Free Cross the Ocean by Holly Bush Page A

said.
    Anthony sat up straight. “She’s an unmarried woman in my protection. Here to help your daughter make her come-out,” he said as he stood. “Fine thing, I’ll be dueling at dawn with my life long friend.”
    “I would never....” Blake began.
    Anthony interrupted. “Bloody right, you won’t. I’ll not have you under Gertrude’s skirts and wave her merrily away at the docks. She’s not that kind of woman.”
    Anthony was right. Blake knew it. The fact did not temper his lust.

    * * * *
Gert had an idea why Sanders kissed her again. Although not confident in her womanly charms, she was no one’s fool. She knew the hands at the ranch and Uncle Fred himself thought large breasts paramount to sainthood. She had been prepared to make a witty comment about drool and feel victory in his embarrassment. But then he’d stared at her with such intensity; her legs had nearly buckled as if she stood on the deck of her pirate captain’s ship as the wind blew at her back. Sanders had grabbed her arms, focused on her lips and kissed her with a low growl. Red sashes danced behind her closed eyes.
    None of her fantasy kisses ever compared.
    Sanders had run up the staircase as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. She stood in the middle of the marble entranceway breathless and dumbstruck. Elizabeth had taken her arm, guided her up the stairs and advised her to nap.
    Gert looked blankly. “Can’t sleep. I’ll dream of pirates.”
    Elizabeth tilted her head. “Pirates?”
    But Gert conceded and woke up a short time later in a strange room. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Everything flooded back. London. Sanders. ‘Their moment.’ Times two. She shook her head, determined to not let this man make a fool of her. There would be no more kissing, no more arguing, no more fuel to this fire. Gert felt oddly disappointed and rolled over to hug her pillow. “Enough of this nonsense,” she said aloud and jumped from the bed. The man was worse than Uncle Fred’s prize stallion. Didn’t matter which mare. Just the one closest.
    Elizabeth knocked softly and came into the room. “Did you rest well?” she asked.
    “Fine, thank you. What should I wear tonight? What is Melinda wearing?” Gert asked in a rush.
    “Is there anything you want to talk about, Gertrude?” Elizabeth asked.
    Gert dropped her head and fingered the dress she had pulled from the wardrobe. “No,” she replied.
    “Blake’s behavior has been ... strange,” Elizabeth offered.
    “Strange?” Gert bellowed. “I’ve never been so mortified in all my life.”
    Elizabeth tilted her head. “It looked like you were enjoying his attention.”
    “Attention is what you pay to your teacher or your sewing or a book. I thought the man would swallow me whole,” Gert said.
    Elizabeth giggled as Gert plopped down on the bed. “Gertrude, what’s wrong?” she asked as she swept around the canopied bed.
    Gert shook her head and swiped her hands over her eyes. “Nothing,” she said softly.
    “I’ve gotten to know you well, cousin. If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be crying.”
    Gert looked away. “I never cry. It’s just....” Her head dropped. “I’ve never been kissed before this.
    Not really kissed.” Elizabeth picked up her hand and held it. “I always dreamed about it, you know.”
    “Terribly personal of me to ask but ... how old are you?” Elizabeth said.
    “Thirty-two,” Gert said grimly. “I long ago resigned myself to wonderful dreams of kissing, but now, well the reality is not what I expected.”
    “Why not?” Elizabeth asked.
    Gert hugged herself and wandered to the window. She shook her head in response.
    “Do you love him?” Elizabeth said softly.
    Gert turned swiftly. “I’ve only known him a few days, a week at the most. How would I know, anyway?
    Men have never stuck around long enough for me to know. I’m not the kind of woman men fall in love with. I’m tall and loud and plain. Sanders is certainly