A Scandalous Deal

by Joanna Shupe

  Her maid swayed and Eva reached to steady her. “Just a bit queasy,” Mollie said. “I’ll be all right in a moment.”

  “Nonsense.” She turned Mollie around and led her to the narrow bed. “Lie down, please. I am able to fend for myself tonight.”

  Mollie sat on the bed and frowned. “I am not so ill that I cannot—”

  “You need to relax and stay calm. Let your stomach settle. We have no idea when the storm will pass.”

  “Thank you, milady. I don’t know if I am able to take much more of this rocking.” Mollie laid flat on the mattress, and Eva went to the small sink to wet a cloth. She returned and placed the cool cloth on her maid’s forehead.

  “Shall I bring you anything to eat?”

  If possible, her maid’s complexion turned even whiter. “No,” she wheezed.

  The ship dropped into a swell, water lashing the sides and spraying up past the tiny window. Mollie groaned and closed her eyes. Eva patted her shoulder. “Rest. I’ll check on you a little later.”

  She returned to her room where her stomach rumbled, not from seasickness but hunger. With Mollie ill, perhaps she should eat in the dining room. A quick squint at the clock told her that dinner service had just begun, so she wasted no time, changing her clothes and slipping into an empty corridor. Odd that no one was about, not even the ship’s officers. Perhaps everyone was already in the dining room. Holding on to the brass rail attached to the wall as the ship swayed and rocked, she made her way toward the stairs.

  When she reached the dining room, rows and rows of vacant chairs greeted her. That was strange. No one was here. The long wooden tables had not been set, the bare wood gleaming in the low light. “Dash it all,” she muttered. Perhaps someone in the kitchen could give her some bread or cheese. Anything to hold her over until morning.

  She walked toward the swinging door in the back. Presumably the kitchens were there.

  As she drew closer, the door swung out and she exhaled in relief. Of course someone was here. They had probably been waiting for passengers to arrive.

  A man stepped out from the kitchens, a man she didn’t expect. The American from the railing.

  She came to an abrupt halt. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening.” The side of his mouth lifted as he hefted a tray in his hands. “The waiters are all ill, apparently. There’s one chef but he appears a little green. I do not believe he’ll—”

  A huge clatter erupted, the crashing of dishes and ringing of silver. Eva and the man both winced. “I think it’s safe to say we are on our own for dinner.”

  She glanced at the different meats, cheeses, bread, fruit, and nuts on his tray. She was starving. Any of what he held would be a welcome meal. “Is there more in the kitchen?”

  “Of course. There are also bottles of champagne on ice as well as a fillet of beef entrée.”

  “That sounds delicious. I’ll help myself.”

  His jerked his chin toward one of the long tables. “What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed that? No, please have a seat and I’ll fetch everything for us. Let’s eat before the ship sinks in this storm.”

  The words jarred her. She hadn’t been frightened until now. Ships sank all the time in bad weather. “I hope you are wrong about that.”

  “Don’t worry. If you grow scared, I will happily comfort you.”

  He said it casually, but there was something in his voice. She walked to the end of the long table and sat, wondering if he was . . . flirting with her? The idea was preposterous. They hardly knew one another and she was hardly the type of woman to inspire flirtation. Her second fiancé, James, had repeatedly chastised her about her unladylike tendencies. I don’t fancy having a wife with ink-stained fingers, Eva. Why don’t you give up your sketching and drawing and act like the other girls?

  To be fair to James, none of her three fiancés had encouraged her interest in architecture or pursuing a career of her own. Each man had been properly horrified at the very idea of it. They’d all wanted to marry her for various business reasons related to her father, like his notoriety or a specific project. None of them had actually cared about her.

  She’d always been a bit different, a bit odd. Like her father. While society tolerated eccentricity in men, however, a woman could very well be outcast for wearing the wrong dress, let alone striving for a career.

  This man doesn’t know you. Be whomever you wish, even a woman who flirts back.

  “You are too kind,” she said with an easy smile when he returned. “Might as well enjoy our last meal together, then.”

  “That’s the spirit.” He placed the tray between them and took the seat opposite. “Let’s eat and drink ourselves into a stupor. Then we’ll hardly notice when the boat goes down.”

  They ate quietly at first, the only sounds that of the storm raging outside, each taking pieces here and there from the plates he’d procured in the kitchen. The champagne flowed freely. Usually she moderated her consumption in public so as not to embarrass herself, but she saw no reason not to imbibe tonight. Why not enjoy this one last night of freedom before she reached New York?

  He speared a piece of pear and brought it to his mouth. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Evelyn.” The name popped out of the part of her brain that longed for anonymity here on the ship. “And you?”

  “Phillip.” He chose another pear slice. “Odd that we are the only two passengers not suffering from mal de mer.”

  “I thought for certain yours would return.”

  The boat rocked back and forth as the ship struck a wave. They both reached to keep the contents of the table steady, and he refilled her champagne glass with his free hand. “Mine only lasts the first day or so, then I’m steady as a rock no matter the weather. Have you sailed to America before?”

  “No. I’ve not traveled much outside of England.”

  “Not even Paris?”

  “I went there a few years ago. Spent most of my time wandering through the churches.”

  “Are you religious, then?”

  “Not at all. I like the design of them. So forbiddingly beautiful. I am fascinated by the contradiction.”

  “Like the gargoyles atop Notre Dame.”

  “Exactly.” She grinned, pleased he understood what she meant, and he smiled back at her. Goodness, he was handsome. She cleared her throat. “They were originally waterspouts, you know. Clever, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t know that.” He popped a grape in his mouth and chewed, his eyes never leaving her. “So tell me, how does an English girl with a Mayfair accent come to learn about gargoyles?”

  She swallowed a mouthful of champagne, discovering it made lying easier. “Oh, I read quite a bit.”

  “I read as well, though mostly contracts and reports for business.”

  Yes, definitely some sort of rich American tycoon. Probably owned oil fields or a silver mine. “How long do you think the storm will last?”

  “No idea. I hope we are not delayed in reaching New York tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Me, either. I am on a tight schedule this trip.”

  Eva reached for a dried date—and her hand collided with Phillip’s, his rough skin sliding over her own. She jerked her hand back and put it in her lap, heat flooding her cheeks. Undoubtedly she’d turned the color of a tomato, the curse of fair skin.

  Smooth, Eva. If he hadn’t thought you skittish before, you’ve cleared that right up.

  He lifted his glass and gestured to the plate. “Please, I insist. Ladies first.”

  Without hesitation, she snatched the date and slipped it into her mouth. “Thank you. What is your favorite color?”

  His head snapped up from his plate. “Pardon?”

  She loved to talk about colors and shapes, how other people saw the world. “Color. The one you prefer best.” When he did not answer right away, she nudged the plate of dates toward him. “Come now, we must pass the time somehow.”

  He selected a piece of fru
it. “My favorite color is blue, though I am coming to appreciate red.” He flicked his gaze toward her hair. “And yours?”

  “White.”

  “White? Is that even a color?”

  “Yes. White is the sum of all colors so therefore is a color.” White meant new and clean, like new buildings, new walls. A blank canvas on which to draw and construct.

  He reclined in his seat and cocked his head, studying her. His dark brown hair hung a little over his ears and collar—a slight rakishness at odds with his polished appearance. He was otherwise impeccable, dressed in a fashionable, well-fitting suit of light gray wool. She had a strange urge to know more about him. “Are you staying in a hotel while in New York?”

  “I live there. What about you?”

  “I shall be staying with a friend, actually.”

  There was the slim possibility that he knew her friend, Lady Nora, so she dared not elaborate. Do not get acquainted. There’s no point.

  “You have the most interesting eyes,” he said, leaning in. “They are the purest brown, but every now and again there is a glimmer of green . . .” He instantly shook his head. “I apologize. That was terribly forward of me. Blame the champagne.”

  The words heated her insides, like warm honey working its way through her veins. She’d heard the occasional compliment here and there, but none so earnestly offered as this one. “Thank you. Are your wife and family anxiously awaiting your return?”

  If he thought the question bold he gave no sign of it. “No, I am not married. Much to my mother’s dismay, I’m afraid.”

  She raised her glass in a toast. “To disappointing our parents.”

  Chuckling, he lifted his glass and touched it to hers. “May they come to forgive us someday.”

  They both drank and then set down their glasses. An easy silence settled between them, with none of the expected awkwardness of strangers. There was something freeing about pretending to be a woman with no cares or worries. No father whose memory had failed him. No dwindling finances, thanks to years of overspending and forgetfulness. No deception to keep from losing the most important job of her life. No whispers and stares behind her back. All those things awaited her when they docked in Manhattan.

  For now, however, she could set that aside and merely enjoy this man’s company. Bask in his attentions. Revel in the anonymity.

  “Are you traveling alone?” he asked abruptly. “I realize that is forward of me, but it is helpful to know if an angry spouse might appear at any moment.”

  She didn’t blame him for asking. Unattached women never traveled alone. If she were a normal unmarried female, she’d have a chaperone with her at all times. Better he assumed her a widow or a wayward wife. “I am traveling alone. No one shall seek retribution for you having dinner with me on the ship.”

  “Good.”

  In an effort to change the topic, she nodded to the tray. “I notice you aren’t eating the Stilton.”

  “Hate the stuff, actually. Cannot stomach the smell.”

  “That’s because you have not been shown how to properly eat it.” She took a toast point and layered it with a thin slice of pear, a small wedge of Stilton, and topped it with a date. “Here.”

  He took the precariously balanced bite from her hand, his lips curled in adorable distaste. “Must I?”

  “Yes, you must. I insist.”

  Opening his mouth, he put the entire thing between his lips and chewed. She watched, pleased that he hadn’t refused or spit it out. Finally, he chased the bite with some fresh champagne. “Would have been better without the cheese.”

  “Perhaps hold your nose next time, as a child might do with medicine.”

  One dark brow shot up. “I believe you’ve just equated Stilton to foul-tasting medicine, which proves my point.”

  She laughed, unable to help herself, the sound much louder and sharper than her usual tone. She was enjoying herself immensely tonight, despite the storm and the threat of danger. Phillip was witty and intelligent, two qualities she greatly appreciated in a person.

  “I adore your laugh,” he told her, his voice strangely husky as he regarded her. “It’s quite genuine and captivating.”

  She snatched her champagne and took a gulp, suddenly self-conscious. How did one begin to respond to such a compliment?

  He cocked his head. “Have I embarrassed you? I would think you’d be used to flattery, considering.”

  Considering, what? “I’ve never had anyone comment on my laugh before.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No. I stay fairly busy in London. There’s not much time for play.”

  “Now I’m truly intrigued. I thought ladies were all about teas and parties, and here you’re learning Chinese remedies for nausea.”

  He had quite the low opinion of women. Were all American ladies so boring, then? “Have you ever been to teas and parties? If so, then you’d know they are exceedingly tedious.”

  The side of his mouth hitched. “I am well aware of their tedium. I’ve just never heard a woman admit it before. I thought you were required to love them.”

  “Well, I’ve never been one for doing as society requires.”

  “I am gathering that.” He lifted his champagne once more. “To disappointing society.”

  She clanged their glasses together. “To disappointing society.”

  Chapter Two

  The night wore on, the two of them chatting easily while consuming more food—and champagne. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d enjoyed herself this much. Why hadn’t she dined with him every night?

  “That’s the last of this bottle.” He righted the empty champagne bottle and rose. “I’ll fetch another from the kitchen.”

  She watched him walk away from the table, enjoying the sight of his fine shoulders shifting beneath the wide cloth. No, wide shoulders beneath the fine cloth. Yes, that was it.

  Oh, dear. I have definitely had too much champagne.

  To be fair, though, the man was sinfully attractive. She was having a hard time following the threads of their conversation, content to merely stare at him. She’d even caught herself giggling like a schoolgirl at some of his comments.

  What was wrong with her? She never, ever flirted. If she batted her lashes it was because plaster dust had lodged in her eye, not to play the coquette.

  For a woman who spent so much time around men she was hopeless on how to attract them. Her father had plain given up on trying to marry her off after William, her third fiancé, passed away. Her reputation as Lady Unlucky had taken root by then, so Papa had whisked them both away from London for a bit. Eva hadn’t minded; she would much rather learn about buildings and design than worry about dances and afternoon calls.

  It hadn’t helped that each of her three fiancés had laughed when she’d mentioned an interest in architecture. None had understood her passion or her drive, instead saying she’d be too busy with children and the household to pursue a career of her own.

  Despite their unenlightened views, she had mourned their deaths. She’d been truly sorry that each man lost his life, but she hadn’t ever mourned the lack of a husband. Who needed a lord and master to curtail her activities?

  No, this was perfect. She was here, sharing a meal with a charming and appealing man she hardly knew. What more did one need?

  The door swung open and Phillip emerged from the kitchen, two china plates in his hands along with a bottle of champagne tucked under an arm. He somehow kept his balance and managed not to spill a thing.

  The plates each contained a huge fillet of beef with fingerling potatoes. Her mouth practically watered. No more making a fool of yourself over him. Stay quiet, eat, and then go to your cabin and fall asleep. “This looks delicious.”

  He topped off their champagne. “There’s more if we want it. Additionally, they have baked vanilla pudding and chocolate éclairs.”

  “I plan on eating all of it,” she said, cutting into the perfectly rare beef. The piece nearly me
lted on her tongue, it was so heavenly. She must have made a noise because his head snapped up, his eyes locking on her mouth.

  The air went still, growing heavy, as if she’d done something wrong. But the ferocity of his stare, the way his jaw tightened, hinted she’d done the opposite. It was a look that stole her breath, her wits. Why did his attention fluster her?

  She forced a napkin to her mouth and slowly dabbed her lips. He looked away and she heard him exhale. Mouth now dry, she downed the rest of the champagne in her glass. What was happening? Did he feel this strange pull between them as well?

  The ship bobbed and dipped, and both of them reached to secure the champagne bottle. His hand covered hers over the cold glass, and the feel of his warm palm sent a rush of sparkling heat along her spine. She couldn’t move, her limbs frozen in place, muscles useless, while the beat of her heart seemed to pound in her ears.

  Why were his hands so rough?

  “You do not have the hands of a gentleman.”

  He released his hold on her and the bottle, relaxed in his chair. His lids swept down over his eyes, shielding his thoughts. “Who said I was a gentleman?”

  Good point. She’d assumed because of his cabin and his clothing. She plucked her glass from the table and took a long swallow of champagne. “You’re right, I made assumptions. I apologize.”

  “Maybe I’m a famous bare-knuckle boxer.”

  “I doubt it. Your nose would be crooked from being hit.”

  “Unless I’m the one doing the hitting. I might be just that good.” He toasted her with his empty glass before refilling it. “What do you plan to do while visiting New York?”

  Why the abrupt change in topic? “I’m hoping to see as many of the new buildings as I can. I hear there are some extraordinary ones.”

  He blinked a few times, clearly not expecting that answer. “That’s true.”

  “Any suggestions?”

  “Definitely Trinity Church.”

  That was on her list. “The spire is the tallest point in Manhattan, they say.”