Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)

She smiled. “The first of February.”


“It will be our wedding day.” He traced the shape of the birthmark on her hip. “Very convenient for me, for your birthday and our anniversary to coincide. I’ll be more likely to remember both.”

“I wish you would stop touching me there.”

“Do you? Why?”

“Because it is ugly. I hate it.”

He tilted his head, surprised. “I quite adore it. It reminds me that you are imperfectly perfect and entirely mine.” He slid down her body and bent to kiss the mark to prove the point. “There’s a little thrill in knowing no one else has seen it.”

“No other man, you mean.” He kissed her there again, this time tracing the shape with his tongue. She squirmed and laughed. “When I was a child, I would scrub at it in the bath. My nursemaid used to tell me, God gives children birthmarks so they won’t get lost.” Her mouth curled in a bittersweet smile. “Yet here I am, adrift on the ocean on the other side of the world. Don’t they call that irony?”

“I believe they call it Providence.” He tightened his hands over her waist.

“You’re here, and I’ve found you. And I take pains not to lose what’s mine.”

He kissed her hip again, then slid his mouth toward her center as he settled between her thighs.

“Gray,” she protested through a sigh of pleasure. “It’s late. We must rise.”

“I assure you, I’ve risen.”

“I’ve work to do.” She writhed in his grip. “The men will be wanting their breakfast.”

“They’ll wait until the captain has finished his.”

“Gray!” She gave a gasp of shock, then one of pleasure. “What a scoundrel you are.”

He came to his knees and lifted her hips, sinking into her with a low groan.

“Sweet,” he breathed as she began to move with him, “you would not have me any other way.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Breakfast was late. Quite late, but served with a smile. And because the men were already at their duties, Sophia assumed the task of delivering Mr. Brackett’s meal to the hold.

Bearing a tin plate of biscuits and a small pot of tea, she descended the long, narrow ladder, past the cabins and steerage, into the very belly of the ship.

“Mr. Brackett?” She paused at the bottom of the stair, uncertain in which direction he lay.

“Could that be Miss Turner?” His too-courteous voice scraped out from somewhere to the left. Sophia felt anxiety wing through her, but she did not allow it to build a nest. He was confined, she reminded herself. And he would be a fool to attempt any mischief with her.

“I’ve brought your breakfast.” She walked in the direction of his voice, slowly, allowing her eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting in the hold. Eventually she found him, shackled and chained to a bilge pump. He looked healthy enough, if rather unwashed. The sharp features of his face appeared even more gaunt, and a growth of beard shadowed his jaw.

“Miss Turner,” he said, clucking his tongue. “You came aboard this boat a respectable governess, and just look at you now. Grayson’s made you his serving wench.” He tilted his head. “And his whore.”

Sophia’s face burned. Her hands shook, and the hard biscuits rattled on the plate. “Don’t you dare speak of him in that manner. You are not fit to scrape the tar from his boots. He is a better man than you could ever aspire to be, and what’s more—he is a better person than I. He has sheltered you and fed you, when for what you did to Quinn and Davy, I would have gleefully thrown you to the sharks. As matters stand now, I shall settle for throwing your breakfast to the rats.” She flung the plate, biscuits and all, into the furthest reaches of the hold. “Good day, Mr. Brackett.”

Shaking, Sophia made her way up the stairs and stumbled wildly onto the deck.

“What is it?” Gray demanded, catching her in his arms. He searched her face and examined her limbs. “What’s happened?”

She shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with her fingertips. “Mr. Brackett is a vile, hateful man.”

“Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him.”

“No, don’t. You’ll make a liar of me.” She smothered a burst of hysterical laughter with her palm.

Gray took her by the elbows and led her to sit down. “It’s nothing,” she insisted, soothed by his presence and strength. “He didn’t hurt me. We just… had words, that’s all.”

“You’re not to go down there again. Do you understand?”

“Believe me, I’d let him starve before I ventured down in that hold again.”

“I’d be tempted to do just that—let him starve. But unfortunately, we won’t be at sea long enough.”

Sophia looked up, sniffing. “Are we so close to Tortola?” It wasn’t the end, she reminded herself. Only the beginning. There would be other voyages, whole seas and continents to explore.