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Authors: Connie Mason
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Slaves were threatening to revolt against their white masters; it wasnât a safe place for an Englishwoman right now. Though Chris knew there were women on the island, wives of planters and such, letting Sophia remain was out of the question. Besides, she had begged him to turn the ship around and take her back to England despite the mysterious danger that threatened her.
âIâm convinced Sophia can take care of herself. From what she told me, the danger involved her stepbrother. I doubt he will harm her. Women are inclined to make much ado about nothing.â
âYou know best, Captain,â Blaine said. He peered up at the sky. âLooks like weâre in for a blow.â
Chris scanned the fluffy white clouds fleeing before a stiff wind. âWeâll outrun it, but go ahead and make preparations in case Iâm wrong.â
Blaine took his leave. Chris returned his gaze to Sophia. As if aware of his scrutiny, she turned her head. Their gazes collided, held; then his slithered away. The next time he looked in her direction, she was gone.
Sophia returned to the cabin to escape the wind, which had changed abruptly from brisk to near gale force. Casper must have fed more charcoal into the brazier while she was out, for the cabin felt warm and cozy after being topside. She began to perspire in her woolen coat and removed it. She walked to the porthole and stared out at the turbulent waves. The ship had begun to dip and rise alarmingly. She felt a bit queasy and moved to the bunk to lie down.
Sophia felt too ill to eat dinner that night and told Casper to take the food away. âWeâre in for a bit of a blow, miss,â Casper warned. âCaptain said it wasnât a bad one, so thereâs no need to worry.â
Sophia couldnât help worrying when Chris didnât return to the cabin that night. She heard the wind howling as rain mixed with sleet slashed against the porthole. Although she tried to sleep through the worst of it, her upset stomach plagued her throughout the ordeal.
When Sophia awoke the following morning, it was as if there had never been a storm. The sky was blue, the ship rocked on a gentle breeze, and her stomach had settled down. She sat up in bed just as Chris staggered into the cabin.
Sophia slid out of bed. âYou look terrible,â she said, eyeing the dark shadows under his eyes and the beginning of a beard darkening his cheeks.
âThank you,â Chris said curtly. He began shedding his wet clothing.
âWhat are you doing?â
âNow that the danger is past, Iâm going to bed.â He sent her a challenging look. âYou can join me if you like. I donât suppose you got much sleep last night.â
âIâm fine,â Sophia said, turning away as he pulled off his breeches.
Sighing, he flopped down on the bunk and pulled the blanket up to his neck. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Sophia stared into his face. He was the handsomest man sheâd ever seen. Sheâd thought so all those years ago and she still thought so. His hair, wet from his recent drenching, looked black instead of the dark brown she admired so much. While his lashes were indecently long, his bold features made a noble statement about his masculinity.
Sophia recalled the way women had swooned over Chris during her Season in Town, and how he had devoted all his time to her.
Damn him! Why hadnât he offered for her after Desmondâs death?
Chapter Four
Chris awakened from an erotic dream to find light streaming through the porthole and Sophia lying beside him. She lay on her side, facing him, fully dressed but for the woolen jacket. He rose up on his elbow and regarded her with grudging admiration. Carefully he slid the blanket down to her waist. The fine lawn shirt she wore hid nothing from him; she might as well have been naked. The lush ripeness of her body sorely tempted him.
A slash of sunlight piercing through the
Slaves were threatening to revolt against their white masters; it wasnât a safe place for an Englishwoman right now. Though Chris knew there were women on the island, wives of planters and such, letting Sophia remain was out of the question. Besides, she had begged him to turn the ship around and take her back to England despite the mysterious danger that threatened her.
âIâm convinced Sophia can take care of herself. From what she told me, the danger involved her stepbrother. I doubt he will harm her. Women are inclined to make much ado about nothing.â
âYou know best, Captain,â Blaine said. He peered up at the sky. âLooks like weâre in for a blow.â
Chris scanned the fluffy white clouds fleeing before a stiff wind. âWeâll outrun it, but go ahead and make preparations in case Iâm wrong.â
Blaine took his leave. Chris returned his gaze to Sophia. As if aware of his scrutiny, she turned her head. Their gazes collided, held; then his slithered away. The next time he looked in her direction, she was gone.
Sophia returned to the cabin to escape the wind, which had changed abruptly from brisk to near gale force. Casper must have fed more charcoal into the brazier while she was out, for the cabin felt warm and cozy after being topside. She began to perspire in her woolen coat and removed it. She walked to the porthole and stared out at the turbulent waves. The ship had begun to dip and rise alarmingly. She felt a bit queasy and moved to the bunk to lie down.
Sophia felt too ill to eat dinner that night and told Casper to take the food away. âWeâre in for a bit of a blow, miss,â Casper warned. âCaptain said it wasnât a bad one, so thereâs no need to worry.â
Sophia couldnât help worrying when Chris didnât return to the cabin that night. She heard the wind howling as rain mixed with sleet slashed against the porthole. Although she tried to sleep through the worst of it, her upset stomach plagued her throughout the ordeal.
When Sophia awoke the following morning, it was as if there had never been a storm. The sky was blue, the ship rocked on a gentle breeze, and her stomach had settled down. She sat up in bed just as Chris staggered into the cabin.
Sophia slid out of bed. âYou look terrible,â she said, eyeing the dark shadows under his eyes and the beginning of a beard darkening his cheeks.
âThank you,â Chris said curtly. He began shedding his wet clothing.
âWhat are you doing?â
âNow that the danger is past, Iâm going to bed.â He sent her a challenging look. âYou can join me if you like. I donât suppose you got much sleep last night.â
âIâm fine,â Sophia said, turning away as he pulled off his breeches.
Sighing, he flopped down on the bunk and pulled the blanket up to his neck. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Sophia stared into his face. He was the handsomest man sheâd ever seen. Sheâd thought so all those years ago and she still thought so. His hair, wet from his recent drenching, looked black instead of the dark brown she admired so much. While his lashes were indecently long, his bold features made a noble statement about his masculinity.
Sophia recalled the way women had swooned over Chris during her Season in Town, and how he had devoted all his time to her.
Damn him! Why hadnât he offered for her after Desmondâs death?
Chapter Four
Chris awakened from an erotic dream to find light streaming through the porthole and Sophia lying beside him. She lay on her side, facing him, fully dressed but for the woolen jacket. He rose up on his elbow and regarded her with grudging admiration. Carefully he slid the blanket down to her waist. The fine lawn shirt she wore hid nothing from him; she might as well have been naked. The lush ripeness of her body sorely tempted him.
A slash of sunlight piercing through the
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