James just stared, unable to believe what he was hearing. Didn't the wench know what she was describing? She couldn't be that innocent. And then it hit him, where it hurt the most, and he felt every one of her symptoms himself. She wanted him. His unorthodox seduction had worked and he hadn't even known it. And he hadn't known it because she didn't know it. Bloody hell. Ignorance was supposedly bliss, but in this case hers had caused him pure hell.

He had to rethink his strategy. If she didn't know what she was feeling, then she wouldn't be attacking him and begging him to take her, would she? So much for that splendid fantasy. But he still wanted her confession first. It would give him the upper hand in dealing with her if she didn't know he'd seen through her disguise.

"These symptoms, are they terribly unpleasant?" he asked carefully.

Georgina frowned. Unpleasant? They were frightening because she'd never experienced anything like it before, but unpleasant?

"Not terribly," she admitted.

"Well, I wouldn't worry about it any longer, George. I've heard of this problem before."

She blinked in surprise. "You have?"

"Most definitely. I also know the cure."

"You do?"

"Absolutely. So you may go on to bed, dear boy, and leave the matter to me. I'll take care of it ...

personally. You may depend upon it."

His grin was so wicked, she had the feeling he was funning with her. Maybe he hadn't believed her after all.

Chapter Twenty-one

"Are you asleep yet, George?"

She ought to be. She'd turned in more than an hour ago. But she was still wide awake. And she didn't have the captain's na**dness to blame for it tonight, for she'd kept her eyes firmly closed this time from the moment she climbed into her hammock. No, tonight it was just plain old curiosity keeping her awake, wondering if the captain really did know what was ailing her and if there really was a cure for it. If there was a cure, what could it possibly be? It was probably some vile concoction that would taste horrible. If it didn't, he would probably make sure it did.

"George?"

She considered feigning sleep, but why bother. A trip to the galley to fetch him something might tire her out, if that was what he wanted.

"Yes?"

"I can't sleep."

She rolled her eyes, already having figured that out. "Can I get you something?"

"No, I need something to soothe me. Perhaps if you read to me for a while. Yes, that ought to do it.

Light a lamp, will you?"

As if she had any choice, she thought as she rolled out of her hammock. He'd warned her she might be called upon to do this. But she hadn't been sleeping, either, so it made no difference tonight. She knew why she wasn't sleeping, but she wondered what was keeping him awake.

She lit the lantern hanging by her bed and took it with her to the bookcase. "Is mere anything in particular you'd like to hear, Captain?"

"There's a thin volume, bottom shelf, far right. That should do the trick. And pull up a chair. It's a quiet, soothing voice I need, not shouting across the room."

She paused, but only for a second. She really hated the idea of getting near his bed while he was in it.

But she reminded herself that he was decently covered, nor did she have to look at him. He only wanted her to read, and maybe the book would be boring enough to put her to sleep, too.

She did as he'd instructed, dragging a chair over near the foot of his bed and setting the lantern on the dining table behind her.

"I believe there's a page marked," he said as she settled in the chair. "You may begin there."

She found the page, cleared her throat, and began to read. " 'There was nary a doubt that I had ever seen such big ones, round and ripe. My teeth ached to bite them.' " God, what tripe. This would have them both asleep in minutes. "'I pinched one and heard her gasp of delight. The other beckoned my mouth, which was panting to oblige. Oh, heaven! Oh, sweet bliss, the taste of those succulent. . . breasts

. . .' "

Georgina slammed the book closed with a horrified gasp. "This . . . this—"

"Yes, I know. It's called erotica, dear boy. Don't tell me you've never read such garbage before? All boys your age do, those that can read, that is."

She knew she ought to be one of all those boys, but she was too embarrassed to care. ''Well, I haven't.''

"Are we being missish again, George? Well, read on, anyway. You'll find it educational, if nothing else."

It was times like this that she hated the pretense of her disguise the most. Georgina wanted to blister his ears about corrupting the morals of young boys, but Georgie would likely welcome the corruption.

"Do you actually like this—garbage, I believe you called it?"

"Good God, no. If I liked it, it wouldn't put me to sleep, now would it?"

That he sounded so appalled lessened some of her embarrassment. But not even the threat of torture could get her to open that disgusting book again—at least not while he was around.

"If you don't mind, Captain, I'd rather find some other book to bore you with, something less . . . less . .

."

"Priggish as well as missish, are you?" A long sigh came from the bed. "I can see I'm not going to makea

man of you in just a few weeks. Well, never mind, George. It's a bloody headache that's keeping me awake, anyway, but your fingers can take care of it just as well. Come and massage my temples, and I'll be asleep before you know it."

Massage, as in touching and getting closer? She didn't budge from her chair.

"I wouldn't know how—"

" 'Course you wouldn't, not until I show you. So give us your hands."

She groaned inwardly. "Captain—"

"Damnation, George!" he cut in sharply. "Don't argue with a man who's in pain. Or do you mean forme to suffer all night?" When she still didn't move, he lowered his voice, though its tone was still brusque. "If it's that ailment you're worried about, lad, putting it from your mind will help. But whether it takes you or not, my malady takes precedence over yours just now."

He was right, of course. The captain was all-important, while she was just his lowly cabin boy. To try and put herself before him would come across as the actions of a spoiled, thoughtless child.

She changed positions slowly, sitting down very gingerly beside him on the bed.

Put it from your mind as he said, and whatever you do, don't look at him.

She kept her eyes trained on the arched columns in the headboard behind him, so she started when his fingers closed over hers and drew them to his face.

Pretend he's Mac. You 'd do this willingly for Mac or any one of your brothers.

Her fingertips were pressed to his temples, then moved in very small circles.

"Relax, George. This isn't going to kill you."

That was going to be her own next thought, but Georgina wouldn't have put it quite as dryly as he did.

What must he be thinking? That you're afraid of him . Well, she was, though she couldn't say exactly why anymore. Living so closely with him this week, she honestly didn't think he would hurt her, but ...

then what?

"You're on your own now, George. Just keep up the same motion."

The warmth of his hands holding hers was gone, but it made her notice the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips. She was actually touching him. It wasn't so bad . . . until he moved slightly and his hair fell over the backs of her fingers. How soft his hair was, and cool. Such contrast. But there was more heat.

She could feel it coming off his body near her hip. It made her realize he didn't have the thick, quilted cover drawn up, only the silk sheet, the thin silk sheet that would do no more than cling to him.

There was no reason for her to look, no reason at all. But what if he fell asleep? Was she supposed to just go on massaging when it was no longer necessary? But he'd snore once he was asleep. That would let her know. But she had yet to hear the man snore a single time. Maybe he never did. And maybe he was asleep already.

Look! Just do it and get it over with!

She did, and her instincts had been right . . . she shouldn't have. The man looked positively blissful, eyes closed, lips curved in a sensual smile, and so handsome it was sinful. He wasn't asleep. He was just enjoying her touch ... Oh God! It came on her in waves, the heat, the weakness, a tempest set loose inside her. Her hands fell away from him. He caught them so quickly she gasped. And slowly he returned them, not to his temples, but to his cheeks.

She was cupping his cheeks, and staring into his eyes, piercing eyes, hot green, mesmerizing green.

And then it happened, lips to lips, his to hers, covering, opening, flaming hot. She was sucked into the

vortex, sinking, a whirlpool of sensation taking her deeper and deeper.

How much time passed she'd never know, but gradually Georgina became aware of what was happening. James Malory was kissing her with all the passion a man could put into a kiss, and she was kissing him back as if her very life depended on it. It felt as if it did, but it felt right. Her nausea had returned worse than ever before, but it felt wonderful now, and right, too. Right? No, something wasn't right. He was kissing her . . . No, he was kissing Georgie!

She went hot, then cold with shock. She pushed away from him frantically, but he held her fast. She only managed to break the kiss, but that was enough.

"Captain! Stop! Are you mad? Let me—"

"Shut up, you darling girl. I can't play this game anymore."

"What game? You are mad! No, wait . . . !"

She was drawn over him, then under him, his weight pinning her down in the soft bed. For a moment she couldn't think again. The familiar nausea, not so familiar now, much too pleasant now, was spreading.

And then it clicked. You darling girl?

"You know!" she gasped, shoving his shoulders back so she could see his face and accuse him properly.

"You've known all along, haven't you?"

James was in the throes of the most powerful lust he had ever experienced in his life. But he still wasn't so far gone that he was going to make the mistake of 'fessing up to that one, not when it looked as if what promised to be a prime temper was gathering steam.

"I wish to bloody hell I had known," he growled low as he shoved the vest off her shoulders. "And I'll have an accounting from you later, you may depend upon it."

"Then how . . . ? Oh!"

She clung to him as his mouth seared her neck to her ear. When his tongue swirled about her earlobe, she shivered deliciously.

"They're not pointy at all, you little liar."

She heard his deep chuckle and felt an urge to smile in answer, and that surprised her. She should be apprehensive over her unmasking, but with his mouth on her, she wasn't. She should be stopping what he was doing, but with his mouth on her, she couldn't. She hadn't an ounce of strength or will to even try.

She did hold her breath when a single tug took away her cap and stocking both, spilling the dark mass of her hair out on the pillow and unmasking her in truth. The apprehension she felt now, however, was wholly female in nature, in hoping he wouldn't be disappointed with what he saw. And he was most thorough in his examination, and very still as he looked her over. When his green eyes finally met hers, they were blazing with intensity again.

"I ought to thrash you for hiding all this from me."

The words didn't frighten her. The way he was looking at her belied any serious intent toward thrashing.

On the contrary. The meaning behind the words sent a pleasant thrill right down to her toes. The voracious kiss that followed sent the thrill rushing everywhere else.

It was quite some time before she could breathe again. Who needed to breathe? She didn't. And shestill wasn't doing it right, was gasping really as those experienced lips moved around her face and neck.

When her shirt was removed with such subtle finesse, she barely noticed. But she did notice the teeth at her breast bindings that started a tear his hands quickly ripped apart.

She hadn't been expecting that, but then everything that was happening was so far out of her experience, there was no hope of anticipating anything. Somewhere in the muddle of her mind was the thought that disrobing her was a consequence of her deceit, that he was doing it only to make absolutely sure there would be no more surprises for him. Then why all the kisses? But she couldn't hold on to that thought, not when he was staring at her breasts.

"Now this was a crime, love, what you did to these poor beauties."

The man could make her blush with a look, but his words ... It was a wonder her skin tone wasn't permanently pink. It was a wonder, too, that she had any thoughts left, for no sooner had he made the remark than his tongue was tracing the red lines and grooves left from the bindings. And his hands, they had each covered a breast and were gently massaging, soothing, as if he were merely trying to offer commiseration for their long imprisonment. She would have done the same thing had she removed the tight bindings herself, so she didn't even think to suggest he not do that. And then his hand plumped up one breast to ofFer to his mouth, and she had no more thoughts for a while, just feelings.

Unlike Georgina's, all of James's faculties were working perfectly. They just weren't very manageable.

But then it wasn't necessary to concentrate as he would with any other seduction, not with the darling girl cooperating so enthusiastically. In fact, he had to wonder who was seducing whom. Not that it made the least bit of difference at this point.

By God, she was exquisite, much more than he had supposed. The delicate features he had come to know were incredibly enhanced by the wealth of dark hair now framing her small face. And even in all his imaginings, he hadn't guessed how luscious her little body would be. There had been no indication that her br**sts would be so bountiful, her waist so narrow. But he'd known all along that the cute little derriere that had so intrigued him in that tavern would be perfect in shape and resiliency, and he wasn't disappointed. He kissed each cheek as he bared it, and promised himself he'd devote more time to that adorable area later, but right now . . .