Arnold had to be certain his documents were safe. He also had to ensure he reached the Americas with a wench on his arm.
Without a woman to wed, Arnold would never be granted his cousin’s land and wealth. And the old arse hadn’t much time left—which gave Arnoldnotime in which to search for a new betrothed. His course, therefore, was clear. With the additional crew from theAmerica, they had to engage bloody Baxter’s pirates and take the woman back.
No one embarrassed him.No oneleft him. Indeed. Calluna had made a deal with him. She’d agreed to the arrangement, just as her family had. There was no backing out.
With a nod at the pirates,who were making repairs along the gun deck and soothing and feeding the fucking animals—of which he was now in charge—Percy closed the cabin door behind him and slumped forward against the cool wood.Hell. What was he going to do?
The pressure that had been building in his chest felt nigh on solid, and his skin was flushed, despite the chilled water droplets that raced down his body. He shifted his feet, the gentle sloshing of his boots echoing in the large cabin.
“Good gracious,” Heather said from behind him. “You’re entirely soaked through!”
He nodded and turned, and his response about the rain all but died in his throat.
“What…” he croaked. What the devil was she wearing?
His eyes must have been the size of sodding cannon shot, for the woman was dressed like… Well, like a pirate. She wore buckskin breeches and a billowing white muslin shirt that, due to the lack of a cravat, hung open indecently low to reveal the upper swells of her large breasts, which were lifted by the stays that she’d fastened over the shirt.Hell’s teeth. How had she managed to fasten it by herself? His gaze was drawn back to the fawn-coloured breeches that hugged her deliciously thick, muscular thighs to perfection, and he salivated.Salivated, for Christ’s sake. What was bloody well the matter with him?
And she wore no stockings. Her calves and feet were entirely bare as she sat upon a chair and… What the hell was she doing?Darning stockings?
“Why have you changed?” he ground out at last. He stepped closer, his feet squelching in his boots.
She looked down at herself and shrugged one shoulder. “My dress was ruined in the battle, and I had naught else to wear. I assumed that a woman of my presumed experience would be comfortable making such concessions.”
“I commend your quick thinking—” In an unintentional slip, his gaze dropped to her breasts, and the words stopped. His throat clicked as he swallowed. “Jesus, Heather. Your nipples are visible through the muslin of that shirt. You’re veritably nude!”
“Oh, drat.” She glanced down at herself once more, then wrapped an arm across her chest to cover the…indecency. “I’d hoped I was wrong. There is a black shirt in the chest of drawers, but I’m afraid it’s just large enough that it slips off both of my shoulders. I’d hoped to avoid exposing more skin around the pirates. I’ll have to alter it to fit my size.”
Her skin was flushed a delicious pink, drawing his gaze up her neck.
“In…” He coughed. “Indeed.”
Blood was flowing in a decidedly southern direction, his cock growing heavy with desire and his curst mind filling with thoughts and…memories.
Memories of a night that had very likely led to a pregnancy for which he was ill-prepared.
A sudden burst of fear and nerves set his feet into motion, his boots squishing with each step as he paced the width of the cabin. For years he’d not considered his fears of fatherhood particularly noteworthy, for he’d always been so certain that he would never be faced with the circumstance. But—hell.
He raked his fingers through his dripping hair.
“Are you well, Percy?”
His head shook before he’d even considered the question. “No.”
She stood and came forward, one arm still covering her breasts. “Can I do something? Have they any tea aboard? Shall I fetch you some?”
All at once, a fear leapt from his mouth. “Your stays are too tight.”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your stays.”
“Yes, I heard you. But I do not believe it is your place to?—”
He gestured agitatedly at her abdomen. “You could harm the…the…”
She lifted a brow. “My stomach? While your concerns are noted, they’re a bit late. I daresay women across England would have choice words for the creator of the corset and stays?—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Percy interjected.
