She pivoted then, her back against the ship’s railing, and focused on him so intently he almost stepped away.
‘Will you return to your life in London, the gentleman you’ve always been?’
Why did she need to ruin the night with questions he’d rather not consider? ‘I’m no longer that gentleman, more bastard than aristocrat at the moment.’
She had the audacity to laugh, but he couldn’t feel insulted when she looked so utterly fetching in the gilded moonlight.
‘That’s ridiculous.’ She didn’t attempt to hide her enjoyment at his expense.
He eyed her perspicaciously and moved closer, unwisely placing his hands to the railing on either side, engulfing her in darkness and at the same time closing the distance between them to nary ten inches. A sensual tangle of emotions overtook all thought as if she’d cast a wordless spell, and he, no matter larger and stronger, was drawn in complete surrender despite better judgement.
Amusement melted away and the sound of the ocean rushed in like a rising tide, engulfing, drenching them in sensation. She evoked a tenderness he’d attempted to banish from his soul and it couldn’t be allowed. Still, while he suffered no ill effects from the ship’s motion or the cloudless weather, deep in the pit of his soul he detected an unexpected shifting, as if parts of him were rearranging against his will, a tightening and subsequent ease, almost a distress, both terrifying and eager.
The desire to resist was so strong he muttered a black oath and leaned in. He would show her he was no gentleman. He would wipe the idea from her brain. ‘I’m not one for talking this evening.’
Her eyes searched his face, wide and crystalline, and he swore he saw a dare in their depths.
Chapter Nine
Amanda tilted her gaze upwards to meet Crispin’s, his face so close she could see the determination in his eyes. Did he mean to kiss her? Her pulse leapt and her heart skipped a beat in reply. For a moment, he remained so still, the breath between them waited. Then he canted his head, a sly smile curling his mouth until his lips, lips made for sinning, came down on hers.
The kiss, his kiss, made her dizzy, as if she plunged into fathoms of weightlessness, adrift and otherworldly, her senses achingly alive. Or perhaps it was only the shift of the ship beneath her boots that caused her world to tilt. She had no way to know, didn’t care, alert to every nuance, the hot press of his mouth, heat of his breath, slick velvet stroke of his tongue. She inhaled deeply, wanting to make it last and at the same time greedily consume as much of the moment as possible.
He smelled decadent and delicious, bergamot and a scent exclusive to him, something male and addicting. She’d first detected it on his clothing, but now on his skin, like no other fragrance, it made the kiss most devastating, alive and demanding, everything at once and singularly precious. She trembled against his mouth, a flame caught in a sudden draft, while pleasure fired through every cell of her being.
Too late she realized her whole body could participate and, angry for the lost advantage, she raised a hand to his bicep, the flex of hard muscle an immediate aphrodisiac. Propriety left her like the tide rushing out, unyielding and wild, and she pressed her palm flat against his chest. She sensed his heat, the tension in his muscles, and with barely a tremble fanned her fingers the slightest. He was all smooth silken hardness beneath his shirt. Her heart thumped in resounding appreciation.
He nipped her mouth and called her back to focus and she obeyed, leaning into his chest to give herself over to his kiss. His hands came off the railing, encircling her, splayed on her back to hold her close. But too soon he broke away and she opened her eyes, catching the wild gleam in his as he searched her face. What did he look for? The thought was lost as he angled his chin and descended to her mouth again.
The kiss turned demanding, as forceful as the storm which whipped her inside out, yet she wanted this and surrendered to the whirlwind of sensation, in need of more. His tongue coaxed hers into battle, a playful war of strokes and parries, both anxious to tease, taste and conquer. Everything else ceased to exist. Nothing beyond the kiss. And their urgency was palpable, a living, breathing thing between them as if they both knew the moment was fleeting, isolated and rare. But no, her mind rebelled. It didn’t have to be true.
She imagined an entire voyage of kisses. Surely the alternative, distraction through card games, paled greatly by comparison.
‘Amanda.’
As if he read her thoughts, divined her intentions, he separated, her name a murmur as his lips hovered above hers.
‘Yes.’ Her answer was nothing more than a raspy whisper.
‘We should go below now.’ He spoke, his teeth a flash of even white in the darkness. ‘Have you had your fill of fresh air?’
She blinked several times in a desperate attempt to clear her thoughts and she watched him step away, regretting the loss of his warmth around her. He caught her hand in his, skin to skin and she ran her thumb across his palm, wanting to memorize the texture.
Her thoughts were scattered, good sense ravaged, and low in her belly, lower actually, she pulsed with desire. She’d never experienced a reaction so elemental and it thrilled and terrified in equal measure, a delicious heat that enchanted as much as it disturbed. This newfound awe held her captive as they moved with stealth, sleek among the shadows, until Crispin returned her to the door of his quarters.
‘Fasten the latch.’ His voice sounded strange, strained. Could he possibly be angry?
She nodded and slipped inside, for ever altered.
‘Bloody stupid.’ Crispin paced a long length of deck before he pivoted and turned, the wind at his back, another foul oath on his tongue. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? Hadn’t he vowed to learn from the past? Still, he’d never forget the flutter of Amanda’s pulse against his mouth, her lips parted on a sigh, the sweet, delicate flick of her tongue against his. Blood rioted in his veins and, with nowhere to go, he could hardly take care of the aching problem in his breeches.
Their kiss seemed timeless, when all else ceased to matter, as if everything became settled, sorted and neatly put in order due to their embrace, yet it wasn’t in the least.
Bloody hell, what was he thinking?
At least Ferris would be asleep when he eased into their quarters later, his friend becoming more than curious at Crispin’s odd schedule and unexpected absence during the day. Time to put things to rights. He would make certain Amanda was provided for, the basket filled through the day with food and necessities, but by damn, he wouldn’t set foot near her for the rest of the journey. His sanity depended on it.
He kept his vow for a week, though at times he was a ship without mooring, walking the decks at night, anxious and unsettled. With effort, no emotion trumped his determination to avoid Amanda. Having collected his clothing, he had no need to return. Whatever he didn’t have, he simply did without. The weather proved fair. Ferris’s company became routine and he dared not look too deeply into the torturous examination of his feelings.
One kiss was nothing.
He didn’t miss her smile, her voice. He didn’t miss her company. Or so he told himself.
It was nothing more than the distasteful chivalry and etiquette ingrained in him since birth, a need to protect and ensure safety in the fairer sex, that prompted ill-gotten responsibility. He consistently worked to rid his soul of these traits, having almost succeeded in Venice, achieving the jaded insensitivity he craved.
Until Amanda.
She was beautiful and spirited.
She was alone.
He pushed the consideration from his mind and found a seat beside Ferris at the dinner table. All around them passengers ate and conversed, anxious to reach England in a handful of days, blissfully engaged in holiday travel.
But not he. How soon he’d dismissed the main purpose of his travel. He had a plan for his return. The city would awaken and recognize the man he’d become when he at last stepped again into the bu
sy streets. His debt had come due and so had London’s. The Underworld’s, most especially.
‘You haven’t enjoyed our travels. What troubles you?’
Ferris kept his eyes on his plate though Crispin knew better than to think his friend hadn’t given sufficient thought to the subject.
‘I’ve a lot on my mind.’
‘I see.’ Ferris chewed for a thoughtful moment. ‘Life is London is difficult then.’
‘You knew from the start I had unfinished business.’ Crispin wouldn’t elaborate.
‘That’s true.’ The count took a long gulp of ale, ready to continue the conversation until his attention snagged and head jerked up.
Crispin was tempted to look over his shoulder at whatever distraction caught his friend’s attention but he didn’t make the effort, slicing into the ham on his plate with a grimace.
‘At last, this journey becomes bearable.’
‘Why?’ Crispin chewed and swallowed, his focus narrowed to their earlier topic and his intentions once he confronted the proprietors of the Underworld.
‘A ray of sunshine in a sea of grey.’ Ferris dropped his fork and knife to clatter against the metal plate and rose from his seat. ‘Don’t mind me, amico mio. Enjoy your breakfast. Ciao.’
Crispin blew a cleansing breath, happy to escape Ferris’s badgering. He ignored the dull throb of conscience which seemed an active part of him now and finished his meal. Silence. That’s what he needed. Not emotion. Not conversation. Just absolute solitude and ocean air.
Amanda smiled kindly at each passerby, though her heart beat an anxious rhythm. She’d no desire to converse, though she might have considered her plan more efficiently when she’d decided to emerge from Crispin’s quarters. Avoiding an oncoming couple who strolled towards her arm and arm, she ducked into an alcove near the kitchen which served as a water store, the scent of warm food an entrancing beckon from the galley beyond.
‘Bella. How is it I’ve not made your acquaintance, il mio bel fiore?’
‘Pardon.’ Amanda darted a glance to the large gentleman who materialized from nowhere. She’d made an effort to skulk into the darkened alcove in an effort to avoid his notice, but the stranger had somehow tracked her manoeuvre.
‘My lovely flower.’ He bowed graciously and the area seemingly shrunk by degree, the man of such large stature. ‘Antonio Ferrisimo, Count of Este, at your humble service.’
‘Thank you.’ She swallowed a note of disappointment. Had she truly believed she could appear and go unnoticed, her yellow gown as conspicuous as one of her frequent mishaps? ‘I’m after a bite to eat.’
‘Allow me to escort you to the dining area.’
He offered his arm and she reluctantly placed her hand on his elbow. She couldn’t cause a scene and attract undue attention. She only wished for a breath of fresh air, a small meal and the opportunity to stretch her legs. Most passengers strolled the decks, read books or played games. Activities aboard the galleon were limited, conversation the most purposeful way to pass the time. And yet with Crispin’s sudden disappearance, she’d lost all means of preoccupation.
Except the memory of his kiss.
But she would not travel down that path now.
She needed to find a way out of conversation and back to safety, Crispin none the wiser. He hadn’t shirked responsibility. The basket of provisions came and went, and while she tried her best to thwart its delivery, on the watch, her ear to the door, she hadn’t once caught a glimpse of him or whoever achieved the chore time and again. When the first day passed without a visit from him, she assumed he too was affected by their embrace and perhaps needed a reflective respite. But she never expected it to stretch a week’s worth of days, her boredom and restlessness at unbearable limit. With desperation, she’d combed out her hair, freshened herself and emerged in a bit of daring.
Now that same feeling of vulnerability and out-of-depth adventure which plagued her in London caused her pulse to gallop. The count led her into the galley and she was immediately relieved to discover the room mostly empty, Crispin nowhere in sight.
The count paused at a table near midship starboard, beneath a great skylight, and she sat. Without a word, he left and returned faster than she could have imagined, his arms full with two plates and metal cups filled with beverage.
‘The food is not so terrible.’
He smiled and she relaxed. The handsome noble before her was likely as desperate for conversation as she. Not that she could provide much of either. She wondered if it was wise to offer her real name.
‘Thank you.’ She spared a slight smile, not wanting to encourage his attention. ‘I appreciate your help.’
‘It’s my honour.’ He stood abruptly, his expression alight with interest, his eyes frisky, as they bounded from one part of her anatomy to the next. ‘I must attend to something immediately, but if you would allow me to escort you on a walk abovedeck when you’re finished, I promise witty and engaging conversation. I haven’t visited England in many years. Perhaps you can spare some time to educate me in the most entertaining locations.’
She dragged her eyes away from the steaming meat and fresh fish waiting her attention on the platters. Her stomach growled with an urgent bid. Still, she matched his gaze and smiled. ‘That sounds lovely.’ It was an innocuous reply and she silently prayed for forgiveness. She purposely misled the count as she planned to return to Crispin’s quarters and be out of sight before Count Este sought her company.
He bowed again, his hand extended to take hers.
She put down her fork and answered his gesture. It was the least she could do, though his lingering kiss to her palm urged her to eat quickly.
And she did just that, proud of her accomplishment as she scuttled back to Crispin’s quarters, her belly full and spirits lifted.
Chapter Ten
Crispin cursed, a habit which had eroded his better vocabulary. Suspended from a rope hammock in Ferris’s room, he neither wished to walk the deck nor find distraction abovestairs. The more he strove to ignore Amanda, the more her memory permeated his brain. It was a sickness, one he must purge from his soul before arriving in London. At least he could wash his hands of her and any misplaced responsibility once the ship docked.
He wondered idly how she’d got on since he’d last seen her, and thus the memory of their kiss was quick to kick his pulse faster. He might have spent another miserable hour reliving the pressure of her mouth against his if Ferris hadn’t burst into the room.
‘I need you to leave.’
‘What?’ Crispin eyed his friend with confused scepticism. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Leave. Now. Velocemente. Go.’ Ferris moved to one of his trunks and flipped open the lid.
‘No. Why?’ Crispin swung his legs over the side of the hammock but made no other effort to get up. ‘I thought you missed my company.’
‘Not any more.’ Ferris clapped his hands. ‘Let’s go.’ Then he briskly removed his shirt.
‘What the devil?’ Forced to stand and contend with his friend, Crispin smirked as awareness dawned. ‘You need the room.’ His laughter bounced off the walls. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ He shook out his limbs and smoothed his hands down his sleeves in an effort to set his clothing to rights. ‘I suppose you’ve captured a mermaid.’ He grinned, all too knowledgeable of the count’s prowess.
‘Better. An English rose with fair, delicate features, long brown curls and green eyes that would make any mermaid jealous.’ He clapped again. ‘Now, out with you. I’ve plans and I don’t wish for complications.’
‘Don’t we all,’ Crispin chuckled. ‘And you consider yourself so irresistible you need use of your room?’
‘I do.’ Ferris chuckled. ‘Or at least, that’s my goal.’
‘You seem confident.’
‘I am.’ Ferris motioned for Crispin to hurry. ‘Women often want things they don’t know they want yet.’
‘Interest
ing theory.’ Crispin walked towards the door. ‘Then I’ll leave you.’
It proved a complicated balance to perpetuate the appearance he spent ample time in his own quarters, as would be expected, when it was, in fact, an illusion. Luckily, Ferris assumed Crispin preferred his company over solitude and hardly questioned his frequent appearance.
Now he was halfway up the stairs, aimed towards the bow to pass time watching the ship’s progress, when Ferris’s brief description of the lady registered with full force. Long brown curls? Green eyes? It couldn’t be.
She wouldn’t dare.
Would she?
Intrigued, annoyed and increasingly angry, he reversed direction and took the stairs by twos. He strode towards his assigned room, dragging a muddle of misplaced emotion. He wouldn’t knock, but he could stand sentry. If Amanda attempted escape or Ferris drew too close, he would intersect and prevent another calamity.
It was long overdue, but the tears struck without warning, the tightness in her chest almost too much to bear. She’d struggled to find success with a sponge bath, the ewer of water and shallow bowl makeshift bathing tools, but her hair was another battle altogether. While she was able to wet and soap the lengths, rinsing proved a formidable problem and she reclined on the mattress now, tired and frustrated, her damp hair seeping into the pillow without care as fresh tears blurred her vision.
She missed her father and sister. Even Enid’s opinionated advice would serve as balm to the loneliness she experienced, night after night, staring at the ceiling and wondering about her family and the grief she’d caused with her mindless blunder.
And then there was Crispin. A handsome lord and seemingly good man who’d kissed her senseless and then left her alone, confused and frustrated, with no way to discuss the liberties he’d taken.
No.
She’d given her kiss freely. She couldn’t lay that decision at his feet.
Her brief spell above deck today fulfilled her hunger, but dared dangerously close to discovery. The Count of Este seemed all too interested in her attention and, as she suspected and Crispin proposed, her sudden arrival in a bright yellow gown pulled notice quickly. Good thing she’d slipped away, belly contented, before he’d returned.
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