Safe in the Earl's Arms. Liz Tyner
‘I wish taxidi—to travel to England.’ Her voice became lower—her accent turning into a siren’s husky whisper. Her hands reached to grasp the tied ends of her shawl and pull the knot free. ‘I have an agreement with this man.’ She spared a glance at Warrington.
Warrington commanded himself to remain still. Her voice dripped into him like warm pebbles of desire, bringing back the image of her legs and the spot at her breast. Perhaps he would take her back to her home and work out a true bargain there. The longboat could return him to the ship in the morning. He struggled to attend to the words of the conversation, making his plans for the night.
She reached up and pulled her scarf from her head, sliding the cloth away from her face, and the movements also caused the shawl to drop completely from her shoulders. Warrington watched two seamen collide in their haste to return the garment to her.
Ben’s expression glazed over. When Warrington saw that, his eyes followed his brother’s gaze.
Warrington stared, his mind not working. The scarf had kept drifting across her face before. He hadn’t truly looked beyond the spot on her breast.
Her eyes, he knew they were brown. And her lips red. And her nose, a normal nose. But somehow the arrangement of them and the curve of her chin, and dusts of her hair falling loose from her bun, swirled themselves around her in such a way as to bring them all into a delight for a man’s senses.
And that was before even looking lower to a mark that peeked out from the bodice, making one wonder what lay beneath—or making one fill in the imagination of what lay beneath in a stirring way.
‘You are in agreement,’ Melina said.
‘I would prefer not having a woman aboard...’ Ben’s voice sounded as a kindly father’s ‘...but since we can accommodate you with little effort I’ll allow it.’ Ben touched a flat palm to his chest. ‘I, of course, will be happy to share my quarters with you to make sure you are—’
Warrington knew too much of his brother’s life. Snaking an arm around Melina, Warrington pulled her close, sweat forming at his temples. ‘She and I have already discussed...the particulars. She will travel with me.’
‘Oh?’ Ben challenged, lowering his palm from his shirt. ‘I—’
‘Yes,’ Warrington said, feeling her brushing the length of his side. ‘We have discussed it. I will handle any expense she might incur. She will share my quarters.’ He levelled a glare at his brother. ‘I believe you mentioned that it might be best for me to have a woman’s company.’
‘Should lessen your growls to snarls, I hope.’ Ben smiled as he spoke. He looked at Melina. ‘If you could do that, miss, the entire ship will be grateful.’
Warrington could feel her hip through her skirts, pressed at his thigh, and smell the spiced scent again, which hinted at mystical pleasures. He felt nothing like growling.
He pushed the thoughts away and loosened his grip. Any tighter and he feared she would be gasping for breath. As it was, he felt on the edge of it and she seemed to have lost her words.
The captain looked at Melina. ‘Are you willing to sail this very night?’
She nodded.
Ben turned to Warrington. ‘While you lolled around on the island, the repairs ended. The wind is perfect, and the tide right. We can be at sea as the light fades. Show her your cabin, then get to the foredeck and give a hand.’
Warrington leaned his head towards Ben and spoke in a low voice. ‘Helping on deck is not what I had in mind.’
Ben smiled. ‘See the tears on my face.’ He turned and walked away, his boots clattering on the deck louder than before. With every step he shouted a new order to get ready to sail.
Melina whipped the shawl back around her shoulders. She took the parcel from the man who’d lifted it on board.
‘Follow me,’ Warrington said to her.
His berth was in the foredeck. The captain and the first mate had quarters in the aft deck, close to the wheel.
Warrington led Melina to his cabin, opening the door, which barely swung wide enough for his shoulders. He stepped back, letting her inside. He remained in the doorway and saw her survey the surroundings.
‘Take the bunk,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll get some other bedding.’
The hesitancy in her movements made him want to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He stood immobile, looking into the cabin. Everything appeared differently to him than when he’d first decided he would sail. Then, he’d seen the surroundings as an efficient use of space. Now he was not impressed to stand in the centre and be able to touch both walls.
The berth took no more room than for a man to lie on, with storage above, and below an open cabinet with a railing around it to keep supplies from escaping and a brace midway.
He could not sit upright on the bed and felt he slept in a casket for a man of slight build. He had a chair cinched to the wall and his sea chest sat underneath a table. He had floor space slightly larger than the length and width of his bed.
‘Are you certain you wish to sail with us?’ He spoke the words to her back. ‘This will be the room you and I will share. You can change your mind now and I will see that you are returned to your home. The ship can wait to leave.’
She didn’t turn to him. ‘I have no choice.’
As he heard her, his mind knew what her mouth said, but her voice barely touched him. The curve of her shoulders and the delicateness of her skin—those things reached him. And he knew without a doubt in any hidden crevasse of his mind he’d not overcome his weakness. Not even facing his own death had changed him.
He could never curse a woman as much as he cursed himself for his foolishness.
At least on Melos she had a home and family. She’d be soon lost among the dockside lightskirts at Wapping docks, trying to entice men. But it wasn’t his concern. He had tried to keep her from the ship.
Thinking of her on the docks, plying her trade, made him feel angry again. She only thought she moved into a place to improve her circumstance. The stews of London took no prisoners and willingly released no one alive.
He forced the concern from his mind.
The seamen could have their abstinence. He didn’t mind so much when solitude was his own choice. But he did prefer to see noses without close proximity to whiskers. Before, he’d not noticed how women’s presence made the world feel differently, until he found himself surrounded by men.
He missed Whitegate, his true home, but he’d left it well before he boarded the ship.
He’d left a perfectly sound home behind for the chance to sleep on boards and inhale salt water through his nose. And instead of a crystal decanter, kegs held stale water. The biscuits sometimes had to be broken into pieces and slowly mushed away in his mouth.
He’d not thought past his wish to keep her from Ben, or his own desires, to realise he was putting himself in such closeness with a woman. He’d never shared a room with a woman. Or awakened with anyone. Not even when he was married.
The act seemed intimate. More than a quick tumble would be. Sleeping near her, very near her, could be... His breathing increased. Pleasant.
Or not.
He examined her carefully, thinking of the rumblings from the ship at night. ‘Do you snore?’
She stood and looked at him. ‘Do you?’
‘No.’ He supposed he didn’t.
Her eyes opened wide, too wide. ‘If I sleep loud, will you go somewhere else?’
He smiled. ‘It’s an old sailor’s legend that if a woman snores it’s because she hasn’t had enough bed play to tire her into a sound slumber.’
Her