right, or if it was too simple for her ladylike tastes. Such fawning felt out of character for him, particularly considering the way in which he barked orders at the stewards serving them, as if they were not human beings with thoughts and feelings. London knew it wasn’t polite to be overly solicitous to servants, yet it bothered her to treat them shabbily.
A thought had her brush still in mid-stroke. Good God, she hoped Fraser didn’t expect to court her. She knew with absolute certainty that he would never approve of her linguistic studies—no doubt he preferred to use books as heavy objects for clubbing people—and she would not marry another man who shared her father’s profession. If she married again. There had been little in her own marriage to recommend the state. She still nursed her ideas of love, crafted over years of reading about it, and she did get quite lonely. It could not be denied, as well—she craved a man’s touch. Her own had lost its excitement long ago.
Ben Drayton’s bedroom laugh tumbled through her mind. Surely that scoundrel understood how to touch a woman, and touch her well. Her eyes drifted shut, imagining such an encounter. Just to think of those clever hands on the curve of her shoulders, the soft flesh of her breasts, sent a thick wave of sensation cascading through her, warming the place between her thighs. She trailed her free hand along her collarbone, back and forth, letting her traitorous mind and body pretend that it was Drayton who caressed her. That he would push down her wrapper, peel away her nightgown and lay her upon the berth before settling his own weight over her, positioning himself between her legs. London’s nipples tightened beneath the soft lawn. Her hand began to trail lower to her breasts.
She stilled, sensing another presence in the cabin. London’s eyes opened, and she met the hot blue gaze of Ben Drayton in the mirror.
London jumped up from the chair and whirled to face him. The brush dropped from her hand to clatter on the floor. Drayton leaned against the cabin door, arms crossed over his broad chest. He seemed quite at ease, except for the fiery hunger in his eyes and noticeable arousal tenting his breeches.
“Don’t stop,” he rumbled.
Her heart slammed into her ribs as heat suffused her face. “How…how did you get in here?” she gasped. “I didn’t hear the door. And…it was locked.”
“A sorry day when a simple lock keeps me from a lady’s bedchamber.” He pushed away from the door and took a step toward her, a small smile tugging at a corner of his mouth.
London backed up until she pressed against the cool iron of the hull.
He came nearer. The cabin felt much, much smaller with him in it. He was quite male and quite close. “I haven’t much time.”
She dare not ask, but couldn’t help herself. “Time for what?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, God,” she gulped, her eyes flicking automatically toward the bed.
He laughed quietly. “Not that. Taking my time makes it so much better for everyone, and right now I’m on a tight schedule.”
“Well, that is a relief,” she said tartly, then shut her mouth, shocked by her own brazenness. There was a strange man in her cabin, and she was talking back! What she really should be doing is—
“Don’t be tiresome and scream,” he said.
That was exactly what London intended to do. She took a deep gulp of air.
He moved like a striking snake, a blur of motion she barely saw. He turned her around and wrapped her in the steel of his arms, one hand covering her mouth. A spike of terror clawed its way up her throat. She tried to scream. His clamped hand stifled the sound. She struggled against him, but he was solid with muscle, immovable. London thrashed about, yet all she managed to do was exhaust herself.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured in her ear. “We don’t hurt people.”
We? Who was we? She wasn’t soothed at all. She didn’t care what Drayton said, she had to get free, had to fight him. Her muscles screamed with effort as she struggled. She couldn’t even put her feet down or gain enough space to open her mouth and bite him.
Drayton glanced over at the small brass clock on the desk. “Look at the time. Blast. We’ve got to go.” He didn’t sound winded or troubled at all, more like he was mildly concerned about missing a train, whilst London panted for breath.
He loosened his hand from her mouth. Thank God! London gulped in enough air to scream. Before she could, he slipped his cravat from his neck and gagged her with it. She tasted the musk of his skin in the silk. Not that long ago, she would have gladly learned what Drayton’s skin tasted like. Now it only reinforced the fact that he completely overpowered her.
He pulled off the belt from London’s robe and deftly wrapped it around her pinned wrists before knotting it. She tugged at the belt. It wouldn’t give. She was bound, and helpless.
Anger was better than the fear that threatened to swallow her.
“Next time,” he grinned as she glared up at him, “I’ll let you tie me up.”
Fortunately, she was gagged, otherwise her mother never would have forgiven her for the curses that she tried to spew at him. And then she was easily swung up and slung over his shoulder like a sack of feathers.
“You need to eat more,” he said.
She didn’t hear him open the cabin door, but suddenly they were slipping noiselessly into the passageway. He shut the door and fiddled with it for a moment, and she understood he was locking it. If he got her off the ship with no one noticing, they would probably assume she was safe in her cabin. London’s absence would only be known in the morning, when Sally tried to come in. Panic fueled her into another struggle. If she could just stay in her cabin, surely everything would be fine. But that feeble hope died as Drayton eased down the passageway.
She prayed they would meet her father, the captain, a sailor, anyone, but fortune didn’t favor her that night. Once, an armed sailor neared, en route to his duties, but Drayton held back to the shadow of a bulkhead. London tried to shout, despite the gag. Maybe even a small noise could alert the sailor.
“Quiet,” Drayton said lowly in her ear. “A peep out of you, and that trigger-eager bloke will fill both of us with bullets. Don’t take that chance.”
Was he right? London was afraid to find out.
The sailor continued on his way.
Drayton climbed the steep iron stairs that led to the top deck. A peculiar, sweet fog embraced the steamship, rendering everything dreamlike and murky. Sailors patrolled, yet none saw her and Drayton as he slid to the railing. No one was coming to her aid. Drayton was going to abduct her. Off the ship, she would have no chance. No! She fought anew, twisting her body this way and that.
Yet she couldn’t break Drayton’s hold. With one arm clamped firmly around her waist, he grasped a rope tied to a small, thick hook hitched onto the railing, and eased them both onto the other side of the rail. Then he rappelled silently down the side of the ship into the darkness. London could not believe he possessed the strength to hold her and his own weight with one hand, expecting at any moment that they would both go plummeting into the sea. But hold them, he did, all the way down the rope to a tiny canoe-like boat, anchored to the other end of the rope.
She felt herself lowered to the
