Adele Ashworth (6 page)

Earlier that day, immediately after setting foot on the ship, Jonathan had escorted her to her cabin without so much as a handful of words. The room was square and small, but pretty really, with a round window at the far end large enough to allow ample daylight to enter, covered with pale, gauze curtains for appearance rather than decency. To the right of the door sat a straight-backed chair made of polished mahogany and crushed burgundy velvet, a small nightstand and lamp, and next to it was a bed of adequate size, large enough for one to sleep comfortably, covered with a thick, rose-embroidered coverlet. To the left, running parallel to the wall and bolted to the floor, stood an oriental silk screen, discreetly enclosing a dressing and toilette area.

The cabin was perfect for her, and she made herself comfortable at once, taking time to unpack and settle in for her voyage as Jonathan, after ushering her inside, left her alone for nearly three hours, and had only returned a short time ago with a cold dinner of salmon mousse, cheese, bread, and fruit which they’d just finished in her room.

From this point on she would need to take care of all her needs since she’d brought no lady’s maid. Traveling without one was indecent, at least in this situation, although she prayed nobody would ask why she’d left England alone, unwed and unchaperoned. She would just keep to herself until they reached France, which was what he’d asked her to do anyway.

But now, comfortable at last and thrilled with the adventure ahead, her thoughts managed to stray constantly to her most handsome traveling companion, now standing quietly beside her on deck, peering out to the open water as well, not quite touching her, but there. She was sharply conscious of his presence, and he was probably well aware of it.

What satisfied her, though, was the growing knowledge that he would be a marvelous protector of her innocence while on their little trip. The man was large and imposing, probably formidable and intimidating when he chose to be, yet at the same time gentlemanly and gracious. That had been proven earlier that day when she’d arrived at the dock and he’d politely nodded to her, directing where her things were to be taken, offering her his arm and helping her board the ship with just his palm lightly clasping her fingers.

He’d paid for her passage, she assumed, since she had yet to give him money. But she would. She’d been saving every last penny of her allowance for two years now and she had plenty, divided wisely between her trunks, portmanteau, and reticule. She’d even hidden some beneath the soles and hollowed-out heels of a select number of her seven pairs of shoes, where her grandfather, and then her mother, were known to have carried money for emergencies. Natalie didn’t know who originally thought of stuffing money beneath one’s feet, but she supposed if one were to cross the ocean or foreign land and be put-upon by pirates or gypsies, the hiding place would serve its purpose excellently.

She felt Jonathan shift his body, moving slightly closer, and shyly she realized his gaze now fell on the side of her face, its warmth as stinging as the salty air.

“It’s time for discussion, Natalie.”

She knew he’d finally suggest a serious conversation. No need to draw attention to it, though. “A discussion?” she repeated coyly. “We’ve been talking all day—”

“Where does everybody think you are?” he interrupted, ignoring her evasion by coming directly to the point.

Nervously, she looked around. The deck had cleared of people as evening fell, although somewhere in the distance she heard laughter, the hearty laughter of a woman followed by the rumble of a man’s voice, words indistinguishable. It was then that she realized Jonathan Drake was her only connection to their homeland. They were now a team, like it or not, and they would need to rely on one another, although admittedly she more than he. She would also need to be a little more forthcoming.

“Natalie?”

Irritated, she turned to face him. He was watching her, smugly amused, and she wanted to snap at him. Every time he said her name it sounded like a silky caress, and she really wished he’d stop. But stop what? Speaking to her? That was silly.

She crossed her arms over her breasts—a useless gesture because she knew her traveling cloak, buttoned tightly against her, really only accentuated them. Already several times that day his eyes had strayed there, lingering inappropriately.

“Everybody thinks I’m visiting my great-aunt Regina in Newburn,” she revealed at last.

He cocked a brow and leaned his hip on the railing. “You don’t think your lies will be discovered eventually?”

“No. Aunt Regina is seventy-seven, and her mind doesn’t work very well. She’ll never remember whether I was there or not. And my parents will believe it without question when I tell them, upon their return from Italy, that I went there for a time to contemplate and decide upon whom I should marry.”

“You’ve planned everything very well,” he praised her after a moment of thought.

She smiled in satisfaction. “I think so.”

He lowered his voice. “And are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Contemplating someone real to marry,” he clarified.

She gazed up to him with a purposeful look of confusion. “You mean someone other than the Black Knight?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

She hugged herself against the cool sea breeze. “If you mean a conventional Englishman, no.” With a small, impish laugh, she added, “But my parents will believe it, and that’s what matters. They’re desperate to have me married, since, at nearly twenty-three, I’m a frequent topic of conversation at parties. I’ve turned four respectable gentlemen down in as many years. Lots of people find that, if not amusing, a bit strange.”

He waited again for a second or two, watching her closely. “What about Lord Richard Mydell or Geoffrey Blythe of Guildford?”

She grasped a stray curl blowing across her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Richard is a slob, and poor Geoffrey, sweet though he may be, has the personality of doornails. . . .” Her voice trailed off as she looked back to his face. He’d said the names almost distastefully, but what surprised her was his knowledge that both Richard and Geoffrey had asked her to marry them.

“How did you—”

“I know lots of things,” he intimated, dropping his voice to an indifferent whisper. He reached for the collar of her cloak and began stroking it with his thumb. “But what I can’t imagine is either one of them . . . kissing you to satisfaction, Natalie.”

Suddenly she was hot, unsettled from such an impertinent comment. Especially from him.

“But of course they’re both rich,” he continued matter-of-factly. “Little Richard even has a title, and those two things are usually what a woman wants most from a marriage.”

She firmly pulled back from him, and he dropped his hand. “Richard is half a foot taller than you. Hardly little.”

He grinned devilishly. “But sickly skinny. A man who would no doubt die of consumption or fever at an early age, leaving you with all the money—”

“I care nothing for riches in a husband,” she cut in, rubbing a palm across her forehead in irritation, unsure why she felt the need to defend herself.

“Really,” he stated, unconvinced. “Then what are you looking for in a husband, Natalie, sweet? What does the legendary Black Knight have that you could possibly want?”

He was teasing her, and she could scarcely be nasty to him with the almost tender way he approached the subject. But she didn’t want it to drag on for their entire trip abroad. She got enough pestering about it from her parents.

He stood silently next to her, waiting for an explanation, and since they were all alone on deck, she organized her thoughts and decided to confide in him, to get everything out in the open now so they could move on.

“About two years ago,” she began with a sigh, “I came to the conclusion that if I lived the life my mother wanted for me I would grow old and fat and bored, sitting around at teas, eating cakes and chocolates, chatting idly with other ladies about things like who wore what ghastly shade of red to which ball, and whose daughter suddenly needed to marry within the month to save her family disgrace.”

She tossed him a quick glance to see how he reacted to her words, but he held his tongue, expression neutral, giving her his full attention now in the quiet of growing nightfall.

“If you must know, Jonathan,” she carried on thoughtfully, “I’m not altogether good at embroidery, or gardening, or choosing the appropriate dessert for a menu, or any of the silly little things a lady of fine breeding is expected to do well or, at the very least, efficiently. That’s why my mother and I have been at odds with each other for so long. What my parents want from me is to settle down and have babies with someone boring who expects me to do the boring things I loathe.” She snorted with disgust. “My mother
adores
Geoffrey Blythe.”

“Go on,” he urged huskily.

She raised glowing eyes to his, leaning so close to him the warmth of his body touched her.

Fervently she whispered, “I want to
live
, Jonathan, to travel and see the world. I refuse to marry an average Englishman who will take me for granted, who will expect me to speak only when appropriate, entertain when necessary, and ignore his husbandly indiscretions. I am not a prize to be won and placed becomingly upon a shelf.”

Her voice grew with intensity as she fisted her hands at her chest for emphasis. “I want to be in
love
, I want to feel
passion
, like a . . . a fairy princess who meets an extraordinary, handsome prince and is swept off her feet by a tide of powerful emotion. I want to grow old with someone who wants me as a woman, as a person, not as a dutiful wife.”

She stood back, composing herself to add determinedly, “Money cannot buy life, Jonathan, and I refuse to waste mine in the desire to possess expensive trinkets my husband provides me to ignore his various childish follies. Even if I become poor as a beggar, I won’t settle for anything less than romance with friendship, and a marriage full of joy.”

As her voice trailed off to stillness, her face bright with excitement, or perhaps embarrassment at such an open admission, he wasn’t sure which, it occurred to Jonathan that she was going to be a good deal of trouble, indeed. He’d known that, in fact, the minute she walked up to him at the dock earlier that day, a dazzling smile parting her lips and her deliriously shaped body wrapped in a cloak that matched her brilliant eyes.

She was spellbinding, really, with creamy, glowing skin and thick, wavy hair the color of a summer evening sunset. And he knew she tried, if not to disguise her figure, at least to downplay it with plain clothing, but with that she thoroughly failed. Natalie Haislett was a frank and total beauty, with a mind of mischief and an adorable, charming character edged with innocence. And what the hell did he think he was doing, carting her along with him to France to meet the mythical Black Knight?

She had captivated him in his town house, he realized now, showing up unannounced, striking him down because she was again doing the unexpected, catching him off guard as she had nearly five years ago in her father’s garden. Both times she’d made him do the irrational from sweetly spoken words and a simple naive but candid look from her gorgeous, hazel-green eyes.

But the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. He could use her, he decided, although
using
wasn’t really a word he liked to describe his actions toward a woman, even in her ignorance.
Assisting
him was probably a better way of looking at it, as it had occurred to him during that same moment of irrationality in his town house that the emeralds he’d been sent to retrieve could very easily be hidden, without her awareness, in her things for transport back to England, if necessary. God knew she’d brought enough of them. And they would surely look magnificent dangling in all their priceless glory from her delicately carved throat if he so chose to indulge her.

Jonathan groaned softly, raking his fingers through his hair as he forced himself to gaze out to the open sea, frustrated with himself and his weaknesses, mostly his weakness for the female sex.

She straightened beside him and smoothed her breeze-blown curls into place inside the knot at the back of her head. “I’m sure you think my notions are ridiculous, sir, but I assure you—”

“I don’t think they’re ridiculous,” he cut in quietly, wiping his face with his palm in mild agitation. “I just—” He paused for a moment and tried again. “You think the Black Knight is going to fill all these idealistic needs for you? What if you don’t like him; what if he doesn’t like you? What are you going to do when you meet him and find him mean or . . . grotesquely ugly? What if he’s a slob like Mydell or boring like Blythe?” He looked back into her eyes. “You’re endangering your entire future on a fantasy.”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

“What’s impossible?” he returned brusquely.

Pursing her lips, she said flatly, “I’ve studied this man and his escapades for two years, Jonathan. I know he is dark, sophisticated, charming, intelligent, handsome, and he does good things to help people. There is also a rumor that he has blue eyes, which, as it happens, I like most in a man.” She dropped her lashes, as if suddenly realizing she was disclosing too much.

“You’ve got nice, romantic notions,” he murmured thickly after several seconds of silence. “But adventure and eye color are no reasons to risk—”

“I didn’t say I would marry him
because
he has blue eyes,” she interrupted, glancing back to his face.

Jonathan knew he was aggravating her, but he refused to soften his approach simply to be tactful with her female sensibilities. These things needed to be said now. “You don’t understand,” he stressed. “I’m talking about your reputation, Natalie. If it’s discovered you’ve left for the Continent with me, you’ll be socially ruined, and for life. Have you considered that?”

Those words hung in the air like a dark, menacing thundercloud. He continued to stare down at her from only a foot away, taking note of the crease of perplexing contemplation on her brow; of her shining hair; her long, silky brown lashes; her soft, slightly parted, pink lips, perfectly shaped and lusciously alluring. She had evidently come to a conclusion that day as to the nature of their relationship on this voyage, for she found him neither threatening nor tiresome, but more of a companion. Almost brotherly. Presenting himself as her brother would never be believed by anyone, however, and just knowing that made him gloat inside. He would enjoy the next hour, even the rest of the night, immensely. He was about to clear up perfectly, with no uncertainty, exactly what their relationship was to be. And he had to do it before she pressed him to leave her and go to a room he didn’t actually have.