He merely nodded, but his eyes never left her as she climbed down onto the main deck and made her way below. That feeling from earlier, that something had changed, remained, keeping him company and filling his mind with endless questions until he returned to his cabin four hours later.
Given the time, he’d expected Cassandra to be fast asleep. But she wasn’t. And the moment his searching gaze found her sitting in bed and reading a book, wearing only her nightgown, the same desire he always felt when he saw her thus struck him like a blow. Clenching his jaw in the hope of stemming his arousal, he shut the door and averted his eyes. Because if he kept looking at her…
The kiss they’d share had been splendid, but something – he knew not what – had wrecked it, tarnished it somehow. And rather than moving forward with her, he’d felt himself sliding back. It wasn’t exactly anything she’d said. It had been her manner and tone when he’d woken her and thought to help her dress. Her sharp refusal had informed him that she wasn’t ready to be intimate with him, no matter how heated their kiss might have been. And something about that had twisted his heart, because it had made him feel rejected in a way he knew he ought to expect, but had started to hope he wouldn’t be.
Until this evening, when she’d seemed closer somehow. It was the oddest thing, considering they’d barely touched or talked throughout the day. Perhaps it was all wishful thinking on his part or maybe she was just grateful to him for helping care for Penelope.
Either way, he dared not let himself over analyze the situation and resolved to let things unfold in due time. So he took off his tricorn and set it aside, then fluffed his hair with his fingers. “I trust Penny is sleeping?”
“She fell asleep just ten minutes ago. Having slept most of the day, she wasn’t especially tired, but reading to her eventually helped.”
“And her fever?”
“It’s almost gone.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” He shrugged out of his jacket and hung it over the back of his chair before going to work on his cravat.
“I can help you with that,” Cassandra said. “If you like.”
Devlin froze. His fingers clutched the cloth wound around his neck. He hadn’t heard her get out of bed, and he certainly hadn’t heard her creep up behind him. He turned. Slowly. And sucked in a lungful of air. Because she was looking up at him as if…as if… Good God, he dared not hope that he might know her reason for offering to tend to him thus.
Heart pounding, he dropped his hands. “By all means.” His voice was gruff, like gravel beneath a booted foot.
When she reached toward him, he noted the tremble in her fingers. It was slight, but it was there. She was nervous. For whatever reason, she was stepping away from what she found comfortable in order to help him undress.
Words.
He searched for them – some means by which to fill the silence and put her at ease. “What were you reading?” She’d stepped closer, most likely to more easily reach him. But her proximity brought an intoxicating fragrance with it – not her usual scent of roses but something more unique, more elusive, more...
“To Penelope or to myself?”
He caught the note of amusement in her voice and felt some of the tension subside. “Both, I suppose.”
“Well, Penelope has always loved adventure stories, so I read a few chapters ofWaverleyfor her.”
“Excellent choice,” he murmured, acutely aware of Cassandra’s fingertips grazing his skin. It was either stand as still as a statue or give in to carnal instinct and pounce on her like an animal. “And for yourself?”
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink. “Well, I must confess I’ve brought all of Miss Austen’s novels with me.” Having finished untying his cravat, she slid the length of fabric away from his neck while biting her lip. “Her writing is quite good, you know. Humorous too.”
“I’m sure it is, although I never would have thought it might appeal to you.”
That seemed to get her attention. “Why on earth not?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps because I always imagined the women who read such books to be of the day-dreaming variety.”
She put both hands on her hips and allowed his cravat to dangle all the way to the floor. “I’m not sure what frustrates me more about that opinion: your willingness to judge a person based on what they choose to read or your inability to imagine I might indulge in a bit of escapism too from time to time.”
“I meant no offense,” he grumbled. “I just…” He blew out a breath, aware he should probably shut up now before making things worse. “I suppose I always imagined you’d rather read something along the lines of Benjamin Franklin’s autobiography or an account of Captain Cook’s travels – something more educational, I suppose. Like that autobiography you recently finished.”
“Well…” She smiled, much to his relief. “I must confess to having read both of those books.” Her palm settled against his chest and when she spoke again, it was with a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t sometimes enjoy a bit of romance.”
Her eyes were fixed on his and although the room was dimly lit by a singular oil lamp, they’d never looked brighter. Or, he decided, with a flood of desperation, more inviting. “Cass.” Her name crossed his lips both as a plea and as a question.
Without speaking, she untied the fastenings at the front of his shirt, so slowly he feared he might soon explode from anticipation. What she was doing…
Did it mean she was ready to let him claim her? Or was she merely performing what she believed to be her wifely duties, without really performing them? The questions were impossible for him to answer. Mostly because he knew what he wanted them to be and feared he might have it wrong.
But then she tugged his shirt free from his breeches and reached underneath to touch his bare skin. Her palm was warm as it slid up over his back, her fingertips gently pressing against his flesh. An unbidden groan escaped him. It couldn’t be helped. What she was doing felt so damn good, and by God, he wanted more. He didn’t want her to stop. He just…
