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Authors: Elizabeth Boyle
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in Greenwich. Until she was fifteen, she'd lived with her aunt, studied music, learned the lessons a lady held dear. But every spare moment she could slip away from her aunt's neat and tidy house, she'd found herself donning her sailor's breeches and jacket and stealing down to the Thames to watch the ships sail past the busy Greenwich docks. Each flap of a sail, each creak of oak, every clank of an anchor left her longing to feel the wind in her hair, the hemp ropes twisting in her hands, and the stinging kiss of salt on her lips.
So when her father had come to visit her after nearly five years, she'd sneaked after him in the wee hours of the morning, climbing aboard the
Forgotten Lady
via the anchor line. And when she was discovered two days later, long after they were well away from the English shore, she'd told her irate parent she would never set foot in England again.
Her home was the sea.
But Julien's life was different. That she knew. And she couldn't help but think there was no room in it for her.
Still, she loved the little attentions he gave her, drawing her into the conversations, asking her questions about sailing, bringing her small presents.
Gifts a man brought a lady.
First it had been a tortoiseshell comb. To hold her hair out of her eyes when she was on lookout duty.
Next came a blue ribbon, which he claimed matched her eyes.
Why a man kept such trinkets about, Maureen could only speculate, but she was sure they were meant to entice a lady into doing unspeakable things.
She'd accepted his gifts and wondered how long she'd have to wait for the unspeakable part.
And a few nights ago, as he'd been about to leave the
Forgotten
after a long evening of dining, drinks, and tall tales, he'd caught her in the passageway, just the two of them.
She had thought, half-hoped, he was going to kiss her right there and then. For she'd spent most of the night staring at his lips and wondering how they would feel pressed to hers.
Instead, he'd grinned and leaned forward until his warm breath caressed her ear. "The next time I come over, I'll bring you a dress," he said. "A dress you can wear for me."
"I won't put it on," she'd told him. And for the first time in her life, she'd even batted her lashes.
He grinned at her, his gaze roaming from the top of her head down to her bare feet. "Yes, you will, Reenie."
"And why would I be doing that?" she'd asked, her heart hammering in her chest, her legs suddenly feeling like the cook's bread pudding — wobbly and not too set.
"Because it is what I want."
"And what about what I might be wanting?"
"Oh, that can be taken care of right now, you little sea witch," he whispered into her ear. And without a moment's hesitation, he'd done exactly what she'd wished and kissed her.
His lips had touched hers almost reverently, the gentle pressure sending shivers down her spine and arms. Her mouth sprang open in a soft sigh, and his arms wound around her neck and waist, pulling her closer to him.
She'd never been kissed before, not like this.
As if he knew, he kept his kiss contained, but she could feel the fire in his blood burning just beneath the surface. He wanted her, and not just for kissing.
The notion startled her, yet she felt her own body melting to his, answering for her untried heart, begging for his touch and kiss.
One of his hands slowly stroked the small of her back, while the other worked its magic at the nape of her neck. He'd pulled the ribbon from her hair, the blue one he'd given her. Her hair, which she'd so carefully arranged, came tumbling down in a wild mess.
She thought to protest but heard the sigh of delight in the back of his throat as he pulled his fingers through the long coils.
She swore right there and then to never tie her hair up again. Not if de Ryes was around.
And just when she thought she could no longer stand the torment of his touch, when she thought she would lose all reason and turn as wanton as any dockside baggage, the door to
So when her father had come to visit her after nearly five years, she'd sneaked after him in the wee hours of the morning, climbing aboard the
Forgotten Lady
via the anchor line. And when she was discovered two days later, long after they were well away from the English shore, she'd told her irate parent she would never set foot in England again.
Her home was the sea.
But Julien's life was different. That she knew. And she couldn't help but think there was no room in it for her.
Still, she loved the little attentions he gave her, drawing her into the conversations, asking her questions about sailing, bringing her small presents.
Gifts a man brought a lady.
First it had been a tortoiseshell comb. To hold her hair out of her eyes when she was on lookout duty.
Next came a blue ribbon, which he claimed matched her eyes.
Why a man kept such trinkets about, Maureen could only speculate, but she was sure they were meant to entice a lady into doing unspeakable things.
She'd accepted his gifts and wondered how long she'd have to wait for the unspeakable part.
And a few nights ago, as he'd been about to leave the
Forgotten
after a long evening of dining, drinks, and tall tales, he'd caught her in the passageway, just the two of them.
She had thought, half-hoped, he was going to kiss her right there and then. For she'd spent most of the night staring at his lips and wondering how they would feel pressed to hers.
Instead, he'd grinned and leaned forward until his warm breath caressed her ear. "The next time I come over, I'll bring you a dress," he said. "A dress you can wear for me."
"I won't put it on," she'd told him. And for the first time in her life, she'd even batted her lashes.
He grinned at her, his gaze roaming from the top of her head down to her bare feet. "Yes, you will, Reenie."
"And why would I be doing that?" she'd asked, her heart hammering in her chest, her legs suddenly feeling like the cook's bread pudding — wobbly and not too set.
"Because it is what I want."
"And what about what I might be wanting?"
"Oh, that can be taken care of right now, you little sea witch," he whispered into her ear. And without a moment's hesitation, he'd done exactly what she'd wished and kissed her.
His lips had touched hers almost reverently, the gentle pressure sending shivers down her spine and arms. Her mouth sprang open in a soft sigh, and his arms wound around her neck and waist, pulling her closer to him.
She'd never been kissed before, not like this.
As if he knew, he kept his kiss contained, but she could feel the fire in his blood burning just beneath the surface. He wanted her, and not just for kissing.
The notion startled her, yet she felt her own body melting to his, answering for her untried heart, begging for his touch and kiss.
One of his hands slowly stroked the small of her back, while the other worked its magic at the nape of her neck. He'd pulled the ribbon from her hair, the blue one he'd given her. Her hair, which she'd so carefully arranged, came tumbling down in a wild mess.
She thought to protest but heard the sigh of delight in the back of his throat as he pulled his fingers through the long coils.
She swore right there and then to never tie her hair up again. Not if de Ryes was around.
And just when she thought she could no longer stand the torment of his touch, when she thought she would lose all reason and turn as wanton as any dockside baggage, the door to
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