"You'd make an excellent boudoir slave for a very wealthy, elegant Arab woman who's a good customer of mine. She's been asking me to find her someone like you for years. And now here you are, the answer to her prayers."
"What?" The sound of his outrage echoed throughout her cabin and no doubt could be heard by the rest of crew.
She pressed a soft finger to his mouth. "This is not going to hurt you at all. In fact, I'm sure you'll enjoy the services I'll train you to provide. You'll be cosseted like her pet ocelots. You'll see. You're in for a life of such pleasure: soft, silken clothes and fine leather shoes, the finest of foods, a willing woman every night, and a luxurious bedchamber. You'll never want to leave."
15
LATE JULY, 1826
DECK OF THE LADY MUIRGEN
Since Eleanor did not have the decency to leave her own cabin so that he could sulk over her latest absurd plan for him, he'd sought out the upper deck lit only by a single lantern for the watch.
And then he discovered where the wretched woman had been spending the time away from him: An incredibly comfortable rope woven hammock was rigged near the bow of the ship, far enough away from the artificial light of the oil lantern, that he could enjoy the dark night sky and the shards of light from thousands of stars shining down on him.
He'd finally figured out how to climb into the hammock without being flipped over with a thud onto the deck. Once he'd gotten the hang of how the contraption worked, he sank into the sailor's sleeping device with a deep sigh, contemplated the arc of the universe above him, and began to plot an escape.
The lure of time with Eleanor had kept him playing along with her ill-conceived plot to avenge his interference in her empire of crime. However, her wrong-headed journey toward revenge had now careened into dangerous territory. The last thing he intended to do was end up an overgrown sex object for a bored, wealthy Arab woman. Who knew? Once the mysterious woman tired of him, perhaps she'd turn him into a eunuch just for spite.
His time with Eleanor was admittedly sensual and fraught with the hope of another session of unbridled passion like what they'd experienced during the carriage ride through Whitechapel. However, he couldn't go on pretending whatever was between them would ever turn into a normal relationship that could survive the light of day, not to mention the judgment of the ton. Somehow, he had to find a way to escape and find passage back to England.
The sound of voices suddenly pierced the quiet night, and a chain creaked followed by the sound of the shore boat splashing into the water of the bay. The words floating across the night air were of crewmen boasting about how they were going to spend their shore leave that night.
Percy moved so quickly, he flipped himself out of the hammock onto the deck. This might be his only chance at freedom. The crew had seen him working at different places aboard the ship for days. They wouldn't think anything was out of the ordinary if he were to join them for a night at the tavern within the cluster of thatched-roof cottages in the curve of the bay.
* * *
El dippeda pen into her inkwell and began scratching out a list onto a scrap of paper. What services would she teach Percy to render to her fictitious Arab customer? She licked her lips in anticipation.
A full-body massage with heated, scented oil might be the best place to start. What woman would not expect her manservant to be proficient in that area? She smiled a wicked smile at the thought of teaching Percy how to lavish every nook and curve of her body with a slow rubbing of oil, applied with his large, strong hands.
A stab of pleasure vibrated through her quim at the mere thought of what her skin and muscles would feel like in the capable hands of Percy Whitcombe. All he needed was a little instruction and encouragement. But then again she thought of all the havoc he'd wreaked aboard theLady Muirgenwhilst trying to master the fine art of being a sailor. She was fairly certain, though, he'd make a much better attentive lover than a sailor.
She dipped her pen back into the ink and stared off into the starry night outside her cabin porthole. Ah...sensual bathing. Nothing better than to have someone who could properly scrub your back...and other hard-to-reach places. He could fill her tub with scented, steaming water...and join her.
And of course it would never do to allow him to overlook proper worship of her center of pleasure. Although, based on his reaction the night she'd surprised him whilst he was invading her maze at Portney Manor, Percy had little need of instruction. Of course there would be no harm in perhaps giving him a refresher course on the finer points of pleasuring a woman.
The candle burning in the lantern on her chart table was about to stutter out when she sanded off the finished list. She'd put so much of her own frustration and desires onto the list that she couldn't wait to start Percy's "instruction." She noticed the waters of the bay had turned a bit rolly, and so she pulled on a light cape against the night winds before heading off in search of the silly, blundering man she was about to turn into a docile servant of pleasure.
* * *
Percy crowdedinto the tiny tavern with a dozen of the men from theLady Muirgen. Battered wooden tables were jammed onto a small square of a floor with a tiny bar at the back of the room where a bar maid dispensed the gods knew what out of pottery tankards.
He queued into the long line after borrowing a few pence from one of his shipmates, promising a generous return on the man's investment when they were paid. He hoped he'd be paid eventually for laboring endlessly on Eleanor's ship. Although, admittedly, most of his "labors" had to be re-done.
He had no idea how long he'd have to suffer through this limbo of an existence before he could escape. Which brought him to his present endeavor. He carefully watched and listened to other patrons of the tavern to see if there might be someone he could persuade to take him back to England.
When he finally procured his tankard of the strange brew of ale, he turned to see his prayers might have been answered. He was being eyed by a man at a corner table who wore much finer clothing than the rest of the men packed into the tavern. He seemed to be in the midst of a card game that was going well for him. When Percy edged closer to the man's table, he overheard his fellow players refer to him as "captain." He also spoke in a cultured voice with an English accent. Percy took in a deep breath and made a quick decision to bare his soul to the obvious English gentleman.
Three rounds of cards and four tankards of ale later, Percy and the cultured Englishman were still playing cards whilst Percy poured his heart out to an understanding fellow countryman.
"And you say this woman is a well-known smuggler throughout the Mediterranean?" The man, who'd introduced himself as Captain John Rutherford, claimed he was an independent merchant captain who had been victimized by Eleanor and her crew many times over the years
He claimed he'd seen her take captives and sell them into unspeakable horrors in Egypt and Africa.
At that point, Percy leaned close to the man so that no one could hear what he was saying, and finally confided, "I'm actually the Duke of Chelmsford. She took me captive when I was conducting a small investigation into what she's been up to on English soil."
"Not the same Duke of Chelmsford who serves in the House of Lords?"
