Page 41 of Rose
Chapter Fifteen
Rose took a deep breath, trying desperately to remain calm. Familiar arguments rushed to the fore of her thoughts.
She was a woman grown, not an inexperienced maid.
She and Tristan had an understanding, a business arrangement, and more than that they were becoming friends. Steeling her shoulders, she turned, and tried to appear entirely unaffected by his suggestion to retire for the night.
Tristan offered her his arm. They descended the stairs to the main deck together, but when they reached the open hatch, he held back. “You go ahead to our room. I have some things I need to take care of, which should allow you time to get…er…more comfortable.”
“Thank ye,” Rose said. With a brief curtsy, she turned and headed down the stairs to the captain’s quarters.
She shut the door behind her and leaned her back against the slatted wood. Her heart hammered in her chest. She closed her eyes and saw Tristan’s handsome face: his warm, amber brown eyes and full, sensual lips. She touched her cheek, remembering his gentle caress when they had stood aloft in the crow’s nest, she nestled safely in his arms while the sea stretched out around her, endless and teeming with life.
“Not helping,” she said out loud, as she pushed away from the door. If she was to make it through another night with Tristan stretched out alongside her, his robust body pressed tight—“Enough,” she snapped at herself.
Seething with frustration and stifled passion, she yanked on the hem of her surcote, but it didn’t slide off like her usual clothing. Remembering the laces, she reached behind her, but the knot was cinched tight. After several minutes passed and plenty of tugging and pulling, she finally loosened the knot. But when she lifted her thick outer layer, it still wouldn’t budge. Straining, she tried to reach the laces higher up her back.
“Blast,” she cursed.
Bending over, she twisted her arm behind her and managed to loosen the first several, but she couldn’t reach higher. She twisted and turned and bent and cursed until she finally fell aback into an exhausted heap on the bed. A moment later, a knock sounded.
“Come in,” she groaned. “Oh, please come in.”
~ * ~
Tristan opened the door and rushed inside when he spotted Rose lying on the bed, panting.
“Are you all right?” He pressed his hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m not sick,” she groaned. “I’m stuck.”
“What do you mean you’re stuck?”
“’Tis this blasted surcote. I’m caged within it. A prisoner, I tell ye, and I’ve surrendered. Ye’d best get used to copper, because it’s never coming off.” `
He smiled down at her. “This is why women of means have serving maids. I will hire one on when we reach France.”
She sat up. “Don’t ye dare. I could never ask someone to wait on me. Anyway, ‘tis foolhardy to wear clothing ye can’t take off yerself.”
He offered her his hand. “Then allow me to help you.”
She swallowed hard. “Ye’re going to help me undress?”
He raised a brow at her. “Unless you prefer I get one of the crew, young Davy or maybe Piper.”
Her eyes widened. She scrambled off the bed. “Ye’ll do.”
“You can trust me to be a perfect gentleman,” he promised.
Slowly, with a pained expression on her face, she turned, allowing him access to her back…her slim, elegant back.
He cleared his throat and steeled his shoulders. Then with one hand, he swept her thick, copper mane over her shoulder. Her hair felt like silk to touch. He took a deep breath and reached out. He hooked his fingers underneath the bottom laces, located just inches from her magnificent, round derriere. Forcing his hand to stay on course, he gave a little tug. Slowly, he inched higher and higher. His gaze traced over the curve of her neck. His lips parted. He longed to kiss the hollow of her throat and draw her earlobe into his mouth. He wanted to taste every inch of her creamy white skin.
His heart hammered in his chest as he loosened the final lace. Tension gripped his shoulders. His hands twitched in protest as he dropped his arms to his side. “I…” He paused to clear his throat, forcing out the words he had no wish to utter. “I believe you should be able to manage from here.” He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It hurt to leave her side. His body ached for her.
“I have some things I need to take care of. I won’t return for some time,” he said stiffly before he shut the door and barreled up the stairs. But his heart and mind screamed at him to go back. He turned around and rushed back to his cabin and grabbed the handle.
“What are you doing?” He said out loud. He shook his head, backing away from the door. He was a man of honor, she a woman of honor. “Damnation,” he cursed and thundered up the stairs, nearly colliding with the ship’s surgeon.
