The Countess' Lucky Charm by A. M. Westerling Page A

wanting to see his reaction to her impertinence. Darkening eyes and a frown flashing across his face rewarded her.
    “Hundreds of English scholars before you made up the rules,” he said stiffly, holding up the grammar book discovered in the ship’s library only this morning. “You are not one to argue.”
    “Ye,” she said defiantly. Then she smiled at him. “Ye.”
    “I’m just telling you how it’s pronounced properly.” Exasperation tinged his voice. “To be a lady of quality, one must sound like a lady of quality.”
    “ Yer no fun.” She stuck out her tongue at him. “EE-you. You.”
    “Better, much better.”
    “You.” She said it again. “You.”
    “Very good.” He smiled at her. “How was your sewing lesson this morning? Mind you answer me with proper diction.”
    She liked it when he smiled at her, it turned her insides to mush, like pease pudding. Her gaze lingered on his lips, at the even white teeth they framed. Her breath caught in her throat. How would it feel to brush her lips against his? Highly improper, she knew, but oh, so very, very tempting. Without realizing it, she leaned toward him a little.
    “Simone?”
    His voice penetrated her reverie. With an effort, she straightened and pulled her thoughts back to his question, but not before one last, regretful look at his mouth.
    “The lesson went well, thank ye, no, thank you, my lord. I learned how ta — er , to finish a button hole.”
    “Again,” he commanded. “Speak slowly if it helps.”
    “The lesson went well, thank you, my lord. I learned how to finish a button hole.” She clapped her hands. “I did it, didn’t I?”
    “Yes, you did. On that note today’s lesson is finished. Shall we take a turn about the deck before supper?” He stood up and held out his hand to her.
    “That would be lovely, my lord.” Simone said it slowly, carefully.
    She was learning but oh my, what a challenge. Her mind always raced a sentence or two ahead of her mouth so she had a tendency to mangle the words even more. But Temple was unfailingly patient with her. Fun to be with, too, with always an amusing anecdote or observation to break the tedium of her instruction.
    She put her hand in his and stood. His warm fingers clasped her cold ones and she felt the vigour pulsing through him. She looked down, mesmerized by the sight of her small fist clasped within his large, very masculine one. Reluctantly she pulled her fingers free.  
    “Simone, I should put the book away. Carry on without me, I’ll join you.”
    It had become their habit over the past few days to take a stroll up and down the deck and she looked forward to it every day for it marked the end of the daily lesson.
    And she also looked forward to how he pulled her fingers through his elbow as if she were a real lady walking through London proper. Sometimes she would even let herself think fanciful thoughts about being his real lady. Not for long, though, only a few minutes. She didn’t belong in his world and well she knew it.
    “Yes, my lord.” She answered him promptly. That phrase had been easy to master. She liked to fall back on it as much as she could to build her confidence.
    She made her way to the bow to wait for Temple and gripped the rail, looking down at the skirts swaying about her legs.
    The pretty seersucker dress was the first item of new clothing she had ever owned. What a lovely sensation it had been this morning to slide the stylish gown over her head, over her arms, smoothing it down past her hips until it fell to her ankles. The stateroom had only a small cracked mirror and in vain she had pirouetted in front of it, trying to see as much of herself as possible.
      “Now here be a pretty piece, just the thing for a lonely sailor.”
    A raspy voice interrupted her thoughts and an arm draped boldly about her shoulders, trapping her.
    “ Wh —what?” Simone tried to free herself but pressed against the railing by the sailor, she didn’t have room to