Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels

      Which may well have been true, but given that India’s interpretation of Ottoman fashion made her look more like a turquoise mummy than a modest Ottoman female, was somewhat inaccurate. “If Englishwomen were going to take a cue from their Ottoman sisters,” Katherine said, sipping her wine, “they would have done it long ago.”

      “And they certainly won’t do it now from a girl whose father has locked her away in her apartment,” Phil added. And then, turning her attention squarely back to Katherine, she said, “You’re not listening.”

      India noisily captured one of Millicent’s pieces in retribution. “I think it makes a woman look mysterious.” Katherine stared at the game board Captain Warre had largely crafted with his own hands. Too many things aboard this ship were being done by those hands. She could hardly grip a railing without physically sensing that his hands had been the one to clean it. She didn’t have to wait for London for her actions against him to turn back on her—she suffered from them now in the smallest details of her own ship.

      “Englishmen don’t want that type of mystery,” Millicent scoffed. “They would have women go about entirely nude if they could.”

      “Less than a week before our arrival,” Phil went on, “though I daresay the damage is already done.” She leaned close to Katherine, though for what purpose was a mystery. India’s persistent eavesdropping had required the truth to come out days ago. “You must move him back to André’s cabin.” That Phil ignored Millicent’s quip about nudity underscored how serious she thought this was. “He is your goose that will lay the golden eggs, and you would do well to keep him healthy and happy—not emptying slop and keeping midnight watches. You must start plumping the goose now if you wish to reap its rewards later.”

      “One only plumps a goose if one plans to kill it,” Katherine said. “You’d best read the fable again.”

      “In this case, killing the goose would be vastly more satisfying,” India said from behind her mummy mask. If nothing else, she could count on India for all the appropriate outrage at their new cabin boy’s true identity. “I think you should tell him you’ve discovered his identity and call him out in a magnificent duel.”

      “A tempting idea, but according to Phil I need him alive to confirm my heroics. I can hardly go about London praising myself for his rescue.”

      Millicent made a noise. “Especially since you would have left him to die. I can only imagine what London would think of that.”

      “The decisions aboard this ship are mine to make,” Katherine said sharply.

      “I’m well aware of that,” Millicent shot back. “Nobody aboard this ship has any say in matters but you.”

      “Watch your tongue, Millie,” Phil advised. And then, to Katherine, “Trust me, dearest, praising yourself won’t be necessary. It will be the easiest thing in the world to innocently let it be known what happened, and in a single morning’s time all of London will know.”

      “And then I shall be showered with invitations and good will,” Katherine said dryly.

      Philomena laughed. “And then you shall place yourself in proximity to Captain Warre at every opportunity, and let the news work its magic. The two of you together will be a sensation.”

      “Promise me you won’t expose him without me there,” India said. “I want to see the expression on his face.”

      So did Katherine. And she needed to expose him before the voyage was over, when she still had the advantage of being in command. But deciding how and when to do it wasn’t easy—except that one place it would not happen was in front of India.

      She hadn’t the means on board to give Captain Warre what he truly deserved. But she could at least have the pleasure of exposing him. The timing should be perfect. Time, however, was running out. Soon—very soon—she would have to confront him whether the time was right or not.

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      THE MISTY BLUE of midnight surrounded Katherine with an eerie breeze. Beneath her feet, Dunscore rose monolithic above the sea. A man stood on the ramparts with the wind in his hair, looking out as if commanding the mist. She moved toward him. He held out his arm, and she took his hand. Kissed it, as though paying homage.

      And she was his. Only his.

      His arms came around her, capturing her body, drawing her in. Possessing her. Her head fell back and his mouth came down, down, hard on her lips, branding her. She sank her fingers into dark waves of silver-streaked hair, drank in the smell of the sea on sun-browned skin.

      He touched her body and her clothes melted away. Strong hands slid over her skin, closed around her breasts, touched her most secret places. She cried out and pushed herself against him, rocking.

      Rocking.

      Creak...splash.

      Creak...splash.

      Katherine’s eyes flew open in the dark. She awoke on her stomach with her chest heaving into the bed, gripping her pillow with both hands, being tossed by the pitch and roll of the ship. Heat throbbed between her legs, slick and pulsing.

      Captain Warre.

      She closed her eyes and breathed into the pillow. The dream fogged her mind, and the blend of damp moor and salty sea air lingered in her nostrils. Misty tendrils of longing curled through her: Dunscore. Home.

      Captain Warre.

      On a ragged breath she pushed herself up, pushed her hair from her face and felt a damp sheen along her hairline. Her breasts hung heavy and yearning beneath her nightdress. Her lips tingled with the knowledge that his knuckles were warm, his fingers strong and callused. Her skin burned as though his hands had really touched her.

      Her heart ached as though she’d really stood on Dunscore’s ramparts once again with the wind in her hair and the ancient stones of her ancestors beneath her feet.

      Home.

      Her cabin was dark. Shadowy. The palest moonlight filtered through the windows, just enough light to see, and she reached for the familiar surroundings as though grabbing a lifeline. She forced herself from the bed, felt the cool wood floor beneath her bare feet.

      This was reality. This was home. Here. The Possession. With Captain Warre merely being ferried to Britain, and she carrying out a plan to secure Anne’s future. That was all.

      She got a drink of water and stood listening to the ship’s soft creak, but still the dream’s temptation thrummed in her blood, blurring the line where Captain Warre ended and Dunscore began.

      This was unacceptable. As if Dunscore were his. As if she were his. Agitated, she paced to the window. His eyes betrayed his desire each time she caught him watching her. He wanted to touch her. To do in the flesh all the things he’d just done in her dream.

      Oh, God. If the dream hadn’t ended, within moments he would have been inside her.

      Her body pulsed hotly, and she fisted her hand against the pane.

      It was time—past time—to confront him. That he believed she thought he was Lieutenant Barclay, who would have no reason to hide his thoughts, only made everything worse. Even his berthing with the crew was not enough—not when her eyes still sought him out and her ears still listened for the sound of his voice. If he knew she’d learned the truth, he would be more guarded.

      She needed more of a barrier between them than this game of mistaken identity afforded.

      You realize this changes everything. Phil’s words lilted through her mind. Katherine shivered in the darkness as the night air began to cool her skin. She didn’t want to capitalize on their acquaintance. She wanted to exterminate him from her thoughts. And judging from the slice of moonlight on her floor, he was on deck this very moment for the midnight watch.