She was without artifice, simply always herself. She had managed to charm everyone on board, even him. Hell, she’d captivated him from the moment she dove into the ocean that first day. For a young lady, she had lived an unusual life, seen and heard things those debutantes in London couldn’t even imagine. But she still managed to retain a certain innocence in many ways.
He had never been a man to lust after wide-eyed virgins. He preferred his bed partners to be experienced women with no expectations beyond a short, mutually satisfying affair. But damn if he hadn’t spent his nights on this voyage dreaming of Vivian’s soft curves. Those buckskin-covered legs had been driving him mad for weeks. Here in the dark, in the middle of the night, he could almost concede he was half in love with her.
Vivian turned from her back to her side, snuggling in against the pillow, her blond curls tumbled across her face. He sighed. She was the kind of woman a man married. She travelled to London to settle down into a pleasant, safe existence as a gentleman’s wife. Even if he did dare to risk her father’s wrath by pursuing her, he could never go back to being a pampered London gentleman. He had grown accustomed to being in charge of his destiny. He could never live within all the rules and strictures of the ton. No, he was not the right type of man for a woman like Vivian.
Twelve years ago, he’d left home full of resentment and anger. The Royal Navy gave him a commission at his father’s request, but he squandered his chance to do something productive with his life. He drank and gambled and lied and cheated his way right into a court-martial.
When Jamieson fished him out of the sea, clinging to the edge of a plank of wood, he saved not just Jack’s life but his soul as well. He had been locked in the brig when the ship was blown to smithereens by a French vessel they were engaging. He grimaced, remembering the acrid smell of gunpowder and his panic as water came rushing in through the hull. A falling beam had crashed through the door, allowing him to escape around the splintered wood.
He stumbled while trying to make it to the ladder leading up to the deck. Another cannon shot hit, and he fell into the rising water. A surge of streaming water swept him out the side of the ship as it tilted in a death roll. He surfaced, gasping for air, his throat burning from the sea water. He flailed around for anything to help him float; managing to clutch onto a board nearby just as the world around him became gray-tinged. He had stayed conscious long enough to keep hold of that piece of wood, resting his battered head on its smooth, flat surface.
Jack looked down at Vivian’s sleeping face. She resembled her mother with the same pert nose and delicate, bow-shaped mouth. Jamieson’s wife, Lady Rose, took him in hand those weeks he spent at their house recuperating from his wounds. She had been the one to tell him if he didn’t want to be who he had been, then he had to push forward and choose who he wanted to become. She advised him only he had the power to make himself into a better man.
Jamieson had given him a job captaining on one of his smaller vessels. He said, “handle this piece of business for me successfully, and you may still have a job in the morning.” For three years, he said this every time he sent Jack out on a job. He conducted every sort of acquisition for Jamieson’s shipping business. Mostly aboveboard, he moved sugar and tobacco to and from the colonies. Occasionally he had been sent out on missions to reclaim property owed to Jamieson, or to deliver a brutal warning to those who encroached on Jamieson’s territory. He’d worked for Captain Jamieson for six years, four months, and twelve days. Jamieson paid handsomely. When Jack earned enough money to buy his own ship, Aston Shipping had been born.
Not long after he began commanding his own ship, he received a missive from the British Foreign Office. In exchange for removing the court-martial from his official record, would he be willing to ferry valuable information for them? Not that he had the option to say no. Refusing would label him a deserter, possibly even a traitor.
Working for the Foreign Office was exciting and often dangerous. He built a reputation for being reliable and steady in dangerous situations. His years working for Jamieson had taught him valuable lessons in bending the rules and dealing with unscrupulous men. Jack sighed as he reflected on his many years of doing dishonorable deeds in the name of king and country.
No, he wasn’t the type of man who settled down with a woman like Vivian. He would say goodbye in three days and wish for her a fine husband who would care for her properly, give her children and the quiet life she deserved. He threw back the last of his whiskey and left as silently as he had entered.
****
Old Tom sat silently in the shadowed back corner of the room. He shook his head. He didn’t understand young men today. What was the captain doing, brooding silently over the girl? He couldn’t think of a finer man to match up with his Vivi, but the daft man didn’t know how to make a move in the right direction. Not that he would allow things to get too far, mind you. Ah, well, young people gotta figure out things on their own. Tom settled back to doze and keep a watchful eye on his poor, bruised-up girl.
Chapter Eight
In the morning, Vivian spent more than an hour with a bucket of precious fresh water purloined from the galley, sponging the sea water from her skin and hair. She layered on lotion, a fresh nightgown and robe, and felt much improved. As she climbed into bed, a knock rang out.
She pulled the covers up and called out, “Come in.”
The door swung open. Captain Jack stood in the doorway dressed in a navy-blue jacket over a crisp white shirt and gray breeches. Clean-shaven with his hair brushed back neatly into a cue, he looked no worse for having battled the storm yesterday. She smoothed back her unruly hair as his gray eyes traveled over her.
“Do you feel up to visitors? I have a young man out here who won’t take my word you’re all right.”
Vivian straightened her robe and sat up against the pillows. “Yes, Johnny can come in.”
The cabin boy appeared from behind the captain, head down. The captain lay one big hand on his skinny shoulder.
“You will have to excuse me, Johnny. I am supposed to stay in bed, doctor’s orders.” She smiled at him. Poor Johnny looked like he was about to walk the plank. “How are you feeling? You got knocked around quite a bit yesterday too.”
“Aw, I’m just fine, Miss Jamieson. I’m just glad you made it. I thought for sure you’d be lost at sea.” He raised his head, eyes filled with adoration. “Ye saved me life. I owe you a debt forever.”
“Well, you’re welcome. I’m sure I will collect that debt someday.” His earnest face made her heart melt.
“All right, that’s enough for now,” Jack interjected. “Johnny, why don’t we see if we can have Cooke pull together some breakfast for Miss Jamieson?” He turned with Johnny and left before Vivian could get a chance to express her thanks to him for pulling her to safety.
Well, hellfire, he was back on his most polite behavior this morning. Had she been hallucinating when he held her so tightly against him last night? She dreamt he came and watched over her while she slept, like a guardian angel with the devil’s handsome face. But this morning when she woke, all she’d seen was Old Tom snoring in a chair in the corner behind the door.
What a foolish thought. Just because she was smitten with the captain, didn’t mean he reciprocated her feelings. He always treated her with the utmost propriety, except for that time he tried to intimidate her after the card game in the galley. She’d never been so aware of a man before. The memory of his hot breath in her ear and his body pressed so close sent a delicious shiver through her. She closed her eyes, remembering the smell of salt air that clung to him.
But he had just been trying to teach a lesson, not seduce her. Her silly schoolgirl crush was probably all too apparent to him. Bloody hell. She slid down under the covers. Well, they’d be in London in a few days, and she could get out of his way.
The next couple of days brought in a revolving door of concerned seamen to see how she fared. Vivian was glad for the distraction. Mr. Davis had ordered her to stay in bed and rest until they docked in London. But with nothing to do but read Miss Willamette, she would go mad following his advice. On the third day, she and Gabrielle spent the day packing and choosing what they would wear on their arrival in London. She wanted to make a good first impression on her aunts.
The night before they were to arrive, her nerves were strung tight. What if her aunts were beastly and mean? Or worse, what if they were supremely kind and patient and she disappointed them by embarrassing herself terribly? What if she was asked to dance and stepped on her partner’s feet? What if she hated the city with all its noise and people? She flipped back the covers; why was it so hot in here?
Her thoughts raced around in her head like a swarm of angry bees. She needed to get out of this room and get some fresh air. Probably no more than a few men would be on nightshift keeping an eye on things. No one would notice her in the dark. She swept her cloak over her night rail and left the cabin.
