“Very much so.”
The travelers from the ship sampled chocolate and purchased curios, but soon they were making their way in ragged groups through the narrow streets toward the cathedral. As they walked, Lily could not help noting the family resemblance between Reginald and James—the clean-lined jaw, the expressive mouth. Lord Rowland’s nose was thinner, his brows darker and more finely arched, but it was obvious they shared a common ancestor. He was quite handsome—not nearly so much as James, but Lily could understand Isabelle’s infatuation.
He noticed her gaze and offered a sly smile. “You find my face agreeable, I hope.”
“I would find it more so if you did not flatter Isabelle so outrageously. She’s very young.”
“And thus easily taken in by unscrupulous gentlemen?” His dark eyes focused sharply on her. “I understand your concern—do you know why my cousin is traveling to Tunisia?”
“To locate a flower first discovered by his grandfather. He has sought my uncle’s help in the matter.”
“My grandfather as well.” Reginald’s lips thinned. “Then I see James has not confided his true purpose.”
“And what other purpose might there be? Really, you make it sound so ominous. I assure you my uncle would never aid James if there were anything dishonorable about his motives.” She looked him directly in the eye. “The only thing that strikes me as odd is your presence on the Sidonia. I don’t believe chance brought you aboard. Why are you here?”
He laughed. “Ah, I see you are as clever as you are handsome, Miss Lily. But I think you may be too trusting. My cousin is no plant fancier. Are you certain he has not mentioned anything else?”
“I am certain you did not answer my question.” Heavens, it was difficult to get an answer from this man. There was something very slippery about him. He was too glib and impossible to pin down.
“Did I not? My apologies. But we must hurry to catch up with your family—they have already entered the cathedral.”
The white towers rose above them. They climbed the worn stone steps and Lily paused at the top to admire the view, wishing she had time to paint it—the houses with their brilliant flowers clustered above the half-moon of sand, the bay gleaming perfect cobalt.
“Are you coming?” Lord Rowland held open the small door that was set inside the tall, arched doors of the entry.
The air inside the church was cool and dim. Rows of candles glimmered before figures of saints, and sunlight filtered through the stained glass in the nave to pool in multicolored patterns on the floor and walls.
Lily stepped up beside Lord Rowland and lowered her voice. “You were going to tell me the purpose of your journey to Tunisia.”
“Certainly.” He leaned toward her. “But you were telling me about this mysterious flower your expedition is pursuing. How did my cousin come to learn of it? Has he shown you the letters?”
“Really, Lord Rowland, you should ask him about it yourself.”
He sighed. “James has always been so secretive and scheming, saying one thing while planning something else. I have tried to help him—the whole family has—but to what end? You have no doubt observed how little love my cousin has for me. That is how he repays kindness.”
The doors opened behind them, silhouetting James and Isabelle. They halted nearby, both looking at Lord Rowland, but where Isabelle’s face was soft, James’s seemed carved of stone.
Lord Rowland shifted. “This hushed atmosphere is becoming rather oppressive. I shall wait outside until the others have finished gawking. Would you care to accompany me?”
“Thank you, but no. I will rejoin the others.” She motioned to the front of the cathedral where her uncle and Richard, along with the Fentons, were admiring the carved and gilded altar screen.
“Good day, then. But beware of my cousin. He is not as he appears.” Lord Rowland retreated, giving his cousin a wide berth. Well, she had kept him from Isabelle at least, even though the blasted man refused to answer any of her questions. He was too clever by half.
Lord Rowland was silhouetted for an instant as he pulled the door open, slipped through, and was gone.
“Come see,” Uncle Edward whispered loudly. “We’ve found someone with the keys to the bell tower!”
The stairs spiraled up tightly, and soon Lily stopped trying to count the turns. Here and there the curved stone wall was pierced with a narrow opening to light the stairwell. Through them she could see the red curved tiles on the roofs of the nearby buildings. When at last the stairs opened onto the flat roof, the brilliance of the light was almost too much. Lily blinked and shaded her eyes, gazing south across the water.
“The coast of Morocco,” James said at her shoulder.
Africa! She laughed for the pure joy of the moment and spread her arms to the sun and air, nearly certain she could take flight.
“You have a delightful laugh.”
“Flatterer.” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“Certainly not.” They walked forward and leaned over the low wall. “Is that Reggie down there?”
“Why? Shall we drop something on his head?”
“Tempting. I don’t suppose you have a large pot of geraniums with you.”
Lily laughed again, shaking her head. She enjoyed this side of James. Far too much. “No. No geraniums, and no paints. How I wish I had my paints.”
“I wish you did too. I would like to remember this.”
“Yes,” she said, knowing she would.
When they exited the cathedral, Lily linked her arm through Isabelle’s. She did not see Lord Rowland lurking, but she was not about to leave anything to chance where he was concerned—there were too many winding streets and empty courtyards.
“Look here!” Uncle Edward plucked a stray bit of greenery from beside the street. “This appears to be a grass, but it is actually more of a sedge!” He held out his find for inspection, pointing out the differences to Dr. Fenton and Richard.
James, standing with them, met Lily’s gaze. He raised one brow, the faintest question in his face, and she nodded. Isabelle was under her protection.
“Come on, Lily.” Her cousin drew her forward. “It’s too hot to stand out here. Let’s wait for the others down by the water.”
“A fine idea. Did you enjoy your Spanish chocolate?”
“It was lovely,” Isabelle said flatly. They turned a corner and her cousin glanced behind her, then tightened her grip on Lily’s arm. “I must speak with you.”
“What is wrong?”
“I fear we have fallen in with the worst sort of man.”
Anger flared through Lily. She pulled her cousin to a halt. “That scoundrel! What has he done?”
Isabelle stared at her. “He is not what he appears… and he is traveling to Tunisia for a terrible purpose.”
“He told you this?”
Isabelle nodded. “His family made him leave England.”
“Lord Rowland?”
“Not Reginald! He’s here to help. It’s James.”
“James? No.” Lily shook her head. “I am sure you misunderstood. Lord Rowland is the dubious one.”
“No, it’s James. Reginald told me all about him.”
“And are you certain he is telling the truth?”
Isabelle set her jaw. “Reginald is a lord, Lily, and a gentleman. I believe him.”
“Being a lord does not make him honest. There are lords who are the worst scoundrels you will ever meet. Tell me what he said.”
“He told me James was banished from the country because he wounded the Duke of Hereford’s son in a duel over a woman. And it isn’t the first time. He had to leave England seven years ago, too.” Isabelle swallowed. “James stole papers from his family just last month. He is using Father and all of us to achieve his own ends. He’s a dreadful villain. Whatever shall we do?”
Lily looked her cousin in the eye. “I am certain there is a good explanation for all this. Lord Rowland must have put things in the worst possible light. Jam
es has given us no reason to doubt him.” Even as she spoke, she recalled his stolen kisses, the feel of his lips on hers, and the forbidding look on his face when he tried to keep her from the ship. A seed of apprehension took root inside her.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes. “I know you fancy James. It has clouded your vision. Can’t you see we are in danger?”
“The danger is coming from other quarters, Isabelle. Lord Rowland’s attentions to you—”
“You’re just jealous!” Isabelle’s voice rose. “Because he is handsome and cultured and paying court to me instead of you.” She pulled away. “Can’t you understand that Reginald is here to protect us?”
“It can’t be true.” Could it? Did she see clearly where James was concerned?
“I’m going to denounce James tonight at dinner. Father and Mother will know what to do.” Her cousin began to stalk away, back held rigidly straight.
“Isabelle, wait!” Lily hurried after her. “Don’t do anything foolish. You have no proof. Let me speak to James.”
“As if he would tell you the truth.”
“I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll discover the true villain and expose him. But don’t be hasty. Wait until we have proof—something to substantiate the accusations.” She had to see the sense of it.
Isabelle chewed her lip. “All right. But we must do something before we reach Tunis—before it is too late.”
Drat those Huntingtons—both of them! Lily’s intuition told her James was not a rogue, but what if he was? And what if Lord Rowland were lying? Then he was every bit as bad as James had said, and her cousin—indeed the whole expedition—might be in jeopardy.
Lily held out her hand. “Come, Isabelle, we must get back to the ship.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lily fastened her earring then brushed at a wayward strand of hair. She could delay no longer. They would arrive in Tunisia tomorrow, and she still had not confronted James with Lord Rowland’s accusations. She reached for the other earring and turned her head in the mirror. But one couldn’t just sit down to dinner and ask, “So, Mr. Huntington, you haven’t shot anyone lately, have you?” It just wasn’t done. Why were the most vital questions always the most difficult to ask?
“Lily, are you finished yet?” It was Isabelle, knocking on the door of their stateroom. “The musicale is starting soon, and Richard will never forgive us if we miss his performance. Let me in.”
Lily dabbed lavender water at her throat and wrists. “Come in, then.”
Isabelle pushed into the room, then stopped, her eyes widening. “Oh.”
“Do you think it too much?” Lily adjusted the lacy edges that framed the low neckline of her blue silk gown.
“No! It’s perfectly stunning, except—” Isabelle frowned.
“Except what?”
“Well, it is bound to attract James Huntington’s interest. Are you sure it’s prudent with a man like that?”
“Yes, I think it is.” Lily turned back toward the mirror. Why did Isabelle insist on condemning James before he even had a chance to speak on his own behalf? “I want Mr. Huntington’s full attention tonight, because I intend to get to the bottom of things. You were the one who insisted we settle the matter before we arrive in Tunis.”
Isabelle clapped her hands. “Of course. Lily, you are brilliant. That gown will set him completely off his guard.” She paused. “But do be careful.”
“I will. I know how to handle Mr. Huntington.”
Lily draped her wrap across her bare shoulders. Who, she wondered, had packed this gown for her? She would have a talk with Bess when they returned to England and, if everything worked out as she planned tonight, thank her.
The attendants were extinguishing the lamps in the dining saloon when Lily and Isabelle arrived. Candelabra burned at the head of the room and the pianoforte had been moved in from the ladies’ cabin. The chief steward stood up and cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our musicale is about to begin. Tonight your talented fellow travelers have graciously agreed to provide us with the evening’s entertainment. I am sure we can all look forward to diversion of the highest standard.”
Isabelle hurried ahead and scooted into the last empty seat in front, settling beside Mrs. Hodges. Lily cast a quick glance around the shadowed room, but James was not there. Suppose he did not come? She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders and took a chair in an unfilled row near the back, sliding over to leave an empty seat beside her.
He had to appear, and when he did, she had to arrange for some way to speak with him privately. Isabelle would only wait so long before taking matters into her own hands.
And what if Lord Rowland’s accusations were true? Lily didn’t credit them—Reginald was obviously not fond of James, and his conduct with Isabelle spoke poorly of him—yet she could not quite dismiss them either. After all, what did they really know about James?
The buzz of conversation hushed as the captain rose and made a brief speech about this being their last night all together and what pleasant company the passengers had been. Lily thought he sounded bored, as though he had mouthed the same words countless times. No doubt he had.
In the dim light, a warm, masculine presence slipped into the chair beside her. She did not need to turn to know who it was.
“Good evening, Lily.” His voice was low.
“James.” She did turn then, and could not miss the appreciation warming his brown eyes. She took a deep breath and allowed her shawl to slip a bit further down her shoulders.
He leaned in, so close the warmth of his breath tickled her neck. “You look beautiful this evening.”
Thank goodness the music was starting. She faced forward. It was not cowardice—she simply needed a moment to regain her composure. His response to her was more, well, vital than she had anticipated.
In the front of the room, Mrs. Alice Fenton stood in her dark, high-necked gown, clasped her hands tightly together at her bosom, and began to sing “Abide With Me.” Her voice, though reedy, followed the melody well enough.
Lily closed her eyes. Her plan was working—James was here and she had his attention. Now, to get him somewhere where they could speak privately.
Mrs. Fenton dipped a curtsy and hurried to her seat, replaced by a plump young woman who settled herself at the keyboard and began to play a Bach minuet. Lily found it difficult to concentrate. How could Lord Rowland’s accusations of theft and violence be true? She had never sensed anything like that about James. On the contrary, she had sensed only—well, whatever it was she had sensed had nothing at all to do with Lord Rowland’s accusations. He was a danger, but to her alone.
She folded her hands in her lap and tried to force her mind back to the music. What was that cologne James was wearing? Clove? Bay? Something familiar, but with a hint of wildness. She breathed it in. Would it be possible to love the scent of a criminal? She imagined such a person would smell vaguely sour—dishonest.
James leaned back in his chair, and she felt the brush of his elbow against hers. It was the lightest touch, but he did not move away.
In front, Richard seated himself at the piano. The audience stilled. Into their silence he began to play, swelling the music to fill the room. The notes mingled with the gentle sea air, with the flickering light and shadows, with the collective breath of the listeners. Through the window Lily could see the vastness of the sea, still and shining.
She felt the gentle roll of the ship, the slow pulse of the music, and most of all she felt the pressure of James’s arm against her own. It was steady, and close, and spoke to her in the language of possibility. She was compelled to listen.
Once the lights came up her mind would function more logically—once the music stopped and she was not sitting so close to James. He shifted, and the contact between them deepened. She concentrated on keeping her breathing even, but she did not move away. To do so would be to admit that she was aware of his touch, and she could admit no weakness tonight
.
Richard played the final chord, letting it linger then fade into stillness. There was no sound, no breath for a long moment, then the audience erupted in applause. The lamps were relit, and Lily saw the captain, his eyes shining, moving forward to shake Richard’s hand.
James leaned close. His eyes were shining, too. “Would you care to take the air on deck?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
The look in his eyes deepened.
The attendants circulated the room bearing trays of drinks. James stood and drew her to her feet, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
“Champagne?”
“No. Thank you.” She felt quite unbalanced enough. She needed to get out on deck quickly and let the night air cool her. Then she would ask him the hard questions and look for the truth in his eyes.
Just before they stepped out, Lily felt a prickle of unease. She glanced up to see Lord Rowland looking at her from across the room. He raised an eyebrow, then his flute of champagne in salute. She turned away, but she no longer needed the night air to sober her. What if she were mistaken about James? How utterly foolish to trust him merely because of his eyes, his smile, his touch.
“Is something wrong?” James asked.
“No.”
Yes, but it was nothing she could confide.
The soft air wrapped them both as they emerged on deck. Overhead, the stars blazed, undimmed by the quarter-moon riding low on the horizon. There was no wind, only the gentle movement of the waves beside the hull, the splash of the paddlewheel, and the low thrum of the engine. They strolled wordlessly along the railing.
Lily wished the deck would stretch for miles, that they could simply walk together without speaking until the night dissolved. They passed the ship’s boats, lashed to their supports, and she recalled how James had looked as they had rowed to Cadiz. His laughing eyes, the way the breeze had tousled his hair—it felt as though she had always known him, and always would. That was what she wished for now, not questions and doubts. Not answers she was afraid to hear.
Fortune's Flower (Passport to Romance Book 1) Page 14
