Redeeming the Rogue (16 page)

SHE MUST BE OUT OF HER MIND, ARIANNE SCOLDED herself. What was it about Rafferty that made her want to ignore society’s rules of behavior? The moment she had seen his open shirt flapping behind him like a sail in the wind, she was drawn to his side. He was so intensely male and . . . commanding . . . standing like the lord of the ocean at the rail. She wanted to see his broad chest. She knew it was wrong, but now that she was a ruined woman, there could be no further harm in an innocent peek. Blast that Mr. Connor for blocking her view.

She paused outside her door, fumbling in her reticule for her room key. The process would be easier if her mind wasn’t constantly drawn back to Rafferty’s bulging arm muscles caressed by the wind and linen. She sighed. How foolish to be jealous of the wind. That man would be best served if he never wore a jacket. How would it feel, she wondered while leaning against the hallway wall, to be held in those strong, taut arms? A sigh escaped her lips. Christopher! Anyone who came down this hallway would think she’d been drinking to excess. Maybe she had, she smiled, recalling the salty taste of Rafferty’s lips. She dug again for the key, but the door opened before her fingers could wrap around it.

Mrs. Summers stood in her nightgown, her eyes rounded like the bottom of two wine bottles. Then they narrowed. “Arianne. Where have you been? You look like you’ve been cavorting with the devil.”

The door across the hall began to open. Mrs. Summers grabbed her arm and pulled her inside the tiny cabin. She smiled across the way. “Good night, Miss St. Claire.”

After closing the cabin door, Mrs. Summers turned to Arianne. “Why do you have black soot on your cheek?”

“I do?” Arianne slipped to the washbasin to remove the evidence of her encounter with Rafferty, not that Mrs. Summers would suspect that he was the source of the smudge. It’s not that she did anything terribly wrong . . . not like she had with the Baron. Still, she could feel the chaperone’s scrutiny of the rest of her attire. Arianne presented her pristine front to Mrs. Summers. “How’s that?”

The older woman’s gaze slipped from Arianne’s face, to her bodice, then her waist, before returning to her face. “You were gone a long time.”

“It was a lovely night for a stroll,” Arianne said, pretending nothing had occurred. Perhaps some of Eva’s acting skills had rubbed off given the time spent in her company. Arianne turned so Mrs. Summers could help unfasten her gown. “My brother says that seasickness hits once the ship crosses into deep water. I don’t know if I’ll be afflicted like him, but I thought to enjoy a refreshing night stroll while I could take advantage.”

Once freed from the back buttons and the flounce and trim of the overskirt, she could step out of her dinner gown. It was fortunate that only her lips touched Rafferty, as the limited storage space meant her gown would have to be worn for another meal aboard the steamer.

“Did you see Mr. Rafferty?” Mrs. Summers asked.

She made the question sound like an accusation. Arianne considered her reply carefully. “I saw Mr. Rafferty speaking with Mr. Connor.” She twisted around to see Mrs. Summers. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought perhaps something other than the wind put that flush in your cheeks.”

Arianne laughed, then unhooked her corset. “You needn’t worry. Nothing happened.”

“No?” Mrs. Summers took the discarded corset from Arianne and handed her a night shift. “I failed you once, Arianne. I don’t intend to fail you again. From now on, I’ll be accompanying you on your night strolls.”

Arianne hid her scowl as she climbed into her berth in the tiny cabin. Mrs. Summers extinguished the lamps, thus plunging the room into semidarkness. Moonlight filtered through the porthole, the same moonlight that had shone on Rafferty, starkly highlighting his powerful frame and yet illuminating both conflict and desire in his eyes.

He’d kissed her with a passion that made her knees weaken and awareness sizzle up from her core. That she wanted more scared her enough to break off the kiss. She never wanted the Baron in such a shameful fashion. Was this earthy awakening the legacy of her natural father?

There was no confusing Rafferty’s yearning, yet he held something back. At first, she had thought he was concerned about mussing her gown—and that might have been a part of his hesitation. Still, she wouldn’t have thought he was a man that would have let a few smudges stand in his way of something he desired. No, there was something else . . .

She certainly hadn’t been shy about making herself available for a kiss. A proper lady wouldn’t have stood alone on a deserted deck with a man like Rafferty, but then she could hardly be considered “proper” anymore, could she? What harm could an innocent kiss do? She scowled in the darkness. Certainly none if Mrs. Summers held true to her decision to become Arianne’s shadow.

She sighed. Tonight was probably the first and last opportunity she’d have to experience any kind of intimacy with Rafferty, or any other man for that matter. But it certainly wasn’t the eyes of any other man that haunted her dreams or that currently made her toss and turn in the tiny berth. She reminded herself that she would see Rafferty tomorrow in hopes that knowledge would cure her restlessness. It only made it worse. Christopher! How was she going to survive eleven days?

THE NEXT MORNING, MRS. SUMMERS ROUSTED ARIANNE at what seemed a particularly cruel hour.

“We’re not at your brother’s house,” she insisted, forbidding Arianne to drift back into slumber. “The captain said that breakfast is available for an hour only. There will be nothing until a light lunch if we miss this opportunity.”

Arianne dragged herself to a sitting position. “I’m exhausted. I didn’t sleep well.”

“Too much fresh air last night,” Mrs. Summers pronounced, helping Arianne to dress. “You’d sleep better if you didn’t take those strolls after dinner.”

Arianne supposed she was partially right, but her sleeplessness had nothing to do with fresh air and everything to do with the man she’d kissed. Now that the moonlight had given way to clear, bold sunlight, Arianne worried about her spontaneity. What did Rafferty think of her impulsive act? Had she been too confident? She was tempted to return to her bed to avoid facing him but then realized that on a ship this size that would be impossible. She might as well get the awkwardness out of the way. Besides, she needed to talk to Rafferty and Eva about a schedule of classes so they’d be properly prepared for their new roles.

She and Mrs. Summers made their way to the dining saloon. Most of the passengers had already helped themselves to the meager breakfast spread. Arianne quickly scanned the room, noting Rafferty’s absence. Eva had engaged Mr. Barings in a lively conversation about the state of London theater. While Arianne was pleased to see that Eva could maintain the dialogue without assistance, she worried that Eva might let her theatrical background slip into the conversation.

“I hope she realizes that an actress is not a suitable past for the wife of a British minister,” Arianne murmured to Mrs. Summers as she poured tea.

“Let’s sit with her,” Mrs. Summers said. “If the conversation turns to that territory, I’ll steer it in a safe direction.”

Arianne obliged, though the theater was not one of her interests. Perhaps that was the reason for her lack of enthusiasm for an actress in this role. That made her pause. Had she let her own preferences discriminate against the choice of Miss St. Claire? She glanced down the table, watching Eva’s animated face glow in response to something Mr. Barings had said. No, she decided. More likely, it was a matter of trust. Even now she wasn’t sure if Eva’s reaction to the conversation was real or acting. And what of Eva’s feigned attraction to Rafferty? Was that real?

Arianne set her spoon alongside the barely touched bowl of porridge, her appetite for the wholesome but unappealing dish gone. She was about to return to her cabin when her nose detected a new scent. Warm, exotic, seductive . . . The fine hairs lifted along her neck, and she knew, just knew, that Rafferty had entered the saloon.

A vibrant thrill raced from the tips of her breasts to her feminine core. Dear heaven, what was wrong with her? Even after the Baron had . . . Well, she’d never had this sort of reaction to a kiss. She noted Eva’s gaze had lifted to the newcomer. Her lips curved with a knowing appreciation. Mrs. Summers’s gaze lifted as well, but not with appreciation. If she hadn’t realized it before, her chaperone’s glance confirmed that she definitely harbored suspicions.

Rafferty approached the head of the table. “Good morning.” The sounds of his voice prompted a delicious warmth to slip through her veins. “Ladies.” He nodded a salutation. “I hope you enjoyed a good night’s rest.”

The dark circles under his eyes suggested he had not. Somehow she found comfort in that. Stubble graced his chin, a thin line beneath his nose, and another thicker patch beneath his lower lip. Lord help her, she couldn’t tear her gaze from that patch, which only drew attention to his full lip. How had she managed to muster the courage to kiss that mouth? And how would it feel with that dark, scratchy stubble? Her breasts tingled beneath her confining corset.

“Did you forget to pack your razor, Mr. Rafferty?” Mrs. Summers challenged, an unusually sharp note of accusation in her voice.

Rafferty ran his hand over his chin and smiled. Arianne melted a little.

“My apologies, Mrs. Summers. I overslept this morning and didn’t wish to prevail upon the kitchen staff to hold breakfast on my account.” A soft curve touched his lips. “I believe Lady Arianne has plans for the use of this saloon this morning.”

Their lesson! She’d forgotten that she’d requested the use of this room in between meals. She cleared her throat while her mind scrambled to choose a subject for their instructional setting.

“Yes. I propose we—”

“Lady Arianne?” Eva interrupted. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling well. I wonder if I may be excused this morning? I can rejoin your group in the afternoon, if that is agreeable.”

She certainly didn’t look unwell, especially for an actress. But as Arianne needed some time to plan how to use their time, she decided not to challenge her. “Of course.” She smiled. “Perhaps we all need time to acclimate to our new surroundings. Shall we try again at two o’clock?”

Rafferty smiled at Mrs. Summers. “I’m certain to have located my razor by that hour.”

“Lady Arianne and I would be most appreciative,” Mrs. Summers replied, her glare as sharp as a dagger.

Oh dear. Arianne rose from her chair with the intent to return to her cabin, knowing Mrs. Summers would follow behind. She needed to have a talk with her chaperone or this journey would be intolerable. She needed to work out a plan for lessons. And she needed time alone to just think. So much had happened in the past week, she had lost her firm footing. When she agreed to this venture, she hadn’t counted on an attraction to Rafferty. A ridiculous attraction, she reminded herself. At voyage end, they would part and go their separate ways. One rash decision on her part had already altered her life. She didn’t need a repeat performance.

Just then the floor shifted beneath her, as the
Irish Rose
plowed through a swell. She swayed a moment before placing her hand on the wall to balance herself. If only she could balance her life as easily.

 

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN ARIANNE AND MRS. Summers returned to the dining saloon, Arianne had determined to approach their first lesson on board as if the events of the preceding evening had not occurred. While Rafferty arrived on time, Eva had still not joined their party, which limited the benefit of her teaching . . . unless . . . She critically studied Rafferty a moment. “I believe we should make you resemble a diplomat.”

“You don’t like the way I look?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

That was difficult, because the truth was, she very much liked the way he looked, or more accurately, she liked the way she felt when she looked at him. “You don’t look the part.”