Page 13 of Lady Tempts a Rogue

I have repeatedly told you, Mother, I shall pick my bride when I decide to wed. At six and twenty, I have no compelling desire to trot down the aisle, much less marry into the aristocracy. What’s more, I do not give two groats that your grandfather was an earl.

I am a commoner and not ashamed of that fact.

I have left the country to end your meddling once and for all. By week’s end, you will have removed yourself to the estate in Essex. There you shall remain until (or if I ever) return to England. I have instructed my man of business to provide you with an adequate allowance, but only if you follow that directive. Should you choose not to, you won’t see a half penny. By the by, if you have a mind to live on credit, I have also instructed Shillingford to refuse to pay your bills, and he has notified your creditors and favorite merchants as much.

Galling, isn’t it, to be manipulated? Perhaps a taste of your own medicine is what you need to reform your ways and permit me to live my life without your constant, unsolicited interference.

~The rest of Devin Everingham’s peeved letter to his mother, Mrs. Desdemona Everingham

Delivered to their Belgrave house an hour after he sailed

Three days later

22 October

In his biscuit tin of a cabin

Propped up on three pillows—where Miss Ablethorne had procured the third, he did not know—Devin scraped a palm over his bristly jaw. He bloody well needed a shave. Lifting an arm, he sniffed beneath his arm and grimaced.

God’s toes.

A thorough wash would not be amiss, even if the facilities were somewhat lacking.

His movements slow and precise, Devin braced himself for the swell of nausea that did not come. He cautiously stretched his legs beneath the blankets.

Nothing.

Praise God and hallelujah.

He exhaled a hearty sigh of relief.

Had he finally crossed the threshold, and his body had adjusted to the ship’s gyrating movements?

Perhaps gyrating was an exaggeration, but the irregular dipping, twisting, swaying, and peaking had taken its toll. And to think, if Devin wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps as he’d vowed to do, sailing was very much a part of his future.

That horrific thought nearly sent him diving beneath the bedclothes with a pillow over his head. God spare me.

Mrs. Peagilly swore by her ginger tea. Next time, he would consume the beverage before he set a foot on the wharf.

A full week in advance.

Having awoken several minutes ago, he tried to gauge the time from the sounds filtering below from overhead. No porthole graced his cabin, so he either must open the door or light the candle in the lamp attached to the wall if he wanted to see anything more than dark shadows. He’d been reluctant to do either because that had meant moving. He would rather lie in the dark than risk upsetting his calm stomach.

But now that he appeared to be better, he should haul his sorry arse from his rumpled berth and see to his morning ablutions. He ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced again. His mouth felt and tasted as if a herd of swine had wallowed inside for a fortnight.

After rising, he steadied himself with a hand braced against the upper berth. It took him a couple of moments to balance and adjust to the ship’s tilting.

His empty stomach complained with a low, long rumble.

Hunger, but not queasiness.

No wonder.

He had scarcely eaten since boarding the Daunting Duchess.

For the past three days, Miss Ablethorne and Mrs. Peagilly had played nursemaids, bringing him broth and tea, wiping his face with damp cloths, and emptying his slop bucket.

That was beyond mortifying.