Marrying the Royal Marine. Carla Kelly

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      Miss Brandon didn’t say anything, but her hands relaxed. Hugh did nothing for a moment, because he didn’t know where to begin. He looked closer in the dim light. She was wearing a nightgown, which chastely covered most of her, so his task was not as uncomfortable yet as it was going to get. He opened the door.

      ‘Private, go in my cabin. Bring my shaving basin, plus the silver cup next to it.’

      He was back in a moment with the items. Hugh put his hand behind Miss Brandon’s back and carefully raised her upright. He dipped the cup in the fresh water Private Leonard had brought, and put it to her lips.

      ‘It will only make me vomit,’ she protested weakly.

      ‘Just swirl it around in your mouth, lean over the edge of the cot and spit it out.’

      ‘On the floor?’ she asked, aghast.

      ‘Yes, ma’am. The deck—the floor—has suffered some ill usage. I’ll never tell.’

      She sighed. He held the cup to her parched lips and she took a small sip, doing what he said and spitting on the deck.

      ‘Try another sip and swallow it this time.’

      She started to protest, but gamely squared her shoulders and did as he said. ‘My throat is on fire,’ she said, her voice a croak.

      ‘I imagine it is raw, indeed, Miss Brandon, considering the ill treatment it has suffered for nearly two days.’ It smote him again how careless they had all been not to check on her. ‘Try another sip. Just a small one.’

      She did, then shook her head at more. They both waited, but she kept it down.

      ‘I’m encouraged. Just sit here,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to mix some vinegar in this little bit of fresh water and wipe your face and neck. I’ll see what can be done with your hair.’

      Silent, she let him do what he wanted, turning her head obediently so he could swab around her eyes and nostrils. ‘Soon I’ll have you smelling like a pickle, Miss Brandon,’ he joked, trying to lighten the mood. She did not indicate any amusement, which hardly surprised him. When her face was as clean as he could manage, he added more vinegar to the bucket of sea water and wiped her neck and ears.

      Her hair took much longer, as he pulled a few strands at a time through the vinegar-soaked cloth between his fingers, working as quickly and gently as he could. He had to stop for a while when the ship began to labour up and down steeper troughs, as the storm intensified. She moaned with the motion, so he braced the sleeping cot with his body so it would not swing. As he watched her face, it suddenly occurred to him that part of her problem was fear.

      ‘Miss Brandon, I assure you that as bad as this seems, we’re not going to sink,’ he said. He spoke loud enough to be heard above the creaking and groaning he knew were normal ship noises in a storm. ‘Ships are noisy. The sea is rough, I will grant you, but that is life in the Channel.’

      She said nothing, but turned her face into his shoulder. Hugh kept his arms tight around her, crooning nothing that made any sense, but which seemed to calm her. He held her close as she clung to him, terrified.

      When the waves seemed to subside, he released her and went back to cleaning her long hair. When he felt reasonably satisfied, he knew he could not avoid the next step. ‘Miss Brandon, do you have another nightgown in your luggage?’

      She nodded, and started to cry again.

      ‘I’d happily turn my back and let you manage this next part by yourself, my dear, but I don’t think you’re up to it. You can’t stay in this nightgown.’

      After another long silence during which he made no attempt to rush her, her hands went to the buttons on her gown. She tried to undo them, but finally shook her head. Without a word, he undid her buttons. ‘Where’s another nightgown?’ he asked quietly.

      She told him and he found it, fragrant with lavender, in her trunk. Taking a deep breath, Hugh pulled back the sheet. Her hand went to his wrist, so he did nothing more until she relaxed her grip.

      ‘I’m going to roll up your nightgown, so we can best keep the soiled part away from your face and hair when I pull it over your head. Miss Brandon, I regret the mortification I know I am causing you,’ he said.

      She was sobbing in good earnest now, and the parched sound pained him more than she possibly could have realised. Not only was he trampling on her female delicacy now, but jumping up and down on it.

      ‘No fears, Miss Brandon, no fears,’ he said quietly, trying to find a balance between sympathy and command.

      Maybe she finally realised he was an ally. He wasn’t sure he would have been as brave as she was, considering her total helplessness to take care of herself. Feeling as stupid and callow as the merest youth, he couldn’t think of a thing to say except, ‘I mean you no harm. Not ever.’

      He wondered why he said that, but his words, spoken quietly but firmly, seemed to give Miss Brandon the confirmation she needed of his utter sincerity. She stopped sobbing, but rested her head against him, not so much because she was tired now, but because she needed his reassurance. He could have been wrong, but that was what the moment felt like, and he wasn’t one to quibble.

      Without any talk, he continued rolling up her nightgown as she raised her arms. His fingers brushed against her bare breast, but they were both beyond embarrassment. Even though the night was warm, she shivered a little. He quickly popped her into the clean nightgown, pulling it down to her ankles, then helped her lie back. She sighed with relief and closed her eyes.

      The winds picked up and the ship began another series of torturous swoops through the waves. He braced the cot against his hip and kept his arms tight around Miss Brandon as she clung to him and shivered.

      ‘I don’t know how you do this,’ she said finally, when the winds subsided.

      ‘It comes with the job,’ he replied and chuckled.

      ‘Are you never seasick?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Are you lying?’

      He wasn’t, but he wanted her to laugh. ‘Yes.’ He knew nothing in the rest of his life would ever put him at ease more than the slight sound of her laugh, muffled against his chest.

      Since his arms were around her, he picked her up. She stiffened. ‘I’m going to carry you across the wardroom to my pathetic cabin, and put СКАЧАТЬ