Free Almost a Lady by Jane Feather

she had just celebrated her twenty-ninth birthday and Cosimo’s sisters, only four years older, had seventeen-year-old sons. She found it an unsettling thought although she hadn’t considered herself anxious to be married or even particularly maternal. She was on the shelf and content to be so.
Or was she?
    Well, that was a question that might at some point require some soul-searching, but not at present. Her gaze fixed on Cosimo’s hands as they rested lightly on the deck rail. They were very brown and strong looking, the nails unmanicured, the knuckles rather knobbly. His fingers were long and his wrists surprisingly slender and supple. Their strength was taken for granted. Any man who could handle that great helm in the gale-force wind that had blown last night must have extraordinary strength in his hands, arms, and shoulders. Involuntarily her gaze ran up his body. He wore the cloak draped carelessly around his shoulders and the breadth of those shoulders was obvious to the most casual examination. She remembered her earlier covert scrutiny when he’d changed his shirt in the cabin, how she’d been so powerfully aware of the ripple of muscles along his back and in his arms.
    Oh, dear. This was not at all helpful, she thought, searching for a neutral topic that would give her some distance from the disturbing proximity of his body. “What part of England are you from?”
    He turned his back to the rail and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were narrowed and Meg had the absolute conviction that he’d been aware of every instant of her examination and her conclusions. “Dorset,” he said. “How about you, Miss Meg?”
    “Oh, please don’t call me that,” she begged. “I hate it so.”
    “Then let’s have a pact. If you never call me Captain Cosimo again, I will never call you Miss Meg. How’s that for a bargain.”
    “A good one,” she said, responding willy-nilly to his smile. “And I come from Kent.”
    He nodded, and the smile was still in his eyes as he said, “Now I’m a little stuck for a roundabout way to elicit the personal information you twisted out of me.”
    “Let me save you the trouble. I am twenty-nine,” Meg responded readily. “I don’t subscribe to the school of thought that women should never reveal their ages.”
    “No,” he said appreciatively. “I don’t imagine you do.” He had a slightly questioning look in his eye as he continued to look at her. Meg Barratt was a most unusual woman. Oddly attractive although not by any conventional standards;
jolie-laide,
as the French would say. But while the surface appeal interested him, he was intrigued by whatever lay beneath.
    So far he’d seen intelligence and wit. A strong composure as David Porter had noted. She was stubborn and very strong-willed, she’d shown him that much. And she appeared to have adapted to her situation readily if not willingly. What would Ana think of her?
    A shadow crossed his face. Ana was a good judge of character, and an expert when it came to assessing the necessary skills for the work she herself did.
    “Is something the matter?” Meg asked, chilled by the sudden change in his expression.
    He shook his head, saying curtly, “No, nothing at all.” He turned back to the rail and gazed out at the silver path of moonlight rippling on the black water. Ana was also expert at looking after herself, he told himself. She had been trained to withstand interrogation, to use information to her own advantage when under duress. He would hold on to that. And in the meantime, concentrate on the woman he had.
    When he spoke again his voice was once more light and humorous and the shadows had left his eyes. “So, permit me another personal question, Meg. You talked of your parents, of your friends, but is there no one else who would be concerned by your absence?”
    “A man, you mean?” She gave a slightly self-mocking laugh.
    “You wear no rings.”
    She looked at her bare