Wicked (5 page)

"Really." Genuinely surprised, he shifted slightly in his stance. He rarely overlooked women of such striking good
 
l
ooks. She had glorious golden hair, huge dark eyes, a slender, voluptuous form, and a sensuous mouth he was definitely interested in tasting. "I must have been very drunk," he added, half to himself.

"You probably were," she said, repressing an odd flutter induced by the graphic display of rippling muscle as he moved. "You didn't come aboard till almost dawn."

"Really," he said again, his voice mild. "Are we sailing mates then?"

"I'd be happy to
pay
for my passage."

His gaze raked her swiftly, pausing for a fraction of a second on the food bundled in her skirt. "But you prefer not taking conventional routes."

"My ship left without me after I'd already paid for my passage." Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Please don't cry," he quickly said. "You're more than welcome aboard the
Siren."
He was uncomfortable with distraught women and she was obviously without funds if she was reduced to stealing aboard his vessel.

"I can . . . reimburse you for my passage"—
s
he swallowed hard to stem her tear
s
—"once we reach Italy." The tuition money she'd sent ahead to Florence should cover her fare.

"Nonsense," he murmured. "I'm sailing there anyway." He smiled briefly. "How much can you eat, after all?" Easing away from the jamb he stood upright, his height suddenly formidable to her upturned gaze. But his voice was bland when he said, "Why don't I find you some better accommodations and a real meal. Do you eat beefsteak?"

"Oh, yes." Serena salivated at the thought, her last food a frugal breakfast in London two days ago and a cup of soup at the Pelican. "Yes, definitely."

"Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" Beau suggested. "The second door on the right should do." He moved back into the passageway to allow her egress from the galley. "I'll join you directly I get my cook awake."

******************

He didn't reappear for some time, sending a young lad with hot water and towels to his stateroom, followed shortly after by another servant with a decanter of Tokay and cookies. This would allow his beautiful passenger time to wash and refresh herself while he gave directions for a sumptuous meal to his French chef, whom he'd cajoled out of bed with a sweet smile and a lavish bribe.

Some sautéed scallops first, he'd requested while the young Frenchman had sulkily rolled out of bed. "She's very beautiful, Re
m
y, and not quite sure she can trust me."

"Nor should she," the slender young man muttered, standing motionless beside his bed for a moment, still half asleep.

"But your luscious food will set her mind at ease."

"So I'm supposed to help you seduce her," the Frenchman grumbled, his chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he bent to pick up his trousers from a nearby chair.

"Now, Remy, since when do I need help there?" Beau murmured, his grin roguish.

"I thought you didn't like women on your yacht?"

"You haven't seen her." Dark brows flickered sportively. "And now I have this overwhelming impulse to make her happy."

"Then maybe you should serve her oysters first," Remy said with an answering grin as he stepped into his trousers. And save the scallops for lunch tomorrow when her passions are sated."

"She wants beefsteak too."

Remy groaned. "You English have no subtlety. Served bloody, I suppose."

"With your mushrooms and wine sauce,
s'i
l
vous plait
,"
Beau pleasantly added, "and I'll add another fifty guineas to my offer."

"Make it sixty and I'll give her floating islands for dessert as well. Women adore them."

"You're a treasure, Remy. How would I survive without you?"

"You'd be skin and bone with all your fucking, no mistake.
"

"And I'm deeply grateful." Beau's voice was amused.

"I suppose you need this all within the hour so you don't have to wait too long to make love to this female you've found."

The young Earl of
R
ochef
o
rt grinned. "After all these years you read my mind, Re
m
y darling. An hour would be perfect."

******************

But he gave no indication of his designs when he entered his stateroom a few minutes later. "My cook is grumbling, but up," Beau said with a smile, walking over to a built-in bureau and pulling out a crisply starched shirt from the drawer. "So food should arrive shortly. Are you comfortable?" he politely queried, slipping the shirt over his head.

"Yes, thank you." Serena looked up at him from the depths of a soft upholstered chair she'd almost fallen asleep in. "The cookies were delicious . . . and the wine."

"Good." After glancing at the crumbs remaining on the plate, he gauged the amount of wine remaining in the decanter with an assessing eye.

"I'd like to thank you very much for your hospitality." The lanterns had been lit by his servants and Serena's fairness was even more delectable bathed in a golden light. And her eyes weren't dark but aquamarine, like the Mediterranean.

"My pleasure," he casually said, dropping into a chair opposite her. My
distinct
pleasure, he more covetously thought. Her lush beauty was tantalizing, more provocative perhaps after the conventional prettiness of the actresses Charlie had procured. How would she respond, he wondered, to his first kiss? "Where had you booked passage?" he asked instead, gracious and well-behaved. "Perhaps I could see that your money is returned."

"Do you think you could?" She sat forward, her eyes alight with hope.

And for the briefest moment Beau St. Jules questioned his callous pursuit of pleasure, her poverty was so obvious. But in the next flashing moment he soothed his momentary twinge of conscience by deciding that a generous monetary settlement once they reached Italy would more than compensate for his dishonorable intentions. And who knew, he considered in a more practical frame of mind, she might not be an innocent despite her enchanting delicacy. She'd stowed away, after al
l
—
n
ot exactly the act of a proper young lady.

"I'm sure I could. How much did you lose?"

"Two hundred pounds," she said. "It was all my savings."

Good God, he thought, briefly startled. He gambled thousands on the turn of a card. "Let me reimburse you in the interim," he suggested, reaching for a wallet lying on his desk.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly take money from you."

He looked up from the purse he was opening, not because of her words but her tone. A small reserve had entered her voice, and her eyes, he noted, held a distinct apprehension. "Consider it a loan," he calmly replied, gazing more critically at her, trying to properly place her in the hierarchy of female stowaway
s
—
a
novel category for him.

Her navy serge gown was worn but well cut, her shoes equally worn but impeccably polished; her exquisite face and radiant hair couldn't be improved on in the highest ranks of society. Was she some runaway noble wife dressed in her servant's clothes or someone's beautiful mistress fallen on hard times?

"I'm a governess," she deliberately said.

"Forgive me. Was I staring?" His smile was cordial as he counted out two hundred pounds. "Here," he said, leaning across the distance separating them, placing the bills in a neat stack on a small table beside her chair. "Pay me back when you can. I've plenty. Do you care to divulge your name?" he went on, noting her necessitous gaze, willing her to pick up the money, wanting the distrust in her voice to disappear.

"Why?" Her blue-green gaze rising to his was cool, guarded,

"No reason." He shrugge
d
—
a
small lazy movement, deprecating, indulgent. "I was just making conversation. I have no intention of hurting you," he softly added.

Her expression visibly relaxed. "My name's Serena Blythe
.
"

Definitely an actress, he thought. She couldn't be a governess with a name and face and opulent body like that. "Have you been a governess long?" he casually asked, waiting to decipher the fabrications in her reply.

"Four years. When my father, Viscount Amberson, died I was forced to make a living."

He felt his stomach tighten. A
viscount's
daughter? Did she have relatives? he instantly wondered, the kind who would exert all the
c
onventional pressures? And then as instantly he decided any young lady so destitute must be on her own. "I'm very sorry."

She sat still for a moment, thoughts of her father always painful, and then taking a small breath, she said in a controlled tone, "Papa gambled his money away. He wasn't very good at cards after his first bottle."

"Most men aren't."

She glanced at the bills and then at him and he could almost feel that small spark of elation he suddenly saw in her eyes.

"Are you?"
she mildly inquired.

"Best hand wins the money?" he suggested, one dark brow raised in query. "Although I warn you, I'm sober."

"It would legitimize my taking it." She smiled for the first time, a lush yet curiously girlish smile, enigmatic like her.

******************

Twenty minutes later, when the first course of oysters arrived, she was five hundred pounds richer, the Tokay decanter was empty, an easy bantering rapport had been established, and Beau had deliberately let her win only two hands. The rest she'd won on her own. She was either very good or very lucky. But she was definitely beautiful, he cheerfully noted, comfortably sprawled across from her, his cards balanced on his chest, his gaze, over the colorful fanned rims, gratified.

As was his mood.

The chill in her voice had disappeared, the guarded expression in her eyes replaced with animation. And when she smiled at him after a winning hand, he found it increasingly difficult to refrain from touching her.

She ate the oysters with relish.

She drank more wine when another decanter arrived and she said "thank you" so sweetly and gratefully when only the empty oyster shells remained on her plate, he almost considered giving up his plans to bed her.

But then she smiled at him and leisurely stretched and all he could think of was the soft fullness of her breasts raised high with her arms flexed above her head. Not even the plain navy serge could disguise their delectable bounty.

"Did you make your gown?" he inquired to mask his overlong gaze with politesse. "I like the lace-trimmed collar."

Leaning back against her chair, she delicately touched the white lace. "It was my mother's. I outgrew all of mine."

He swallowed before he answered, the thought of her outgrowing her girlish gowns having a profound effect on him after just having observed the voluptuous swell of her breasts.

"We could probably find you some additional dresses on board."

"Like the ones in the closet under the stairwell?"

"You were hiding there?"

She nodded. "The scent was luscious. Very French."

"I'll have my steward put together a wardrobe tomorrow," he blandly said, not about to discuss French scents or the reason they were there.

"Whose gowns are they?"

He gazed at her for a brief moment, gauging the degree of inquisition in her query, but her expression was open, innocent of challenge.

"I'm not sure," he evasively answered. "Probably my mother's or sister's." Which meant the more garish gowns would have to be culled out before offering the lady her choice. The light of loves he brought aboard for brief excursions on the Thames had a penchant for seductive finery.

"
I often wished I had siblings. Do you see your family often?"

He spoke of his family then in edited phrases, of their passion for racing and their winning horses, of their stud in the north, how his younger brother and sisters were all first-class riders, offering charming anecdotal information that brought a smile to her face.

"Your life sounds idyllic. Unlike mine of late," Serena said with a fleeting grimace. "But I intend to change that."

Frantic warning bells went off in Beau's consciousness. Had she
deliberately
come on board? Were her designing relatives even now in hot pursuit? Or were they explaining the ruinous details to his father instead? "How, exactly," he softly inquired, his dark eyes wary, "do you plan on facilitating those changes?"

"Don't be alarmed." She suddenly grinned, feeling gloriously alive again after so many years. "I have no
d
esigns on you."

He laughed, his good spirits instantly restored. "Candid women have always appealed to me."

"While men with yachts are out of my league." Her smile was dazzling. "But why don't you deal us another hand," she cheerfully said, "and I'll see what I can do about mending my fortunes."