Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(55)

“Don’t you believe me?” Crossing her arms, she framed her bosom for his appraisal. His eyes took the bait. Then, in a choreographed fit of pique, she whirled away. Men preferred to give chase, Sophia knew. She might be a virgin, but she understood how to draw a man to her side. Her pounding heartbeat filled the humid silence. The room had grown dark. So curious here in the tropics, how night fell like a thunderclap. No lingering dusk, no mystic hour of twilight. Just light, and then dark.

“Rose petals.” His voice dropped, and she counted his slow footfalls as he moved to stand behind her. She felt his breath whispering against her nape, his gaze burning a trail along her neckline. Then he leaned in, hovering inches from her shoulder as he drew a slow, deep breath through his nose. A low, seductive growl rumbled from his throat and reverberated down her spine. “I believe the rose petals.”

Slowly, he brushed a wisp of hair from her shoulder. His finger never grazed her skin, but the sensation of the silken lock gliding over her neck had Sophia quivering. She shut her eyes, feeling the feather-light caress everywhere.

“Did you love him?” he asked. “This Gervais?”

The last question. She should have been expecting it, but it took her completely by surprise. “Yes, of course,” she blurted out, unthinking. She slowly turned to face him in the dark. Mr. Grayson battened his reaction before she could gauge it, but Sophia knew she’d made a misstep. If he’d been thinking of sharing her bed tonight, he was now thinking twice. How ironic, that there was nothing to cool a man’s ardor like the mention of love.

And what would he ask her now? Their little script was at an end. Sophia waited breathless in the dark, hoping some question, request—or kiss—would fall from his lips.

The cabin door scraped open, and a lamp threw flickering light between them. He took a step back.

Stubb shuffled in, struggling under a heavy tray. “Here’s dinner,” he announced, hanging a lamp on a hook above them. “Sorry it’s late, but it’s been a busy day.”

Mr. Grayson nodded. “I’ll leave you to your meal then, Miss Turner.”

“I brought service for two.” Stubb plunked tin plates and serving dishes on the table. “All passengers are to take their meals in the ladies’ cabin until further notice. Captain’s orders.” The old man glanced at Gray. “The captain wants you both to stay belowdecks until we get our wind back. He’d said you’d understand, Gray.”

“Aye,” Mr. Grayson replied. “I understand.” He gave Sophia a guarded look. “But I’ll leave you to your dinner just the same.”

“You’re not hungry?” Stubb lifted the cover from a serving dish. At the smell of the salted-beef stew called lobscouse, Sophia’s empty stomach complained loudly.

“Miss Turner will better enjoy her meal without my presence,” Mr. Grayson said, backing toward the steerage passage. “As for me, I’ll hold till breakfast. I find I’ve little appetite this evening.”

Then he left. But not before flashing her one last searching, hungry glance.

Sophia smiled. He was a very poor liar.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Gray’s body complained at him all night long. His empty stomach groused, when he might have filled it at dinner. His joints protested the cramped hammock swaddling him, when he might have been sharing a soft mattress with an even softer companion. And of course there was the ever-present ache of unfulfilled lust in his groin.

But beyond all this, his mind was in turmoil, and his heart—his heart was unmoored completely. Wrenched free of its anchor and set adrift. He’d no idea how to secure it again.

She wasn’t a virgin.

So she claimed.

Don’t question it.

At last, with that one bit of information, everything about the girl made sense. The fine clothes, the cultured air, the governess post. The spark in her eyes, and the way she responded to his touch. The way she touched him. She understood passion; she knew what pleasure they could share. Still he passed the night alone.

Because she offered more than pleasure. She offered her heart. She offered trust. God, she’d practically thrust it upon him, and Gray didn’t want it. He had enough people to look after, and he’d already disappointed them all. It was only a matter of time before he’d fail her, too. Even so, by daybreak Gray had already washed and dressed. He sat on a crate, tapping his boot and fidgeting with his pocket watch until eight bells sounded for the forenoon watch. Breakfast time. He could ignore the needs of his stomach no longer. Neither could he ignore this other gnawing ache inside him—the need to see her.

He hadn’t the faintest idea what he’d say to the girl; as little as possible would be best. Gray fetched up a book, tucked it under his arm, and headed for the ladies’ cabin door.

The aroma of freshly brewed tea greeted him. Miss Turner stood over the table, arranging a half-dozen small pots next to the breakfast tray. After yesterday’s dramatic events and a restless night, it surprised Gray to see her standing there looking so … normal. Almost domestic. The knot of anxiety in his chest unraveled.

“Good morning.” Without looking up, she unscrewed the lid off one of the pots and dabbed at its contents with a fingertip.

“Are you planning to poison my tea?” Gray drew out a chair and sat down, plunking his book down on the table and helping himself to a biscuit.