Читать книгу Shipwrecked With The Captain - Diane Gaston - Страница 12

It took another hour for the ship to approach and lower a boat to row out to them, but Claire did not mind the wait. They were rescued.

Soon enough they were safe on board the ketch and greeted by a man who introduced himself as Captain Molloy.

Lucien immediately told the Captain, ‘The lady needs water and food.’

Claire had not realised the strength of her thirst until Lucien mentioned it.

Lucien.

She could not think of him in more formal terms than his given name. He’d saved her life and he was the only person she had in her memory.

He kept an arm around her, though she thought she could walk on her own.

‘We’ll get you both below.’ The Captain ushered them towards a hatch. ‘What vessel are you from?’

‘The Dun Aengus,’ Lucien replied. ‘Packet from Dublin to Holyhead.’

Captain Molloy walked them to his cabin, a tiny space, but one with a table, four chairs and a berth. Anything else in the room must have been stored behind the cabinet doors which lined the walls.

One of the men brought water. Claire nearly pulled the tin cup from the man’s hands.

‘Take small sips,’ Lucien warned her. ‘You’ll want to keep it down.’

She nodded.

He watched her drink before taking any water himself.

‘Can we find the lady some dry clothes?’ Lucien asked the Captain.

Captain Molloy signalled to his man, who nodded and left. ‘We’ve been out only a few days, so there should be enough clean clothes to be found.’ He nodded to Lucien. ‘For you as well?’

‘I would be grateful.’ He took another small sip of water. ‘You are fishermen?’

‘That we are,’ the Captain said. ‘We’re after cod and haddock.’

Claire saw concern flash on to Lucien’s face.

‘I am afraid you will be with us for a bit.’ The captain looked apologetic. ‘We’ll be at sea for three weeks at least.’

‘Three weeks?’ She gasped. It seemed so long a time.

But why was she concerned? She knew of no other place she must go, no other place she belonged. She might as well be at sea.

‘My lady, you will have the use of my cabin.’ Captain Molloy glanced over at Lucien. ‘We’ll find a place for you, as well.’ He looked away and muttered, ‘Although I cannot imagine where.’

Claire spoke up. ‘I do not wish to trouble you so. Is there not room for Lucien here with me?’

She was not entirely selfless. She dreaded being alone with the emptiness in her mind. He was her one link to her previous life, the life she could not remember.

‘I cannot stay here,’ Lucien protested. ‘Your reputation—’

‘My reputation cannot matter here.’ She turned to Captain Molloy. ‘Can it, Captain? No one will speak of this, will they?’

The Captain answered eagerly. ‘I’ll see they don’t.’

A muscle in Lucien’s cheek tensed. ‘As you wish.’

‘Well, that is settled.’ The Captain clapped his hands together. ‘I need to return to my duties. Food and clothing will be brought to you shortly.’

‘Thank you, Captain,’ Claire said.

He bowed to her, a gesture of respect that seemed foreign to her.

After he left, she lifted her cup to sip more water, holding back from gulping the whole contents at once.

Lucien frowned. ‘Are you certain about sharing the cabin, my lady?’

‘They saved us, Lucien.’ Was it not the least they could do in return? ‘I cannot repay them by causing more discomfort.’

He nodded. Grudgingly, she thought.

The reticule still hung from her wrist. She untwisted its strings and slipped it off.

‘Look inside,’ he said. ‘Its contents might tell you more about yourself. Spark a memory, perhaps.’

It looked as alien to her as this fishing boat cabin, but she loosened its strings and reached inside to pull out the contents.

A small purse filled with coin. A tortoiseshell comb. A white enamel etui painted with exquisite flowers and containing a tiny scissors, needles, pins and hairpins. A linen handkerchief with an embroidered edge and a monogram—R.P. Rebecca Pierce. The name that didn’t seem like her name. The items that didn’t seem like her possessions.

‘Nothing looks like mine.’ She trembled. ‘It is as though I have never seen these things before.’

He moved closer.

If only he would hold her. She’d become accustomed to his arms around her.

Instead he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Too much has happened. Your memory will return in time.’

At the moment, he was her memory.

A few minutes later, one of the fishermen brought two tankards of ale and bread and cheese, which she ate slowly, as Lucien directed. When another man brought clothes, Claire looked down at herself. The lovely travelling dress she wore seemed as unfamiliar as the fishing boat. It had laces at the back.

She glanced over at Lucien. ‘I fear I must ask for your help.’ She turned her back to him.

He stood. ‘You could not have undone this by yourself. Might you have been travelling with a maid?’

She turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. Her insides twisted in pain. ‘Do you suppose I was?’ She turned back. ‘Did she die?’

Did someone who tended to her needs die and she did not even remember them?

His hand flattened against her shoulder and his voice softened. ‘We survived. Others would have, too.’

‘I cannot remember.’ She also could not remember if another man had ever touched her so—so gently.

He loosened her laces and stepped back. ‘You’ll want me to leave. Give you some privacy.’

‘No!’ she cried, then felt guilty for it, but she had a dread of being alone. ‘Just—just turn your back.’

He did as she asked and she slipped off the dress. But there were her stays. They tied in front, but she could not undo the knot.

‘Lucien, I need more help.’ She drew a ragged breath. ‘My stays. The knot is too tight.’

He turned again and stepped towards her. His gaze was downcast as he worked the knot, his gentle hands touching her even more intimately.

His touch was more quenching than the cup of water.

Her breath quickened and her breasts rose and fell. He was only inches from her.

He made quick work of her stays, though, and stepped back once more. ‘I’ll turn around again.’

She slipped out of her stays and removed the rest of her underclothes, aware she stood naked in the presence of a man.

* * *

Lucien clenched a fist, letting his fingers press into his flesh. Being so close to her in her undressed state had stirred him. The sounds of her removing her underclothes aroused his senses even more. He was only too aware of the vision she must present in her nakedness.

And of how it felt to touch her.

In the past twenty-four hours he’d rarely not been touching her, but his fingers brushing against her skin stirred him as a man, not a rescuer. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, true, but this situation certainly did not warrant such a response.

And she was the last sort of woman he needed to be aroused by—the aristocratic daughter of the family he’d been raised to despise. Besides, she was much too vulnerable for a gentleman to take advantage.

‘I am dressed,’ she said. ‘You may turn around now.’

He turned. She’d donned the loose shirt and breeches the fishermen wore and held the rough knitted stockings that covered their legs and feet.

‘I must remove my half-boots, but I’m well covered now.’ She sat in one of the chairs.

For the first time he noticed her half-boots. Something about them... They looked worn, not at all what he would have expected her to wear.

She removed one and held it up. ‘I have no memory of these.’ She shrugged and set the shoe aside. ‘You must change now, as well. I promise not to look.’

He smiled. ‘Will you help me if I cannot undo my buttons?’

She coloured. The flush on her cheeks only made her more lovely.

Lowering her gaze, she said, ‘Of course I will, if you need me.’

He coughed. ‘It was a jest, my lady.’

She turned her chair away from him and quickly donned the stockings. He continued to watch as she then busied herself taking pins from her hair, most of which had already fallen to her shoulders in tangles. It was remarkable that any pins remained. She took the comb from her reticule and started working on her hair, one strand at a time.

Lucien forced his eyes away and changed into the clothes the fishermen provided.

He hung their old clothing and her reticule on pegs on the wall and joined her at the table.

She looked over at him and smiled. ‘These clothes are remarkably comfortable, although I feel a bit as if I am in my nightdress.’ Her face fell. ‘How is it I remember how a nightdress feels and I do not remember owning one?’

He had no answers for her. ‘When we are back on land you can consult a physician.’

Her eyes widened. ‘I would fear he’d send me to Bedlam.’

Such a worry was not unfounded, but surely her family would not allow such a thing. He’d not allow it.

‘We are likely to be on this boat for three weeks,’ she said after a time. ‘Is that not what the Captain said?’

‘It is,’ he responded. ‘We must make the best of it.’

Her expression turned determined. ‘I am glad of it. I am certain I can manage such a small world.’

‘And, who knows?’ he added. ‘Perhaps your memory will return by then.’

She detangled her hair strand by strand and it calmed Lucien to watch her. When done, she put her hair in a plait.

She held the end of her plait in her fingers. ‘I suppose it will only come loose again without a ribbon.’

Lucien rose and picked up the neckcloth he’d taken off. He cut the edge with the knife they’d used to slice the cheese and ripped a long strip.

He handed it to her. ‘This should work.’

‘But you’ve ruined your neckcloth.’ She reached for it.

He laughed. ‘I’d say the sea ruined it already.’

She wound it around the end of her plait and tied the ends with a bow.

They finished the rest of the bread and cheese and soon Lady Rebecca’s eyelids closed and her chin dipped on to her chest.

She jolted awake.

‘You must go to bed.’ Lucien rose and helped her to the Captain’s berth.

She curled up beneath the blanket, her eyes blinking in an effort to stay awake.

‘Sleep now,’ he murmured.

She seized his hand. ‘Where will you sleep, Lucien? There is only one berth.’

He tried again. ‘I should not sleep in this cabin with you, my lady. It is not proper.’

‘I do not care.’ She gripped harder. ‘To tell the truth, I am a little afraid to be alone.’

She looked very afraid.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a bed for myself on the floor.’

* * *

Lucien waited until she was sound asleep before gathering their dishes and slipping out the door. He found the galley and the Captain, who again said how pleased he was that he did not have to squeeze his men any more than merely finding another berth for himself. The fishermen managed to give Lucien another blanket and he returned to the Captain’s cabin.

She still slept.

Dead tired himself, Lucien formed a hammock of sorts with the blanket. As soon as he was settled in it, he, too, fell asleep.

* * *

He was awoken by Lady Rebecca’s cries. The room was pitch black.

‘No! No! Stay away! Stay away!’ She thrashed around in the berth.

He made his way to her in the darkness and held her arms to still her. ‘Wake up. You are having a dream.’

Her thrashing stopped and she threw her arms around his neck. ‘Lucien! I was being chased and then I was in the water and you were too far away to reach me.’

He unwrapped her arms from around his neck. ‘Only a dream.’

She kept hold of his hand. ‘Yes. A dream. I am awake now.’

‘Who chased you?’ Someone from her past? This was hardly the sort of memory he wished returned to her.

‘I do not know. It was as if the blackness pursued me.’ She trembled. ‘I am quite recovered now.’

He remained at her side. ‘Are you certain?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said, but her hand trembled.

The nightmare was still with her then. ‘I’ll sit beside you for a while,’ he told her.

Her hand seemed small and vulnerable in his larger one.

In the darkness he heard her murmur, ‘Everything was black, then all I could see was you.’

He sat with her until her hand relaxed and her breathing came soft and rhythmic.

When Claire woke the next morning, Lucien was gone. She sat up quickly, her heart pounding.

She was alone!

But she remembered where she was—on a fishing boat—and she remembered Lucien.

She remembered, too, that he’d woken her from that terrible nightmare and remained beside her in the narrow berth. She also remembered how she’d thrown her arms around him.

Her cheeks burned.

Although she could not remember who she was or anything about her past, she knew with certainty that it was shameful of her to embrace a man like that. Even if he had been a perfect gentleman.

Perhaps she was wanton. Could that be? Could it be she’d already compromised herself and that was why she’d felt no hesitation to insist he share the room with her? She might be a lady, but was it possible she was anything but ladylike?

She glanced down at herself and realised the fisherman’s clothes she wore had come loose of her makeshift belt. Standing, she straightened her clothing, but the breeches seemed ready to fall down at any moment. She remembered the etui from the reticule—she could not think of it as her etui or her reticule. She found it hanging from a peg. She took the pins from the etui and used them to fit the breeches to her body.

The door opened.

It was Lucien. ‘I have brought you some breakfast.’

He’d brought a steaming bowl of porridge and a mug of warm cider. How kind of him.

‘Thank you, Lucien.’

Her appetite was hardy. Was she always a big eater? Scenting the porridge, she remembered how it tasted—but she could not remember a time she ate porridge.

She felt Lucien’s gaze upon her as she ate.

She swallowed a spoonful and looked up at him. ‘I am sorry I woke you last night.’

He paused before speaking. ‘How do you fare this morning?’

She laughed lightly. ‘I wish I could say I feel quite myself this morning, but I do not know who myself is. I do feel rested, though.’

He nodded.

‘And you, Lucien,’ she asked. ‘Are you well?’

He waved off her question. ‘Very well.’ He leaned forward. ‘Rest today, if you need to, but I want to assist the fishermen. There are only five of them, including Captain Molloy. I am certain they can make use of me.’

She had not expected him to help catch fish, not a captain in the navy. How good of him. Did he always consider others, perhaps even over himself? How could she be selfish enough to insist he stay with her?

Just because she was afraid to be alone.

‘I do understand.’ She took a nervous breath. ‘I will amuse myself somehow.’ She managed a smile.

His eyes pierced into hers. ‘I will check on you, my lady. Or make certain someone else does.’

She lifted her chin and nodded, hoping she looked braver than she felt.

* * *

Lucien had expected her to complain and demand he remain with her. It was clear that she did not want to be alone. But she had not. And why had she insisted he stay in the cabin with her? If it became known, it would certainly ruin her in her aristocratic circles. Was it her memory loss? Did she not remember how important reputation was for an earl’s daughter?

Spending the night in the same room posed a different problem for Lucien. The intimacy of sleeping near her fuelled fantasies of sharing her bed, of tasting her lips, of feeling her naked skin next to his. He would never seduce her, though, would he? It would be taking advantage of her in the most reprehensible way.

Over the years he’d met many high-born men who’d boasted about conquests, usually leaving the lives of lower-born, but respectable, young women in tatters. Even Lucien’s mother had been an easy conquest for Viscount Waverland.

Not that she’d been anything less than willing.

In any event, Lucien had no patience for aristocrats who called themselves gentlemen and behaved like rutting animals around any woman dazzled by their status.

And he refused to sink to their level.

He watched her finish her porridge. He could at least keep her company that long.

‘Do you know about fishing, Lucien?’ she asked between spoonsful.

He gave a dry laugh. ‘Very little. But there must be something I can do.’

She blinked up at him. Her eyes were a remarkable mix of brown circled by green. ‘You could captain the ship, could you not?’

‘I could, but this boat has a captain.’ Although if he had taken over from the Captain of the Dun Aengus, perhaps the ship would not have foundered.

There was no reason to doubt the Captain of this vessel, though. He and his crew depended upon the sea for their livelihood.

‘I know nothing of fishing,’ Lady Rebecca said. ‘They use nets, do they not?’

He smiled. ‘Yes, they do, so you do know something of fishing.’

She lowered her gaze to her bowl and carefully scooped out another spoonful. She lifted it to her mouth.

Lucien looked away. Her lips had become a distraction, one he could not resist for long. He glanced back.

Her expression sobered. ‘I cannot understand why I know so many things, but I do not know anything about me.’

‘Take heart in that,’ Lucien replied. ‘If you remember those things, then surely your memory of yourself will return.’

She took another spoonful of porridge. He looked away again.

‘I am becoming accustomed to not knowing.’ She averted her head for a moment before turning and looking directly into his eyes. ‘It is as if my life started on the raft when I woke.’

He reached over and put his hand on hers. ‘I believe you will recover your memory.’

She merely continued to stare into his face.

He withdrew his hand and stood. ‘I should go on deck.’

A look of panic flitted across her face, but she quickly forced a smile. ‘Yes. I believe I will see if our old clothing needs mending. I think I remember how to use a needle and thread.’

Lucien was surprised that her first idea was to do something so useful. ‘I will come back to check on you, as I said.’

He turned to leave, but Lady Rebecca stopped him. ‘Wait a moment, Lucien.’

Just when he thought she would not become demanding.

She gave him a determined look. ‘I—I wish you would not call me “my lady” or “Lady Rebecca.” It simply does not feel right to me.’

He stood at the door. ‘That is who you are.’

‘What I mean is, I am not formal with you. I call you Lucien. I realise I never asked if I could call you Lucien. Is it offensive to you? Should I call you Captain Roper?’

Her use of his given name could be meant as condescending, but, if truth be told, he rather liked the sound of his name on her lips.

‘Call me what you wish,’ he responded.

‘Then will you call me something less formal as well?’

His brow furrowed. ‘I think not.’

Her head turned as if she were flinching from a blow. ‘I see.’

‘Lady Rebecca.’ The name did not rest easy on his tongue. ‘It is better if I preserve the formalities.’ It helped him keep his distance. And keep his hands off her.

She seemed to force another smile. ‘Of course. If that is what you want.’