Natalya by Cynthia Wright Page A

she wore made her look both comical and endearing, Grey thought as he lowered himself tentatively onto the bunk next to her. Sensing his nearness, she reached toward him. Then, the instant her cheek found his chest, her features softened and she sighed.
    "You're safe now," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "We're both safe."
    He found those words strangely comforting. Cradling Natalya in his arms, he allowed his eyes to close. Almost immediately sleep overtook him and drew him under.
    * * *
    "Devil take it, Auteuil, you're mad!"
    Natalya's heart jumped, her eyes flew open, and she would have cried out if her mouth hadn't been pressed to Grey St. James's shoulder. Totally disoriented, she struggled to get her bearings. Gradually she realized that she and Grey were alone and that he was talking in his sleep. But where were they? The rocking of their bed and the swooshing sound of water against creaking walls suggested a ship. Vaguely she remembered coming on board the British schooner in St. Malo Harbor. It was difficult to sort out dreams from reality.
    Her head throbbed, her mouth tasted like cotton, and her stomach rumbled; she was on the verge of nausea. Through the narrow transom above the bunk, a soft, rosy-amber shaft of sunlight slanted in. Was it still early morning, or was twilight already stealing around them?
    Natalya was rather disconcerted to realize how comforted she was by Grey's presence. She was unused to leaning on a man, and it went against her principles, but this adventure seemed far removed somehow from her real life.
    "No!" he shouted suddenly, and his long, lean body jerked against hers.
    Natalya wrapped her arm around his back and patted gently, feeling the sharpness of his shoulder blades. "It's all right, Grey," she whispered. "You're only dreaming."
    His eyes opened, so piercing as they stared into hers that a shiver ran through her body. "Dreaming," he repeated, his voice thick with sleep. "Of course."
    She looked at the angry scar across his hand. Was a souvenir from Auteuil? Just then, they both seemed to become aware of their intimately entwined limbs and disengaged hastily. Grey pushed himself up against the pillows, rubbed his eyes with long fingers, then studied Natalya with a slight, mysterious smile that made her blush.
    "What amuses you?" she demanded, Auteuil and the scar flying from her thoughts. "You may as well know that I can't remember a blessed thing since we boarded this ship, so if I did something horrendously embarrassing, I'd appreciate it if you would make me aware of my... lapse."
    "I find it interesting that you assume this sudden onset of amnesia must be a result of wicked misbehavior on your part," Grey remarked, laughing. "I know I shouldn't tease you, and I apologize. You've had a devil of a time and deserve only my gratitude and highest praise. You're an extraordinary woman, Natalya."
    She digested his kind words, then narrowed her eyes. "And...?"
    "What do you mean?" Grey ran a negligent hand through his hair and lounged against the pillows.
    "There's nothing else? Nothing I should know about?"
    "If you are concerned that you may have climbed the mainmast, wantonly displayed your admittedly display-worthy charms, and then recited poetry for the entertainment of the crew..." He paused, eyes twinkling, as Natalya waited with an expression of mingled suspicion and alarm. "You may rest easy. You were not nearly that diverting. Moments after you had been deposited on the Essex's quarterdeck, you fainted. It wasn't your finest moment, but I hardly think that you need feel ashamed."
    "I thought you'd decided not to tease me," Natalya said, with a trace of petulance, then declared, "I vow, I'll never touch calvados again!"
    "I imagine that some food might lift your spirits—and mine," Grey said. The sight of her brightening face gave him an odd sort of pang in the middle of his chest. She was looking enchanting, sitting on Bumblethorpe's bunk in her voluminous white shirt