"How can you say no?"
He looked at her for a heartbeat, an eternity.
"I cannot," he whispered against her mouth.
This time when his mouth came down on hers it was with a force and a hunger that drew a moan from deep within her as he gave her a taste of the power leashed within him. A small guilt niggled at her that he would regret this later, but she had no intention of regretting anything, not now, not when his hand in her hair made her feel like it was as alive as the rest of her body, his fingers moving to her scalp to hold her in place for his mouth, stronger now, more demanding.
Her fingers brushed across Alexander's neck. That was who he was, her Alexander, for when he touched her like this, his rough hand cradling her cheek, his eyes gleaming in the near dark, he wasn't the gruff surgeon. He was the man she'd been dreaming of when she saw him washing at the pool, and standing in the surf fishing, and almost smiling at something she'd said.
She might be too silly for dry old Dr. Murray, but she appeared to be exactly whom Alexander wanted this night. His warm lips caressed her, his mouth, that mouth she'd studied so often while he taught her, his words steady and thoughtful as he fired her imagination, his mouth now was igniting fire of a different sort in her, a fire that swept through her from the hair he was stroking down to her toes.
Alexander touched her in all the ways she dreamed he would touch her, his mouth on her neck, through the silk knotted at her shoulder, his breath a puff of sensation against nipples that were already almost painfully hard and sensitive through the light fabric of her dress. He drew her into his mouth there, though the fine cloth. Her knees went weak as she felt warmth, and wetness, and his tongue swirling around the erect peak. His hand beneath her back supported her as she arched even higher into his embrace, seeking more, asking him for more.
He swept her up in his arms and laid her on the bunk. He blew out the lantern, faint light entering through the porthole, starlight and moonlight guiding his hands as he unknotted her dress, unfolding the satin like she was a gift to be unwrapped, a gift for him.
"You are so fair," he said, his words low and hoarse with a Scots burr that sent a frisson of heat down her spine, the richness of his voice stroking across her like the satin. He reached down and traced a line from her neck to her naval and Daphne watched, waiting, wanting to know what he would do next. He pushed the pieces of her dress aside and she sat up, her arms crossed over her breasts as she suddenly felt self-conscious beneath his steady gaze.
"No, do not cover yourself. Your beauty shines in the starlight like...like...stars."
She bit her lip to keep her smile inside at his heartfelt attempt at poetic language. If the words did not trip off his tongue it was not necessary, because his skilled hands could speak for him, and his mouth was clever in other ways.
Alexander demonstrated that now as he laid her back down on the narrow bunk, his arm pillowing her head. He kissed her again, not rushing, taking his time to know her, to explore her, to experiment and determine what she enjoyed. The slight stubble returning to his face rasped across her collarbone, making her shiver in a delicious combination of sensations.
"Oh, yes," she gasped. "That is perfect!"
He raised his head and Daphne thought she saw the brief gleam of a smile on his face, but it was too dark to be certain, and it was of no matter now. She knew where his smiles were. They were in his eyes, and in his hands when he touched her with such care, and, most of all, they were in his kisses.
He paused to pull off his remaining clothing and toss it on the deck, then lay down beside her again, the two of them as close as the ribs of a fan in their space, which was fine with her as she ran her hands over his arms, his back, her caresses earning murmurs of approval from him as he responded in kind.
Her pulse pounded and she knew she was ready for more, until she reached down for him and stilled, holding onto what she had only felt against her before. He rolled atop her, but she put her hand on his chest, which made him pause. Daphne licked her dry lips.
"You are an intelligent man, Alexander, and there is a lot of knowledge in your head, but maybe not enough knowledge. I do not want to stop, but I must tell you--this won't fit."
He buried his head into her shoulder where it met her neck and made a muffled noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh.
"It will fit, Miss Farnham."
"Doctor, I do not know if you have done this before..."
He pushed himself up on his arm and his face was strained and tense in the moonlight, but he took the time to rub his thumb across her lips before placing a soft kiss there, a reassuring move that eased some of the tension from her frame and made her feel safe.
"I have done this before, Miss Farnham. Daphne." He put his finger over her lips when she would have continued protesting, his voice rumbling from deep in his chest. "I studied anatomy. I know about women and their parts. Remember? You can trust me to know what I am doing when I say we will fit as neatly as your hand fits in your glove."
"You are certain?"
"I will prove it."
And he did, moving carefully, cautiously. He kissed her again, deep, drugging kisses that made her twine her arms around him and caused her legs to fall open, and he moved his hand down, across her belly, feeling the bones, the skin, watching her reactions and how she responded. When he touched her, finally, in that spot that was aching, he gave a noise of male satisfaction.
"Good girl," he whispered in her ear. "You are wet, and you will see how well we fit. Like this," he said, slipping one finger inside her. She gasped at the sensation and felt herself tighten around him as he withdrew his hand, but then he was back, two fingers easing inside of her body as her back arched. He watched her intently, gauging her reactions, and he was the one who gasped when he slipped a third finger inside and she cried out at the stimulation, her hips moving, seeking more.
Sweat covered his face and a bead trickled down his muscled arm where he was propped above her and she did what she'd been longing to do, turning her head and licking that droplet of salt from his hot flesh.
His mouth swooped down on hers again, one hand gripping her, holding her against the thin mattress but that did not matter because he was stroking her with his other hand. Then it was not his hand probing between her legs and she went still, adjusting, feeling more than she'd ever felt before, but he was true to his word and moved carefully until he was a part of her, his body rigid with tension when he propped himself up on his arms and looked down at her.
"Raise your legs, my dear--ah, yes, just like that. Perfect--so perfect," he whispered, his mouth returning to hers as his hips began to move.
And he was right, as usual. It
was
perfect, being beneath Alexander's solid bulk, feeling him moving within her, gliding out and returning in a rhythm that made her see starlight even though her eyes were closed now. Her other senses opened to the sound of them moving in the dark, his sweat-slick body gliding against hers, his hands holding her, gripping her as she arched beneath him with a cry of satisfaction, her arms wrapped around his back, and his name on her lips.
"Perfect," he whispered again, driving into her a final time before pulling out suddenly and spending himself on her belly.
There was little room to move in the bunk and she lay draped over Alexander, her back pressed up tight against the bulkhead.
"Why did you pull out?"
His hand stilled from where it stroked her hair, and he sighed.
"I do not want to risk getting you with child, Daphne."
"Oh." Daphne suddenly felt chilled, and put her hand over her flat belly. "I do not think that will be a problem, Dr. Murray. I was with George, and we never had a baby."
"Every man and woman together is a different story, Daphne. There's always a risk."
"I wouldn't mind," Daphne said. She thought about it, cuddling a sweet, serious little baby with red hair. Maybe he would have a Scottish accent, too. It would be better than anything.
In the meantime, though, she was relaxed and sleepy.
"I am glad I did not atrophy," she murmured. "Don't hang the hammock, Dr. Murray, we can fit in here together."
"Only if you sleep on top of me, Miss Farnham."
He managed to maneuver them into a state where they could lie on their sides under the cover, with his arm around her waist to anchor her against him and keep her from falling out.
Daphne smiled to herself. There was a long sea voyage ahead of them. Plenty of time to see what could develop.
"You look cheerful this morning, Mr. Murray."
Alexander glanced over at Captain St. Armand, who posed on his deck in a white shirt gleaming in the sunlight, the linen open at the neck to reveal too much of his tanned body. Alexander comforted himself with the thought if the pirate kept dressing in that fashion he would develop a chest cold when they moved into cooler climes. Seeing him sneezing, coughing, and red-eyed might turn a young lady's attention to a healthier alternative.
The captain's long legs were in close-fitting buckskins which earned him a second glance from a sailor or two, but Daphne was not there to appreciate the fop. Alexander'd left her sound asleep in the bunk, her hair spread over the cover like a golden shawl.
They'd woken twice during the night to make love, and despite the activity and lack of sleep, Alexander felt like the cock caged on the deck with the other poultry. Crowing seemed the natural response to a night like the one he'd had.
"In fact, one might say you look--smug," the captain continued.
"Nonsense," Alexander said smugly. "I look well-rested, having been rescued from being castaway."
Captain St. Armand looked around, a slight frown on his face.
"Miss Farnham is not with you?"
"Mrs. Murray is resting, Captain. It was a stressful experience for her."
"That explains why you are in charge of the livestock."
Alexander was trying his best to ignore the animal sniffing around his feet. Pompom had looked at him so hopefully when he awoke that he took the dog with him, making a stop first at the sandbox for the dog's use. And to fetch him some water and biscuit. And to put his leash and collar on him for a walk.
"Have you eaten, Mr. Murray?"
"Yes, I stopped at the galley earlier. Did you prepare a place for me to work?"
The captain nodded. "Follow me," but then he paused.
"That animal of yours--is he a ratter?"
Alexander looked down at the fluffball at his feet. Daphne had washed him, thankfully after Alexander's bath, and combed him out, tying a ridiculous scrap of pink satin into a bow on the dog's hair. He looked ready to attack a dandelion.
"I do not know, Captain. He hunted lizards on the island, but I never saw him fetch a rat."
"He could earn his keep if he keeps the rat population down."
"You do not have a ship's cat?"
The captain looked away and mumbled something.
"I am sorry, I did not catch that."
"Cats make me sneeze."
This second mental image, of the pirate captain with eyes streaming tears and a nose swollen and red from sneezing, enhanced Alexander's morning stroll.
"Let's take the dog into the hold and see what happens," Alexander said. Fewer rats aboard ship would make his life easier as well.
* * * *
Daphne awoke refreshed and ready to sing. What a glorious morning! Dr. Murray was, well, amazing was not too strong a word for him. Rogerable indeed! It must be all those years of studying the human body that made him so skillful. Clearly, none of
his
parts had atrophied from lack of use!
She giggled to herself, then called for her pup.
"Pompom?"
His leash and collar were gone, as was her dear grumpy doctor, so Alexander must have taken the dog for his walk.
Daphne hummed a merry tune as she dressed in her sailor's clothing. It still felt strange to her. Wearing trousers was good for gentlemen, but it would never catch on as a fashion for ladies. Taking care of her needs was much easier when all she had to do was hoist her skirt, but she had to admit it was easier to move in the confined space of the ship and climb above in trousers. No doubt it would be easier to climb trees in trousers, not that she was likely to do that with Dr. Murray watching over her.
Daphne found her way to the galley, where Hill fussed over her and fixed her an egg fetched that morning from one of the hens.
"Enjoy it, miss. Hens can be contrary on sea voyages and may decide not to lay any more until they're on land again."
He'd fried the egg and she savored it, along with excellent coffee. The galley was tiny, but neat as could be, and the cook chattered to her as he worked, about everything from fashions to cooking techniques.
"I am learning how to cook, Mr. Hill--"
"It's just Hill, miss." And he gave her a wink.
She smiled back at him. He wasn't flirting with her, she'd spent enough time with men of fashion to know when they weren't interested in women. Hill was a sweet fellow, but not a competitor for her affection.
"Dr. Murray showed me how to cook on the island," she said as she watched the cook wield his knives with skill. "I can make fish baked in leaves, and I can stew crabs and boil an egg."
"Well now," he said, putting down his knife and looking at her. "I would say that puts you ahead of most ladies then."
"Really?"
"Yes, miss. I grew up working in the kitchen of a fine house, and the ladies there couldn't even make a fire to fix themselves a cup of tea. Can you imagine?"
Daphne looked down into her own cup to hide her embarrassment. She'd been one of those useless ladies before she met Dr. Murray. He was so patient with her, and he wanted to teach her new things. She blushed, thinking of some of the new things Dr. Murray had taught her in the dark. Daphne finished her tea and brushed off her hands, standing and returning the tinware to the cook.