Read Online A Certain Latitude by Janet Mullany - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Janet Mullany
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much easier. Instead I like you—I think, sometimes—and lust after you, oh, definitely lust after you, Allen Pendale, and now I don’t know what to do .
“We have breakfast, you’ll charm hot water from Lardy Jack and charm Peter into carrying it below, and I’ll shave.” He too stared at the sunrise. “The sun rises every day of our lives, yet consider how we take it for granted.”
Her cheeks and nose were pink with cold and, although he told himself a dozen times she was no beauty, nothing out of the ordinary, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Maybe it was the shock of cold air, the splintering brightness of the sunrise, and colors—they had lived in a monochromatic world below, in half darkness, like moles. And the scent of coffee from the galley fired him with an appetite like lust, his mouth watering.
He hardly noticed the pitching of the ship now, could walk as easily as a sailor—Clarissa, too, her hips swaying as she prattled on to Lardy Jack, who grumbled but put on a large kettle of water for her.
“You’re too early for breakfast with the Captain, miss. You can have porridge; poor stuff, it’s what the men eat, but you’re welcome to it if you want to fill your belly.”
“Oh, something hot! Wonderful. You are wonderful, Jack.”
“Get on with you, miss.” Lardy Jack dolloped a large spoonful of grayish, gluey stuff from a large pot over the fire, looked at her and Allen, hesitated and then put two spoons in it. “Save Peter time washing the plates, miss, sir.” He winked, poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Allen. “You don’t mind sharing, I hope.”
“Christ,” Allen muttered, after they’d thanked him and they’d moved out of the constricted space of the galley. “Does everyone know? I’d thought to save your reputation.”
“Of course they know. And I have no reputation.” She took a spoonful of the porridge and sighed with pleasure.
“But they—the sailors—don’t know that.”
“I’m sure Blight knows from talking to his wife. He doesn’t like me, or you.”
“Who gives a damn whether he likes you? I’m concerned about whether he shows you proper respect.” He dug his spoon into the porridge and offered her the coffee.
She handed him the plate of porridge and took the coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug.
“Allen?”
He paused halfway through a sticky, chewy mouthful and gave an encouraging nod.
“About my ruin. I’ve been meaning to speak to you of it.”
Where the devil was this leading? Obviously she was after something. He nodded again, having learned from his legal experience that silent encouragement encouraged a confession better than words.
“Well.” She stared into the coffee. “I’m not that ruined.”
Not that ruined ? What on earth could she mean? “Miss Onslowe, either you are ruined or not. I believe you are, for you’ve told me as such. You’re exceedingly metaphysical for so early in the morning.”
“I mean that, yes, I am ruined, but I…I know very little.”
He gave a snort of disbelief.
“You don’t understand.” Her voice was pitched a little higher than usual, and she handed him the coffee, fast, so some slopped over the rim of the mug. “I—I spent two nights with my lover. It was—I felt there must be more, and what he did seemed nothing to do with me—and then what you and I did behind the hen coop seemed entirely different, and—”
“You flatter me, Miss Onslowe.” Once again he felt like a fool, hands occupied with the plate and mug, while she spun a series of preposterous riddles. “Have a word with Mrs. Blight when she recovers. I’m sure she’ll provide the lurid details of which you claim to lack knowledge.”
“I’d rather you—”
“What?” His cock hardened so fast, he swore he could feel the blood rush from his head. Did she mean…oh, good God, what was she suggesting?
She, however, seemed ready for a good argument, bright-eyed, alert, and with hands unencumbered
“We have breakfast, you’ll charm hot water from Lardy Jack and charm Peter into carrying it below, and I’ll shave.” He too stared at the sunrise. “The sun rises every day of our lives, yet consider how we take it for granted.”
Her cheeks and nose were pink with cold and, although he told himself a dozen times she was no beauty, nothing out of the ordinary, he couldn’t stop looking at her. Maybe it was the shock of cold air, the splintering brightness of the sunrise, and colors—they had lived in a monochromatic world below, in half darkness, like moles. And the scent of coffee from the galley fired him with an appetite like lust, his mouth watering.
He hardly noticed the pitching of the ship now, could walk as easily as a sailor—Clarissa, too, her hips swaying as she prattled on to Lardy Jack, who grumbled but put on a large kettle of water for her.
“You’re too early for breakfast with the Captain, miss. You can have porridge; poor stuff, it’s what the men eat, but you’re welcome to it if you want to fill your belly.”
“Oh, something hot! Wonderful. You are wonderful, Jack.”
“Get on with you, miss.” Lardy Jack dolloped a large spoonful of grayish, gluey stuff from a large pot over the fire, looked at her and Allen, hesitated and then put two spoons in it. “Save Peter time washing the plates, miss, sir.” He winked, poured coffee into a mug and handed it to Allen. “You don’t mind sharing, I hope.”
“Christ,” Allen muttered, after they’d thanked him and they’d moved out of the constricted space of the galley. “Does everyone know? I’d thought to save your reputation.”
“Of course they know. And I have no reputation.” She took a spoonful of the porridge and sighed with pleasure.
“But they—the sailors—don’t know that.”
“I’m sure Blight knows from talking to his wife. He doesn’t like me, or you.”
“Who gives a damn whether he likes you? I’m concerned about whether he shows you proper respect.” He dug his spoon into the porridge and offered her the coffee.
She handed him the plate of porridge and took the coffee, wrapping her hands around the mug.
“Allen?”
He paused halfway through a sticky, chewy mouthful and gave an encouraging nod.
“About my ruin. I’ve been meaning to speak to you of it.”
Where the devil was this leading? Obviously she was after something. He nodded again, having learned from his legal experience that silent encouragement encouraged a confession better than words.
“Well.” She stared into the coffee. “I’m not that ruined.”
Not that ruined ? What on earth could she mean? “Miss Onslowe, either you are ruined or not. I believe you are, for you’ve told me as such. You’re exceedingly metaphysical for so early in the morning.”
“I mean that, yes, I am ruined, but I…I know very little.”
He gave a snort of disbelief.
“You don’t understand.” Her voice was pitched a little higher than usual, and she handed him the coffee, fast, so some slopped over the rim of the mug. “I—I spent two nights with my lover. It was—I felt there must be more, and what he did seemed nothing to do with me—and then what you and I did behind the hen coop seemed entirely different, and—”
“You flatter me, Miss Onslowe.” Once again he felt like a fool, hands occupied with the plate and mug, while she spun a series of preposterous riddles. “Have a word with Mrs. Blight when she recovers. I’m sure she’ll provide the lurid details of which you claim to lack knowledge.”
“I’d rather you—”
“What?” His cock hardened so fast, he swore he could feel the blood rush from his head. Did she mean…oh, good God, what was she suggesting?
She, however, seemed ready for a good argument, bright-eyed, alert, and with hands unencumbered
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