is beside the point.” She shrank back, pressing her spine against the door.
“On what continent?”
“A lady—”
“A woman,” he corrected, running his fingertips along her cheek, down her neck and over the swell of her breasts. She drew a shuddering breath. “A woman knows when her body will be well served. That should trump any notions of ‘ladyness’ all to hell.”
“Well, it doesn’t.” She straightened her spine and met his gaze squarely, willing her body to keep from melting into him. “I am sufficiently covered now, Captain, so believe me when I tell you that I’ll scream my bloody head off if you don’t release me right this moment.”
He covered her lips with his, trying to lure her back into his lusty fantasy. Warmth pooled in her groin, but she fought not to answer his summons to that dark hot place.
It took every ounce of will she possessed not to respond.
Just when her last shred of self-control was frayed to the breaking point, he pulled back and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Very well, Miss Upshall.” He threw back the bolt on her door. “I shall leave your ladyship to diddling yourself in your bath. Though I noticed that you don’t seem to have much talent for self-gratification. But since I’ve helped you along the way, there shouldn’t be much further to go. I wish you a happier conclusion on the next go-round.”
“Why, you—”
He was out the door and slamming it behind him before she could find a sufficiently foul oath for him. His voice came through the door to her.
“But there’s no time to dawdle. Be quick about your diddling this time,” he snarled. “We have a damned ball to attend.”
Peregrine Higgs wanted to drive the coach down the steep track toward town, but the captain wouldn’t have it. Instead, Pere rode beside his employer on a sorrel mare. They formed the rearguard of the coach, which lurched far too quickly around the tight corners for Peregrine’s peace of mind. He’d have taken the slowest pace possible, mindful of the precious cargo traveling inside.
The only liberty he’d been allowed was handing the women into the waiting coach.
Miss Upshall was a fetching sight in her emerald gown, but a pair of deep grooves marred her brow. By rights, she ought to have been delighted with the world this night. After all, the ball was her idea, wasn’t it?
The woman’s a squall waiting to happen or I’m a Chinaman, Higgs thought. He tossed a glance at Nicholas Scott, who was riding in silence beside him. Come to think of it, the captain don’t look much sunnier than Miss Upshall.
When two wicked weather fronts threatened to collide, a prudent seaman charted a course for the nearest port.
Miss Smythe had been surprisingly comely in her yellow gown. She was so quietlike, it was hard for a man to take much notice of her when a beauty like Miss Munroe was about, but this night Penelope Smythe was pretty as a buttercup in a meadow. She’d thanked Higgs in her soft tone as he handed her into the coach. He predicted Miss Smythe would not sit out any dances unless she pleaded that her feet were wore slick.
But Miss Munroe had looked like a bit of spun sugar in her new pink gown. She was rosy and fresh, as sweet a treat as any confectioner could fashion. Peregrine’s mouth watered when he caught a fleeting glimpse of her neatly turned ankle as she climbed into the coach.
He’d shut the coach door, sealing the ladies in, feeling agreeably male after the sight of so much feminine folderol. He was justifiably proud of himself for making at least two of them very happy. He had been instrumental in shepherding this ball into existence, after all. Peregrine figured he’d laid the groundwork for his assault on the affections of Miss Sally Munroe.
Once they reached the town hall, he realized he was sadly mistaken.
Men from all over the islands, some from as far away as Irish Isle, had made the trip. The finest families were there, even the Tuckers, though
“On what continent?”
“A lady—”
“A woman,” he corrected, running his fingertips along her cheek, down her neck and over the swell of her breasts. She drew a shuddering breath. “A woman knows when her body will be well served. That should trump any notions of ‘ladyness’ all to hell.”
“Well, it doesn’t.” She straightened her spine and met his gaze squarely, willing her body to keep from melting into him. “I am sufficiently covered now, Captain, so believe me when I tell you that I’ll scream my bloody head off if you don’t release me right this moment.”
He covered her lips with his, trying to lure her back into his lusty fantasy. Warmth pooled in her groin, but she fought not to answer his summons to that dark hot place.
It took every ounce of will she possessed not to respond.
Just when her last shred of self-control was frayed to the breaking point, he pulled back and narrowed his eyes at her.
“Very well, Miss Upshall.” He threw back the bolt on her door. “I shall leave your ladyship to diddling yourself in your bath. Though I noticed that you don’t seem to have much talent for self-gratification. But since I’ve helped you along the way, there shouldn’t be much further to go. I wish you a happier conclusion on the next go-round.”
“Why, you—”
He was out the door and slamming it behind him before she could find a sufficiently foul oath for him. His voice came through the door to her.
“But there’s no time to dawdle. Be quick about your diddling this time,” he snarled. “We have a damned ball to attend.”
Peregrine Higgs wanted to drive the coach down the steep track toward town, but the captain wouldn’t have it. Instead, Pere rode beside his employer on a sorrel mare. They formed the rearguard of the coach, which lurched far too quickly around the tight corners for Peregrine’s peace of mind. He’d have taken the slowest pace possible, mindful of the precious cargo traveling inside.
The only liberty he’d been allowed was handing the women into the waiting coach.
Miss Upshall was a fetching sight in her emerald gown, but a pair of deep grooves marred her brow. By rights, she ought to have been delighted with the world this night. After all, the ball was her idea, wasn’t it?
The woman’s a squall waiting to happen or I’m a Chinaman, Higgs thought. He tossed a glance at Nicholas Scott, who was riding in silence beside him. Come to think of it, the captain don’t look much sunnier than Miss Upshall.
When two wicked weather fronts threatened to collide, a prudent seaman charted a course for the nearest port.
Miss Smythe had been surprisingly comely in her yellow gown. She was so quietlike, it was hard for a man to take much notice of her when a beauty like Miss Munroe was about, but this night Penelope Smythe was pretty as a buttercup in a meadow. She’d thanked Higgs in her soft tone as he handed her into the coach. He predicted Miss Smythe would not sit out any dances unless she pleaded that her feet were wore slick.
But Miss Munroe had looked like a bit of spun sugar in her new pink gown. She was rosy and fresh, as sweet a treat as any confectioner could fashion. Peregrine’s mouth watered when he caught a fleeting glimpse of her neatly turned ankle as she climbed into the coach.
He’d shut the coach door, sealing the ladies in, feeling agreeably male after the sight of so much feminine folderol. He was justifiably proud of himself for making at least two of them very happy. He had been instrumental in shepherding this ball into existence, after all. Peregrine figured he’d laid the groundwork for his assault on the affections of Miss Sally Munroe.
Once they reached the town hall, he realized he was sadly mistaken.
Men from all over the islands, some from as far away as Irish Isle, had made the trip. The finest families were there, even the Tuckers, though
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