Free Her Master and Commander by Karen Hawkins Page A

open shirt was scandalous enough, but the tight cut of his breeches was quite distracting. Very distracting. So distracting that—
    He was suddenly before her, his warm hands on her shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes. “I will do anything you desire, my sweet. So long as you give me one kiss.”
    “A kiss? I could not—” Well, she could, she supposed. When dreaming, one was allowed to do things one might not in Real Life. “Very well. One kiss. But only one, so—”
    He clasped his arms about her, bent her back, and captured her mouth with his. Even in her dream, he was impatient, masculine, and forward. Prudence shuddered and shivered, moaning with the heat that blossomed at his touch, at the feel of his warm mouth on hers, at the sensual shiver of his tongue slipping past her lips.
    How could she experience such feelings in a simple dream? How could she truly feel the texture of his skin, smell the freshness of his linen, taste the tang of salt on his lips? How was it that she—
    A harsh knock broke through her muddled slumber. Prudence scrunched her eyes more tightly closed and pulled her pillow closer, desperately hanging on to the image of the captain, his handsome face bent over hers, his mouth just inches from her own—
    The harsh knock sounded again, but this time the door opened and Mrs. Fieldings said in her usual flat tone, “Rise, madam. The cock’s done crowed.”
    Prudence groaned as the last image of the captain dissipated into wakefulness. She rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow even tighter.
    Mrs. Fieldings threw open the curtains, the light streaming into the room.
    “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Prudence said, pulling the covers over her head, the air brisk with morning chill.
    Mrs. Fieldings calmly peeled back the covers. “Slothfulness doth not put bread upon the table.”
    Prudence hated homilies, especially before breakfast. She opened her eyes to small slits. “Yes, well, not getting enough sleep can—it can, ah, make a fish grumpy.” There. Not quite as pithy as Mrs. Fieldings’s home truth, but it would do.
    The housekeeper sniffed. “You made that up.”
    “I did not,” Prudence said as loftily as she could while still hidden beneath the covers, her eyes barely open. “I heard it from, um, the captain’s men.”
    “Those wastrels. ’Tis time you arose, madam. The early bird gets the worm.”
    Blast it! This was war. Forcing the last vestiges of sleep aside, Prudence sat up. “Last in, first out.”
    Mrs. Fieldings’s sparse countenance tightened. “Lazy hands make merry mischief.”
    “Two in the hand are worth—oh bother!” Prudence swung her legs out of bed, stretching mightily. She mumbled, “I don’t know why I even try. You beat me every time.”
    A faint smirk touched the dour housekeeper’s mouth. “Breakfast is ready. Your mother is already in the dining room.” She poured some fresh water into the china bowl on the washstand, placed a clean hand towel beside it, and left.
    Prudence found her slippers and rammed her feet into them, then made her way to the bowl. She washed her face and hands, scrubbing hard at her lips where they still tingled as if the kisses had been real. She looked in the mirror and found herself smiling. It had been a long time since she’d dreamed of anyone other than Phillip. “It’s about time,” she told herself.
    Not, of course, that the captain was the sort of man for a romance. He was dark, dangerous, and unruly. Still, he was pleasant to dream about. That was all some men were good for.
    Smiling at her own nonsense, she took off her night rail, unbraided her hair and ran a comb through it, then pinned the long locks up on her head. Her hair was unfashionably long, the thick strands brushing the tops of her hips. She supposed she should have it cut, but somehow, she never did.
    The sun shone warmly into the room, belying the chilled wind that rattled the shutters. Prudence stood in the warming beam and