Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(49)

And then came the moment to ease her into a chair. But he found he didn’t want to release her. She fit so perfectly against him, and he suddenly allowed himself to feel how very much he’d been yearning to do exactly this. Hold her close. Hold her tight. Not let go.

Together they leaned against the doorframe. One of them was shaking, and Gray worried it might be him.

She leaned her head against his arm. “I knew you’d put a stop to it. I tried, but I only made matters worse. But I knew they’d listen to you. They all listen to you. And I knew you’d never allow such a thing to continue.”

Good Lord, Gray thought. Here he held this woman in his arms while she made him out to be some sort of … not a saint, exactly, but a man possessing a shred of honor. And all the while she trembled against his body, soft and damp and warm, never suspecting the dozens of ways in which he longed to dishonor them both.

Would she still allow him to hold her like this, encircled in his arms, her backside pressed against his swelling groin, if she could read his thoughts?

If she knew that when she tilted her head to bury her face in his sleeve, she gave him a direct view of the alabaster curve of her neck, the carved ivory of her collarbone, and the exquisite image that would haunt his dreams—the soft, rose-scented valley between her br**sts?

God, what a lecherous bastard he was.

He’d been ashamed of many things in his life, but never before had he felt so ashamed simply to be a man, a part of this violent, brutish race of creatures who flogged one another, beat helpless boys with marline-spikes, and lusted after unsuspecting governesses while they were overset with emotion. This woman was bred for better things, deserved better things. Better than this ship, this life. Better than a base, craving creature like him.

“You should sit down.” He brought his hands to her shoulders and guided her to a chair.

She sank into it slowly, folding her hands on the table in front of her. Well, and now what? He certainly couldn’t leave her alone in this state. Her eyes were dark hollows in an ashen face; her lips quivered.

Gray paced the cabin. He couldn’t comfort her without mauling her. He couldn’t go abovedecks and put his crew to rights, because they weren’t his crew to command.

Impotent. He’d been rendered impotent, in more ways than one. Gray nearly laughed with the realization. It was not a sensation he’d ever thought to experience, in any sense of the word. Coupled with this heat … he would go mad with frustration. He rubbed his hand under his collar, then made a fist and punched the wall.

“What will happen to Mr. Brackett?” Her voice was flat, remote.

“He’ll stay in the ship’s brig until we dock.”

She gave him a blank look.

“It’s a jail,” he explained. “More of a cage, really. Down in the hold.”

“A cage? How horrible.”

“It’s for his own safety, as much as anything. What he did … it wasn’t any worse than what officers on other ships do every day. But now that he’s no longer an officer, the sailors might be tempted to exact revenge.”

“Why did you dismiss him from duty, then? Why not let him remain an officer until we reach Tortola?”

“Even if Brackett’s actions had been justified, I couldn’t have kept him in the post. He’s lost all authority with the crew now. My interference assured that.”

“It’s all my fault.” Her voice shrank. “I’m so sorry.”

“No.” She jumped, and Gray bit the inside of his cheek. Bloody hell. Hadn’t she seen enough coarseness today, without him losing all sense of civility? He forced his emotions back down to a simmer. “Don’t be sorry. You were right to help. You were right to fetch me.”

She relaxed, and Gray resumed prowling the cabin. “What the devil was Davy doing up there with a marlinespike? That’s what I’d like to know. It’s a sailor’s duty.”

She put her head in her hands. “I’m afraid that’s my fault, too. I’d been talking to him about moving up to the forecastle, and I … I think he wanted to impress me.”

Gray choked on a laugh. “Well, of course he did. You ought to take care how you bat those eyelashes, sweetheart. One of these days, you’re likely to knock a man overboard.”

The legs of her chair scraped the floor as she stood. The color returned to her cheeks. “If Davy was trying to impress me, it’s as much your fault as mine.”

“How is that my fault?” Gray’s frustration came right back to a boil. He hated himself for growling at her, but he couldn’t seem to help it.

“You’re the one who humiliated him in front of the crew, with all those questions. You goaded him into saying he … well, you know what he said.”

“Yes, I know what he said.” Gray stepped toward her until only the table separated them. “I know what he said. And don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy it. Don’t pretend you don’t use those men to feed your vanity.”

“My vanity? What would you know about feeding my vanity? You don’t so much as breathe in my direction. At least the sailors speak to me. And if that entire ‘King of the Sea’ display wasn’t one long exercise in feeding your own vanity, I’m sure I don’t know what is.” She jabbed one finger on the tabletop and lowered her voice. “Those men may flirt with me, but they worship you. You know it. You wanted to feel it. Bask in it. And you did so at Davy’s expense.”