Marguerite Kaye - Date with a Regency Rake

A gust of wind blowing directly over the starboard side jolted the yacht, and would have knocked her over but for an iron grip on her arm. Looking up to thank Kit, Clarissa caught an unguarded expression of pure, unadulterated lust on his face and blinked at the sheer force of it. She blinked again and it was gone, replaced by his usual sardonic expression.

‘You should go below. The crossing is likely to be fast but vicious, and I have to give my full attention to the Sea Wolf —I have not the time to be constantly making sure that you are safe.’ Nor the time to be constantly distracted by the wild joy on the beautiful face beside him, if truth were to be told.

Deflated by his cold words, Clarissa turned to hide the hurt on her face. She had expected to stay above decks in order to see and experience everything to the limit. Being confined below was not her idea of an adventure. But she was too sensible to argue, for she could quite see that the stormy conditions were likely to be taxing. Quelling an instinctive protest at the command, therefore, she bit her lip and turned obediently towards the stairs.

Her obvious disappointment was too much for Kit to bear. He felt like an ogre stealing sweets from a babe. He had been watching her face more closely than she had realised, gratified to see the look of unadulterated pleasure that suffused it when the yacht set sail. Gratified and aroused to perceive his own feeling of joy at the freedom of the open sea reflected there. And disturbed, too, for it was not an emotion he had expected to share with a woman. And now she was thwarted yet uncomplaining.

‘Clarissa.’

She turned at his call, a hopeful smile curling her full mouth, her skin bright with the sting of salt, her curls entrancingly dishevelled around her heart-shaped face.

‘Kit?’

‘Once we are settled in to the journey, I’ll hand over to John, and you can come back up on deck, then, if that is what you wish.’

She clapped her hands with excitement, leaving him in no doubt.

‘Contain yourself. If the weather worsens, you must stay below. Now go, before I change my mind.’ He turned from her as she made her way gingerly below decks, before he could call her back regardless of the danger. Having Clarissa by his side at the wheel felt just a bit too right for his own comfort. Some space between them was a sounder idea.

The spartan cabin was built on practical rather than luxurious lines, with few fixtures other than the bunks that doubled as seating. Not a place for seduction, that was for sure. In fact, Clarrie thought with wry humour, as the yacht rolled with the waves, they would like as not end up on the floor, even had they managed to cram two bodies on to the narrow bunk. Still, having nothing else to occupy her mind for the while, she gave some time over to imagining how such adversities could be got over. She had just concluded that with determination two people could overcome such difficulties as a narrow mattress on a heaving yacht, when the door opened and Kit entered, bringing with him a cold gust of air.

Blushingly thankful he was not privy to her thoughts, Clarissa stood rather hurriedly, her foot catching in an uneven board, and fell unceremoniously on to the opposite bunk. Lying sprawled there, presenting Kit with her deliciously rounded posterior, Clarrie managed a soft laugh at the indignity of the situation. Her attempts to scramble to her feet were hampered by the continued rocking of the boat, and her sense of humour finally got the better of her. She succumbed to laughter, and lay for a few moments helpless, face down on the bunk.

‘Kit, help me up, for goodness’ sake. Now I know you’re no gentleman, standing there and watching me.’ Another abortive attempt had her on all fours on the bunk.

‘You present such a very attractive picture that I’m loath to move, Clarissa. Your position may be uncomfortable, but I should tell you that it displays your curves very well.’ Extremely well, in truth. His body was reacting rather vigorously to the display. Had it not been for the circumstances …

Restraining an urge to lift her dress above the bottom so pertly presented and thrust himself into her sweetness there and then, Kit reminded himself that John was above decks, and they were in the middle of the English Channel in a storm. That there was a cargo awaiting them in Normandy. That there was likely to be an excise cutter waiting for them on their return. That Clarissa was a perfidious, scheming actress. That … None of it worked.

Like an automaton, he moved towards the tempting bundle sprawled in front of him and grasped her by the waist, pulling her rear into his hard body, noting her laughter change to a surprised gasp, and then a soft, accepting moan. Clarrie wriggled slightly against him, causing him to throb almost uncontrollably. His hands tightened on her waist to pull her close, and his breathing quickened, coming in harsh gasps in the confines of the cabin. Steadying his knees against the base of the bunk, he allowed one hand to trace the line from her tiny waist along the curve of her spine, and to cup one soft buttock through the wool of her dress, aware, from the soft panting of her breath, that she was as aroused as he. Bracing himself more securely, Kit moved to the hem of her dress, preparing to lift it up over her in order to grant him the access he craved. He met with no resistance.

The sea saved her. A violent movement that sent them both sprawling, as John called urgently for help. Kit was gone at once, leaving Clarrie alone again. Alone with her feelings—of despair at her easy submission, of anger at herself for her lack of resistance. But most of all, the one that really scared her, a feeling of deep frustration at the unconsummated act. Clarrie could fool herself no longer. When Kit decided to take her, there would be no question but that she would submit. No matter what the consequences.

The tossing of the ship had become less violent, or perhaps she had simply accustomed herself to it. In any case, to stay below and nurse her feelings of frustration would, Clarrie decided, be as fruitless as it was a waste of the precious time she had on board the Sea Wolf . She prepared to brave the upper decks and to pretend that nothing of note had happened below.

The yacht was holding a steady course in the face of the wind. Kit had the wheel, idly maintaining conversation with John, whose talk was of the future, his plans for life once this last mission was completed.

‘I’ll not be sorry, Master Kit, I tell thee true. It’s old bones I’ve got now, too old to be chasing after them Frenchies and running away from the excise men. I’ve enough set aside to buy my own smack and do a bit of legal fishing for a change. Won’t net me a fortune, but it’ll keep us well enough, I reckon. I’ve my eye on a little beauty I spotted for sale down Romney Marsh way, fore-and-aft rigged like the Sea Wolf , but smaller, just big enough for me and a lad to handle. And Sal, she’ll be glad to have me home at night regular again.’

‘How is the lovely Sal, your good lady wife? The last time we met, she threatened me with a rolling pin for getting you into mischief.’

A gruff laugh greeted this remark. ‘Aye, you know her ways, Master Kit, she means no harm, just frets for my safety is all. She’s never liked me going off on jaunts like this, but she’s not one as would ever complain neither. A good woman, Sal, she knows her place. And she deserves some peace of mind, after all these years. She’s earned it.’

‘You both have, John. I really envy you, the way you’ve got your life all mapped out. I have no idea what I’ll do without these trips. My sister wants me to marry, but lord, what a dreadful husband I’d make. I’m afraid I’m destined to be the devil’s own, one way or another. I’ll miss these trips more than I can say.’