The Countess' Lucky Charm Read online

  Because, he answered himself mentally, she had never looked as attractive before as she did in her new blue dress. He took another long, appraising look at her. Blood rushed to his loins and he fought the urge to take her in his arms, to taste the luscious lips beneath his own, to kiss her repeatedly until they both were senseless.

  “Lady of quality? No one believes that of me,” she scoffed.

  At her sarcastic voice, he was brought back to the conversation with a jolt. Regretfully, he tucked away the pleasant image of her in his arms.

  “I do,” he replied stoutly. “Being chaperoned is really for your own protection.”

  “I kin protect meself,” she announced. “And I could have run away. I’m quick on my feet.”

  “Run?” He looked pointedly about them. “To where? There?” He pointed his finger to the crow’s nest on the main mast. “Or perhaps over there.” He pointed over the railing. “Assuming you can swim, that is.”

  “Oh, all right,” Simone grumped.

  She hated to admit Temple was right. She stood on the deck of a ship, with nowhere to run. Here there were no alleys or alcoves to duck into, no doorjambs to press against, no crowds to disappear into. Here was a three mast wooden ship, insignificant against the vastness surrounding them. She couldn’t run if she wanted to.

  “When do we start, then, with the chaperoning?” Voice resigned, she slumped against the railing.

  More rules, apparently. Her previous life, so restricted due to the circumstances of her birth, was nothing but freedom in comparison to a lady of quality. Before, short of running foul of the law, she had no one to answer to. She could come and go as she pleased, say what she pleased, behave as she pleased. No one expected anything of her.

  Now, her entire day was planned, all because of a silly wager. At first, it had been easy enough but now Temple told her how to eat, how to talk, how to walk, with nary a minute to herself.

  How she had once envied the ladies as they visited the shops, so perfect, so carefree, while she stood cold, dirty and shivering in the street.

  However, ladies of quality paid a price. For all intents and purposes, they lived in a prison. Not a prison of bars and stone but an invisible prison imposed on them by the society in which they lived.

  Sighing, she pulled out from beneath her dress the gold medallion hanging about her neck. It usually lay hidden beneath the floor boards beside her cot in the workhouse but she had been wearing it the day she met Temple. She rubbed her thumb over it, taking comfort in the familiar grooves that formed the image of a crest.

  She wanted Temple to be proud of her, to repay the faith he had in her. If it meant more rules, then so be it.

  The wager had not been made by her, but she would honour it.

  * * *

  Simone cheered up at dinner. Temple had not noticed her new dress but Gordon Dixon, the young clerk, couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Only it wasn’t Mr Dixon’s admiring eyes she wanted, but Temple’s.

  Truthfully, she wanted Temple to find her attractive, to see her as a woman and not an obligation. Impossible, of course, considering the difference in their stations but that thought crept in her mind every now and then to tease her with its ridiculousness.

  She turned her attention back to the young man. “You may seat me,” she murmured.

  “Of course,” he stammered, beet red. He held out his elbow and Simone lightly placed her hand on it. “Lady Wellington, you look particularly lovely this evening,”

  “Why, thank you, Mr Dixon.” She replied slowly, carefully forming her words as Temple had taught her. She batted her eyelashes and almost laughed out loud at the result it had on the poor fellow. Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and he almost fell over in his attempt to pull out the chair for her.

  Really, this was too easy. The young man had turned to putty in her hands. She pretended not to notice the scowl on Temple’s face as she smiled at the clerk, enjoying the influence she had over the smitten fellow.

  How lovely to have the clerk’s attention and so delicious for her ego. For once, she looked forward to the evening.

  * * *

  “Your display at dinner appalled me,” Temple snarled as he shut the cabin door before turning around to face her. “A married lady of quality never carries on in such a blatant manner.”

  She looked at him, amazed. He had ignored her all evening, so why this reaction?

  Realization cascaded through her.

  “Why, you are jealous,” she said in her very best lady of quality of voice.

  “I am not,” he growled back at her.

  “Oh, but you are.” She clapped her hands in delight.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He pushed past her to stand in front of the porthole. He stared out into the blackness for a moment before turning around, displeasure evident in the set of his face. “It’s disappointing to spend time in your instruction only to see you disregard everything you have been taught the minute some bleeder looks your way.”

  Anger spurted through her at his hurtful words. Just this afternoon, he had wanted to chaperone her for her protection and now he verbally attacked her over her behaviour at dinner?

  “What do ye mean, disregard everything.” She glared at him, hands on her hips. “I let a gentleman seat me. I didn’t slurp. I used me knife and fork properly. I watched me diction.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” he interrupted. “You practically threw yourself at Mr Dixon for all to see.”

  “So what if I did,” she snapped. “For the first time in me life, a man looked at me, really looked at me.”

  “After such an exhibition, you want me to believe your virtue is intact?” His voice dripped with disgust.

  “Believe it or no, it’s true,” she retorted. “Besides, where’s the harm in talking to Mr Dixon?”

  “Dinner chit chat is one thing, monopolizing the man is another.” Temple shook his head. “What was I thinking? You can take the girl from the street but you can’t take the street from the girl.” He meant the nasty remark to wound her.

  Simone felt it as purely as if he had slipped a blade between her ribs. She stared at him, speechless. This unpleasant side to Temple she had not seen before. Moisture began to gather on her lashes and she swallowed hard, not wanting to dissolve into tears in front of him. She looked down at the beautiful dress, sick at heart.

  It seemed as if she would never get it right.

  Only one thing gave her a glimmer of hope. Temple’s jealousy had to mean something. She peeped up at him but he had turned back to the porthole and all she could see was his back, stiff with disapproval.

  “I am sorry if I disappointed you,” she whispered, hoping he noticed how proper she sounded.

  He didn’t respond.

  Temple’s anger surprised her. He never got angry with her, no matter how many mistakes or mispronunciations she made. Perhaps he had a point. Perhaps her behaviour had been unacceptable. She would ask Mrs Featherstone about it later.

  In the meantime, she would try and smooth things over.

  “I’ll do better, really I will.” She vowed to try harder for she wanted his praise not the derisive words he had just flung at her.

  He turned around, still glowering, eyes full of misgiving. He ran both hands through his hair, leaving it tousled and unkempt, and heaved a sigh before speaking. “Perhaps we should cancel the wager. The captain has asked me to join him for an after dinner brandy. I shall discuss it.”

  “No!” Her cry pierced the heavy wooden beams. She plucked at his sleeve. “We can’t cancel it. I can do it, my lord.”

  He brushed past her again and lifted the latch on the door before turning to her. “If you would excuse me,” he said, resignation heavy in his voice.

  Dismayed, Simone watched him leave. Her heart splintered at the regret etched in his face. Plainly, she had failed him.

  * * *

  Temple strode down the corridor toward the dining room, baff
led by his reaction. Aye, he had been angry when Petey had accosted Simone but it had been nothing compared to the rage flooding through him when watching her play the coquette with the smitten Gordon Dixon earlier this evening.

  At the door to the dining room, he poked his head in to discover the captain had gone, doubtless not expecting Temple’s return. Ah well, that suited him just fine, he needed air to sort his thoughts. He made his way above board and proceeded to pace the deck, from bow to stern.

  He paused to chat to the first mate whose knobby hands deftly manned the wheel.

  “Petey has complained to the captain regarding Miss Dougherty. He’s accused her of unwarranted fisticuffs.” Allan McCabe’s voice was apologetic. “I find Miss Dougherty charming and I don’t believe him.”

  Temple’s mind reeled with the news and he tightened his fists. “It’s not true. He was fit to be tied for she rebuffed his advances.”

  “Aye, Petey’s a vengeful one.” McCabe leaned against the wheel, holding course into the wind. “I thought to warn you so perhaps you could smooth things with the captain.”

  “I do thank you. I’ll meet with Captain Featherstone tomorrow as I have another item to discuss with him.” He bowed slightly and paced anew, weaving figure eights between the masts. Petey’s allegation didn’t concern him—one word from Temple as witness and that would be put to rights.

  Nevertheless, there was still the matter of Simone’s behaviour earlier this evening.

  By his fifth pass, the crisp air had cleansed his mind and cooled his rage. Rueful, he realized Simone had been right—he had been jealous. He wanted her teasing eyes and dazzling smile focused only on him. Each day, he enjoyed her company more for her keen wit and saucy attitude pleased him.

  However, the more time he spent with her, the more he realized the enormity of the wager he had made with the captain. To put it succinctly, her shortcomings were many: her language, her manners, her lack of training in the womanly arts, her lack of appropriate clothing. The list could go on and on.

  He had seen her horrified face when he had told her he would cancel the wager but in truth, he thought to cancel it to spare her feelings. As much progress as she had made, it was simply not possible for her to transform in the few remaining weeks at sea.

  He leaned over the stern, watching the ship’s wake foam and glisten in the moonlight. It would mean going back on his promise to himself that he always covered his bets. That didn’t sit well with him either but his impetuous words had instigated the whole escapade and he bore the responsibility to deal with it and Petey’s allegation.

  A vision of the captain’s sharp features arose in Temple’s mind; his curt voice echoed in Temple’s ears. The captain, used to giving orders and having them obeyed, would be a formidable opponent.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, a thoughtful Temple emerged from the meeting with Captain Featherstone and went in search of Simone. He didn’t find her in the cabin, nor in the dining room, nor at her favourite spot by the bowsprit.

  Puzzled at her disappearance, he turned toward the sounds of hilarity swirling on the stiff breeze, nipping at Temple’s ears. What the devil?

  Rounding the bulwark, he found the source: Simone had found herself a card game with two of the crew members and was doing very well at it, judging by the coins in front of her.

  He stifled the urge to join in. No matter how much he enjoyed a brisk round of cards, he couldn’t waste time gaming—Simone must hear of the captain’s decision.

  So instead, he stood and watched, silently applauding Simone’s prowess.

  “That’s mine!” crowed Simone, throwing down her final card, the ace of hearts, onto the crate that served as makeshift table.

  “I’m out.” A disgusted Thomas Becker tossed down the rest of his cards at the squeal of the bosun’s whistle. “It’s coming up to my watch.”

  “Saved by the bell,” laughed Samuel, exposing gapped teeth beneath a fierce black moustache.

  “Aye, I had no luck today.” A muttering Thomas Becker stood and stalked away, patting his empty pockets as he disappeared from sight.

  “Shall we play?” Simone asked of Samuel as she gathered the cards.

  “No, Lady Wellington, I’ve sails to mend.”

  “Coward.”

  “Aye, I know when I’m out of my league.” He laughed again. “But count me in for the next game.” He groped for his crutch and hauled himself up, adjusting the red bandanna about his neck before stumping away on one wooden leg.

  “May I?” Temple pointed to the keg vacated by Samuel. At her nod, he settled himself. “Whatever possessed you to play at cards?”

  Surprised at her apparent good humour, he gazed at her. Childlike blue eyes sparkled back at him. Clearly, the game had agreed with her although he wondered at the too-taut face and brittle smile.

  “Because of what you told me last night.” She shuffled the cards. “We shall lose the wager.” She paused, holding the cards in one hand. “If that is so, I believe we owe double our fares. And,” she put down the deck, “we don’t have enough money for that.” She leaned back and crossed her arms. “I thought to help.”

  “How do you know I’m not able to pay the wager?”

  “I watched you count out the coins to pay the captain that night we came on board. Your money sack was almost empty when you put it back in your pocket.”

  Wonder at her acuity rushed through him. But why would it? As a thief she knew very well the value of money.

  “Not to worry about the wager, it is off without penalty.” He deliberately made his voice casual.

  “What?” She gaped at him. Was that disappointment or relief he saw in her eyes?

  He nodded. “Evidently, the captain’s wife has taken a shine to you. She’s been scolding him nonstop over what she perceives is his ill treatment of you. He was only too glad to let it go to spare himself. There is, however, one stipulation.”

  She cocked her head and looked at him.

  Relief, he decided, for she appeared much happier, the previous tautness of her face relaxed.

  “You must avoid the crew. Ladies of quality mingle with their peers, not with others not of their station.”

  She flushed and nodded. “I understand. No more card games. But what shall I do instead?”

  “You still have your sewing lessons with the captain’s wife. Besides, I should like to continue your instruction.”

  He meant every word. The wager may be over but that didn’t mean he couldn’t live up to his vow to teach her to become a lady of quality.

  Astonishment flooded her eyes. “But the wager is over.”

  “I am bored silly.” He lifted his hands. “I’ve nothing to do. I’ve read all the books in the ship’s rather limited library. Besides, I detest unfinished business.”

  A few splatters of rain sprinkled the deck, the breeze stiffened. The Annabelle bucked the growing swells and around them, crew members ran in organized pandemonium to furl the snapping sails. A storm brewed.

  “Shall we go below deck?” He held out his arm.

  “Aye, but you go ahead. I’ve things to tidy.” Cards fluttered in the breeze and she pounced on them, slipping them into her pocket. Then she gathered up the coins and palms cupped, held them out to him. “For you.”

  Sudden suspicion nudged him. “Where did you get the ante?”

  She coloured. “I, ah, I borrowed a shilling. From you.”

  “Bloody hell.” The oath erupted from his very core. He should have realized she knew where he had hidden his money pouch. They did, after all, share a cabin.

  He didn’t know whether to paddle her bottom or congratulate her on her success.

  He did neither. Rather, he did the one thing he had wanted to do since Petey had accosted her on deck.

  He kissed her.

  Buffeted by the wind and pelting rain, he pulled her close, wrapping one arm about her shoulder and tilting her head back with his free hand. Dimly, he heard
coins bounce and roll away as her hands tried to push him away, fluttering uselessly against his strength. His mouth landed on hers, forceful, teasing her lips, nipping them until they parted.

  It was as if he had never kissed anyone before.

  The second his lips touched hers, serenity washed through him like dairy cream pouring from a pitcher, thick and sensuous and frothy. Awareness of his surroundings receded until there was only the feel of Simone in his arms. He lost himself in her essence, in her warmth.

  More. He wanted more.

  With a groan, he thrust his tongue into her mouth to tease hers, sucking, on and on until that cadence was matched by the cadence throbbing in his loins.

  Simone didn’t try to resist, couldn’t fight the attraction he had for her. With a whimper, she wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoes to get closer. Of their own volition, her eyes closed and she melted into him, drawn into his heat, his strength. She wanted to hold him forever, to feel his lithe body this close to hers forever. Time ceased to exist. All that existed was her and Temple, locked in an ageless battle. It was a heady sensation and she wished the moment would last forever. She moaned.

  Her moan was lost among the hoots, applause and catcalls of the watching crew. The sound must have distracted Temple for he pulled his lips away to look down at her with hooded eyes. A smile ghosted across his lips. “That wasn’t so bad, was it,” he whispered before stepping back.

  He looked down and, suddenly business-like, squatted on his haunches to collect the coins.

  She gazed down at his bent head and lifted trembling fingers to her mouth to touch her lips, lips still tingling with the feel of him. It had been magical, transporting her to another world, another time.

  Yet somehow she sensed there was more, for her woman’s place pounded and hot dampness spread there, between her thighs. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop the disconcerting reaction of her body.