Read Online Brazen Temptress by Elizabeth Boyle - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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trust
him
once again, even after everything he'd done to her.
And as the evening progressed, her doubts about letting de Ryes go only grew. She should have known better than to trust him.
Just as she should have known not to fall in love with him in the first place all those years ago.
Chapter Seven
West Indies
1805
"How long are you going to moon over this railing like a lovesick calf, lassie?"
Maureen looked up to see her father walking toward her. "I'm not mooning," she told him, turning her back to the ship moored alongside them.
"You've been watching him for a fortnight now. And don't shake your pretty head at me; I've seen you. I've also noticed you've taken to washing your face and combing your hair when we have company for dinner."
The
Forgotten Lady
and the
Destiny
sat moored in the quiet bay of an unmapped cay. There had been too many British ships of the line prowling the waterways of late, so they'd taken to this hideaway to wait out the passing patrols. The extra days had given both ships time to make some repairs and time for the crews to get to know each other.
"I would bet that if you were to wear that dress he brought over for you, you would look quite fine tonight," her father said nonchalantly.
"I won't wear a dress for him or any man," she said, scuffing her bare foot across the decking. "If he can't like me for who I am, then I've no use for him."
"So, it's that way, is it?" her father asked, scratching his beard.
"What way is that?"
"You're afraid you'll look foolish in such a fine bit of rigging."
She closed her mouth tight and stalked down the deck away from him. She knew she looked like an indignant cat, but she didn't care.
Leave it to her father to get to the heart of the matter.
It was true, she would look foolish in that dress. She wished wholeheartedly that de Ryes had never given it to her.
Flopping down on a coil of rope, she scowled at the sailors who glanced in her direction. She'd not listen to their teasing. Why, the entire crew knew she had a dress now. It had been five years since she'd worn one. Ever since the damned thing had come aboard, there wasn't a man on the
Forgotten
who hadn't been pestering her to put it on.
As if she could. She'd carefully opened the tissue-wrapped bundle and laid the wretched thing out on her bunk, gawking at the expensive silk and delicate laces, afraid her callused and tar-stained hands would leave snags and smudges all over the fine fabric.
To get away from their amused looks, she climbed to her favorite perch in the rigging, where usually she found a strange peace. This time all she found was her gaze wistfully glancing over at the
Destiny.
Damn de Ryes. How had he gotten so thoroughly under her skin?
No, she corrected herself. Julien. His name was Julien. He'd asked her to call him that the day after they met, but as yet she'd only whispered the intimacy of his Christian name to the wind or in the quiet darkness of her cabin.
She could no more call him Julien to his face than wear the gown he'd chosen for her. She turned her face into the breeze and let the soft Caribbean wind wash over her cheeks and hair.
Oh, it was a terrible muddle.
The fact that the man left her tongue-tied and confused only added to her misery.
She'd sat mutely through most of the dinners her father had hosted for Julien and his officers. It hadn't taken but a few hours in his company to realize that Captain de Ryes was no average sailor. The man had all the telltale markings of a gentleman, the type used to the company of ladies.
Real ladies.
Still, she could have listened to him talk for hours about Paris before the Revolution, of Charleston society, of wealthy Virginia families, of the antics of the London
ton
— subjects that before had held little interest to her.
This was a man who straddled the sea and the ballroom.
She'd tried to do the same once, live in both worlds. At the age of ten her father had marooned her with her Aunt Pettigrew
him
once again, even after everything he'd done to her.
And as the evening progressed, her doubts about letting de Ryes go only grew. She should have known better than to trust him.
Just as she should have known not to fall in love with him in the first place all those years ago.
Chapter Seven
West Indies
1805
"How long are you going to moon over this railing like a lovesick calf, lassie?"
Maureen looked up to see her father walking toward her. "I'm not mooning," she told him, turning her back to the ship moored alongside them.
"You've been watching him for a fortnight now. And don't shake your pretty head at me; I've seen you. I've also noticed you've taken to washing your face and combing your hair when we have company for dinner."
The
Forgotten Lady
and the
Destiny
sat moored in the quiet bay of an unmapped cay. There had been too many British ships of the line prowling the waterways of late, so they'd taken to this hideaway to wait out the passing patrols. The extra days had given both ships time to make some repairs and time for the crews to get to know each other.
"I would bet that if you were to wear that dress he brought over for you, you would look quite fine tonight," her father said nonchalantly.
"I won't wear a dress for him or any man," she said, scuffing her bare foot across the decking. "If he can't like me for who I am, then I've no use for him."
"So, it's that way, is it?" her father asked, scratching his beard.
"What way is that?"
"You're afraid you'll look foolish in such a fine bit of rigging."
She closed her mouth tight and stalked down the deck away from him. She knew she looked like an indignant cat, but she didn't care.
Leave it to her father to get to the heart of the matter.
It was true, she would look foolish in that dress. She wished wholeheartedly that de Ryes had never given it to her.
Flopping down on a coil of rope, she scowled at the sailors who glanced in her direction. She'd not listen to their teasing. Why, the entire crew knew she had a dress now. It had been five years since she'd worn one. Ever since the damned thing had come aboard, there wasn't a man on the
Forgotten
who hadn't been pestering her to put it on.
As if she could. She'd carefully opened the tissue-wrapped bundle and laid the wretched thing out on her bunk, gawking at the expensive silk and delicate laces, afraid her callused and tar-stained hands would leave snags and smudges all over the fine fabric.
To get away from their amused looks, she climbed to her favorite perch in the rigging, where usually she found a strange peace. This time all she found was her gaze wistfully glancing over at the
Destiny.
Damn de Ryes. How had he gotten so thoroughly under her skin?
No, she corrected herself. Julien. His name was Julien. He'd asked her to call him that the day after they met, but as yet she'd only whispered the intimacy of his Christian name to the wind or in the quiet darkness of her cabin.
She could no more call him Julien to his face than wear the gown he'd chosen for her. She turned her face into the breeze and let the soft Caribbean wind wash over her cheeks and hair.
Oh, it was a terrible muddle.
The fact that the man left her tongue-tied and confused only added to her misery.
She'd sat mutely through most of the dinners her father had hosted for Julien and his officers. It hadn't taken but a few hours in his company to realize that Captain de Ryes was no average sailor. The man had all the telltale markings of a gentleman, the type used to the company of ladies.
Real ladies.
Still, she could have listened to him talk for hours about Paris before the Revolution, of Charleston society, of wealthy Virginia families, of the antics of the London
ton
— subjects that before had held little interest to her.
This was a man who straddled the sea and the ballroom.
She'd tried to do the same once, live in both worlds. At the age of ten her father had marooned her with her Aunt Pettigrew
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