Free The Pirate and the Puritan by Cheryl Howe Page B

her.
    Even with her focus firmly fixed
on the silk coverlet, his image burned into her mind’s eye. He bore a tray in
his hands, but that didn’t hinder his swagger in the least. His hair fell in
thick brown waves just past his broad shoulders and stood starkly against the
white cambric shirt he’d not bothered to lace. His close-fitting black breeches
tapered into scuffed boots that began below his knees. A blush crept to Felicity’s
cheeks as she remembered her first glimpse of those boots and the powerful legs
attached to them.
    “I owe you heartfelt thanks, sir,
and my apologies,” she whispered, cringing against the sound of her own voice.
    She closed her eyes briefly,
struggling with the reality of her flesh-and-blood rescuer. He appeared to be
pure muscle under his rumpled clothes. It was hard to believe he was the same
man who had touched her with such gentleness.
    Images of his body pressed
intimately against hers came back with enough force to turn her cheeks hot.
Though she believed his actions innocent and her condition kept her from any
say in the matter, his unexpected virility washed her in guilt, as if they had
intentionally participated in some type of lascivious behavior. When his boots
echoed across the wooden floor, then drifted onto the carpet, she yanked the
bedcovers to her neck.
    His weight sagged the mattress as
he brazenly sank down next to her. Maybe if she pretended she was asleep, he’d
go away. Usually she wasn’t so cowardly, but usually she wasn’t practically
naked in the company of a stranger—a stranger she was forced to rely upon.
    He brushed strands of hair from
her face and cupped her cheek, then her forehead. His touch was gentle, but she
couldn’t stop herself from stiffening. She should tell him to leave. He’d taken
too many liberties already. Though she appreciated his kind intent, he was a
man and she a woman and the devil lurked in such innocent situations. At least
she’d been told so enough times to make her think of it now.
    To her shock, she enjoyed his
touch. She needed the warmth of his physical support, his help. She needed him.
Unaccustomed tears stung her eyes. She turned her face against her pillow,
confused by her weakness. Instead of pulling away, he caressed her cheek. His
thumb captured the tear clinging to her lashes.
    “Please, don’t,” she whispered
hoarsely. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wept. To have someone
wipe away her tears had been an eternity.
    He removed his hands obediently at
her croaked command.
    “I’m sorry. You’ve been so kind.”
She wiped her tears and sniffed. Even in her worst bouts of seasickness aboard
the Queen Elizabeth , she’d not felt this awful. “What’s wrong with me?”
    She forced herself to finally
look at him and instantly wished she hadn’t. His face was tanned and rough, yet
undeniably appealing. Eyes the color of warm tropical waters simmered in
angular contours. Against her will she had the urge to compare her rescuer to
Drew. She urgently pushed the thought away. This was a kind stranger, not
another handsome man for her to ogle. What was wrong with her? Was she being
tested? The good Lord should have known by now she’d surely fail.
    He stared at her in sincere
confusion, as if she spoke a language foreign to him. “You hit your head.”
    His voice sounded peppered with
loose gravel, not like the smooth, comforting tone she remembered from her
blurred hours of illness. Felicity studied his features. As he met her gaze
without the slightest wavering, she was forced to look away to stop the heat
that crept up her neck.
    “How did I hit my head? I recall
being trapped in the…” She let her words trail off. The awkwardness of her
position rattled her all over again. She tensed, but couldn’t sit up even if an
armed assassin had marched through the door. Her very presence proved she’d
been lurking where she shouldn’t. And then there was the box. Too many memories
flooded back to