Nicole Jordan

by Wicked Fantasy

  A smile flickered across Deverill’s mouth, for he recognized Bella’s transparent effort to throw them together. He didn’t want to squire Antonia around, for she would present too much temptation, yet he saw the eager hopefulness in her expression and couldn’t refuse.

  “Very well,” he said. “Will tomorrow morning do?”

  “Tomorrow morning would be splendid.”

  The beaming smile Antonia sent him made Deverill’s chest suddenly feel tight. He had missed her smile, missed being able to tease her and provoke her. And more importantly, to touch her.

  These past few days without her had been inconceivably frustrating. He couldn’t stop thinking of her, remembering the taste of her skin, the scent of her, the texture of her nipples. He couldn’t stop imagining taking her again, picturing how she would arch and moan beneath his stroking fingers, his mouth, his body—

  To his gratification, dinner was announced just then, for the interruption helped him to crush his arousing thoughts. Deverill was partnered with a dowager duchess at one end of the long, formal dining table, quite some distance from Antonia. Yet he found his gaze straying frequently to her during the excellent five-course repast, and afterward, when dancing and cards were offered.

  As he expected, Antonia was wildly successful at enchanting the company. Her charm and wit and vibrant beauty were just as potent here in the country as in the glittering ballrooms of London.

  Although pleased by her success, Deverill felt his mood darkening unexpectedly, for her conquests reminded him of her determination to wed into the nobility. Class differences and social status had much less meaning for him, but she had been raised to strive for a higher station and was still intent on achieving her father’s greatest desire.

  It shouldn’t have bothered him, therefore, to see her attention claimed by two unattached noblemen—both prospective matrimonial candidates, both of whom fell all over themselves to please her—but Deverill’s jealousy flared to outraged proportions.

  Clamping down on his more savage instincts, he chose to join the card tables rather than the dancing, for he didn’t trust himself to hold Antonia in his arms and refrain from doing something entirely unsuitable, such as ravishing her on the spot.

  He was, however, looking forward to the morning when he could have her alone—even if it would require a valiant struggle to keep his hands off her.

  Antonia rose early, filled with anticipation. She had dressed and breakfasted and was waiting in the stables when Deverill called for her.

  He warily eyed her bow and quiver of arrows, which Miss Tottle, blessedly, had brought with her, as Antonia strapped them to her mount’s sidesaddle.

  “If you intend to ride armed,” Deverill drawled, “you clearly don’t need my protection.”

  She flashed a smile. “I thought I might practice a little if I find any appropriate targets. But I promise not to shoot you unless severely provoked.”

  “Then I will strive to be on my best behavior. Where do you wish to go this morning?”

  “Anywhere. Everywhere. I suspect this is my one chance for freedom, and I mean to make good use of it. But I would most like to see the seashore, since I have little chance of that in London.”

  “The shore it is, then.”

  Although it would have been more circumspect to have a groom accompany them, Antonia chose not to, for she wanted to speak to Deverill alone, to discuss an important matter dear to her heart. Moreover, she wanted nothing to spoil her adventure, which would undoubtedly have been the result with an audience observing her unladylike behavior. Deverill didn’t count, since he had already seen her at her worst, and since he was always the first to abet and encourage her wanton behavior.

  She could feel her excitement building as he tossed her up in her sidesaddle and they set off.

  The morning proved a perfect antidote to her restlessness, for the landscape was even more magical than she had hoped. They rode along the coast first. The granite cliffs bloomed with color—bluebells and thrift and sea campion—and overlooked sandy coves and shingle beaches washed by clear blue-green water.

  Cornwall was not the paradise that Cyrene was, Antonia acknowledged, but the wild beauty of the coast resembled the island’s a bit. The air was warm and sweet with a salt-tinged sea breeze, and alive with the cries of puffins and cormorants and herring gulls, as well as the rhythmic hiss and sigh of the waves below.

  It was the vast ocean, however, that held Antonia in awe. Her bedchamber at Wilde Castle faced the sea, and she never tired of watching the magnificent view from her windows.

  When they dismounted and negotiated a steep path down to the shore, she immediately took off her half boots and stockings, then lifted her skirts to wade into the waves.

  She gave a gasp at the shock to her bare feet and calves. “The water is colder than I expected! It was much warmer on Cyrene.”

  Deverill was watching her with amusement. “Yes. The Atlantic is cooler than the Mediterranean. If you want to play in the waves, we will need to find you a sun-warmed cove and wait until afternoon.”

  “The water looks so inviting . . .” Antonia said wistfully. She cast a speculative glance at Deverill. “I wonder, would you consider teaching me how to swim?”

  When he hesitated a long moment, she thought he intended to refuse her request. But he finally nodded, albeit with reluctance. “I suppose I could.”

  Not wanting to press her luck, she merely smiled and said, “Thank you.” Backing up, she raised a hand to shield her eyes. The glitter of the brilliant sea stretching endlessly away beneath the deep blue sky enthralled her. It gave her a sense of profound elation, of pure, unadulterated freedom.

  “I can understand why you love the sea so much,” she murmured.

  When Deverill remained silent, she pointed to a rock promontory that extended a short distance into the sea. “May we go out there?”

  “Yes, but be careful. I don’t want to carry you back to Bella half-drowned.”

  In actuality, it proved easier for her to climb over the granite boulders barefoot than for Deverill in his boots. When they reached the point, Antonia sat down on the warm rock and dangled her feet in the surging water below. She was glad when he settled

  beside her, for she hoped to use this opportunity to convince him to see her point of view.

  “Deverill . . . I have been thinking,” she began carefully.

  “A dangerous exercise.”

  Antonia made a face. “I do have a brain in my head, you know. It is merely that as a female, I am not permitted to use it without inviting scandal.”

  Deverill’s expression sobered. “I do know, sweetheart.”

  “But you cannot possibly understand the frustration of being a woman in a man’s world of business. If I were a son, I could have assumed control of my father’s shipping empire, instead of leaving it for others to run. And even in that respect, I failed.”

  “How so?”

  “Obviously my judgment was at fault for allowing Heward so much leeway. I trusted him far too much—both Phineas and I did. Apparently we made the same mistake with Director Trant. Trant will certainly have to be fired, if he is transporting slaves as you suspect.”

  “That would be my advice,” Deverill agreed.

  “Which leads me to my point. You knew exactly where the dangers lay—and what to do about them.”

  “So?”

  “So, I want to keep my father’s legacy alive, Deverill. In future, I intend to be somewhat more involved, but I have none of the experience required to oversee such a vast enterprise. You, however, do.”

  “I?” he repeated warily.

  “Deverill . . . I would like you to assume the reins of Maitland Shipping as director. You have only to name your price.”

  His hesitation told her his answer before he even spoke. “I am honored you hold me in such high regard, princess, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

  Antonia sighed. Deverill was telling her he didn’t wish to be
tied down, just as she’d expected. “Is it because of your work for the Foreign Office?”

  He delayed another moment. “In large part. I’m too much of an adventurer to settle down in a career that requires me to remain in a London office. But I promise to find a new director for you, if your current one is corrupt.”

  Antonia tried to quell her disappointment. It shamed her that she had safeguarded her father’s life work so poorly, and she considered Deverill the perfect choice to make up for her lapse. Although she might not want him for her husband, she trusted his business acumen implicitly. If he assumed control, she could leave the company in his able hands with confidence that it would flourish.

  His refusal had sounded unalterable, though. She wasn’t ready to give up just yet, but she had a sinking suspicion that Deverill would never be persuaded to take on such a mundane role as controlling her father’s shipping empire.

  “Well,” she said lightly, “I have a little time to convince you to change your mind.” She rose and smoothed out her skirts. “Shall we go? There is much more to explore, and I don’t want to waste a moment.”

  Clambering back over the rocks, Antonia put on her stockings and boots, and then with Deverill’s assistance climbed the steep path to return to their grazing horses.

  When he grasped her hand to help her up the last incline, a shiver of awareness ran through her. His merest touch reminded her of the incredible pleasure he could give her. But she had vowed she would forget that reckless, wanton chapter of her life and attempt to view Deverill merely as a friend instead of her most wicked fantasy.

  Clenching her teeth, Antonia allowed him to help her mount once more, pretending not to notice the burn of his fingers as they pressed into her waist while lifting her onto her sidesaddle. Yet even before he swung into his own saddle, Antonia spurred her horse forward, as eager to dismiss her wayward feelings toward Deverill as she was to explore.

  In contrast to the rugged coast, with its coves and harbors and colorful fishing villages, the golden countryside possessed a mellow sort of charm. A confluence of river valleys, the district was populated by pretty cottages of stone and thatch, occasional churches of granite, and manor farms where fat cattle and sheep and horses grazed.

  Antonia was drawn to the natural beauty of the numerous streams and thick woods and flowering meadows, but it was the feeling of freedom she cherished. She could be far more adventuresome here than in London. She could act the hoyden if she wished, galloping wildly across the countryside, challenging Deverill to horse races and archery matches. . . .

  To her amusement, he refused her offer to show him how to shoot a bow, but not her proposition for a race. She gave the competition her all, bending low over her horse’s neck as they galloped over a grassy field and up a hill that boasted another spectacular view of the sea. She won with relative ease and pulled up laughing.

  When Deverill demanded a rematch, she gave him a brilliant smile that staggered him like a sharp punch to the gut.

  “I know, it was not a fair match,” Antonia acknowledged. “I am riding one of Isabella’s excellent horses, whereas you again have a hired hack. But I still relished beating you for once.”

  Seeing the shine of excitement in her eyes, Deverill found it almost impossible to keep from hauling Antonia off her horse and tossing her to the ground, where they could both indulge the hunger that had been only momentarily satisfied on board his schooner. Her auburn hair, which had been pinned up beneath a small shako hat, was slipping down to frame her face with loose tendrils, while her cheeks were flushed with the warmth of exertion similar to the heat of passion.

  A hard, burning ache lanced through his loins, making Deverill curse under his breath. How tempting she was. How bloody, impossibly tempting. It was driving him mad, not being able to touch Antonia. She was driving him mad.

  But it was her sheer exuberance that set his blood on fire. She thrived on challenge as he did. And watching her delight was like drinking in a vivid sunrise.

  He had made an egregious mistake in letting himself be alone with her, Deverill knew now. He’d hoped this morning would provide a distraction from his restlessness, would keep him from fretting over his impotence and lack of action.

  It had indeed distracted him, but also brutally tested his fortitude.

  Worse, he was about to compound his mistake. When Antonia had asked him to teach her how to swim, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to disappoint her.

  He hadn’t liked disappointing her, either, when she had implored him to take control of her father’s legacy. Yet he’d had no choice but to decline her generous offer.

  His life was with the Guardians, not directing a shipping empire—although he couldn’t tell Antonia that, since she knew nothing of the order. He couldn’t explain that he was compelled to follow a deeper calling of his own. That serving the Guardians was his life’s work. That every sinew and fiber of his being was dedicated to self-redemption, his ceaseless attempt at reparation for the men he couldn’t save.

  Instead, he’d claimed an adventurer’s need for freedom. Antonia understood the need for freedom better than any other woman he had ever known.

  Freedom. That was what she claimed to want most.

  He could give her that much, Deverill promised her silently. He could satisfy her thirst for adventure, at least for this short time together. He could make her sojourn in Cornwall one she would never forget.

  He would willingly give a slice of his soul to see Antonia smile at him that way again, no matter if it strained his fortitude to the very limits of his endurance.

  Twelve

  Deverill’s fortitude was strained nearly to the breaking point the following day.

  The first report from London arrived by courier that morning, confirming that he was indeed wanted for murder—which only served to intensify his frustration. As instructed, Macky had involved several others on his behalf, including fellow Guardians Alex Ryder and Viscount Thorne, and Madam Venus as well. However, there was little progress to report thus far, although follow-up reports from Macky would soon be forthcoming.

  Deverill knew his friends would be almost as eager as he was to vindicate his name and to strike a blow against Heward. They were all cut from the same cloth—men of action who refused to wait patiently while others acted for them. But for now, Deverill realized he had no choice but to grit his teeth and let his colleagues conduct their inquiries without him.

  Nearly as frustrating, Deverill was obliged to fulfill his promise to teach Antonia to swim, since Captain Lloyd was not expected to return with his schooner for at least two more days.

  They held her first lesson during the warmest part of the afternoon. Deverill chose a private cove on the southern boundary of the Wilde estate, since it was sheltered from heavy waves and prying eyes. Accessed by a winding path down from the cliff top, the secluded cove boasted a narrow sand beach and a natural rock pool that was shallow enough for wading but wide and deep enough to swim in. There was even a rock cave that seemed an ideal place to land and store smugglers’ contraband until it could be safely retrieved when the King’s Revenuers were no longer watching.

  Antonia professed delight at the cove’s wild beauty and waded into the clear blue-green swells with scarcely any hesitation.

  “The water seems warmer here than where we were yesterday,” she observed.

  “Because it’s shallower here, and the surrounding rocks are heated by the sun.”

  “This should be perfect for my lesson.”

  Deverill couldn’t fully agree. He had made Antonia wear her sailor’s trousers to hide her body as much as possible, but the billowing linen shirt, once wet, plastered to her breasts and revealed the outline of her budded nipples.

  Striving to ignore the temptation she presented, he stripped down to his breeches and waded in to his waist to begin her swimming lesson.

  He commenced by showing her how to hold her breath and put her face in the water, then taught her to
immerse her whole head without panicking. Next, she learned to relax enough to float.

  “If you can float, you can tread water,” Deverill instructed. “And if you can tread, you can swim. Now watch how I do it.”

  Moving a little deeper, he sank down to his neck, culling the water with his cupped palms while lazily kicking his legs.

  “Let me try,” Antonia said eagerly.

  He stood beside her, ready to support her if necessary, while she moved her hands and legs as he’d shown her. With Deverill providing a sense of security, she mastered the art of treading water in a very short time.

  Finally, he demonstrated how to stroke her arms overhead to gain a forward momentum, letting her practice with his palms under her stomach as she moved parallel to the shore.

  She proved so good at stroking that she got away from him.

  Delighted that she was actually swimming on her own, Antonia gave a trill of excited laughter—an excitement that suddenly faded when she realized she was alone in deeper water.

  She heard Deverill instantly strike out after her, but when she stopped in nervous apprehension, she lost her concentration and promptly sank to the bottom. She broke above the surface, sputtering and thrashing and coughing.

  Deverill was there to catch her and hold her up, but Antonia had swallowed a huge mouthful of water, and she clung to him with frantic urgency, her fingers digging into the hard muscles of his shoulders, her breasts pressing against the bare expanse of his chest.

  When she finally regained her breath, awareness suddenly assailed her with unexpected force. Deverill’s beautiful face was only inches away, his lips nearly touching hers. His smooth male skin felt resilient and heated beneath her fingertips. . . .

  From the way his jaw tightened, she suspected he felt the same abrupt sexual arousal.

  “Perhaps,” Antonia murmured, hoping he would attribute the huskiness of her voice to natural hoarseness after swallowing so much salt water, “that is enough instruction for one afternoon.”