Louise Allen - Regency Rogues - Unlacing The Forbidden - Unlacing Lady Thea / Forbidden Jewel of India

He reached for her hand and tugged and Thea half slid, half tumbled, across his body.

‘Ugh. Turn your back and try not to elbow me in the stomach again.’

‘Sorry.’ It was a very firm stomach. Thea gave herself a brisk mental shake. ‘Like this?’ He was warm and hard and, when his arms came around her to anchor her in place, she stopped sliding about. It did nothing for the up-and-down jolting.

‘Just like this.’ His voice in her ear trembled on the edge of a laugh.

‘What is so funny?’ she enquired tartly.

‘This is. I was imagining our eloping couple—the ones from the book you think we should write. Here they are, alone at last, and Neptune has decided to act as chaperon.’

‘Of course! He is on the seabed, poking up irritably with his trident. Here he goes…again. Ouch.’

‘Try to relax.’ Rhys ignored her snort of derision. ‘We’ll get used to it. Just let go. You need the sleep.’

‘Impossible! How can I sleep like this?’

‘Count dolphins jumping over rocks,’ Rhys murmured in her ear. ‘Sheep would get too wet.’

‘Idiot,’ she murmured. One, two, three…here comes a porpoise….

Rhys sighed and moved his mouth gently against the head of the woman in his arms. This was the way to wake up. Warm, rocking gently, arms full of soft, curvaceous femininity.

She smelled of roses, whoever she was. He must try to recall her name in a minute; it was ungentlemanly to forget in the morning. Not that he could recall the night before either, but he supposed it must have been good. His body was certainly awake and interested.

When he pulled her more tightly against his groin she snuggled back with an erotic little wriggle that inflamed an already insistent erection to aching point.

‘Mmm.’ Rhys nuzzled the silky fine hair and let his right hand stray lightly across her body. They were both dressed, after a fashion, although their bare feet had obviously made friends in the night. Perhaps she had pulled on her gown again afterwards for warmth, because under the fine wool he could feel uncorseted curves and the sweet weight of an unfettered breast. As his thumb moved across the nipple it hardened and he smiled.

His companion stirred, stretched, her feet sliding down against his. She yawned and he came completely awake. He was in the chaise, on the ship, heading for France and in his arms, pressed against his insistent erection, her breast cupped in his hand, was Lady Althea Curtiss.

Rhys bit back the word that sprang to his lips and went very still. Was she awake? Had she realised? Probably not or she’d be screaming the place down, or, given that this was Thea, applying that sharp elbow where it would do most harm. He let his hand fall away from her breast, lifted the other from her hip, arched his mid-section as far back as he could. If he tried to slide his arm from under her, she would probably wake.

Damn it. Thea, the innocent, respectable friend whom he had already shocked with that embrace. If his wretched wedding tackle would only take the hint and calm down, that would be a help; he was as hard as teak.

Rhys thought about Almack’s, tripe and onions, Latin verbs, tailors’ accounts. It didn’t work. His brain, apparently having lost all its blood in a mad southwards dash, was disobediently musing on just where Thea had acquired those curves from and when she had begun to smell of roses and how that mousey mane of hair could be so silky.

‘Rhys?’ His name was muffled in a yawn.

‘Yes. Roll off my arm, would you? I’ve got pins and needles.’

‘Sorry.’

Merciful relief. In the dim morning light Rhys grabbed for a blanket and hauled it across his lap as he sat up.

Thea sat up, too, stretching her arms in a way that made him moan as her bosom rose and fell. ‘Are you all right? Shall I rub it better?’

‘No! I mean, no, my arm is fine now.’ Rhys gave it a shake to demonstrate and grabbed for the door handle. ‘I’ll get out and let you get…get ready. Yes.’ He landed on the deck and bundled the blanket back into the chaise. Damn it, he sounded like a gauche seventeen-year-old. ‘I can see the shore clearly. We’ll be landing soon, I expect.’

‘Oh, good.’ Thea’s voice came faintly through the closed door. ‘I won’t be long.’

Hell’s teeth. Rhys tottered to the main mast, took a firm grip on a rope and dragged cold sea air down into his lungs. What have I agreed to? That isn’t little Thea in there, that is Lady Althea, all grown up…and out and… Stop it. He was, for Heaven’s sake, a sophisticated man with considerable sexual experience. He was a notorious flirt. His wits were normally perfectly capable of dealing with any female. So why couldn’t he cope with this one? It would be better when she was up and dressed and looking like Thea again in that drab dress with her cheerful, intelligent, blessedly ordinary face smiling at him. And her corset on, please, God.

Thea pulled on her stockings, tied her garters and searched for her shoes, all ordinary, every-morning tasks. Only this was not every morning. Today she had woken up plastered against the body of a virile, aroused man. Which was interesting, if ruinous for her peace of mind. She suspected that Rhys had no idea how awake she had been, or that she knew why he had bundled out of the carriage in such haste with a blanket clutched to his midriff.

After her first encounter with an overamorous rake at a ball during her first Season, she had resolved to discover exactly what physical love involved, if only to avoid unwanted advances.

Her researches had involved a fair amount of eavesdropping on her married acquaintances and discreet rummaging in the library, to say nothing of a survey of some Greek vases that had been pushed right to the back of a high shelf. And there was the Home Farm, of course. No country-bred girl could be completely ignorant, although one hoped one’s husband, if one did ever marry, had more…finesse than Hector, the stud bull. Or Anthony, she thought with a shudder.

Thea felt she was reasonably well informed about the mechanics of the thing and had even gleaned the interesting snippet that men tended to wake up in a state of readiness for the act. That was obviously what had happened this morning. All perfectly natural and normal. Nothing to feel hot and bothered about. It had been quite impersonal, just as Rhys’s hand on her breast had been the unintentional result of sleeping so close together. And presumably her own physical reaction to that sleepy caress was automatic and natural, too. Goodness, he was large…. Even yesterday on the quayside she had not quite realised.

She spared a wistful thought for their innocent childhood as there was a tap on the door and Polly looked in.

‘I’ve got your brushes here, my lady, and some water and a towel. Would you like your breakfast in here or on deck? The ship’s cook’s got some nice fried herring.’

‘Just tea and bread and butter please, Polly. I’ll take it outside. Were you all right last night?’

The motion of the boat was gentle enough now for the water in the deep bowl to lap safely at the sides when she wedged it in a corner. She washed her face.

‘I was fine, my lady, but Mr Hodge isn’t at all happy this morning.’ Polly flapped blankets vigorously as she tidied the interior of the chaise. ‘Green as pea soup, he is, and properly on his dignity when I twitted him about it. There, all that needs is the seats putting back. And did you manage any sleep, my lady?’

Thea glanced at the maid. Was that a snide question or a perfectly genuine one? She was not going to put herself in the position of appearing defensive. ‘I was very alarmed when we started to toss so,’ she said. ‘In fact, I think I cried out, because his lordship came and wedged me in with the blankets.’