that some of the lobster she’d swallowed was creeping back up.
“What do you mean?” she managed to ask. “Are you saying … Are you saying Miss Whitby—”
She broke off, staring at her sister-in-law with wide eyes. Georgiana’s face was filled with pity. She left her husband standing shirtless and confused, and went to put her arms around his sister.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said, gathering Payton to her. “I made them promise not to talk about it in front of you. Really, it isn’t at all the sort of thing a girl your age should know anything about. But I didn’t realize then how much you—Well, I know now that it’s better that you know. I’m sure it doesn’t make it any easier for you, but now at least you know why—”
It was fortunate that Ross had been standing behind his wife, and so was in a position to observe his sister’s face. Having traveled with her under every conceivable circumstance and condition, Ross knew Payton’s expressions well, and the one that came over her face just then was one that was all too familiar to him. In a flash, he had the washbasin off its wooden stand and was holding it beneath Payton’s head just as she let loose every bit of her supper, and a good deal of the champagne she’d had, as well.
Chapter Six
Much later, sitting on the window seat in the cool darkness of the guest bedroom she’d been assigned, Payton rested her chin in her hands and gazed at the long shadows the moonlight had cast across the garden below.
She was mightily disgusted with herself about the way she’d reacted to the news her brother and sister-in-law had imparted. Really, she was nothing but a great baby, sometimes. It wasn’t any wonder, really, that Ross had passed her over for command of the
Constant
. She hadn’t exactly acted with great dignity in her disappointment over that. True, she hadn’t thrown anything, or smashed any windows, as any one of her brothers might have. But she’d gone to her room and sulked. Sulkiness was a trait Payton despised almost as much as swooning. Mature women didn’t sulk. They might get a little quiet, in order to express their disappointment, but they never sulked.
And they certainly didn’t vomit when they learned a man they admired happened to have sired a baby with someone else.
She had just never suspected—it had never even entered her mind—that something like that was behind Drake’s decision to marry Miss Whitby. Stupid of her, she knew. But honestly, she’d never have thought it of Drake. Not that she doubted his virility; she knew perfectly well where it was he and her brothers disappeared to every time they reached port after an extended voyage.
But it was one thing to frequent brothels. It was quite another to make love to a girl who was staying in the room down the hall from one’s own.
And what about Miss Whitby? Payton had despised Becky Whitby pretty much from the first day she’d met her, for her sugary sweetness, her vapidity, her general air of a beached haddock.
But Miss Whitby wasn’t sweet at all, let alone vapid. She had known what she wanted, and she had gone after it, in the most devious, underhanded way possible—at least to Payton’s way of thinking.
It all made sense to her now. Why it hadn’t occurred to her before, she couldn’t imagine. She supposed because she really was such an ignoramus about these things. Oh, she knew all about the mechanics of lovemaking—one couldn’t spend as much time in the company of sailors as she had and not come away with that
—
and, thanks to Mei-Ling, she knew a good deal about things like preventing pregnancy, as well.
But she had never actually been in a position to try any of those mechanics—let alone those preventive measures—herself. After all, up until last year, she’d been mistaken for a boy a good deal of the time. No one had exactly been making love to her.
But apparently, there’d been a good deal of love making going on behind
“What do you mean?” she managed to ask. “Are you saying … Are you saying Miss Whitby—”
She broke off, staring at her sister-in-law with wide eyes. Georgiana’s face was filled with pity. She left her husband standing shirtless and confused, and went to put her arms around his sister.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” she said, gathering Payton to her. “I made them promise not to talk about it in front of you. Really, it isn’t at all the sort of thing a girl your age should know anything about. But I didn’t realize then how much you—Well, I know now that it’s better that you know. I’m sure it doesn’t make it any easier for you, but now at least you know why—”
It was fortunate that Ross had been standing behind his wife, and so was in a position to observe his sister’s face. Having traveled with her under every conceivable circumstance and condition, Ross knew Payton’s expressions well, and the one that came over her face just then was one that was all too familiar to him. In a flash, he had the washbasin off its wooden stand and was holding it beneath Payton’s head just as she let loose every bit of her supper, and a good deal of the champagne she’d had, as well.
Chapter Six
Much later, sitting on the window seat in the cool darkness of the guest bedroom she’d been assigned, Payton rested her chin in her hands and gazed at the long shadows the moonlight had cast across the garden below.
She was mightily disgusted with herself about the way she’d reacted to the news her brother and sister-in-law had imparted. Really, she was nothing but a great baby, sometimes. It wasn’t any wonder, really, that Ross had passed her over for command of the
Constant
. She hadn’t exactly acted with great dignity in her disappointment over that. True, she hadn’t thrown anything, or smashed any windows, as any one of her brothers might have. But she’d gone to her room and sulked. Sulkiness was a trait Payton despised almost as much as swooning. Mature women didn’t sulk. They might get a little quiet, in order to express their disappointment, but they never sulked.
And they certainly didn’t vomit when they learned a man they admired happened to have sired a baby with someone else.
She had just never suspected—it had never even entered her mind—that something like that was behind Drake’s decision to marry Miss Whitby. Stupid of her, she knew. But honestly, she’d never have thought it of Drake. Not that she doubted his virility; she knew perfectly well where it was he and her brothers disappeared to every time they reached port after an extended voyage.
But it was one thing to frequent brothels. It was quite another to make love to a girl who was staying in the room down the hall from one’s own.
And what about Miss Whitby? Payton had despised Becky Whitby pretty much from the first day she’d met her, for her sugary sweetness, her vapidity, her general air of a beached haddock.
But Miss Whitby wasn’t sweet at all, let alone vapid. She had known what she wanted, and she had gone after it, in the most devious, underhanded way possible—at least to Payton’s way of thinking.
It all made sense to her now. Why it hadn’t occurred to her before, she couldn’t imagine. She supposed because she really was such an ignoramus about these things. Oh, she knew all about the mechanics of lovemaking—one couldn’t spend as much time in the company of sailors as she had and not come away with that
—
and, thanks to Mei-Ling, she knew a good deal about things like preventing pregnancy, as well.
But she had never actually been in a position to try any of those mechanics—let alone those preventive measures—herself. After all, up until last year, she’d been mistaken for a boy a good deal of the time. No one had exactly been making love to her.
But apparently, there’d been a good deal of love making going on behind
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