Only when he was below deck with the hatch closed, cutting off the howling wind and pounding rain, did Nick realize he was chilled to the bone. That chattering noise might even be his teeth. The sharp pain around his middle every time he inhaled could be a fractured rib or two. He shook his head. Such foolishness, diving into the stormy sea to rescue a woman he barely knew.
He knocked once on the cabin door and immediately opened it. Breath left his lungs in a rush.
Miss Chase stood with her back to him, long hair twisted up in a towel, hands behind her as she strained to do up the row of tiny buttons at the back of a green muslin gown. Only one button at the bottom was closed, leaving the dress gaping, her back exposed save for a frayed-edge chemise so thin he could see the freckle beside her right shoulder blade.
She whirled to face him as he slid the door open, her face flushed. From exertion or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure, but he liked it.
“Having some difficulty, Miss Chase?” He carefully schooled his expression, keeping any wolfish grin at bay.
“No, I, ah…” She dropped her hands as her shoulders slumped. “Yes, I…” She took a deep breath, no doubt steeling her resolve. “I would appreciate your assistance.” He could practically hear her gulp from across the cabin, though her voice didn’t waver. Nick barely restrained himself from rubbing his hands with glee.
As he stepped toward her, he did rub his hands together, but only because they were numb with cold. He blew on his fingers while she turned around again.
The row of tiny buttons mocked his cold, clumsy fingers. He had a button hook hidden away in his desk somewhere, useful for doing up m’lady’s buttons. Usually he employed it only after having had the pleasure of undoing her buttons, with all sorts of fun in between undressing and dressing. Miss Chase was already prone to think the worst of him. He didn’t want to prove her point quite so soon in their relationship by bringing out a tool so obviously used for licentious purposes.
And he wasn’t about to consider the fact he’d just thought of them as having a relationship—he had encounters, not relationships—not when presented with so much creamy skin visible from her gaping neckline. It wasn’t exactly smooth creamy skin at the moment, as it was covered with goose bumps. As he watched, a shiver racked her body.
He would really like to linger when presented with such a delightful opportunity—she was already half-undressed—but his icy fingers and her obvious discomfort were not conducive to seduction.
He did the buttons up as best he could, biting back a curse when they slipped back through the tiny holes more than once. A delicate silver chain caressed her nape. He was amazed she hadn’t lost it in the sea. He wanted to follow the chain with his fingers as it curved around her neck to the hollow of her throat. Better to wait until his fingers would cause shivers of desire, not cold.
By the time the last button slipped into place he was feeling warmer in front from the close proximity of her body, though his backside was still freezing. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the seawater dripping off him formed icicles rather than puddles at his feet.
He gave her shoulders a pat to signal he was done, just in case she missed the fact he was no longer breathing on her neck, and moved over to the wardrobe to rummage for a dry set of clothes for himself. From the skin out.
Hmm. Would she turn her back to give him privacy, without him having to ask? He was not normally shy—far from it—but he had just been immersed in freezing cold water, and cold water had less than complimentary effects on a man’s, ah, manhood.
She bent over at the waist, drying her hair with the towel, giving him a lovely view of her derriere outlined in green muslin.
Ahem.
She straightened and began running a brush through her tangled hair, still facing away from him. Nick stripped and dropped his sopping wet clothes and boots on the deck as quickly as he could, noticing with some surprise his hands were shaking with cold. After a quick towel down, fumbling with the buttons on his breeches convinced him to forgo the formality of a shirt that also required a buttoned waistcoat and neatly tied cravat, and skip to one of the draw-string shirts he normally didn’t wear until they’d been at sea for a week or more. He tightened the strings, leaving them untied. His poor boots would need work before they could be worn again, if Flynn could save them at all. He slipped into a pair of canvas shoes. Better than going barefoot.
As he reached for his caped greatcoat that usually hung on a hook by his desk, he glimpsed Miss Chase wrapping a threadbare shawl about her shoulders, her hands still trembling. Those were the warmest garments she had?
He looked at the empty hook and remembered his coat was abovedeck, tucked in the maphouse where he’d stashed it before leaping into the water. He could climb the ladder and fetch it easily enough, or call for someone to get it for him. But the burst of energy that zinged through his blood when he leaped to save the damsel in distress had not only completely disappeared, it had taken away his normal level of energy. It was getting difficult for him to remain upright, in fact. The wind and rain pounding on the small window seemed to be battering at him.
Miss Chase sat on the edge of the bunk and wrapped the blanket about herself.
Smart girl.
She shivered.
“The best way to ward off a chill after a dunking like ours,” Nick announced, making his way back to the bunk, “is for two or more people to huddle together under shared blankets.” He kicked off his shoes and plunged his feet into a pair of thick wool slippers. Ah, his toes felt better already. He dug a spare blanket from the trunk and climbed onto the bed beside Miss Chase, and scooted all the way backward until his back leaned against the bulkhead, his legs straight, feet hanging over the edge.
“Two … or more?”
Without warning her, he clasped Miss Chase by the hips and hauled her back beside him. “We’ll have to make do since it’s just the two of us.”
Ignoring her startled squeak and sputtered outrage at being manhandled so, Nick set about tucking the blankets around them, making sure she was secure under his arm. If he just put her on his lap and had done with it, would she hit him? Having her on his lap would get them both warm faster. Faster yet would be to lie on their sides curved together like spoons, but there was no sense risking a bloody nose over it. He sensed his little brown wren would pack a wallop if pushed too far.
Soon he had them in a warm wool cocoon, only his slipper-covered feet and their heads sticking out from the blankets. She might object to the situation on principle but her good sense won out, as she didn’t fight off his arm around her shoulders. Or his thigh alongside her thigh. They sat hip to hip, her shoulder tucked under his arm, their backs against the bulkhead, still trembling from the chill. Their shared body heat should take care of that soon. He let out a tiny sigh of satisfaction.
“Madame Zavrina would be very upset,” she mumbled, breaking the silence except for the storm outside, lessening but still battering the hull.
“Beg pardon?
“Madame Zavrina was the proprietress of the Ladies Academy where I taught for four years. She would not approve of our current … position.”
