Page 34 of Much Ado about a Widow

Startled out of that heated moment, Georgie pushed away from St. Just and jumped to her feet. Cold exploded across her wet chest, distracting her from the mortification of being caught in such an inappropriate embrace. Not that it was wrong to attempt to save someone’s life, but it must have looked exceedingly . . . intimate. Had been extremely intimate.

Clutching her arms across her sodden clothing, Georgie backed away as Chapman arrived, a steaming mug of hot tea in each hand. “Here, Captain, my lady.” He thrust one at her, which she just managed to grab before the sailor turned to St. Just. “Have a sip, my lord. Get yourself around this, and you’ll be right as rain.”

St. Just nodded, taking the cup in both hands and seeming to savor the warmth. He took a huge swallow and groaned. “God, that’s good.” He peered up at Georgie with an impish grin. “Very good indeed. Thank you.”

Cheeks heating despite the cold wind sweeping across the deck, Georgie backed away another step, heart beating like a galloping horse, her gaze still locked with St. Just’s. What was happening to her?

Rather than risk staying to find out, she turned on her heel and fled to the relative safety of her cabin. As she’d known all along, one should never trust a pirate.

Chapter Eleven

Trembling as though she’d been in the water too, which anyone might assume looking at her dampened state, Georgie reached her cabin and fought to calm herself before she entered. She mustn’t let Clara suspect anything had happened. Not that anything had happened, actually, although clasping a naked, wet man to one’s bosom as though he were one’s hope of heaven might be considered something. No. She slowed her breathing, trying to calm her heart, which had gone from a steady beat to a fluttering tempo to a fast boom, boom, boom like a drum someone was banging with a huge mallet. Act calmly and everything would be fine. She abandoned the untasted mug of tea on the floor beside the door for one of the sailors to find. If she tried to drink something this moment she’d choke.

She opened the door, and Lulu bounded off the bed, running to her feet and leaping up on her. Another wave of relief coursed through Georgie. “Lulu. Oh, Lulu.” She gathered her dog into her arms, burying her face in the animal’s fur, thanking God again for her survival. Whatever she might be unsure about, her gratitude to St. Just for rescuing Lulu was not in doubt. She clasped Lulu to her, squeezing her tight.

Lulu yipped and wiggled to be put down. She seemed to be suffering no ill effects whatsoever from her dip in the frigid water. “She doesn’t even feel cold, Clara.”

“Her thick fur helped a good bit, I think.” Clara shook out a hefty piece of toweling and draped it over the back of the chair. “She was cold enough when I brought her here, but I’ve been drying her off ever since, and she seems fine. Is Lord St. Just doing well, also?”

Georgie started, then berated herself. If she didn’t want to appear guilty she must not jump like a deer when someone spoke his name. “He appeared to have taken no hurt that I could tell, although at first I believed him dead. He was so still and pale. I don’t know what I would have done . . .” Her throat thickened, cutting off any further speech.

“He’s that heroic, I’ll give it to him, my lady.” The maid grabbed up the piece of linen again. “There’s not many would jump into the Channel to save a dog. Here, let me dry you off before you catch the croup. Lulu’s got you wet enough you look almost like you went into the sea.”

Continuing to cluck over her mistress, Clara draped the fabric against Georgie’s chest. “Let’s get you out of these wet things and into a warm—” The maid ceased both rubbing and speaking. “How did your back get soaked, my lady?”

Georgie cringed and drew the toweling closer around her. “Uhhh . . .”

A loud knocking at the door saved her from further inquisition. “Will you see who that is, Clara?”

The disgruntled maid marched to the door and pulled it open.

Georgie continued to rub herself briskly with the linen. She’d had no idea she’d gotten this wet when she’d pressed herself against St. Just. Unconsciously she closed her eyes to better remember the feeling of his body against hers.

Clara shut the door.

“Who was it?”

“One of the sailors, my lady. Returning this.”

Opening her eyes, Georgie found Clara staring at her accusingly, her mouth pursed and brows lowered.

Georgie’s damp blue pelisse dangled from her hand.

Drat it. She’d forgotten she’d wrapped it around St. Just. How did she explain that? Perhaps, in this case, honesty was the only option. “I gave it to Lord St. Just.”

“He’s taken to wearing women’s fashions, now, has he?” Clara’s gimlet eye didn’t waver.

“He was freezing before my eyes, Clara. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I must admit, your disrobing before him probably warmed him better than any blanket.”

“Clara!” Heat tinged Georgie’s cheeks. Taking the pelisse off hadn’t warmed him nearly as well as her embrace of his naked body had. “You act as though I stripped down to my chemise, which I assure you I did not.”

“And so how did the back of your dress become wet? Something has soaked it through.”

Unable to devise a rational response, Georgie resorted to simple denial. “I have no idea. I’m certain I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Lady Georgina.” The maid’s face fell into somber lines. “I understand that you were grateful to his lordship for rescuing Lulu. There’s not many would do such a thing. But to then allow the man liberties as part of that gratitude—”