“I don’t know about that.” Relating to a woman outside of a carnal capacity seemed beyond his abilities at the moment. “It’s difficult.”
“Surely you don’t wish every task to come with no effort?” John was as earnest now as he ever was. “When victory finally comes, you’ll want it to be well earned.” When Brand didn’t answer, his friend sighed. “What the devil are you so afraid will happen if you put in the time to do the thing up properly?”
If he only knew.
Molly returned. Her hips swayed as she made her way through the room. Brand watched her, as did almost every other man in the tap room. When she reached their table, she set the cottage pie in front of him in such a manner that his arm brushed her breast. “Is there anything else you need, Captain Storme?” She laid a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed.
Yes, there was only so much a man could take before he broke. “Perhaps there is.” He shot back his chair and then grabbed the barmaid about the waist and hauled her into his lap, much to the entertainment of his mates. “Enough with your teasing.” Brand nuzzled her neck, and when she giggled, his prick hardened.
“I’d wondered if you’d ever notice me.” Molly’s fingers were at his nape as she rubbed her ample bosom against his chest.
Those breasts were tempting, maddeningly so, but the image in his mind’s eye was of Elizabeth standing before him in that damned yellow dress with her brown hair flowing freely down her back. Suddenly, the overblown barmaid in his lap wasn’t as palatable as she was seconds ago. There was no challenge to her, for she’d give away her charms to any man who asked—or paid. Growling, he dumped her off his lap. “Perhaps another time.”
With a pout, she flounced off, finding solace in another man’s attention seconds later, which further soured Brand’s mood.
When he felt the stares from his fellows, he grabbed a spoon and tucked into his meal. “What?” The word was twisted around yet another growl.
“Nothing.” George shrugged. “It’s just interesting, is all.”
“What is?” He wasn’t in the mood to have his friends pick apart his choices.
“A week ago, you would have ushered Molly upstairs in a heartbeat. Now, you act like she turns your stomach.” He licked the gravy from a finger. “Seems like Miss Hayhurst is having an effect on you.”
That was so far from the truth, it was laughable. Still, annoyance filled his chest. “Buggar off, George.” This time when Brand shoved back his chair, he stood. “Enjoy the cottage pie, boys. My appetite’s fled, and I’m promised elsewhere anyway.” The hunger pains in his stomach protested the statement. He ignored them. The kitchen staff had better fill a basket with food for an army, and by Jove, he hoped Elizabeth wished to eat and do more than converse.
I’m on the edge as it is.Only burying himself deep in her honeyed heat would improve his frame of mind. For then he could win the wager and move on.
*
At one o’clocksharp, Brand met Elizabeth on the top of one of the lesser known hills overlooking Ipswich. He’d chosen this one for its lonely location and its lack of circumference, for he didn’t wish to share the hill with anyone else. With a bare twenty feet of green space to play with, the hilltop couldn’t accommodate a crowd, thus it remained unmolested. Already, she had a quilt that had seen better days spread over the ground. She sat on top, her focus on the town below, her knees pulled to her chest, her chin resting atop them, her plum-colored skirts flowing around her, looking for all the world like a princess held captive in a tall tower.
Of all things holy on land and sea.For one moment, he paused, basket in hand, to appreciate the picture she made. The new clothes and bonnet certainly helped her image, but there was something unique to her that gave him pause. What were her hopes and dreams for the future, and why the deuce did he want to help her achieve them?
What was more, he’d… missed her yesterday. God, what a bacon-brained idiot he was becoming. He shook his head and approached slowly. “Elizabeth.”
When she turned her head and her gaze landed on him, her whole face brightened as if her body were lit from within. “Brand. I’m so glad to see you.”
His chest tightened with unexpected pleasure. No one had ever shown such enthusiasm to be in his company before. Not since he was a little boy. “I apologize again for not keeping our appointment yesterday.”
She changed position, and in doing so, he had a fleeting glimpse of a slender calf encased in an ivory stocking embroidered with delicate green vines. The sight of her small foot clad in a matching plum slipper sent tiny fires into his blood, for he desperately wished to explore that limb with his fingers and lips. “That’s quite all right. I understood your reasoning.”
“Good.” And still, he stood like a nodcock at the edge of the quilt. Hesitation was unusual for him, so why the devil did it plague him now? “Uh, I brought lunch, as promised.” He hefted the willow basket. A white linen serviette covered the contents. The tavern cook assured him that a lady would find the offering to her liking.
“I’m starving.” Elizabeth rocked to her knees and beckoned him closer. The sun glimmered off the two tortoiseshell combs in her thick tresses, which he would take down at the first opportunity. “By the by, my brother had nothing to say about the new clothes once I told him of a mystery benefactor in the town.” Her smile tugged him to the quilt, where he collapsed onto his knees and nearly upset the basket. “I gave the story a bit of embellishment by adding that the benefactor was always watching, and he might bestow additional blessings if William minded his manners.”
Laughter escaped Brand’s throat, for she was adorable in her enthusiasm. “Then you’ve learned how to tell a convincing lie?”
“Is it truly dissembling if part of it is true?” Happiness pooled in her lake blue eyes, and Brand wanted so much to dive in and lose himself.
He shook his head to clear such ridiculous thoughts. She was his target to win a wager, nothing more, for his life was perfect as it was without distractions or commitments. “Only time will tell.” As he removed savories and sweets from the basket and handed them to her, he racked his brain for something erudite to say. “Ipswich is full of history through the ages. In the time of Queen Mary, Ipswich Martyrs were burnt at the stake on the Corn Hill for their Protestant beliefs.” He gestured to a hill across the expanse from their current location. “In the early 1600s, Ipswich was a major center for emigration to New England in America. It was encouraged by the then Town Lecturer, Samuel Ward. His brother Nathaniel became the first minister of Ipswich, Massachusetts.”
“So much of history is tangled up in religious beliefs and wars over such,” she said in a soft voice. “I’d much rather people find the good in each other instead of fighting over the differences.”
Brand nodded. “Ipswich was also one of the main ports of embarkation for puritans leaving England for the Massachusetts Bay Colony. To say nothing of the artists, writers, and other creative types who’ve settled on these shores because they enjoy the town’s ambience.” Pride for the town swelled his chest. “Even Lord and Lady Nelson have settled here. Nearly twenty years ago, he was appointed High Steward of the town. Lives in a huge townhouse in a plush neighborhood on the other side of the River Orwell.”
“You certainly have a love for this area. I can hear it in your voice.”
He shrugged. “It feels more like home than London ever did. If I can’t be on my naval ship, I’ll take Ipswich.”