Page 38 of Lord of Temptation
“I’ll show you a view of the world you may never have an opportunity to see again.”
“I can’t parade about in trousers in front of your men.”
“They’re all below deck, except for the three I need to assist in getting you into the crow’s nest.”
“Will they be climbing with us?”
“No, but we’ve rigged a winch and pulley. Someone has to man it.” He touched her cheek with a featherlike graze. “Trust me, Princess.”
Hadn’t she from the beginning, when she’d had no true cause to except for another’s word? But always something about him, something deep within him had calmed her nerves, quieted her doubts. If she believed in magic, she’d consider that he might be a sorcerer weaving his spells over her. But if nothing else, the state of his back proved he was merely a man.
“I’ll need a few moments,” she said flatly, quelling any anticipation she might be feeling at the prospect of what she was about to do.
“I’ll be waiting.” He headed for the door, stopped, glanced back. “No shoes. It’ll make it easier. But do wear gloves.”
He quickly left. She met Martha’s gaze. “Do you suppose I should wear a corset with this attire?”
Martha smiled. “No, m’lady. I suspect for this adventure, it would be best if you wore as little as possible.”
When she was finally in the shirt and trousers, she felt rather very much like a heathen. A rope threaded through loops on the trousers kept them hugging her waist. She had to roll up the hem to prevent herself from stepping on them. Now her ankles were exposed. Scandalous. The shirt was loose, the linen fine, and it felt almost as though she wore nothing at all. Martha had braided her hair, securing it with the leather strip she had yet to return to the captain.
She had no cheval glass in which to peer. Martha removed the captain’s shaving mirror from the wall, but it only provided glimpses as though she were pieces of a puzzle and not the whole.
“I’m certain my appearance will suffice,” she said succinctly. After all, what did her clothing truly matter when she would never again see these people once she got off the ship?
He was waiting for her on the deck. His feet were also bare, and her toes curled at the intimacy. His feet were long, slender, as bronzed as his face. She’d never looked at a man’s feet before—not even her brothers’.
With his bare hand, he took her gloved one, and she had an irrational urge to remove the protection so her skin would touch his. Ludicrous. Where were these strange notions coming from?
He led her to the mast where the crow’s nest perched near the top. The sea was calm, yet a slight breeze gently lolled the ship. She craned back her head. “It’s so high.”
“Imagine the view.”
Shifting her eyes to his, she could see within his blue depths that he understood her hesitation. He wasn’t mocking or chiding. He was waiting patiently for her to gain her resolve. Taking a deep breath, she angled her chin. “I don’t want to imagine it. I want to experience it, to see it.”
With a jerk of his head, he signaled Mouse and Jenkins over. They brought with them the lassoed end of a rope. Strips of what she was fairly certain had once been woolen blankets were wrapped around it, offering a bit of padding. She raised her arms and the captain lowered it over her, securing it beneath her arms.
“This is only to stop you if you fall,” he said. “They won’t be pulling you up. You’ll be doing that on your own.” He explained the climbing process, showing her notches and handholds.
She did wish that she hadn’t been so prim and proper growing up, that she’d followed after her brothers, racing barefoot across fields and climbing trees. But then, if she hadn’t been so prim and proper, she probably wouldn’t be weighted down with regrets and so she wouldn’t be here now. She would have said yes to Walter when he asked of her what he did. She would have scoffed at Society’s rules as he’d wanted to. Instead, she’d remained steadfast in her determination to hold to the higher ground.
Yet here she was wearing clothing that outlined her form to such a degree that she might as well not be wearing anything at all. Nothing prim or proper in that.
But then who was to see except for the four males in view of her now, Martha, and the occasional porpoise that leapt out of the sea?
At the captain’s urging she pressed against the mast and used his wrists as her handholds. She didn’t know how this would work at all if he wasn’t so much taller than she. He wedged his right foot into a notch, then instructed her to place her foot on his. She did—
And froze.
The top of his bare foot was warm and soft beneath her sole. It shot sensations through her. Naughty, wicked sensations. She’d never touched a man so intimately. It was unsettling, yet reassuring at the same time. It was marvelous. It was—
“The other.” His silky voice danced around her ear.
“Pardon?”
“Place your other foot on mine. I’m hanging here, Princess. Can’t hang forever, you know.”
Why not? Why couldn’t she stay here where his nearness distracted her from her misgivings?
