Almost a Lady by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online

flirtation far too much. In the last few months in London she’d had ample opportunity to indulge herself with a variety of totally unsuitable but utterly engaging men, who had no more interest in a serious relationship than she did. And now she found herself trapped on a ship with a man who bid fair to be the most engaging of any of her former playmates, and also the most unsuitable.
    What was he? Not an ordinary ship’s captain, that was obvious. He was the captain of a sloop-of-war for one thing, and such vessels didn’t ply the seas in harmless pursuits. Certainly not in wartime. But he wasn’t a naval captain either and this was not a ship of the British navy. No one wore a uniform for a start. It was a private ship. And its captain played the charmer with that delightful smile and the engaging glint in his eye, but she’d seen beneath that surface to a much harder core in their argument over the door key. There had been nothing charming, seductive, or even ordinarily pleasant about his manner and countenance then. No, she had no doubt that this Cosimo was a man to be reckoned with. And whatever he was doing . . . he and his ship . . . was rather more complicated than a pleasure trip.
    She took a sip of her wine and then rose from the table. Curious she went over to the chart table. She had no experience with naval charts and they revealed nothing to her. She could see the Channel Islands and the coast of France. A few notations had been made on a sheet of paper beside the charts but they made no sense to her. Presumably he’d told her the truth about sailing to Sark. But what kind of business would a sloop-of-war have on such a tiny, insignificant speck of land?
    Curiosity now thoroughly aroused, Meg began to explore the cabin. She examined the books on the shelves. Volumes on seamanship and naval history for the most part, but also, surprisingly, a few books on ornithology. The captain of the
Mary Rose
was interested in birds, apparently. He didn’t seem much for fiction, which didn’t surprise her. There was a Latin dictionary, however, which did surprise her since there weren’t any classical volumes to accompany it, a Bible, and a copy of Samuel Johnson’s dictionary. She picked the latter out of the shelf and leafed through it. Scattered throughout were odd little marks in the margins beside certain entries.
    A loud knock at the door made her jump guiltily. It was Cosimo’s knock, she was growing accustomed to its particular rhythm. She shoved the book back on the shelf and went to open the door. Somehow the act of opening it herself gave the illusion of control.
    “I trust you enjoyed your luncheon,” he said as he stepped past her into the cabin.
    “Yes, thank you,” she responded with the same formality.
    “You’ll have to excuse me, I wish to change my shirt.” He opened one of the drawers in the bulwark and began sorting through the contents.
    Meg resumed her seat on the cushioned bench beneath the window and picked up her book.
    Gus, who seemed to have been asleep for the last half hour, took his head out from under his wing and flew onto his perch. “Lovely day,” he declared, somewhat irrelevantly Meg thought as she studiously turned her eyes to her book, trying to ignore the man who was calmly stripping to his waist in the middle of the cabin.
    She couldn’t quite manage it, however. Her gaze slid away from the printed page. He had his back to her as he shrugged out of his shirt. A long, lean, well-muscled back, just a light dusting of reddish hair against the spine. Slim waist.
    No, this was not a sensible activity. She forced her eyes back to the page. Arabella had once said quite objectively that Meg’s attitude to men was rather masculine. She viewed them in much the same way men viewed women, starting with an unabashed assessment of their physical attributes. There was some truth in the observation, Meg was forced to admit. She, who had enthusiastically given her virginity to a