"Do you intend to be a lady surgeon, Mrs. Murray?"
Daphne giggled. "Me, a surgeon? That is just silly, Captain St. Armand! Knowing what the word means is not the same as knowing how to do something as expertly as Dr. Murray does. Dr. Murray just enjoys teaching me new words."
"Does he now? How very pedantic of him," St. Armand said. "Now that you mention it, the surgeon does remind me of an elderly tutor I once had. Dried up stick of a man, but his head was stuffed full of knowledge."
Now it was Daphne's turn to look puzzled as she mouthed "pedantic," and Alexander knew he'd have to define it for her later.
"I will miss this in England," Daphne said as she bit into a mango that was only slightly overripe.
"If the weather holds we will dock in a few days," Captain St. Armand said, "and you will be able to eat those dishes you haven't enjoyed since you left home."
Daphne frowned and put down her fork.
"So soon?"
St. Armand smiled his smooth smile that did not reach his eyes. He leaned over to pour her more wine, but she shook her head.
"Why Miss Farn--Mrs. Murray. I would think you anxious to return to England. Think of what you are missing. The fashions, the theater, the entertainments. No doubt Mr. Murray is looking forward to taking you to all of your usual haunts so your friends can see you and you can retake your place in society."
The words hung in the cabin like knives poised to strike. Mr. Fuller seemed oblivious and continued to shovel food into his mouth, but Daphne looked at Alexander and her face paled. Captain St. Armand sipped his wine, his eyes glittering as he watched his guests.
"I do not know--would you excuse me, Captain? I have a headache."
She jumped to her feet and ran out of the cabin and Alexander was on his feet a moment behind her, but a hard voice said, "Sit down, Mr. Murray."
Alexander looked over his shoulder. Captain St. Armand was watching him, as was Mr. Fuller. Fuller's hand was beneath the table, and Alexander would not be at all surprised if he pulled it out holding a pistol. St. Armand looked at the mate and said, "Leave us."
"Are you sure?"
A corner of the pirate's mouth twitched.
"I can handle the surgeon."
Alexander turned as the mate left, and looked the captain square in the face.
"I must go to my wife. She is ill."
"She has a headache. Women have survived headaches well enough without you. No doubt you've caused as many as you've cured."
Alexander leaned on the table still set with supper, looming over the pirate.
"I am not in the mood for conversation."
"If you attempt to leave I will shoot you before you unlatch the door. Then who would take care of the lovely Daphne?"
"You would shoot me in the back?"
"I find it is every bit as effective as shooting people in the front. I'm surprised you do not know that, being a surgeon."
Alexander sat. The two men studied each other in silence, St. Armand's too-pretty face wearing a supercilious smirk that made Alexander's hand clench into a fist below the table. He broke the silence first.
"Now that I have traveled with you across the ocean, and seen you and your men in action, do you not fear me giving testimony against you?"
St. Armand steepled his fingers and studied the surgeon.
"Not really, no. You could identify me and make all sorts of wild claims about me, but you are not that foolish. My crew aboard this ship are not the only men loyal to me. I have friends ashore you would not care to meet. If I came to harm through your testimony, you could find yourself in a dark alley missing your spleen. More importantly, they could mistakenly harm your lovely companion because of your stupidity, and that would be a tragedy.
"But enough of such gloomy talk. What I want to know, Mr. Murray, is what you and Mrs. Murray intend to do after this ship docks. Will you be returning her to her father's house?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity. Simple curiosity. I have come to care for my two castaway passengers over these past weeks, and would want to know that you are safe and sound. In particular, I want to know what will become of Daphne Farnham...Murray. Such a sweet young lady."
"I fail to see how it is your concern, Captain St. Armand. Mrs. Murray is my wife and my responsibility."
"Is she?" the captain said softly, giving him a brief flash of teeth. "Forgive me if I am a bit skeptical. After all, there has been confusion in the past over Miss Farnham's status."
Alexander studied him.
"What would it be to you if she is not, in fact, my wife? Do you think her father would favor a pirate over a surgeon?"
St. Armand smiled again. It was most aggravating.
"A pirate? Maybe not. But I have other charms, my dear Mr. Murray. Let us be frank. I am the answer to a maiden's fantasies, particularly maidens who read ridiculous novels and fervid poetry. You...well, you are a handy man in a medical situation, but you cannot possibly compete in this arena. Not against me.
"Regardless, I can help you arrange transportation if you wish to travel to London. You will be without funds when you arrive and I imagine you will not be able to put your hands on money quickly. I can advance you that money."
"Why in heaven's name would you help me?"
"I wouldn't. But I would help Daphne return home."
Captain St. Armand couldn't know that a canny Scot like Alexander always had a little something tucked away for emergencies, gold in a hidden pocket of his surgical chest.
Alexander had thought long and hard about what would happen when he returned Daphne to her father. He did not delude himself that Mr. Farnham would offer a navy surgeon his daughter's hand in marriage in gratitude for taking responsibility for her. He couldn't imagine the pirate faring any better, and wondered what his game was.
"I will keep your offer in mind, Captain." Alexander stood, then paused. "I spoke with Mr. Fuller about the wounded. Arnold is holding on, but I will know more about his condition over the next days--if he survives that long. I will keep watch over him."
Which meant Daphne would sleep alone. It wasn't the first time Alexander spent the night at a patient's bedside, but he'd seldom done it with such regret.
"You are more of an asset on this voyage than I anticipated, Mr. Murray. I am relieved nothing happened to prevent you from fulfilling your duties."
"What would happen?"
St. Armand looked at him, a tad regretfully.
"The usual mishaps. Falling over the side, accidentally getting yourself stabbed, that sort of thing. No matter. What's important now is finishing this journey and returning your companion..."
"My wife."
"If you say so--returning her safely to England."
* * * *
The lantern was turned low, but when the door creaked open Daphne opened her eyes and favored Alexander with a smile.
"I did not drink too much wine tonight, Alexander."
"I noticed your abstemious behavior, Daphne."
Alexander sat on the bunk beside Daphne, who looked sleepy and tousled and delicious. She also looked deliciously bare beneath the covers pulled up to her naked shoulders. He took her hand in his.
"Today's work in the surgery was only part of the job, Daphne. I need to stay with Arnold, and to check on the other men overnight."
"Is it always that way?"
"It is for me."
"Must you leave right now?" she asked with a plaintive note in her voice. He brought her hand up to his mouth, the small, delicate hand which had assisted him so capably, and he turned it over and kissed her at the pulse at her wrist.
"The crisis usually comes deep into the night. It is early yet."
"So you will stay with me?"
"For a little while."
"I'm glad," she said.
He caressed her wrist, content to sit beside her for a moment, smelling her sweet fragrance, healthy and strong and womanly.
"Are you feeling my pulse?"
"I am, actually. It is something I do almost without thinking about it." He brought her wrist up to his mouth again, felt the steady beat as he rested his lips there. He caressed her with the tip of his tongue, which made her lips part on an indrawn breath. And made her pulse race a touch faster.
Those lips were an invitation no man with blood flowing in his veins could resist, and Alexander gave in and put his mouth on hers, enjoying the taste of Daphne, the sounds of Daphne as she responded and put her arms up around his neck. When they broke apart, her eyes were dreamy and half-closed.
"You never finished your examination, Dr. Murray."
He looked deeply into her eyes, then nodded.
"You need an intense, thorough, and probing examination, Miss Farnham."
"Dr. Murray! You made a rude joke!"
He leaned back, as if affronted, but used the opportunity to shrug out of his coat and pull his shirt over his head.
"You know I never joke, Miss Farnham. I am a natural philosopher and have a reputation to uphold," a statement at odds with his actions as he kicked off his trousers and hopped into the bunk alongside her.
She turned on her side to accommodate him and propped her head on her hand, her hair spilling over in a golden waterfall that gleamed in the low light.
"About this examination," she said huskily, running her finger down his arm.
"We will continue to monitor your pulse, Miss Farnham. Arterial palpation of a heartbeat can tell me a great deal about your general health. For example," he said, putting his hand on her neck, "the carotid artery, here, can be a noticeable indicator of your state. Unless you are wearing something high-necked, it is easy to touch and see your pulse."
Her eyes glowed like dark sapphires as the pupils expanded to accommodate the low light and her emotional state. The delicate lids were heavy, not with sleep now, but with arousal, and he kissed each lid, fluttering like butterflies beneath his lips, before running his fingers along her jawbone to highlight the location of her facial pulse, a sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch her neck. Since that area responded so well to stimulation, he felt he had to experiment again--because, as he explained to the woman in his arms, that was what a serious natural philosopher did--and kissed her at her temple, seeing if he could locate the superficial temporal artery with his tongue. That experiment, too, was a success and spurred him on to rove down and check the pulse at the artery in her neck.
"One has to be careful with the carotid artery, Miss Farnham. Too much pressure can cause unconsciousness."
"Why, Doctor," she whispered. "I am not a surgeon, but I suspect if you used your lips and not your fingers, I might yet swoon."
"There is only one way to find out," he murmured against her neck.
He did use his lips, and his tongue. The light sheen of moisture on her delicate form, her heightened respiration, the flush of excitement spreading through her skin, all signs telling him what she experienced. His own body responded to those signs, his cock growing so hard that it was almost painful. Daphne, clever girl, took matters in hand and demonstrated for him her own technique, which made all the blood rush from his brain into other regions, and for a brief instant, he feared
he
would be the one swooning.
He refused to be distracted from his task, delightful as that distraction was. After using his lips and his tongue to check her carotid artery, he demonstrated with his fingers for her edification how the veins and arteries moved down to her heart, that organ beating now beneath his hand.
"Dr. Murray, this is fascinating," she murmured. "I never knew the study of anatomy could be so stimulating! Tell me more."
Rather than tell her, he demonstrated, which meant she had to unhand him, to his regret, as he moved to the posterior tibial artery behind her inner ankle bone.
"I thought my posterior is where I sit?"
"It is, and it is magnificent. But there are more posterior parts to Daphne Farnham than just that one. And this is not the only spot at your lower extremities where I can check a pulse."
He rested his fingers on the top of her feet and she giggled when he rubbed his thumbs over a spot there that was ticklish.
"Why are you doing that?"
"You have a spectacular dorsalis pedis artery, my dear."
"Another artery? They are everywhere! I had no idea!"
"I will show you the popliteal next, but for that you should roll over."
She did as he requested, and he sat back, studying the form before him on the narrow bunk. He sighed with satisfaction.
"It is a truly magnificent posterior."
She looked over her shoulder and giggled at that, and again when he demonstrated the location of her popliteal artery, behind her dimpled knee, an area needing special attention.
"You feel how I compress the area here, where the skin is especially soft?" He then leaned down and kissed her there. "And fragrant, also."
She was so sweet smelling and healthy and delicious that he had to give her a most thorough examination indeed, though like a child hoarding a sweet he'd saved the best for last.
"Roll over onto your back again, Miss Farnham."
She giggled again at the formal tone of his request, which, he'd admit, may sound odd coming from a naked man, but she did as he asked. He knelt between her knees, his hands easing her legs apart until they were at the edges of the bunk and a shiver ran over her frame.
"Are you cold?"
"Just the opposite. I fear I am fevered, Dr. Murray," she said throatily. She ran her hands up her body, cupping her plump breasts.
"I feel swollen and especially sensitive, here," she said, circling her taut nipple with a slender finger.
He sat up, his hardened member twitching, and he feared he'd be reciting mathematical formulae again if he wanted to bring this exam to its proper conclusion. He clenched his teeth and focused his attention even as beads of sweat dampened his hairline.
"Let me see...does it hurt when I do this?"
He licked his thumb and forefinger and clamped her rosy nipple applying gentle pressure. Her back arched off the bunk and her eyes went wide.