Page 3 of Gone With the Rogue
“I’ve climbed the mast of a ship many times.”
Julia stilled. Her heartbeat slowed as long-ago memories rushed past. The mention of any ship always brought the sinking of theSalty Doveto mind. It had taken her husband’s life and more than one hundred others. She lowered her lashes over her eyes, as sheoften did in a show of respect, honor, and memory of all who were affected that day by the passenger ship going down in a violent storm off the coast of Portugal.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he offered, with a tone of regret in his voice. “It was careless of me to mention a ship and remind you of the tragedy and your loss.”
So he had recognized her name. He knew her story. “Please don’t worry yourself,” she said, lifting her gaze to his face. “No words are necessary.” She didn’t mind talking about the disaster that befell theSalty Dove, its passengers, and the crew four years ago. Lost friends and family should be remembered.
When it happened, Julia had found herself in the unenviable position of being eight months with child. Perhaps some ladies would have taken to their beds in sorrow and grief, facing the overwhelming burden of suddenly being a widow. Julia had never been one to allow situations to get the best of her. She accepted the blow fate issued and carried on. Besides, she had to be strong for the babe waiting to be born.
Julia hadn’t been in love with her husband when she married him or when he died, but she had always been grateful to him and respectful in all ways. Now that he was gone, she honored his memory and felt sadness that he hadn’t lived to see his delightful son.
“My mourning is long past,” Julia said quietly. “Life goes on, Captain Stockton.”
His eyes seemed to take in every detail of her face as if he were delicately searching for something before he nodded once in acknowledgment.
“Not everyone who owns a ship is a captain, Lady Kitson.”
“I hear you own many ships.”
He ignored her statement, but not her. His gazeswept down her widow’s dress. Dark plum color, long sleeves, high neckline with the proper amount of cream-colored lace trimming it. She didn’t mind the sensual way his glance brushed over her. It was purposeful and filled with interest, causing tingles of awareness to tighten her chest and stomach.
“How did you manage to get up here?” he asked, testing the strength of the limb beneath his foot.
“The same way you did, though I am willing to admit it wasn’t as easy or as quick for me as it was for you.”
“And I will admit you are quite accomplished to have done so.”
His compliment was like a gift of fresh air. Unexpected, but heartily welcomed, since she was feeling weak from the heat and exertion of holding herself on the limb. She was certain his praise was sincere and not just flattery. She couldn’t let his words pass without giving him a brief smile before saying, “Miss Periwinkle hasn’t returned as swiftly as I’d expected. I hope you can save me before I lose my balance and hurt myself with this wretched collar.”
“We can’t have that.”
“Then tell me, sir, how do you propose to get me out of this untenable situation?”
“A man should never offer to rescue a lady if he doesn’t have the means to do so.” He slowly bent his knees, slid his hand down to the top of his boot, and pulled out a leather-handled knife. Flickering shadows and dancing sunlight glinted off the short blade.
Relief came sweet and cooling as an October breeze. “Yes, Mr. Stockton,” she said softly. “That should do it, but will the thinner part of the limb hold the weight of us both?”
His gaze fell to the branch. He was silent for a moment. That worried her.
She held out her free hand toward him. “Why not give me the knife and let me do it?”
“No, Lady Kitson,” he answered, taking off the glove on one hand and stuffing it into the pocket of his coat. “You must trust me to do this.”
She looked at his mouth, wide with well-defined lips, and thought about his words. If the wood splintered and broke, she would be—well—the possibility was suddenly too real and too horrible to think about. She stared into his warm, golden-colored eyes again. Because he seemed so sure of himself, she said, “Very well. Since I have little choice in the matter and even less patience or strength left to argue, let’s get this done.”
He reached up and grabbed hold of a different limb than the one she held, then steadied himself, too. “Turn as far away from me as you can and then place both your hands on the branch above you. Rise to your toes and lift as much of your weight as possible with your arms, and hold yourself up for as long as you can.”
It wouldn’t be as simple as he made it sound. Already her arms trembled from the strain of the last half hour. Yet she must do as he instructed. She couldn’t twist very far without tightening the collar across her neck, but she took in a deep breath and pulled up and onto her toes.
The branch swayed down and creaked under his weight. She heard the quick intake of his breath and gripped the limb tighter and gasped, shutting her eyes tightly. Thoughts of dangling from the tree only by her collar, her feet kicking, and never seeing Chatwyn again flashed through her mind. For a moment, shethought she might scream, but then she heard a soft, masculine whisper near her ear: “We’re fine.”
His soothing words penetrated her fears. Julia’s lashes fluttered up.
“It’s going to be all right. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
Mr. Stockton was looking at her calmly. His faith that everything was going to be all right flooded her. She sensed a bond developing between them and knew she could trust him to get her down safely. He was going to save her. She gave him a hint of a nod. Cautiously, he took another step, and another, and then he was right beside her.
It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a man. The way his physical presence filled the crowded space between the branches was calming but also wonderfully stimulating. She couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong-looking his shoulders were and had to suppress her innate desire to grab on to him for safety and to feel his masculine strength beneath her hand.
