Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(19)

“Paper. You … you still owe me two sheets of paper.”

“You still owe me six pounds, eight shillings,” he said softly. “Not to mention a new pair of boots. So I think you’re rather ahead.”

Indeed, Gray was losing ground fast. Those lovely eyes, her whisper-soft skin, the sweet scent that only grew more potent as the warmth between them built … If they stood like this much longer, he wouldn’t give tuppence for anything but gathering her in his arms, covering her lips with his, and ravaging that pert blossom of a mouth.

No, no. What was he thinking? One didn’t ravage an English rose of a governess. This was a girl who’d expect to be kissed sweetly. Chastely. Tenderly.

Hell. The word “chaste” wasn’t even in his vocabulary. And Gray didn’t do anything tenderly.

“Sweet, I hate to break it to you. But no matter how many sheets of paper you fill with letters home—there’s no mail coach stopping by.”

“No, it’s not for letters. You don’t understand.”

“So explain it to me.”

“I …” She looked up at him again, those big eyes searching his. There was a story behind that desperate gaze. One that wouldn’t fit on two sheets of paper, nor even two hundred, he supposed.

He squeezed her hand. Go on, some fool part of him urged. Tell meeverything.

She never had a chance.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Turner.” Joss stood at Gray’s shoulder, looking as though someone had mixed bilge-water into his tea. “I need a word with my brother, if I may.”

“Yes, of course, Captain. Mr. Grayson was just … explaining the workings of the ship.” She attempted to tug her hand from Gray’s grasp, shooting him a pained look when he refused to relinquish his prize. Gray said smoothly, “Actually, we were discussing debts. Miss Turner still owes me her fare, and I—”

“And I told you, you’ll have it today.” Beneath that abomination of a skirt wrapped about his leg, she planted her heel atop his booted toe and transferred all her weight onto it. Firmly. Once again, Gray regretted trading his old, sturdy boots for these foppish monstrosities. Her little pointed heel bit straight through the thin leather.

With a tight grimace, Gray released her hand. He’d been about to say, and I have her handkerchief to return. But just for that, he wouldn’t.

“Good afternoon, then.” A sweet smile graced her face as she stomped down on his foot again, harder. Then she turned and flounced away. He made an amused face at Joss. “I think she likes me.”

“In my cabin, Gray.”

Gray gritted his teeth and followed Joss down the hatch. Whether he liked being Gray’s half brother or not, Joss was damn lucky right now that he was.

Gray wouldn’t have suffered that supercilious command for any bond weaker than blood.

“You gave me your word, Gray.”

“Did I? And what word was that?”

Joss tossed his hat on the wood-framed bed and stripped off his greatcoat with agitated movements. “You know damn well what I mean. You said you wouldn’t pursue Miss Turner. Now you’re kissing her hand and making a spectacle in front of the whole ship. Bailey’s already taking bets from the sailors as to how many days it’ll take you to bed her.”

“Really?” Gray rubbed the back of his neck. “I hope he’s giving even odds on three. Two, if you’ll send young Davy up the mast again. That got her quite excited.”

Joss glared at him. “Need I remind you that this was your idea? You wanted a respectable merchant vessel. I’m trying to command it as such, but that’ll be a bit difficult if you intend to stage a bawdy-house revue on deck every forenoon.”

Gray smiled as Joss slung himself into the captain’s chair. “Be careful, Joss. I do believe you nearly made a joke. People might get the idea you have a sense of humor.”

“I don’t see anything humorous about this. This isn’t a pleasure cruise around the Mediterranean.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Gray paced toward the windows spanning the ship’s stern. “Believe me, I know perfectly well what’s at stake here. They’re my stakes, damn it.”

Joss made a dismissive snort. “You don’t need to remind me whose money it is.”

“Yes, it’s my money and my ship, but I’ve entrusted them both to you.”

“No you haven’t. You’re ordering my crew around, questioning my decisions …”

“So that’s what this is about. The storm yesterday?”

“The storm, the goats, Bains, the girl. You’ve countermanded me at every turn, and we’re only a day out from land. I’m telling you, if you want a captain who thinks only of profit, with no regard for the comfort and safety of people aboard—”

No regard for people? Oh, now Gray was getting angry. This was all about his regard for people—two rather important people, one of whom stood glaring at him with murder in his eyes. The other being the principal reason for his presence on this ship. Fetching his baby sister for her London debut was something he’d been waiting to do for years. That task, Gray wouldn’t delegate.

“I want a captain who doesn’t furl the sails and drop anchor at the sight of a few clouds,” he said. “And yes, damn it, I need a captain with the fortitude to put up with a few goats and governesses, if that’s what it takes to turn a profit.” He rounded the table to stand toe-to-toe with his brother. “What’s happened to you? We used to churn up these seas like a pair of sharks. We took everything, feared nothing.”