Calypso Magic (Magic Trilogy 2)

"Go to the devil!"

He laughed. "I shall enjoy educating you, my dear. A submissive wife, a gentle helpmeet, a lady who holds her tongue and does not disagree with her lord and master." He paused. "I do hope it will be partially an enjoyable project. In some areas, you certainly are blessed with abundant raw material." His eyes settled on her bosom.

"If you touch me, my lord, I will unman you."

"You tried once and failed."

"I wish Kenworthy were here."

"I told you before we left London that my valet gets vilely ill when he gets within three feet of the water. I shall simply have to make do with you."

"Lucia wouldn't get ill."

"Ah, you wish for her presence now, do you? Let me tell you something, Diana. Lucia, if she knew our situation, would probably be dancing a jig. A union between us was her wish. Now, fetch my shaving gear."

At ten o'clock that evening, Lyonel decided he wanted nothing more than oblivion. He again refused laudanum from Blick, for he felt more fatigue than pain. He and Diana had shared a dinner of boiled beef and potatoes in their cabin, and the conversation had dwindled rapidly to tense silence. He knew she was thinking about the single, very narrow bunk, with him in it.

He said nothing, frankly too weary to worry about her missish problems. After Blick took his leave, Lyon very calmly rose and began shrugging out of his dressing gown. He paused a moment at Diana's gasp.

He arched a brow at her over his shoulder, keeping the dressing gown at his waist.

"Excuse me," she said, and quickly let herself out of the cabin.

He was lying on his back, a sheet to his chest, his eyes closed when he heard her come in again.

"I shall sleep on the floor."

"Fine."

"Will you keep your eyes closed while I disrobe?"

"Yes."

He was surprising himself, he thought. He was too tired to bait her. He heard the rustle of clothes. He heard a splash of water and imagined her washing her face.

"You may open your eyes now."

"I don't want to."

"I will need your blankets."

"If I get cold during the night, do you expect me to join you on the floor for warmth?"

"I will ask Neddie for more on the morrow. You will simply have to make do tonight."

He opened his eyes at that. She was on her hands and knees, smoothing out blankets for a makeshift pallet beside the bunk. She was wearing a dressing gown, a pink bit of froth, over her nightgown. Her hair was long and loose down her back. She looked delicious. He closed his eyes again.

He was relieved when she doused the lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness.

He slept soundly. As for Diana, she lay on her back on the dreadful floor, turning first one way and then another, counting the number of nights this would be her bed. When Lyon was well again, she would convince him to take turns. She wondered if that was even a remote possibility. He was the most contrary man.

Lyon awoke early, as was his habit. At first he was disoriented, particularly with the gentle rocking and the sound of breathing very close to him. He gathered his wits, queried his head, found no pain, and leaned up on his elbow. Diana was sprawled on her back, one arm flung over her head, her hair fanned out about her. Six weeks of this, he thought, wanting to groan. His body had already responded to the sight of her and he was cursedly uncomfortable.

He lay quietly for a few minutes longer, then discovered that he needed to relieve himself. He shrugged, hoping for her sake that she stayed asleep for a while longer. She did.

He bathed in the water in the basin. It was cold but he didn't mind that. He welcomed it. Every few minutes, he looked over his shoulder. She slept on, unaware of his predicament. The sleep of the innocent, he thought.

He was dressed and was pulling on his boots when Diana yawned and stretched.