Page 33 of Much Ado about a Widow

“Captain, are you all right?” Cartwright and Chapman ran up to him, their faces pinched and anxious, more blankets in their hands.

“Fine.” St. Just hung his head, as if too weary to raise it.

“He needs to warm up.” Georgie couldn’t stand by and do nothing. The marquess looked all in. She could not leave him until she knew he was safe.

“Aye, he does.” Ayers stood St. Just up again, drew the sodden blanket away, and pulled his shirt over his head.

“What are you doing?” Stunned at the sight of the man’s bare chest, Georgie stood rooted to the deck. A sense of impropriety warred with anger that they would deliberately expose a freezing man to the elements. “Are you mad?”

“No, my lady.” Ayers’s hands were busy at St. Just’s fall now. “We’ve got to get the wet clothes off him or he’ll freeze for sure.”

Good gracious! Before the sailor could say or do anything further, Georgie pulled off her pelisse and draped it around St. Just’s front. That should provide some warmth and somewhat preserve decency. Even better . . . “Perhaps he can make it to his cabin. Wouldn’t that be best?”

“Can you walk, Captain?”

The marquess swayed, took a step, and stumbled. He shook his head. “No strength in my legs.” He sat down hard on the bench, and Ayers succeeded in stripping his breeches down to his boots. “Get the blankets around his back, Chapman. Cartwright, help me with his boots.”

Draping thick wool covers around St. Just, Chapman tucked them in as best he could, given that her blue pelisse still covered his front. The boots finally thumped to the deck, and Ayers stripped St. Just’s stockings and trousers completely away.

“Another blanket, Chapman.” The lad took off at a run.

“Can someone go get him some hot tea, for goodness sake?” The violent shivering that wracked the marquess scared Georgie more than she wanted to admit. “We’ve got to get him warmed up. You fetch the tea and I’ll stay with him.”

“Barnes is supposed to be boiling the water. I’ll see what’s taking him so long. Cartwright, go check our course and, when Chapman returns, start to hoist the sails. You’ll be all right with the captain, my lady?”

Nodding, Georgie sat beside St. Just, who pulled the blankets around himself closer, still shivering. “Are you sure you can’t make it to your cabin, my lord? You’ll be much warmer and recover quicker.”

Shuddering so hard the bench vibrated, he shook his head.

This was madness. She had to do something to get him warm. Like Lulu. To the devil with propriety, then. He’d saved her dog. Now she’d help him as best she could.

St. Just had hunched over, not moving.

“I’m going to try to keep you warm, my lord. Keep the cold off you until you can make it to your cabin.”

“T-t-thank y-you.” He sat straight up, looking around in confusion. “Wh-what do you pr-propose to do?” Trying to pull the blankets around his shoulders better, he glanced down and spied the small blue coat covering his front. “What is this?”

“My pelisse, but it’s not nearly large enough and it’s rather wet from where I tried to dry Lulu off.” There simply wasn’t enough material in it. But what else could she use to help keep him warm?

The only other thing on deck that was warm, of course. It had worked with Lulu, so it would work with him. And as it was only for a short period, Society did not need to know.

She slid closer to St. Just, turning so she faced him. Her leg pressed up against his, and he moved back, not understanding. “Lord St. Just, stay still please.”

At that his brows furrowed a bit.

“You need to get warm before you freeze to death or catch a severe chill or something much worse than that. Now stay still.” Georgie managed to press next to him again, then, without warning, she tossed the sodden pelisse to the deck, grasped him around the waist, and pulled him directly against her chest.

The incredible cold sucked her breath right out of her lungs. This was like embracing a block of ice from her father’s ice house. Her shocked gasp filled her ears.

Or perhaps he had gasped; she couldn’t tell. But St. Just had stiffened and gone still at her embrace, save for an occasional shiver. Now he was attempting to pull away. But she wasn’t having any of that. “Be still,” she hissed. “The least you can do is allow me to keep you warm until more blankets and hot tea arrive.”

“Well, if it’s the least I can do.” His ragged voice held a touch of his normal, arrogant humor that usually irritated her so much. At the sound of it now, however, she rejoiced deep in her heart. Surely he wouldn’t speak like that if he were dying.

His arms came around her, pressing him against her even more firmly. Soaked chest to soaked chest, so that every muscle of his hard body seemed to touch her.

Georgie gasped again, but not from the cold. Heat burst through her, as though the sun had miraculously reappeared, shining as intensely as on a midsummer’s day. Slowly she pulled back and gazed into his eyes, more black than gray now, with a fierceness in them that stirred her in places deep within. Places that hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

“Here you are, Captain.” Ayers appeared from nowhere, holding out a blanket that he draped over St. Just’s shoulders.