon seeing him. “We were just trying to decide if we should come get you.”

“A woman came out of your quarters, went into the other one and ran back into yours as if she’d seen a ghost.”

Miles cursed under his breath and pulled a key from his pocket. “Andrea, it’s me,” he said not wanting her to be alarmed when she heard the door unlocking. He knew the moment he saw her sitting at the edge of the chair, her back straight as a lamppost, that she was upset. She looked up and smiled pleasantly at him, but as she looked back at her sewing, he saw her hands were trembling.

“I hear the engine running,” she said casually.

“Yes, it was a valve,” he said. Any other time, he would love to discuss the engine, but she was doing that thing she did when she was distraught. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Did you wake up with a headache?”

“No, I’m fine.”

That was debatable. She obviously was not fine. “Did you eat something?” he asked, lifting the cover off the tray. It appeared she had nibbled a bit of most things except the bread pudding and only completely finished one bowl. “I didn’t know what you liked.”

“I’m not picky.”

He stared at the empty bowl trying to remember what was in it. “What did you do with the pits?” he wondered aloud.

She had strange notions of what was proper. Olive pits on the side of the plate would no doubt be quite uncouth to her.

“If you must know, I put them out the porthole.”

A smile tugged that his lip. “I hope you can spit a long ways.”

“I have never spit in my life,” she said in her most refined accent.

“You know we’re not at the edge of the ship. There is another ten feet of deck below us. You were probably pelting passengers and crew with olive pits.”

Andrea gasped and dropped her sewing into her seat as she flew to the porthole. “Please, tell me you’re jesting.”

“Afraid not.”

Andrea opened the nautical window, pressed her face into the opening, and could just barely see the railing around the deck one story below them.

“Oh, my word,” she muttered. “Oh, my word.” Her hands covered the lower part of her face. “I’m mortified. I never would have eaten the olives if I’d realized we weren’t at the edge of the ship.”

Miles was barely able to keep from laughing. “Oh, I would’ve loved to have had a view of the show. I imagine people casually strolling under our little porthole when something strikes them on their noggins. The first one looks about, but the little pit bounces off his head into the ocean leaving him to wonder if something actually hit him at all. I should like to think of Lady Pike and Callie walking through your little trap. On the ground, a dozen little brown pearls waiting to roll out from under their feet as they passed. Perhaps they might have even fallen overboard.”

“How can you joke about it?”

“How can you
not
see the humor in it? I propose tomorrow, we get a bowl the size of a bucket, fill if full of olives and do it intentionally.”

“Miles….”

“Andi…,” he echoed approaching her.

“I shan’t touch another olive for the rest of my life,” she said softly, as if speaking to herself. She closed the porthole and turned to him.

Miles, being careful not to touch her bare skin, placed his hands on her upper arms. “If you can’t see the humor in it, at least tell me you can see the irony.”

She stared at him silently, blinking slowly.

“You’re trying so hard to always be proper that in your quest to hide your olive pits, you do something that turns out to be worse than placing them on the side of your plate.”

“I always do the wrong thing,” she whispered.

She looked so miserable that he felt compelled to draw her into an embrace. “Stop trying so hard, Andi. Be yourself. Stop worrying about what other people think.”

“This
is
who I am.”

He sighed sympathetically. “You’re too critical of yourself,” he said, stepping just far enough back, so he could see her face. “Did you mean what you said about never eating olives again?”

She did not answer right away. “Yes,” she finally said, her eyes no longer able to meet his.

“Do you always punish yourself by denying yourself your favorite foods?” he said, remembering how she did not put sugar in her oatmeal that morning.

Again, he had to wait for her answer. “Yes.”

“Have you eaten bread pudding since that Christmas you had to apologize to the servants?”

He saw the tears well up in her eyes and her chin draw up and dimple. “No.”

“Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself long enough? Your servants ate a smaller portion or perhaps did without once. How many times have you done without?”

“I don’t know.”

“When we—” Miles began but corrected himself. “Someday when you have children and one of them creeps down in the middle the night to have an extra dessert, are you never going to allow them to have it again?”

A silent tear fell down her cheek. “No.”

“Why are you harder on yourself, than you would be on someone else?” he asked, cupping her face and brushing the wetness away with his thumb.

“I have inferior bloodlines. My mother was an actress, for heaven sake. My father was born working-class. We are as common as you get. I have to show I have risen above my station, so I can attract the right kind of husband. Do you think anyone wants a woman who is a thief as their wife, or one who would take food out of the mouths of humble servants? It is not their fault they were so low born.”

Miles shook his head. How could he get past nearly two decades of her being taught she wasn’t good enough?

“It could be worse,” he said, then dropped his voice down. “You could be an American,” he said with mock disgust.

Her lip twitched up.

“Who on earth would marry an American? We have no lords. Only businessmen like me, landowners, and, God forbid, politicians. I suppose you could aspire to marry a man who hoped to one day be president.”

“Stop teasing me. You know who my father wants me to marry. At least in my mother’s plan, I would have some choice.”

Suddenly seeming angry, Miles stepped away from her. “I'm sorry to speak unkindly of your mother. However, if the third son of a baronet, who you loved with all your heart, asked for your hand, and an eighty-year-old fat, impoverished childless duke with a reputation for beating his wives to death, offered for you, your mother would encourage the match with the duke, with no regard to your feelings or safety. When your mother implies that you will have a choice, I suspect it only applies if you make the choice she wants—perhaps if two earls offer for you, you might get to pick the one you liked more.”

“My father would never allow Mama to marry me off to anyone as odious as you describe.”

“I think your father has made it clear you will never marry into the aristocracy. He wants you to marry someone with a background similar to his.”

“I will never marry your cousin. He is just as detestable as an eighty-year-old wife beater.”

“Damn it, Andrea. I am not going to sit by while you speak ill of my cousin. You spent an hour of your life in his company. You have no right to judge the man he is today, based on a conversation he had when he was eighteen years old. He is a good, hard-working man. His loyalty knows no bounds.”

“Your cousin is off-limits, but criticizing my mother is fine?” she shouted. “How much time have you spent with her? How many conversations have you had with her?”

“I have not said anything about your mother that your father did not put in his letters to my—to Richard. I trust your father’s judgment.”

As if a curtain came down between them, Andrea suddenly pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. Her face lost its tension in a way Miles was beginning to recognize. “I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome,” she announced.

Entering the bedroom, she collected her belongings there and retrieved her sewing as she passed through the sitting room as she left his cabin.