A Candlelit Regency Christmas. Louise Allen
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translating very kind into impersonal, remote, efficient, cool. Tess had been fed, clothed, educated, kept healthy and respectable. Her body and her morals had been cared for; her heart and her happiness, it seemed, could look after themselves if she did not choose to become a nun. Although that was not so very different from a child’s upbringing in any aristocratic family. He was sure his mother had loved him, but it had never occurred to her to play with him, let alone talk to him outside the hour before she changed for dinner.
‘I’m sure they were kind.’ And now she was heading for a life of respectable drudgery, neither a member of a family nor an upper servant. But she seemed to realise already what her position was, even if she had rose-coloured ideas about the joys of family life. It would be no kindness to tell her that and, he supposed, a miracle might happen and she would find herself in the household of her dreams. He looked at the cloudy sky, then fished out his watch. ‘Have some bread and ale, best to eat a little, often.’
‘Thank you. In a minute.’ Tess got up and folded his cloak one-handed, clutching at the mast with the other. ‘I need...I mean, I assume that the...’
‘Ladies’ retiring room?’ Alex suggested. ‘Yes, that will be down below.’ He stood and gave her his arm as far as the entrance to the companionway. ‘Can you manage the stairs with your ankle? Sure? Hold on tight as you go.’
* * *
The smell hit Tess halfway down the steps. Hot, crowded humanity, food, alcohol, an unpleasantness that she guessed was the ship’s bilges and a clear intimation that several people had already been unwell.
Only urgent personal need made her fight her way through the crowded first-class cabin and whisper in the ear of an amiable-looking lady.
‘Over there, my dear. Wait a moment.’ She dug in her reticule and handed a small object to Tess. ‘Take my smelling salts.’
Five minutes later Tess hobbled back, returning the bottle with sincere thanks and a mental resolution to hang on, however long the rest of the voyage proved to be.
She picked her way back to the stairs and encountered a frigid stare from a middle-aged matron in a large bonnet. She looked vaguely familiar. She probably thinks I am an intruder from second class, Tess thought, avoiding her eyes. She certainly would have been if it were not for Alex’s insistence.
How easily things can change, she thought as she stumbled with the motion and caught hold of a handrail. If Alex hadn’t been in a hurry on icy cobbles I would have caught a boat yesterday, I wouldn’t have a sore ankle, I’d have been packed into the second-class cabin feeling ill, I wouldn’t own a ginger kitten and my life wouldn’t be complicated by proximity to a large, infuriating—and devastatingly attractive—male.
On the whole, even with the ankle, she rather thought she preferred things this way, an adventure before life became worthy and serious again.
The infuriating male in question was waiting for her when she emerged into the fresh air on deck. ‘Hellish down there, isn’t it? Come on back to our roost and be thankful it isn’t raining.’ Alex sounded quite unconcerned about the effect of salt spray on his expensive greatcoat or the disorder of his wind-ruffled hair now he had abandoned the fight to keep his hat on his head.
‘What is it?’ he asked once he had her settled again. ‘I’m delighted to see that green tinge has gone, but I did not expect to see a smile.’
‘You dress so elegantly, but look at you now.’ She cocked her head to one side to study him in the waning light. It would be dusk soon. ‘You are not the slightest bit concerned about your clothes or your hair. I believe you are a fraud, my lord.’
‘I think not. I take my appearance very seriously. One has a reputation to uphold,’ Alex drawled, but there was an edge to his voice as he said it and the mischievous tilt to his lips had been replaced by a thin smile.
You are not what you seem, Lord Weybourn, Tess thought as she snuggled back into the embrace of the boat cloak. The problem was, he did not seem to be the same person from one hour to the next. He appeared the indolent man of fashion, yet was close friends with a trio of gentlemen who looked as though they could hold their own in a back-alley fight, and his body was hard as nails under that expensive tailoring. He sneered at her enthusiasm for Christmas, called her sentimental, threatened Noel with a future as glove linings—and yet he was kind to her, had given her a kitten and was infinitely patient with the creature’s attacks on his person.
He was also very—sinfully—attractive. She had no business acknowledging that, she knew perfectly well. She was a convent-reared young woman about to begin earning her living. Her antecedents were handicap enough, but any smudge on her reputation would mean an end to her prospects for decent employment, and the sooner she resigned herself to frugal, upright spinsterhood, the better.
‘What was that great sigh for?’ Alex enquired. ‘Hungry?’
‘No, I’m just...’ Wishing for the moon. Wishing I had never set eyes on you so my foolish imagination had nothing to work with. The angle of your jaw, the scent of your skin, the way your hair curls at the ends with the damp wind... The impossibility of a man like you in my life. ‘Cold.’
‘Me, too.’ He began to unbutton his greatcoat. ‘Let’s get rid of that coal scuttle of a bonnet and do something about it.’ Before she could protest the thing was off her head and jammed behind her portmanteau and she was on Alex’s knee, the flaps of his coat around her, the hood of the cloak over her head.
‘Alex! My lord, this is—’
‘Outrageous, I know. Stop squeaking, you sound like Noel.’ His voice by her ear was definitely amused. ‘This is shocking, but practical. The choices are go below and be warm but nauseous, sit up here in chilly isolation or share body heat.’ She felt his legs move, a most disconcerting effect. ‘There, the kitten’s basket is under the cloak, too. Happy?’
‘Ecstatic,’ she muttered. Alex’s snort of amusement was warm on her neck. ‘I suppose the sea crossing isn’t this bad in the summer.’ She did her best not to think about the grey sea under the darkening, slate sky, the tossing white wave crests, the icy water.
‘It can be delightful in the summer,’ Alex confirmed. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Huh.’ It was her turn to snort. She might as well try to fly.
* * *
Tess woke cramped, warm and confused in a snug cave, huddled against something that moved in a steady rhythm. It took her a while to sort through the sensations. Someone else’s skin, a fresh cologne, salt, a seat that shifted slightly beneath her, a world that rocked and heaved. A ship. A ship and Alex.
She sat still for a moment, inhaling the essence of warm, sleepy man. Somehow she had got between the flaps of his coat as well as his greatcoat and her cheek rested on skin-warm linen. Dangerous. Tess struggled upright on his knees, batting the edges of his greatcoat apart so she could see out.
‘Good morning.’ Alex pushed her to her feet, keeping one hand on her arm as she staggered. ‘There’s the English coast ahead.’
‘Thank heavens.’ She felt sticky and thirsty, but there was land, the sun was struggling out of the clouds low on the horizon and the long night was over.
‘Have some ale.’ Alex was on his knees beside the luggage. He passed her an open bottle and then scooped a protesting kitten out of its basket. ‘Yes, I know. We are cruel and horrible and you want your breakfast. You can share mine.’ He poured a little milk into his cupped palm from a stoppered jar and Noel lapped, purring furiously while Alex extracted cold bacon one-handed.
‘Do you want to eat or shall we wait until we can find a decent inn?’
‘Wait,’ Tess said with decision. She felt all right now,