Free The Rambunctious Lady Royston by Kasey Michaels Page A

one was unused to spring storms in the Channel, but assured Samantha that there was no danger of the Sea Devil going to the bottom.
    Samantha was many things, but she was not a good patient. Like many usually robust people, she considered illness to be a personal insult. When really under the weather—as she was now—she was easily convinced that her malady was sure to prove fatal.
    She opened one bleary eye and glared at her husband balefully. "In that case, my hopes are quite cut up. I had been comforting myself with the thought of a quick and painless death by drowning to rid me of this misery."
    "Tch, tch, Sam. Such a craven, cowardly way for my little spitfire to talk. I thought you were made of sterner stuff."
    His lordship was teasing, of course, and very commendable it was of him, too, considering how drastically his plans for the evening had been altered yet again. But Samantha was in no mood for friendly raillery.
    "Why not be a good little demon and run along outside and amuse yourself? Maybe you can find a crewman, on his hands and knees working on the decks, and give him a kick in the pants. Better yet, you jolly ghoul, why not tie a length of rope, one end to your waist and the other to a large rock, and jump overboard for a swim?" She rolled back onto her side, drew her legs up in a fetal position as if to guard her tender stomach and slurred sleepily, "Off you go now, mate. Give my regards to all the little fishies."
    St. John did leave, chuckling beneath his breath, but he returned off and on during the remainder of the night to check on his wife, who was not once aware of his presence.
    The next morning, when Samantha finally awoke clear-eyed and even a little hungry, the Earl learned that Samantha was unaware of more than just the passage of the night. Ah, the resiliency of youth! he thought, watching her as she alternately munched on dry toast and sipped sweet tea. She recalled aloud how everything about the previous evening after the observation of that miniature tempest in her hip bath was a total blank. In all seriousness she asked Zachary if she had been much of a bother.
    The smile left the Earl's face. It was unbelievable! Lord Royston had employed some of his most proven-effective techniques on this unfledged girl, with what he thought were remarkably encouraging results. Now here was that selfsame female, baldly proclaiming that what he thought had been a highly successful prelude to complete intimacy had in reality impressed her so little that a few glasses of wine and some slight seasickness could erase the entire episode from her mind.
    From her vantage pointy sitting crosslegged in the middle of the bed looking across at St. John as he lounged elegantly in a leather-stuffed chair near the first porthole, Samantha could see that the man was not best pleased about something.
    "Then I was a nuisance," she wailed. "Oh, Zachary, I know I'm an absolute pig when I'm sick. Aunt Loretta and Izzy say they'd rather nurse a bear with a sore paw than me, but I promise you I hardly ever get sick, honestly." With a touch of her usual spirit she added, "Besides, you were the one with the brilliant idea of having our honeymoon on this bloody boat. How was I to know I've not the makings of a sailor? I've never been on the water before—unless you count Smithdon's Fish Pond, in a rowboat, which I certainly don't because that water is clear as glass and only three feet deep most of the time."
    St. John, his chin and mouth nearly buried in his cravat as he sat slumped in his chair, told her ruefully, "You weren't seasick, sweetings, or at least you probably wouldn't have been except for my stumbling stupidity. What you were, infant, was drunk."
    Wrinkling her brow, Samantha pondered this information for a few moments before clapping her hands together in glee. "How utterly famous! I've always wanted to be drunk," she cried happily. "Thank you, Zachary. If you allow me to become bosky it must mean you consider me