Chapter eleven:

''Chil-children?'' Rose stammered, her eyes still adjusting to the notion of been here. With Mr. Dawson. In such a—position, Then, the penny dropped. The talk of rearing children at lunch had caused her to panic somewhat. Staring at him, seemingly right into the eyes of the Devil, she felt safe. Seemingly.

''No, I am not afraid of children.''

''Well, it does appear that you are. Or the prospect of a child with Mr. Hockley.''

Giving up the idea of arguing, Rose snapped, in frustration.

"Everyone's afraid of something. What are you afraid of?"

"Ceilings and walls, mostly."

Rose stared at him in puzzlement, her thoughts still coursing too slowly. "You mean . . . you would rather live outside like a wild creature?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. Have you ever slept outside before?"

"On the ground?" Her bewildered tone made him grin.

"On a pallet beside a fire."

Rose tried to imagine it, lying undefended on the hard ground, at the mercy of every creature that crawled, crept, or flew.

"I don't think I could fall asleep that way." She felt his hand playing slowly in the loose locks of her hair which had fallen loose from the pins. It was like a slow seduction into a sleepy and comatose state. Oh, how easily he could make her lose herself, if she was willing to allow him to.

"You could." His voice was soft. "I would help you."

Rose had no idea what he meant by that. All she knew was that as his fingertips reached her scalp, she felt a sensual shiver run down her spine. Clumsily, she reached for her bodice, trying to pull the reinforced fabric together.

"Allow me. You're still unsteady." Jack's hands brushed hers aside and he began to hook her corset deftly. Clearly, he was familiar with the intricacies of a woman's undergarments. Rose didn't doubt there had been more than a few ladies willing to let him practice. The thought was unpleasant, not that it should matter to her.r

Flustered, she asked, "Was I hurt anywhere?"

"No." Mischief flickered in his eyes. "I checked thoroughly."

Rose suppressed a little moan of distress. She was tempted to push his hands away from her, except that he was restoring her clothing far more efficiently than she would have. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she wasn't sprawled in a man's lap while he fastened her corset. Oh, the menacing few days had been trying. From meeting Mr. Dawson to now, almost straddling him on the floor of her own sitting room where her fiancé or mother could find them at any given moment should have sent her nerves flying about all over. Scattered. Perhaps they had already been sent.

"You may need a physician to check you over," Jack said. Thinking of the enormous fuss that would cause, Rose shook her head. Her eyes opened, and she looked up at him in worry.

"Were-were we seen?"

Before Jack could reply, a new voice entered the room.

''Miss. Rose.'' Trudy was starting for them, worry in her eyes and completely aware of the strange man beneath Miss. DeWitt Bukater. ''What happened here? Are you hurt?''

''Goodness, no.'' Rose felt her heart thump once more. It was only a certain length of time before she had to be caught in a state with Mr. Dawson. Rationality came to her eventually and she found her steady tongue. ''Trudy, please do not fuss, Mr. Dawson here was simply assisting me. I had taken a turn at lunch and fainted.''

Trudy's dark gaze moved over the pair of them; entwined upon the floor. If there was an ounce of scepticism within her bones, the maid didn't show at first, until she spoke in a hushed whisper as though Mr. Dawson wouldn't hear if her voice was lowered, ''But your dress is undone, Miss.''

Rose considered and then Mr. Dawson responded for her. ''I assure you, ma'am, Miss. DeWitt Bukater was faint, and breathing unevenly. The buttons were merely unfastened to assist with her breathing and she is on the floor atop me, because that was the only place to lay her out of the way of prying eyes.'' Rose stared at him quizzically before he continued, ''when one feels as though they are about to nose dive to the floor, it is medically proven that if you put yourself on the floor then not only will it eliminate any harm which could be done when falling but also-''

''Well, I am fine,'' Rose broke off his technical explanation of their positioning, growing more flustered by the second, more so now that Trudy wore a look of weary amusement.

''Very well, Mr-''

''Dawson. Call me, Jack.'' He told Trudy.

Trudy came to Rose, sank to her haunches and stared at her steadily, as though gauging whether or not she had taken leave of her senses or not. ''Are you quite well, now, Miss?''

''Yes, thank you.'' Rose pointed an unsteady finger at the doorway to her bedroom. ''Would you draw me a bath, please, whilst I say my goodbyes to Mr. Dawson?''

Getting back to a stance, Trudy nodded, ''yes, of course. I shall come for you once it is ready.''

Rose's face turned hot as she glanced into Mr. Dawson's topaz eyes as Trudy went to fix her a steaming bath.

''I...I could so easily have been-''

''You weren't compromised. If you were, then you would have known about it as soon as you came around.'' Mr. Dawson gave her a mocking smile. ''Believe me.''

''What a menace you are.''

Mr. Dawson nodded after the maid. ''She seems timid enough to not breathe a word. There is after all, nothing to tell, is there? I was merely assisting you.''

Rose scowled, levering herself upward from Mr. Dawson's lap. He braced her automatically, his arm firm behind her back and then, she stunningly halted as his fingers went to her back and finished the last of the buttons.

''Trudy could have done that.'' Rose snapped, through gritted teeth, ignoring the effect of his touch against her layers of materials. Why did she feel so clammy and yet so cold? It was like fire meeting ice.

''If I unbutton a lady's attire, I always ensure that I help to dress her again after.''

''After what?'' Rose asked, quickly, surprisingly. ''You make a habit of such behaviour, do you?''

''It can be a bad habit.''

''You enjoy ruining young women? A true gentleman never would be that way and ashamed of such behaviour.''

Jack assisted her, ignoring the instinct to argue with her as much as he enjoyed her quick-witted tongue and been on the receiving end of many accusations. This wasn't the time. ''Slowly,'' he murmured, ''you might be a bit light-headed.'' She let him support her while she assessed her uncertain balance. It was better than it was, certainly enough for him to let her go which both seemed to be unable to do.

"I'm steady now. Thank you." Rose's hand was still clasped in his. Jack's fingers were long and graceful, the callouses against honey-coloured skin. Uneasily Rose, drew her hand away and waited to see if she toppled over once more. Besides a slight feeling a disarray, she felt mainly well. Drawing her hands inwards to press against her stomach, she felt quiet.

Mr. Dawson glanced down at her, keeping his expression carefully impassive. ''I would hate to leave you; you need someone to follow you about and keep you safe from mishaps. Falling overboard, to the ground...''

Reaching out, Mr. Dawson smoothed back her hair, letting the heel of his hand graze the edge of her cheekbone. The brush of his skin was light and erotic, causing her to swallow hard.

"Mr. Dawson you saved my life twice. You have placed me in—many, many compromising positions and speak to me as though I was one of your—female companions who would simply fall beneath the spell you appear to cast upon them. I am not one of them. I am not in need of saving.''

''No, perhaps not.''

''What should I be saved from?'' Rose asked, partly curious and also, because she didn't quite understand his regard for her.

Mr. Dawson flashed a smile at her. Indeed, she wasn't in need of saving. Perhaps, that was the reason in part that he was unable to leave her.

''Either you know, or are ignorant to such matters,'' Jack smiled, knowingly, but she was still no wiser. ''Goodbye, Miss. DeWitt Bukater. I shall see myself out.'' Stepping away, as soon as his fingers left her face, she felt empty. Lost. ''As usual, you have my discretion. You shall not be ruined.''

Rose's head jerked upwards like a string puppet. ''What is this fascination of yours with been caught with me? Do you truly wish for me to be cast aside by Society and for my reputation to be entirely and thoroughly ruined!''

Mr. Dawson gave her an alert glance. ''Miss. DeWitt Bukater, I can assure you that I am not the one in fear of such a thing. I believe it is you and rightly so.''

''I am engaged to be married!''

''To a man who is a notorious womaniser. Would you truly imagine that he would be faithful after your wedding? That you would be the only woman filling his bed?''

Rose flinched at the cut-throat frankness of his words. In a moment, she was mad on behalf of Cal, even knowing that Mr. Dawson could be possibly speaking the truth. It was such a rush that it caused her to tremble as though she was the one been accused. ''I beg your pardon, but that is rich coming from a man who is just as notoriously known for his love of French women!''

''I wouldn't have you pinned as a gossip,'' Jack's lips pulled slightly, but then his amusement seemed to leave. He lingered close to her, and she almost lost her senses. ''That wouldn't be your concern, even if it were true.''

Rose wished to ask if it were true. If he did find solstice whilst lonely in the arms of beautiful French woman and if so, then why on earth was he toying with a woman like her? A man with his mystique, handsome faces and wicked tongue could no doubt charm any other woman aboard this ship, whether married, unattached or spinster. What should be the appeal with her?

''My concern is been made out to be a fool.''

''No, you're afraid to be seen, in a compromised state.''

''Yes, because I am not the kind of woman who is caught kissing anyone. I don't have rendezvous. When anyone finds out I shall have no dignity, no reputation. Even if it was such a blessing that my marriage shouldn't take place then-''she caught gaze with him, and he smirked with amusement and made no attempts to even conceal it. ''No- what are you smiling at?''

"You. I wouldn't have expected such melodrama."

That annoyed Rose, who was not the kind of woman who indulged in theatrics. She wedged her arms more firmly between them. "My reaction is perfectly reasonable considering-''

''Considering what?''

''Considering what transpired, at the library.'' Rose lowered her voice, keeping her hand at her stomach to keep her composure even though she felt her cheeks simmer just at the very thought of it. It was the first time either had mentioned it.

"You're not bad at it."

Rose blinked in confusion.

"Melodrama?"

"No, kissing. With a little practice, you'd be exceptional. But you need to relax."

"I don't want to relax. I don't want to... oh, dear Lord." Mr. Dawson had bent his head to her throat, searching for the visible thrum of her pulse. A light, hot shock went through her. "Don't do that," she said weakly, but he was insistent, his mouth wickedly soft, and her breath hitched as she felt the brush of his tongue. It was like black magic, as soon as there was any small contact between them.

Her hands shot muscle-banked to his shoulders. "Mr. Dawson, you mustn't-''

"This is how to kiss, Rose." He cradled her head in his palms, deftly tilting it to the side. "Noses go here." Another disorienting brush of his mouth, a wash of sensual heat. "You taste like sugar and tea."

"I already know how to kiss!"

"Do you?" His thumb passed over her kiss-heated lips, urging them to part. "Then show me," he whispered. "Let me in, Rose."

Never in her life had she thought a man would say something so outrageous to her. And if the words were improper, the gleam in his eyes was positively immolating. She was slowly losing the battle which she had fought so, so hard to keep on top of. Just the closeness of the man was enough to cause her legs to wish to crumble to the ground into a pile of bones.

"I . . . I'm engaged." She offered the word as if it were a talisman. Everyone knew that gentleman was supposed to leave their peers betrothed alone. No one had extended that message to Mr. Dawson. Surely, that had to mean something. To one of them. To her at least, Rose had never depicted herself as a woman who would kiss another man more times than her own fiancé. The fiancé who did nothing for her in regards to affection. To love. Not even a small infatuation and yet, she had to keep driving herself to feel a flicker of something for him because in several weeks she would be Cal's wife. ''I'm marrying Cal.''

A covert smile deepened the corners of his mouth. "That's not going to keep you safe from me." She tried to turn away from him, but his hands guided her face back to his. "I can't seem to leave you alone. If you were truly happy, if you truly were trying in your engagement, if you were truly in love with Caledon Hockley then I would merely have been a man who became nothing but a memory. I am re-evaluating my policy on my involvement with women.''

Before Rose could ask what, his policy was, his mouth possessed hers again, while his fingers caressed the taut edge of her jaw, coaxing her to relax. Even in her most ardent moments with Cal, he had never kissed her like this, as if he were consuming her slowly. His lips rubbed over hers until they caught and sealed warmly, and his tongue found hers. He played with her, stroking and reaching, while his hands gathered her closer. caressed her back, her neck and shoulders, while his lips broke from hers to explore the soft slope of her neck. He found a place that made her writhe, teasing gently until a helpless moan slipped from her throat. Mr. Dawson's head lifted. His eyes glowed as if brimstone were contained within the dark rimmed irises. He spoke slowly, as if he were collecting words like fallen leaves.

"This is probably a bad idea."

Rose nodded shakily. "Yes, Mr. Dawson."

His fingertips teased a fresh surge of colour to the surface of her cheeks. "My name is Jack."

"I can't call you that."

"Why not?"

"You know why," came her unsteady reproach. A long breath was neatly rifted as she felt his mouth descend to her cheek, exploring the rosy skin.

"What does it mean?''

"My name?"

Rose could scarcely think. "As in . . . this.''

''This means that I am unable to leave you alone.'' He told her. Plainly. Clearly. "It makes me reach the sky." He moved to the arch of her eyebrow, kissing the outward tip. "Don't you want to fly?"

Rose shook her head slowly, while his mouth slid across her forehead. He pressed a warm veil of words against her skin. "Do you fear soaring so high that it feels like a dream?

Jack's scent was all around her, spare and fresh and delicious. "H—how can we possibly?''

He smiled slightly, the shape of his mouth a burning motif against her cheek. "I can't tell you. I don't know you well enough yet."

Yet. The tantalising promise embedded in that word shortened her breath. There was so much invitation, and wanting within that one word that it seemed to almost set up an entire future based on just one small syllable. How well would be know her, no, how well could he?

''When you're ready then you will know.'' He muttered, right against her and she shivered.

"Let me go," she whispered. "Please, we mustn't-" But the words were lost as he bent and took her mouth hungrily.

Suffused with pleasure, Rose groped for his hair, finding acute satisfaction in the slide of heavy silk through her fingers. As he felt her touch him, he gave a low mutter of encouragement. The pattern of his breath changed, roughened, his kisses turning hard and languorous. She felt a jolt of heat, her blood igniting, and then she could no longer withhold her own heart from beating. She reached up into his hair, touching his ear and then followed the taut skin down to the edge of his collar. His breath roughened, his tongue penetrating in silken demand. Supporting her with one hand, he cradled her face with the other.

He took what she offered— more-sinking his tongue deeper, gathering sensation. And she responded until her soul was scorched at the edges, and her thoughts had vanished like sparks leaping from a bonfire.

Abruptly, Jack took his mouth from hers and held her tightly, too tightly, against his body. She felt herself straining in a subtle pendulum sway, needing friction, pressure, release. He kept her still, holding her close while she trembled and ached. Ached for some kind of unknown.

Jack's grip eased. She was released by gradual degrees until he was finally able to push her away completely.

"Pardon," he eventually said. She saw the daze of heat in his eyes. "I don't usually have such a difficult time stopping."

Rose nodded blindly and wrapped her arms around herself. There was a numbness now that he had let her go, and a coolness. The fact that he had stolen her very breath away lingering so far near the surface of her bubbling emotions that her eyes almost watered there and then out of nothing. She wasn't aware of her foot's nervous tapping until Jack came to her and slid one of his feet beneath her skirts to still her drumming toes.

"Hummingbird," he whispered. ''See, how you could fly?''

''But I—I fear...''

Drawing his hand to her face, once more before letting it go down to her lips, he left her completely shaking. ''You won't fear it when you know that can soar.''

Oh, how she wished to.

"You'd better go now.'' Rose's mind was in a larger muddle now than before if possible. Her body was quivering. Her nerves spread so thin that if so, much of a pin dropped then she would jump a mile.

Peeking up to Mr. Dawson—for that was how she must refer to him, from now on, formally. As a gentleman. Even though both of them knew that he was from it. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed and his hair ruffled from her touch. How could she possibly look in return? As debauched as he?

Mr. Dawson went to move, his hand to the door and Rose startlingly placed her hand atop his on the door handle, in a move which even frightened her. It was as though she wished to stop him from leaving, even though, he had to. For good. That was the way of it. It had to be, didn't it? For those heat infused few seconds, Rose toyed with a rational head and the one which came over her in a cloud of fog. Between her head and her heart. Between the left and right side of her brain. Until he spoke and it altered everything.

''If you don't allow me to leave now. I'll end up compromising you in ways you never possible."

Jack's eyes confirmed desire and with one look Rose began to drown within them. Drown on his intoxication until the point where she was almost drunk. At least, she was still sober enough to pull herself back from the brink. Almost.

''I only wished to say that from now on, you should leave me alone.'' she found her voice, injecting as much sincerity into it as she possibly could.

Nodding swiftly, Mr. Dawson was in agreement. ''I intend to, Miss Dewitt Bukater.''