out fully dressed. ‘George?’ he quizzed lightly.
‘On my way to my station, Captain, sir,’ she pronounced through tired lips and dragged herself towards the door. She had reverted to her ‘boy’s’ voice even though they were alone.
Nathaniel’s eyes opened wide, suddenly alert. ‘George,’ he said again and moved to grab at her shoulders.
Georgiana’s sleep-fuddled mind could not comprehend what had happened, only that she now found herself staring up into Nathaniel Hawke’s handsome face. ‘Late, I’m late,’ she mumbled, and tried to disengage herself.
He gathered her slender body into his arms and held her against him. She did not protest further, just laid her head against his shoulder. Nathaniel swallowed hard. She was warm and soft. The effects of the brandy swam through his brain. His hand swept across her back, moving up to touch the delicate nape of her neck. No woman had ever felt this right. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, revelling in the sweetness of her smell and with great reluctance held her away. ‘You’re sleep-addled, George. It’s the dead of night, and you should still be asleep.’ His winged eyebrow twitched as he smiled down at her.
‘But I heard the hands piped.’ Her voice was sleepy and low.
Nathaniel drew his thumb gently against her cheek. The skin was still soft and white. ‘Perhaps in your dream.’
Georgiana could not move. Still heavy with sleep, she felt mesmerised by the man in whose arms she stood. His voice was gentle, and there was such kindness in his eyes that it gladdened her heart. Couldn’t her stepfather have desired to marry her to a man such as this? A man who was just and fair, a man who had risked his life and now jeopardised his career to save her. She sighed, as his warm hands held her from him. He would never be interested in the likes of her, even if she hadn’t made such a mess of things. Not when his father was the Earl of Porchester. For all his standing, Nathaniel Hawke would always do what was right.
‘Let me help you back next door.’ His voice was soft in her ear as he lifted her up fully into his arms, her bare feet brushing against his breeches.
Georgiana was surely dreaming, and it was the same stuff that had filled all her nocturnal thoughts of late. His arms were strong and he carried her as if she were the merest featherweight. She laid her head against the hard muscle of his chest and felt the rhythmic beat of his heart. A lady would not have done such a thing, Georgiana knew that implicitly, but still she did nothing but revel in the warm languor that was spreading throughout her body.
Nathaniel pushed open the connecting door, pulled back the covers and carefully laid Miss Raithwaite upon the bed. The strength of the feeling she invoked shocked him. She should not have to suffer the rigors of ship life in the guise of a fourteen-year-old boy. The sight of her washing his shirts had worried him and he had resolved to speak to Mr Fraser to go easy with the lad. Her head sank into the pillow and he made to release her. It certainly would not do to linger in such a situation.
Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, even to herself, Georgiana succumbed to the mad impulse to wrap her hands around Nathaniel Hawke’s neck.
Nathaniel froze, the breath caught in his throat.
She thrust her fingers through his auburn locks as she had so longed to do, trailing them down to feel the taut muscles in his neck. ‘Closer, come closer.’ The words escaped as a whisper. The dream felt very real.
Nathaniel stared down at where he knew her face to be. He knew without seeing that her eyelids would have swept shut. Through the darkness he felt her rise beneath him, touching her lips to his cheek in a chaste kiss.
‘Oh, God!’ The blasphemy tore in a gritty hush from his throat. Never had a man been so tempted. Her soft cheek pressed to his and his body responded instinctively. His lips turned to seek hers and, upon finding them, possessed them with a gentle insistence. Their lips writhed in a torment of ecstasy until his tongue could no longer resist the sweet allure of her mouth and raided within, seeking its hidden intimacy with an increasing fervour.
Georgiana floated in a blissful haze of delight. Her hands slid of their own accord across the broad muscle of his back, basking in the heat of his skin through the fine lawn of his shirt. More, she wanted more of this strange enchanting feeling.
The cot swayed as he clambered upon it and lay his length against her. The wool of his breeches could not disguise the feel of her legs beneath him. He fumbled with her shirt and soon felt the satin skin beneath his hand. She made an inarticulate little noise, but did not draw back. His fingers wove their sensual magic across her stomach, swirling up towards her breast, only to meet with the coarse linen wrap of her bindings. It was enough to bring Nathaniel crashing to his senses. In that single instant he realised their predicament, and stopped.
‘Nathaniel?’ Miss Raithwaite’s sleepy whisper sounded through the darkness.
Hell’s teeth, it was enough to tempt a saint! Slowly, gently, he disengaged himself from the slender soft arms surrounding him. ‘You’re sleep-addled. Miss Raithwaite. I must not take advantage of a lady in my care.’ His teeth gritted in determination. ‘Please forgive me.’ And, so saying, he turned and strode briskly from the cabin, closing the door firmly behind him.
In the weeks that passed Captain Hawke took considerable care that just such a situation did not arise again. He threw himself into his work upon the Pallas and struggled to think of his ship’s boy as George Robertson rather than Miss Raithwaite. The task proved difficult, but not impossible. His illicit actions of that night had shaken him more than he cared to admit. For in acknowledging the young woman’s allure and his own inappropriate response, he felt that he had behaved as the singular debauchee his father thought him. He had embraced the role willingly for those tender few minutes, had revelled in Georgiana Raithwaite’s warm caress, until he’d realised the shamefulness of what he was doing. And the thought repulsed him. He thrust it away, determined to think no more of that night. Mercifully Miss Raithwaite had made no mention of the incident, and continued to adopt her guise of the ship’s boy, revealing nothing more by her outward demeanour. Perhaps the fates had been kind to him, and robbed her of the sleep-laden memory. It was a prayer uttered most fervently by Nathaniel, although he was not naïve enough to believe that it would be answered.
Georgiana had woken to a heaving frenzy of conflicting emotions. Not only did she have a very clear and precise memory of her actions of the previous night but she also had to admit to having experienced a distinct pang of disappointment when Nathaniel Hawke had behaved like the gentleman he was and refused to continue his interest. She, on the other hand, to her extreme chagrin, had behaved like a wanton and was subsequently reaping a much-deserved vengeance of guilt. It was her first kiss, the first tentative touch of a man’s body. How could Miss Georgiana Raithwaite have behaved like a veritable slattern? With her fancy schooling, formidable parenting and proper Christian upbringing, she was nothing but a drab. She cringed when she thought what she had tried to do, the blatant seduction of a man who had done nothing but sought to help her. What must he have thought of her? Utter abhorrence, nothing less. Especially in view of what he thought she had been about with Mr Praxton in Hurstborne Park. Oh, Lord! She still had to face him. Confusion, fear and guilt vied in her breast.
With frank determination Georgiana pulled her fragmented emotions together, squared her shoulders and decided that she would pretend that the incident had never happened. It seemed the only way to survive the months that lay ahead. In all the days and weeks that rushed past with gathering momentum she threw herself body and soul into the role of the captain’s boy. Georgiana Raithwaite no longer existed, only the juvenile George Robertson. And through the boy she learned to quell the attraction she felt for Captain Nathaniel Hawke.
‘Take in all the canvas until she’s bare. We’ll have to try-a-hull. Have the galley fire extinguished and check that the magazines are secured.’ Captain Hawke lowered the small brass spyglass from his eye and turned to face Mr Anderson. ‘There’s a storm brewing, and from the cloud formation I’d say it’ll have its way with us if we’re not careful.’
‘Aye, Captain. It doesn’t look good.’