Patricia Potter (10 page)

He pushed back his chair. “Perhaps I could show you Nassau tomorrow,” he said to her.

Lauren looked toward Jeremy and Corin Jeremy nodded.

“I would like that,” she answered.

“Tomorrow at noon?” He was surprised at his own eagerness.

She nodded, startled by the anticipation the invitation caused to swell in the pit of her stomach. Anticipation and foreboding.

And fear.

CHAPTER 5

The small skiff skimmed through the water.

Lauren took turns between looking at the man at the tiller and the impossibly clear water that reflected every shade of blue and green. They were equally fascinating.

She had hesitated before agreeing to a short sailing trip around the island, but Jeremy and Corinne had both assented, saying no man was a better, or safer, sailor. Society on the island was more accepting than in many other places, and here a sail was no more eyebrow-raising than a daytime carriage ride. Besides, she was at an age where one could do what one wanted.

Lauren knew Jeremy had ulterior motives, even if Corinne didn’t. They were both, Lauren and Jeremy, doing exactly what was demanded of them.

But Lauren had decided she wasn’t going to think about that now. She was going to enjoy this brilliant day, and the glorious water that melded from aquamarine to turquoise to the deepest emerald. She felt she could reach down and touch the bottom of the ocean even when Adrian said it was twenty feet deep.

He was “Adrian” now, just as she was “Lauren.” She heard her name on his lips with a sense of sadness and regret. Somehow, it seemed to make him a friend. But how could he ever be that? How could he ever be anything other than an enemy?

Yet his touch still sparked new sensations, and her heart reeled crazily whenever she saw his reckless grin.

He had, this day, left Socrates with Johnny, the pilot, the only man, he said, who would tolerate the beast. He added, with that quick, devilish smile, that he wanted no chaperon that chattered incessantly.

Lauren, for her part, would have preferred the imp’s presence. She would have preferred anything other than being alone with a man she would be forced to betray. But now she refused to think of it, and merely took pleasure in the sun and the breeze and the lovely water, and the striking man who so confidently handled the sail and tiller.

There was something incredibly appealing about him, as he stood and moved so agilely among the sails. Once on the boat, he had given her an apologetic smile and pulled off some very polished black boots and stood happily, like a small boy, on bare feet. He was wearing a pair of snug trousers and a loose flowing shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, tanned arms. The wind whipped the thick chestnut hair, and the sun made it flame with reddish gold as he moved with quick elegance and grace, and occasionally threw her a glance of pure delight for a lovely day. He seemed nothing like an English lord, or, she corrected herself, as she had imagined one to look. Except, possibly, for that proud set of his chin and the attractive, precise speech that would always single him out.

Lauren tried not to look at him, to look instead at the depths of the sea, at the fish she could see, and the sand, and the rocks and the coral. She tried not to sense the restlessness that ruled his body or the runaway attraction that was ruling her mind.

She leaned back against the side of the boat, occasionally following his instructions to lean this way or that, without knowing exactly why but trusting him explicitly. Corinne had chosen this dress from her small wardrobe, and Lauren had protested at first but was now pleased. It was a dress she had purchased before her father’s death, an extravagance, but when she had seen the light green muslin material, she hadn’t been able to resist, and she had made the dress herself. Like all her clothes, it was modest in cut, but it seemed to float when she walked, and the dark green ribbons around the neckline made her eyes wider and deeper. She had not worn it since her father’s death nearly eight months earlier.

Lauren tried to tell herself that the flash of appreciation in Adrian’s eyes meant little to her, but in her heart she knew it meant a good deal. She had never really cared that much before, because she had never met a man who had really attracted her. She had, in fact, sometimes even questioned her womanliness. But now she knew it had just been lurking inside, ready to reveal itself at the worst possible time.

“Lean forward,” he said, and she did as the small craft turned, spraying cool water on her, and she felt like laughing with the pure joy of movement and warmth and beauty.

A beach spread out before her, a lovely wide white beach washed by aquamarine water. He guided the craft almost to water’s edge and lowered the anchor, jumping out with such loose grace that the movement appeared effortless. The water came to above his knees, but he seemed indifferent, as he held out his arms for her.

Lauren hesitated, remembering the effect of his touch as he had helped her into the boat earlier, but neither did she wish to ruin her favorite dress or seem childish. Nonsense, she scolded herself. She had already been in his arms twice in as many days—not exactly voluntarily, but there, nonetheless.

He grinned as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Only Socrates bites,” he said. “You’re safe with me.”

Lauren pretended to consider his words. “Somehow, I question that.”

“Now you know Jeremy and Corinne wouldn’t allow you to come with me if I weren’t completely honorable.”

“I’ve heard quite different stories about English lords,” Lauren countered.

“That’s all in the past,” he said, the smile spreading to his eyes. “Queen Victoria makes us behave these days.”

“All of you?”

“Every last one,” he promised, his lips twitching.

“And you always tell the truth?”

“Always,” he swore.

The tongue-in-cheek teasing was infectious, and she felt her own face crease into a smile as she surrendered and allowed him to carry her to the beach. She had never felt so naturally comfortable with a man, so at ease, even though she knew that was the last thing she should feel. There was no censure of her impertinence, no impatience of her outspoken questions and curiosity, and she knew that under any other circumstances she would enjoy every second of his company. It was odd, so very odd, and she had to force herself to think of Larry. She couldn’t allow herself to forget why she was here, to allow Adrian’s easy charm to divert her.

“A halfpence for your thoughts,” he said, as he set her down on sugary sand.

“You put little value on them,” she retorted.

“A pound then? You looked so serious, perhaps they are worth that vast sum.”

“A thought is only valuable to its possessor.”

“I think not,” he said, looking at her intently. “I believe your thoughts would be most interesting.”

“And yours?” she returned.

“Do you always answer a question with another question?”

“When I have no intention of answering.”

Adrian leaned back and laughed. “An honest woman.”

Lauren felt what was now becoming a familiar ache. “Is honesty so important to you?”

His face changed quickly, the smile and laughter gone, and hard lines taking their place as his eyes bored into hers. “Yes,” he said simply, and the ache in Lauren deepened. There was pain in that face now, something she hadn’t seen before, or expected.

But then the lines eased and the smile was back in place, and she wondered whether she had imagined pain at all.

He went back to the small sailing craft and returned with a basket and a rug, spreading the latter over the sand and then helping her down.

“What would you have done with the picnic if I’d said no?” she asked curiously. He had not broached the subject of a sail until he’d come to pick her up this morning.

“I would have found a shady tree someplace, but I did want you to see this water. There’s none like it in the world, not in England or Maryland or South Carolina.”

“And you’ve been all over the world?”

“Questions again? You should have been a solicitor.”

“You avoid as many as I ask.”

“No,” he denied. “But it’s very unfair. I’ll make you a bargain. If I answer one, then you must.”

She leaned back on her hands, which were firmly positioned in the sand. Her fingers curled around the grains that leaked from them, and she thought how fragile and tenuous they were. Like the truth.

“All right,” she said finally. “But I go first.”

“Agreed.”

“How does it feel to be a viscount?”

His smile faded a bit. “I haven’t been one very long,” he answered slowly, “and most of the time I’ve been out of the country.”

“At sea?”

“Aye,” he responded. “First with the English Navy, and then with a trader.”

“And you’ve sailed around the world?”

“Almost.”

“And what is the most beautiful place you’ve been?”

“England.” The answer came swiftly and as a surprise to Lauren.

“Then why do you leave it?”

“I think I’ve counted five questions,” he said. “And now I have one.”

She grimaced, but she couldn’t deny the bargain. “All right.”

His hand went up and brushed a honey-colored curl from the side of her face. “Why is such a lovely young lady alone?”

“There’s a war,” she replied simply.

“And before?”

“I … I took care of my father and brother.”

“And there’s no young man?”

“No,” she answered stiffly.

“I didn’t know Americans were such fools.”

Lauren took her eyes from his steady gaze and devastating smile. She almost felt as if he were reaching inside her, grabbing for something that should be hers alone. It had been a mistake, coming here with him. She had known it when she’d agreed, but she had thought she could keep her senses in control, that she could remember Larry and remain immune. But now her heart fluttered at his words, her blood moved faster, and her hands trembled where they hid in the sand.

“I’m considered,” she said at last, “a bit eccentric.”

“And why is that?”

“That’s your last question,” she said. “Now it’s my turn again.”

“But not until you answer. Why were you considered eccentric?”

“Because there was no one I wished to marry.”

“But I think that’s very wise of you, not eccentric.”

“I’ve always wanted to do things. A wife seldom can,” she observed. It was something she had never admitted, even to her father.

“What things?” The question was soft, even gentle.

I
wanted to be a doctor like them, like my father and my brother. Like my dead brother.
But that would be saying too much. “Perhaps sail to China.”

“It’s overrated,” Adrian said with a chuckle. “Five months on a ship can become very dull.”

“But you said you liked it.”

“Did I?” he asked, with an arched eyebrow, and she searched her memory for his exact words.

“Don’t you?”

“Still questioning, and it’s not even your turn.”

“I’ve lost count,” she said.

“Ah, and I thought you were honest.”

“Perhaps not always.”

His hand covered hers, and she felt heat radiating from it. She looked up and saw his eyes, eyes that were so impossibly deep, and that didn’t always smile when his mouth did. For a moment, there were no more bantering words. She knew, and knew that he did, that they were both protecting parts of themselves, that because of the very strength of the attraction between them they needed that protection. She knew her reasons. She wondered about his.

He rose and drew her up with him. “Come walk with me.

She stood and took several steps before her shoes filled with sand. She looked enviously at his bare feet.

“Take them off,” he suggested.

It was a highly improper suggestion, but being here at all was rather improper, she told herself. Indeed, everything she had done in the past few years had been improper: working in her father’s practice, going to Washington alone, and then sailing alone to England and Nassau. One improper step led very easily to the next, she was learning. And the sand did look very inviting. She had never seen any so powdery, so soft.

“I’ll help,” he said enticingly, and she knew consent was in her face if not in her words.

The last thing Lauren wanted was to feel his hands on her legs, her ankles. The light touch of his hand on her hand was dangerous enough. She looked longingly at the water and sand, and then at the skirts that covered her shoes. Longing warred with propriety, with worse than propriety, with a sense of sinking into quicksand.

She looked up. He was watching her internal war with fascinated relish, with a dare in his eyes and a challenge on his lips.

Devil take it, she finally decided, and sat down. In for a penny, in for a pound. Turning away from his amused eyes, she unbuttoned the black shoes and rolled down her silk stockings. Her toes automatically curled up in the sand, relishing the feel of it, and she experienced a sudden joyous freedom, as if she were a child again.