A Lady's Guide to Skirting Scandal (6 page)

Miss Yates went purple, her fingers clutching the door. “I forbid it!”

Nate felt a twinge of irritation. He had never taken kindly to individuals who presumed to give him orders in his surgery, whether it be on a ship or within the confines of a blood-spattered field tent. Even if his assistant was the most unlikely of assistants, she was still his. At least for the moment.

“You are not in a position to forbid anything, Miss Yates,” he said softly, leveling a look that he’d used countless times when dealing with officers who insisted their minor injuries be tended to before those of the mortally wounded men who had fallen under their leadership. “Not while this man lies bleeding on my table. I need Lady Viola, and that is the end of the discussion. Unless you’d like to collect the fingers that are on the floor and see to their disposal, I do not need your aid. I will return Lady Viola to your care as soon as her duties here are completed.”

The purple washed from the chaperone’s face, leaving behind a chalky gray hue. She opened her mouth and closed it again, and her eyes bulged.

Miss Yates released her grip on the door and tottered away.

Nate suppressed a spiteful smirk. He’d always enjoyed seeing the backsides of officers in much the same manner.

“Thank you,” Viola said into the silence.

He turned and regarded her. “Don’t thank me yet. You might regret this later tonight when she locks you in your cabin for the rest of the voyage to save you from any more naked chests.”

“I’ll never regret it.” Her jaw was set.

He found himself smiling at her. “Good.” He paused. “You told me once that you could do this. Is that still your claim?”

“Yes.” There was nothing but resolute determination stamped across her beautiful features.

He felt something in his chest squeeze. This was the woman that he would have with him. The woman he would want by his side as he ventured forth into the unknown, armed with her wits and her determination.

And if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

“Come then. Let me show you what to do.”

T
he tirade started with a threat to lock her in her cabin for the remainder of the voyage.

When Viola had returned from the surgery, leaving Robbie resting peacefully, Bart and the Post had dragged her into their cabin, and she’d been subjected to a lecture regarding the impropriety of her being in Mr. Shaw’s company, in the presence of a half-naked man she did not know, the unacceptable tasks that she had undertaken at Mr. Shaw’s request—namely those involving suturing and blood—her unwillingness to answer to and obey Bart, and last but not least, the unforgivable sin of ruining her blue gown.

How, Bart demanded, was she going to explain to the Earl of Boden the bloodstains across the bodice and skirts of his sister’s gown? Idly, Viola wondered how her brother would ever know, or why he would ever care about a blue dress he would never see.

Because it really didn’t matter.

It was a dress. That could be washed. Or replaced, if necessary. Though with some amazement, she found that she really didn’t care.

What she cared about was what she had done that afternoon. Nate had done the bulk of the work, but he had explained everything that he was doing as he treated Robbie’s hand, trying his best to make sure that man would have use of it once it was healed. He hadn’t treated her like a child or like a delicate creature who could not comprehend what he was speaking of. He encouraged her to ask questions, and gave her detailed answers when she did.

And then, under his careful and steady guidance, he had allowed her to perform the last sutures.

It wasn’t much, but to Viola, that opportunity had been like nothing she had ever experienced. Someone had needed her. Someone had trusted her. Someone had believed in her, given her a purpose, and it was for a far greater cause than anything she had ever imagined. She had helped do something truly important. Something that would make a difference—a real difference—in someone else’s life.

And for now, she was holding on to that tiny kernel of accomplishment, holding it tight within her like a treasured jewel.

“Are you even listening?” Bart demanded, snapping Viola out of her thoughts.

“Of course,” she lied.

“This cannot be allowed to happen again,” the Post chimed in. “It
will
not happen again.”

“It?” Viola asked distractedly. Really, if they would just say whatever they needed to say and be done with it.

“You weren’t listening,” Bart accused, sniffing loudly.

Viola gazed at her impassively, not bothering to argue the truth.

“I was referring to your overfamiliarity with Mr. Shaw. He is a mere surgeon, my lady. Not someone you should be overfamiliar with unless you are in grave danger of dying.” Her jowls shook in righteous indignation. “He is not good enough for you, my lady.”

“Mr. Shaw is a better man than any I have ever met,” Viola snapped. It was one thing for these two to insult her own person. It was something else entirely for them to turn their disparaging remarks on Nathaniel.

Bart and the Post exchanged a meaningful look and then launched into another harangue. Viola endured it, distracted and subdued. Eventually her keepers ordered her back to her own cabin and shut the door behind her, turning the key in the lock.

“It’s for your own good, my lady,” Bart said through the door. “You need to consider what others might think of you if you don’t more carefully mind your actions in the future. The earl would be most disappointed if we did not do our duty and remind you of this.”

Viola sighed wearily and moved to her berth. She lay down, stretching her fingers under her pillow, and stopped abruptly as they came into contact with something solid. Viola sat up, pulling the object out onto her woolen blanket. It was the leather-bound anatomy book, a strip of paper marking a page. Nate must have slipped into her cabin and left it for her. An ache lodged in the back of Viola’s throat as she opened the book and pulled the paper from the page. The paper was covered with a familiar handwriting, and she turned it over.

I thought you might want to look at this in case you have some extra time on your hands tonight
, it read.
You’ll be able to appreciate in greater detail exactly the manner of your patient’s injury.
Viola glanced down, seeing that the page Nate had marked was a cross section of the human hand, set alongside a drawing of its bones.

She cleared her throat ineffectively and continued reading.
I have not had a better assistant nor a better student. You were…
There was a messy blob of ink as though he had left his pen on the surface too long in search of a word. Viola’s eyes dropped down to the last line.

Extraordinary.

The page blurred before her eyes.

She’d never been extraordinary. At anything. Certainly nothing that mattered.

Viola sniffed loudly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. A thousand compliments she’d received from gentlemen about her hair, her eyes, her dress, her gown, and not one of them had meant anything. This one meant everything.

Viola sat with her hands on the page before she pushed herself to her feet, making her way over to the tiny table in the corner of her cabin. She placed the book on the surface, then fetched paper and ink.

She had some studying to do.

She must have fallen asleep at the table, for when she woke, darkness had fallen, and her back and neck were stiff and complaining. She lifted her head from where it had come to rest next to the anatomy text, and straightened with a slight groan. She squinted at the lantern hanging near her berth, and it was a good few seconds before her sluggish brain processed that someone had lit it. And that someone had brought a plate of food and what looked like a bottle of wine.

And that that someone was sitting on the edge of her berth, reading. He was dressed in his shirtsleeves again, the worn fabric rolled up to his elbows. His legs extended in front of him, his bare feet crossed. As if he had just risen from his own bed.

Her heart skipped. “Nate?” she whispered, wondering if perhaps she was still asleep and dreaming this entire thing. If it was a dream, she had no interest in waking.

His head snapped up, and he smiled at her. “You’re awake.”

“Am I?”

He laughed quietly. “Most certainly.”

You shouldn’t be in here
, she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. Because she didn’t want him to leave.

“Had you planned on letting me sleep at the table all night?” she asked, rubbing at her cheek. She could feel an indented ridge where the edge of the table had pressed. She’d pulled the pins from her hair earlier to ease her aching scalp, and now her hair fell in a rumpled tangle around her shoulders. Her gown was wrinkled and bloodstained, her eyes felt bleary and her lips dry. She must look like a mess.

“You looked so beautiful. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Viola blinked at him, feeling a heat flood into her cheeks. A riot of butterflies was churning through her middle.

“What time is it?”

“Late,” he said. “Or maybe early would be a better word.”

“What are you doing here?” She glanced at the door, still closed tight.

“I thought you might be hungry. And thirsty. I heard you are extremely unpopular with your wardens at present. They snore, by the way. I could hear them from the passageway.”

Viola smiled. “Thank you.” She paused. “But my door was locked.”

“The key was in the lock outside.” He held up a key.

“And now—”

“It’s locked from the inside.” He held her eyes.

Suddenly, Viola could barely breathe.

“Would you like me to go?” he asked, closing the book he still held on his lap.

Viola’s pulse was pounding. “No.”

He smiled at her, his eyes darkening in a manner that stole whatever breath she’d managed to retain. “Good.”

Viola licked her lips, her mouth dry.

Nate reached for the bottle of wine, twisted the cork from its mouth, and offered it to her. She took it, examining the label. It was an expensive wine.

“Where did you get this?”

“I brought it with me. It’s from a captain I once pieced back together at Quatre Bras. I ran into him quite by chance in Liverpool before we left, and he insisted on making a gift of it. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to marshal proper glasses.”

Viola came just out of her chair to accept the bottle from his hands, retreating back to her seat. She put it to her mouth, the cool glass against her lips feeling like the most decadent thing she had ever drunk from. The wine slid down her throat, heating her body. Or at least, that was what she was telling herself.

“I see you got my book.” He gestured at the text.

“I did. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“And thank you for your note. It was…” Viola faltered, unable to put into words what it had meant.

“The truth,” he whispered.

A silence fell, and they stared at each other across the small space. There was a tension in the air, something that swirled and hummed and sent little currents of electricity darting through her body. A shivery anticipation that had her agitated and fevered all at once.

“You believed in me.”

“Yes.” His answer was simple.

Another silence descended.

“What do you want, Viola?” Nate asked into the quiet.

What did she want? The answer to his question was nothing like the answer she would have given him in Liverpool when she had first boarded this ship. But it was an easy answer all the same.

“You,” she said.

He watched her for a moment. “Come here.”

Viola rose and in two steps crossed the distance to where he was sitting. He reached for the wine bottle and took it from her, setting it aside. Then he caught her hand, running his fingers lightly over her knuckles. “Once this is done, it can’t be undone,” he said, replacing his fingers with his lips. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Viola whispered.

“If you want to save your virginity for your duke, you need to tell me now.” Nate was running his lips up the insides of her wrists.

Viola shuddered, her legs trembling. “I don’t want a duke. I want you.” She spoke it, an admission of what had become her truth, and it was intensely liberating. “I want only you,” she repeated.

Nate looked up at her, desire blazing from his eyes. Never had Viola felt so beautiful or so wanted. He stood, the book falling unheeded from his lap. He reached forward and ran his fingers through the loose curls that tumbled over her shoulders, smoothing them away from her face. Very deliberately, he set to releasing the ties of her gown, undressing her with the same quiet confidence that so defined this man.

Her gown slid down her body, puddling in a blue pool at her feet. Her stays followed, and she was left standing before him in nothing but her chemise as he ran his hands over her arms and across her shoulders. She should be feeling shy, she knew. Shy or nervous or awkward or something that would be expected of a young lady. Yet his presence, his words, his hands, his lips—they did not allow her the space to feel any of those things. All she could think about was how much she wanted to feel those same hands on her bare skin. How much she wanted to feel the heat from his palms touching places no one else had ever touched.

Her chemise slipped over her shoulder as he gathered the fabric in his hands, lifting it smoothly over her head. He let it drift to the floor, and she was left completely bare. His eyes never left hers until he bent his head, kissing her softly. “You’re extraordinary,” he said, echoing the words in his letter.

Viola closed her eyes briefly, arousal sending ripples of gooseflesh across her skin and making her nipples tighten. He stepped closer to her, one hand wrapped around the back of her neck, the other sliding down her side to rest at her hip. The feel of his clothes against her bare skin was exotically stimulating. “Touch me,” she whispered, unable to help herself. In the next instant, she could feel heat flood into her cheeks at her shameless demand.

But Nate only smiled, his eyes smoky and hot. “Where?” he asked, bringing his palm from the nape of her neck to rest on her chest. No doubt he could feel the thunder of her heart.

She reached up and caught his hand, guiding it to her breast. “Here,” she said.

His smile widened. “As you wish.” He cupped her breast, the slide of his hand across her oversensitive flesh making her want to whimper. His other hand came up from her hip to caress her other breast, and then he was tracing circles alongside and around her nipples. Viola arched her back, pushing herself closer to his touch.

He was kissing her now, soft, exploratory kisses that caught her lips, her jaw, the tender part of her ear. She could feel the heat of his mouth, feel his breath on her skin. Breath that was no longer as steady as it had once been. He bent farther, his mouth replacing his fingers as he worshipped her breasts with his tongue. His hands circled her ribs, sliding down to her waist, and then he slid down too, bracing himself on one knee as he traced the curve of her belly with his mouth and the curve of her backside with his hands.

There was a pressure building within her again. She could feel the dampness gathering at the cleft of her thighs, every one of his touches adding another layer to the need that was drumming through her veins. Every nerve ending in her body was electrified, every caress a beautiful, exquisite torture that drove her closer to an abyss she couldn’t quite reach.

Viola glanced down, the sight of his dark head against the pale smoothness of her skin impossibly arousing. The feel of his lips on her, the scrape of the stubble of his jaw—it was too much and not enough all at once. She wanted to feel everything. All of him against all of her.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and urged him back to his feet.

“Trust me,” he whispered.

“I do,” Viola said.

“Then what’s wrong?” He pulled back, touching her cheek gently.

Viola put a hand on the collar of his shirt. “You have too many clothes on.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled again in the manner she so adored. “Then what are you waiting for?”