by Lara Temple
She shook her head.
‘Tell me about our Captain, instead. How do you know him and why does he owe you a favour? And why does he hate being called Kit?’
‘More bedtime tales?’
She shivered a little, remembering lying on the desert floor, watching the stars shimmer as he spoke. Amazingly she wished they were back there. Foolish.
‘No tales, just the truth.’
‘They aren’t my tales to tell. But he’s a good man and a better friend, that’s all that matters. Is this general curiosity or are you smitten already?’
She smiled. She would not have thought someone with Rafe’s looks and physique might be envious of the handsome Captain, but there was definitely a sour tinge to his voice.
‘Not yet. I shall inform you when it happens.’
‘Very amusing. I’ve seen women fall prey to his charms more times than I can count. I don’t want to bear that burden of guilt as well.’
‘I shall try and spare you, then.’
‘You can laugh all you want, but it was evident you were enthralled with his pretty face, admit it.’
‘I was enthralled by the teapot as well. And the sunset over the cliffs in the desert and a host of other beautiful things. But that doesn’t mean I want to stare at that sunset for ever. There is a vast difference between appreciating and wanting. Once he began telling that story I forgot how he looked and, in truth, I liked him better then.’
He picked up the book, leafing through it.
‘Just be careful. His charm runs deeper than his handsome face. I didn’t consider...just be careful.’
She wanted to tell him his concern was absurd. Even a little insulting. Only the day before they’d shared an intimacy that to her at least had been utterly transporting, and today he was suggesting she might become infatuated with another man.
Perhaps this was how his world operated. Perhaps he was used to falling in and out of lust with women and thought little of it. She wished she could do the same. She would be quite grateful if Captain Chris could inspire a tenth of what she felt towards Rafe. She didn’t want to be stranded with these feelings, whatever they were—lust, need...love...
‘I’m in no danger from Captain Chris.’
He shrugged again. Sometimes he looked and acted like an overgrown boy, uncomfortable in his rough frame. She wanted to take the book from his hands, take them in hers and tell him that she wanted him, not handsome Chris. His vanity might enjoy the tribute, but the rest of him would shy away, raise that barrier even higher.
Just be careful. His warning had come too late and she wondered if such warnings were ever effective.
‘You’re angry at me again, Cleo-Pat.’
She met his gaze and told him the truth.
‘I’m...worn and worried and, yes, I’m still angry at you, Mr Grey. You may have thought you were acting in my interest, but your chief concern was your peace of mind and your conscience. Now go away. You are blocking the sun and I wish to read.’
* * *
It cost Rafe, but he did as he was bid and went away. He’d known she would take it ill, but somehow he’d hoped she’d understand.
He found a frowning Chris in the map room with Benja.
‘Trouble, Chris?’
‘No. A few Barbary pirate ships have been harassing merchant seamen south of Malta. Just marking their possible route so we can avoid it. What’s on your mind? Disembowelling me?’
‘The thought did occur to me, yes. Don’t toy with her. She has been through enough. The last thing she needs is you charming her into a broken heart.’
Chris straightened, directing a very peculiar look at Rafe.
‘I don’t think I can, but in any case I shall try to rein in my desire to charm my way into the heart of every female within twenty leagues of me.’
‘I didn’t mean it like that and you know it.’
‘You’re in a foul mood. I’ve never seen you so worried about your customers. You’ve fulfilled your brief. She’s alive and on her way to London. What more can you do?’
‘Nothing,’ Rafe grunted.
‘Is she even paying you?’
‘There’s this great big horror of an emerald. Like the ones we used to see in the mountains in South America.’
‘A fine payment. You’re not taking it, I presume.’
‘She’ll need it once she reaches London. I doubt she’ll make much from her writing, even assuming they’ll accept articles from a woman.’
‘Hmmm.’ Chris stared off at the wall, his fingers tapping on the map. ‘I like her.’
Rafe straightened in alarm.
‘There’s no currency in that, Chris.’
‘What? Oh, not in that way. I meant I like her and she’d best find a position that can support her. I think I shall have a word with my Aunt Mary when we arrive.’
‘Anyone ever tell you what a useful fellow you are?’
‘Never the ones that matter, Grey. And what will you do while I am relieving you of your burdens?’
Rafe almost objected to his calling Cleo a burden, but stopped himself. He’d probably revealed too much already. How had he become so enmeshed in all this? He wished he could just...disappear. Run away again and escape this tangled confusion. Perhaps that would be best. He’d done it before and been perfectly fine. Happy. Content. He could do it again.
‘Whether Edge returns to England or not once he digs himself out of Egypt, I’m afraid I can’t put off going to Greybourne any longer. If my mother refuses to continue to manage the estate, I’ll need to make arrangements to administer the place from...wherever.’
‘Why not from Greybourne?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘Your father’s dead. It’s yours now.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
‘And you’re getting too old to play this soldier of fortune game.’
‘Say’s the gentleman smuggler.’
‘I don’t smuggle. I trade.’
‘You just admitted you’re still smuggling.’
‘What, Boucheron’s antiquities? That doesn’t count as smuggling. The crates were marked for customs as marble and building materials. That was close enough. Besides, that was a year ago.’
‘So you’ve turned respectable? What are you carrying now?’
‘Cotton, spices, quite a bit of excellent wine, a damsel in distress and the very ugly Disappearing Duke.’
Rafe raised his hands, hushing his friend, and Chris sighed.
‘Very well. I won’t reveal your silly secret. You’re just Rafe Grey, mercenary. Still ugly, though.’
Rafe rubbed his scarred cheek.
‘Thank you, I find being ugly quite useful. Adds mystique and ups the price.’
‘Except you just said you aren’t taking a fee this time.’
Rafe kept his hand on his scars, grounding himself in them.
‘No, every so often one has to do an act of charity to balance out the rest. This is mine.’
‘I thought tricking Edge into travelling to Egypt was yours.’
‘That is different. Edge matters.’
‘And she doesn’t?’
‘She...’ Rafe waited out another of those annoying flashes of tingling heat as it headed inexorably for his groin. Blast, he hated being sixteen again. The sooner they were off this ship the better. ‘She is different, yes. But she doesn’t matter, not in that way. Perhaps this whole Greybourne thing is throwing me off balance.’
‘Ah, is that your excuse for kissing her?’
‘I never said a word about...anything of that sort.’
‘True. I was merely guessing. Now I know.’
‘You blasted devil. Besides, it isn’t true—she kissed me.’ And quite a bit more.
‘Of course you resisted wholeheartedly.’
>
‘It might surprise you that I did...initially. She’s lost her father, mislaid her brother and has no future to go to. What kind of cad would I be if I took advantage of her natural need for comfort? All she wants is a little solace in the midst of chaos,’ he continued doggedly. ‘Right now I’m all she has, but she’ll land on her feet.’
Chris made a mark on the map. ‘Useful trait to have. Are you worried she might develop expectations if she knows of your title and fortune?’
He considered it. ‘No. Not in the least.’
‘You sound almost disappointed, Grey—’ He broke off as Benja returned and Rafe jumped at the opportunity to escape, leaving the two men bent over their charts, plotting the course to England and to a life he did not want.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Hallo, Birdie,’ Cleo said as Benja left her by Birdie’s bunk in the sailors’ hold. Birdie grunted and hauled himself into a sitting position. ‘No, don’t rise. Captain Christopher said you are feeling poorly so I brought you some tea.’ She looked around the surprisingly clean hold.
‘Don’t worry, now. It’s always the same when I first come on board.’ He rubbed his beard, inspecting her over his cup. ‘You’re looking a little peaked yourself. The Colonel said you’re angry.’
She shrugged. ‘Not at you, Birdie.’
‘It was the right thing to do, Miss Cleo.’
‘He should have asked me.’
‘Should he? And saying he told you we thought your brother might still be in Egypt, you would have come quietly?’
‘Of course not. He is my little brother.’
‘Well, there you have it, miss. Captain Chris couldn’t wait any longer in Egypt.’
‘I would have found another ship.’
‘Not one where we could know you were safe. It is only fools who turn their noses up at an offer of help. I don’t oft think you’re a fool, but...’
She sighed. ‘You are probably right, Birdie. I am mostly disappointed in myself. I should not feel so relieved to have had choice taken away from me. But why did you and Mr Grey also leave? I thought he meant to find his brother?’
Birdie sipped his tea, considering the ceiling.
‘The Colonel has business to see to back home. He’d done what he set out to—tempted his brother to Egypt; Edge will have to find his own way from there.’
‘I hope both our brothers do. I should not have been so angry with him.’
‘He expected nothing less. But don’t make him suffer long.’
‘Don’t exaggerate, Birdie. He’s hardly suffering.’
‘I’ve known him a few days more than you, miss.’
‘Devil take you, Birdie. Now I feel guilty myself.’
He gave a jaw-cracking yawn.
‘Good. So go tell the lug you don’t wish to feed him to the crabs.’
* * *
Rafe lowered the book at the knock on the door. Bunking in the map room meant he had to accept interruptions with good grace, but he was in a particularly foul mood at the moment and would have appreciated some privacy. He put down his book.
‘Come in.’
‘Mr Grey? May I have a word?’
He stood, his simmering anger at Cleo transforming within seconds into a different heat altogether. These shifts of mood were happening far too swiftly for his liking.
‘Is there anything you need, Miss Osbourne?’
‘I did not mean to interrupt.’
‘You aren’t. What do you want?’
His question was both ungracious and childish, but he felt a snap of satisfaction at her blush. Still, she stepped into the room and closed the door. He was suddenly absurdly conscious of the bed behind him. His hands curved of themselves, as if they were already closing on the cool sweep of her skin, and his mind conjured the image—Cleo in his bed, her short hair tossed into charming chaos by his hands just as it was now by the wind...
For the hundredth time his body scrabbled at his control, cursing him for taking what she’d offered and branding all those sensations into him. Odysseus’s sirens he could deal with, but Cleopatra Osbourne was another matter entirely.
She shifted her weight. He was probably making her nervous. Good, she was making him writhe.
Finally, she drew a long breath and plunged in.
‘I wished to apologise, Mr Grey.’
‘Ah, yes. I heard you went to speak with Birdie. Did he instruct you to apologise?’
‘Yes. He told me I have been monstrously unfair to you and that you are huddled in a corner, weeping and smiting your brow at the injustice of it all. I presume that is what the book is for. You couldn’t possibly be reading it.’
Damn her.
He planted his tingling hands on his hips and managed not to smile.
‘Naturally I wasn’t reading the thing. I keep one by me in case I need to chase off a rat.’
Her dimples appeared before her smile did.
‘Thank you for the warning. I had a close escape, then.’
‘Very. The only thing that held me back was that it was one of your friend Shakespeare’s and you’d probably have snatched it and scampered off.’
Her eyes went wide and bright. ‘Oh, how marvellous! Which one?’
‘I’m not telling you. You will ruin the ending.’ He caught her sleeve as she moved towards the bed.
‘No. Do stay away from my bed unless invited, Queenie.’
She stopped immediately. She’d flushed before, but now she turned as crimson as Chris’s cushions. He had not meant to ruin their tentative return of rapport, but there were limits and sometimes her naivety sent her hurtling over them. He’d never thought that gaining her trust would become such a burden.
‘I am sorry. I think... I know I have been living in my own little world for too long. I was angry because you imposed your will on mine, though I knew you did so because you felt I was at risk of real harm. Yet I did the same to you and can’t claim that defence. That day in the hammam...’ His heartbeat shot ahead, but she wasn’t looking at him, her hands twisting into each other as she struggled with the words. ‘I keep pushing you into a corner, don’t I? I wanted something and I...oh, I am no good at explaining myself. I don’t think I have had enough practice.’
He breathed very carefully, as if a flickering butterfly had settled on his hand.
‘I think you are doing a fair job of explaining yourself, Cleo, but you have nothing to apologise for.’
‘Yes, I do, Rafe. I never thought myself particularly impulsive, yet I have been doing all manner of impulsive things since I met you and every time it is you who must pay the price.’
He half held out his hand.
‘I think it is more a case of honesty than impulsiveness, Cleo. And I prefer you be honest, even if it tests my fortitude at times. Friends...’ he tried the word tentatively ‘...should be able to allow themselves more latitude with each other. I shall take it as a compliment that you allow yourself that latitude with me. I show Birdie sides of me I would never show the world and I trust him not to run in horror if I misstep.’
‘Then thank you for not running in horror.’ She pressed her hands together and to his surprise he saw they were shaking. He resisted the urge to touch her cheek, to make her look up so he could see the shifting storm of thoughts he knew were pounding inside her.
‘You mustn’t lay my weakness at your door, Cleo. I could have been stronger and sent you on your way. I didn’t.’
‘But you would never have done anything had I not forced you into that situation.’
‘Probably not. I don’t have many codes, but the ones I possess are important to me. But I don’t... I can’t regret that it happened. It was...beautiful.’ He wanted to say so much more, but his own thoughts were chaotic and jumbled, as if his mind had begun to speak a foreign language. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve neve
r had a conversation like this before.’ He laughed a little and she smiled and heaved a hefty sigh of relief.
‘Neither have I. I rather like it, though. Thank you.’
‘I declare a moratorium on apologies and thanks for a while, Cleo-Pat.’
‘Very well. I still feel quite guilty, though,’ she said as she went to the door.
‘Still? I told you...’
‘No, about something else entirely.’
He knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew it. And yet he did.
‘About what, then?’
‘Your bed. It is so much smaller than mine.’
The door closed behind her.
* * *
Even passengers on a smuggler’s ship are ruled by routine.
After a week at sea Cleo woke, dined, and went to sleep to the tune of the ship’s bells like everyone else on board. She particularly waited for the bell calling them to dinner. It wasn’t the surprisingly excellent food she looked forward to, it was that Rafe was most relaxed with her when in the Captain’s company.
Her apology had defused much of the tension between them, but Rafe seemed to have traced a circle around himself, like a druid’s mark of protection. She could not tell if he was shielding her or himself; if it was her, it was failing miserably.
At least during dinner and sometimes seated with them on deck she felt utterly, vividly happy. Rafe and the Captain had clearly known each other long and enjoyed the peculiar and rare camaraderie of men who were completely comfortable with one another and therefore enjoy outdoing each other in pointing out each other’s foibles.
The Captain was also more than willing to indulge her love of Shakespeare, especially when he realised how much it goaded Rafe. One dinner he brought his collection of the plays, all dog-eared from frequent reading.
‘I’ll leave these here for you to take what you want. Perhaps you’ll even convince this philistine to give them a try. He used Hamlet in school to even the table legs.’
‘It kept wobbling when we were playing whist. Very distracting,’ Rafe defended himself.
Cleo’s attention sharpened. Rafe continued to parry all her questions about either his past or his future. She gathered any glimpse of his life like nuggets of gold from a river.
