This Perfect Kiss by Melody Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

Saundra, and at once, she felt guilty for the thought.
    â€œMr. . . . er . . . Red Harry? Did you know my cousin, his wife?”
    â€œAye, I did, lass.” He hesitated, as if he would measure his words, then said no more.
    Red Harry took the tray and returned to present her with a gown, an assortment of underclothing, including boned stays, a stiffened petticoat, and sturdy shoes. Then he surprised her with a sewing box that had once been hers but that she had given to Saundra on her eighteenth birthday.
    She threw off the bunk covers. “Where did you get this?”
    â€œIt belonged to her ladyship, lass. She kept her embroidery needles and threads inside. Do no’ rightly know why ’tis still on board . . .” His voice trailed, and he busied himself with the latch. “I thought ye could use something inside. The dress might need a bit of altering.”
    She held the gown against her. A glance at herself made her laugh. “ ’Tis quite festive.”
    At her age, she would never have chosen to wear such a piece of muslin frippery, with its enthusiastic flower motif, but she decided that she would welcome the bright colors on such a dower day even if it meant gophering the frilled sleeves and hem with an iron.
    â€œHis lordship said fer me to tell ye the dress be yours.”
    She continued to gaze down at the gown. She had learned long ago never to accept charity from men without expecting to give something back. Yet, in this case, she didn’t concern herself that Lord Carrick had designs on her person. He felt a responsibility toward her. And he had taken her clothes, after all. But that she found herself reminded of his benevolence bothered her as much as the fact that she was forced to accept it.
    She smiled. “I am appreciative. I was not looking forward to arriving in Scotland barefoot and wearing only his robe.” She peered out the ice-encrusted window and asked, “Has he been on deck all this time?”
    â€œAye, lass.” Red Harry scratched his whiskers. “I do no’ ’spect he will have the time even to eat. No’ in this weather.”
    C hristel spent this period of involuntary confinement sewing. By early afternoon the next day, before the seas had become so rough that she could no longer work, she had already removed the bottom flounce of lace to shorten the gown three inches, adding it to the sleeves and bodice so that it would cover more of her bosoms.
    She held the dress to her body and, looking this way and that in the glass Red Harry had found for her, concluded she was still an excellent modiste. She could not deny the dress endowed her with springtime cheer, even if she was feeling less than cheerful herself.
    After a supper of dried biscuits and herring, and feeling distinctly queasy, she changed into Lord Carrick’s robe and readied herself for bed. Rolling up the sleeves to her elbows, she struggled to clean the scraps of cloth off the floor and brought the sewing box to the window bench. She stowed it beneath and sat, the dog at her feet. The animal, having found a secure place on the floor to endure the storm, was far wiser than she.
    Lacing her fingers tightly in her lap, she looked outward toward a turbulent horizon and could not tell where the churning sky ended and the waves began. The sea was a powerful, living current and had killed her father and her uncle. She couldn’t understand how any man could remain on deck in this cold.
    She spied a two-masted ship. At first, she didn’t pay attention, but then she saw the ship again, right to windward under full sail, a tactic oft used when one ship was following another. She straightened.
    She did not hear the cabin door click open, only saw the dog’s head suddenly come up. Startled, Christel turned and caught a flash of movement near the bulkhead. The door swung on its hinges with the ship’s movements. She balanced herself as she walked