Читать книгу Rake Most Likely To Sin - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Safe was the first word that sprang to mind as Brennan manoeuvred them on to the crowded dance floor. Patra Tsipiras was safe. She expected nothing from him beyond the moment because she, too, had been looking for an escape. He’d seen it in her eyes when their gazes had brushed. They took up their positions. He fitted his hand to her waist. She placed hers on his upper arm and Brennan leaned in, breathing the comforting scents of lavender and sage. He flashed her a cheeky grin. ‘Be warned, I mean to change your mind.’

‘About what?’ She laughed up at him, her dark eyes sparking as they considered him, and Brennan had the distinct impression she was flirting, a realisation that took him somewhat by surprise. She was a sober sort in the market. He couldn’t recall ever having seen her smile.

The music began and Brennan took them into the first steps of a fast country gallop, his eyes never leaving hers. He might have been unprepared for her bold response, but by Jove he would answer it with boldness of his own. He called her out with a friendly wink and a smile. ‘You don’t want to be here.’

She blushed at the truth, but her gaze held as he took them through a fast turn. ‘Was it that obvious?’ She laughed again, this time a little breathless, her hair starting to fall in a becoming caramel spill that softened the angles of her face.

Brennan’s smile broadened. ‘Not as obvious as shoving baklava under a bush.’

‘Oh, no, you saw!’ She groaned with good humour.

‘Don’t you like baklava?’ Brennan joked.

‘Not three plates of it.’ She laughed again and he swung her through a turn that left her gasping. If there was one thing he was good at, it was dancing. Actually, there were two things he was good at. One usually led to the other, although it wouldn’t tonight. Patra Tsipiras was safe, he reminded himself. She was a quiet widow devoted to her late husband’s memory. But he was having a hard time reconciling what he knew to the woman in his arms.

There was nothing quiet about this woman, everything about her was alive—her eyes, her body, her throaty laughter—and it spurred him on. He took the turns hard to feel her body come against his, he cut a sharp pattern through the centre of the dancers, dragging her close to do it and she matched him step for step, a live, burning, beautiful flame.

How had he not noticed before, all those days in the fish market? How had he not seen the dark fire of her eyes? Not heard the innate sensuality of her laugh? Not felt the thrum of life that emanated from her? Probably because he hadn’t been looking and she hadn’t made it easy. There’d been no reason for either of them to have done otherwise. But tonight was different. Tonight, they needed each other.

The dance ended, the musicians flowing into a reel he loved. Patra turned to go. He saw her hesitate when he made no move to escort her from the floor. Brennan closed a hand about her wrist, his voice low and insistent. ‘One more dance, Patra. Please.’ He didn’t wait for an answer, merely moved them into position and let her happen to him all over again.

‘We’d better stop at two,’ Patra suggested, breathing hard at the end of the reel, the voice of wisdom when he would have stayed on the floor with her. This wasn’t London, after all, and there was no hard-and-fast rule about a two-dance limit. ‘I think we can safely assume you’ve satisfied authenticity’s needs.’

Probably more than satisfied it. He might have exceeded it, if the looks Katerina Stefanos was directing his way were any indicator. Patra noticed it. ‘Katerina doesn’t look pleased. Perhaps you’d better go back and reassure her of your affections.’

Brennan shook his head, adrenaline still fuelling him. ‘How could I do that when you’ve asked me to escort you home?’ It was a bold gambit. They had not spoken of such plans. Would she refuse? Would she think leaving with him stirred a larger scandal than staying? But she was caught up in the euphoria of the dance, too.

‘Oh, I have, have I?’

Brennan pulled a mockingly serious face. ‘You have, most definitely. There’s a rock in your shoe that is wreaking havoc with your foot.’

She arched incredulous dark brows. ‘A rock? How about we settle for a pebble?’ Then she added with a sly smile, ‘for authenticity’s sake of course.’

For her part, Patra did a credible job manufacturing a slight limp while Brennan made their excuses to Konstantine. They were under way within minutes. There was no drama in slipping off, no covertly delivered messages with complicated instructions for a private meeting. He’d simply left with her.

Safe was turning into fun. So much fun, in fact, Brennan was in no hurry to see the evening end. Who would have thought the small event of strolling down a dirt road, Patra’s arm tucked loosely through his, could be so enjoyable? Overhead the stars were out, even brighter now that they were away from the party lights. Brennan knew exactly where he wanted to go. They’d reached a fork in the path, the left leading up a hill towards one of his favourite places. The right led to her home, although he’d never been there. It was something everyone in a small town knew. Everyone knew where everyone lived. If he took her there, it would lead to the end of the evening. Patra turned to the right. He made no attempt to follow her or to release her arm. It was decision time.

She tossed him a quizzical look, her eyes dropping to the light grip he had on her arm. ‘I can see myself on from here.’

‘Do you want to go home?’ Brennan let his eyes scan her face, let them linger on her eyes, looking for truth. He held up his other hand, revealing the prize he carried. He had grabbed it off a table as they’d left the party. ‘I’ve got a bottle of wine and the view at the top of the hill is spectacular.’ He grinned. ‘So, let me ask you again. Do you really want to go home?’

The question wasn’t meant to be difficult. She should want that, just as Patra knew what the right answer was: yes. She wanted to go home, wanted to be alone. That had been her original intent. She’d fulfilled her end of the bargain. She’d rescued him from Katerina’s possessive clutches. She had every right to claim her escape, and yet, that smile of his and those eyes on her face were the undoing of her. She wasn’t naïve. She knew what he wanted, what all young men wanted. She’d be a liar if she didn’t admit to being at least a little flattered he wanted some of her attention. She’d be a liar, too, if she didn’t admit her attraction to him. It was hard to be alone even when there was no other choice and she’d been alone so very long. She’d been good for oh, so very long, too—not calling attention to herself, living quietly on the edges of society in all ways, encouraging no one to take an interest in her. Now, here he was; tempting her with his good looks and his superb dancing. He tempted her with more than that. He was fun and he was kind. Those qualities were far more important than looks, she’d learned. Looks could be deceiving. Actions less so. She’d noticed tonight how he’d not wanted to embarrass Katerina and he would not force his attentions where they were not wanted. He was giving her the choice to climb the hill.

Or not. If she said no, he’d escort her home, wine unopened, view unseen. Kisses untasted, bodies untried. The last part rose unbidden in her mind. He might be willing to push those boundaries, but she was not. If she went up that hill, she needed some rules in place with herself. She was not kissing this bold English adventurer who had probably kissed half of Europe on his journey here. All right, no kissing. Other than that, why not? Why not climb that hill and look at the stars. Temptation beckoned. Surely one night would be safe enough. Who would know? Who would tell? And the Englishman wouldn’t be here for ever. If the matchmakers in the village didn’t take care of that, his own nature would. He was perfectly safe as long as it was just one night.

Patra cocked her head to one side, giving the impression of serious consideration. ‘You said you have wine?’

Brennan shook the bottle. ‘Are you in?’ He held out his hand. ‘Come on. It will be worth it, I promise.’

* * *

It had better be, Patra groused halfway up. The hill was steeper than she’d anticipated and dancing shoes weren’t ideal for climbing in the dark. If she hadn’t had a real pebble in her shoe when they’d left the dance, she most likely did now. Brennan reached out a hand for her and she gladly took it.

‘How are you doing? We’re almost there.’ She could hear the smile in his words, feel his enthusiasm, as he offered her encouragement. It struck her then that Brennan Carr was a little bit impetuous. People didn’t simply, spontaneously, climb hills in the dark. No, he wasn’t just a ‘little bit’ impetuous. She’d wager he was a lot impetuous. If he lived like he danced, he was probably in the habit of throwing himself headlong into adventure after adventure without thinking about the consequences until it was too late, like he had with Katerina Stefanos. What had started out as fun had quickly turned into something more serious.

Oh, this was bad, she didn’t want to be curious about him. Curiosity led to questions and questions led to answers and answers to familiarity. The less she knew about him, the better for them both.

The ground smoothed out and the shrubbery gave way, the path expanding to a wide, flat area. Brennan gave an exultant crow, ‘We made it! Just look at that!’

She had to concede the view was spectacular, well worth every pebble in her shoes. The sky seemed close enough to touch, the stars near enough to pluck with her fingers, while down below, she could make out the dark shape of boats bobbing in the harbour and the faint glow from Konstantine’s party. Down there, the crowd would be noisy, but up here, it was quiet and peaceful. There was no music other than the crickets and the night birds. Behind her, she could hear Brennan rustling in the bushes.

‘Here it is,’ he announced, pulling out a blanket. He shook it free of little pieces of twigs and dried leaves before spreading it on the hill. He patted the spot beside him. ‘Come and sit, Patra, and enjoy our view.’

She sat and he worked the cork loose on the bottle, pulling it the last bit of the way with his teeth. ‘I don’t suppose you have any glasses under a bush, too?’ she teased.

He gave a perplexed glance. ‘No, why would I?’

Patra shrugged, feeling silly for having asked. ‘I just thought, since you were so prepared...’

He grinned, unfazed by her implication. ‘I come up here almost every night to watch the sunset and sometimes to think.’ He jostled her with a friendly elbow. ‘You’re surprised. You thought I brought girls up here all the time.’ He passed her the bottle, letting her drink first. ‘You’re the only one and I wasn’t even sure you would come. It seemed presumptuous of me to bring glasses.’

‘Maybe you say that to all the girls,’ she pressed, testing only partly in jest. There wasn’t a girl in the village who wouldn’t climb this hill with him.

‘Well, I don’t.’ Brennan gave her a firm look. ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’ She’d like to, Patra realised. She supposed it was the inviting openness of his face. Women probably confided in him all the time. It had been a long time since she’d trusted anyone, confided in anyone. Her secrets were too dark for that. There was no one she could tell, no one she could burden with the evil that hovered on the fringes of her life. But hope hovered on those fringes, too. Maybe the evil was gone now. It had been four years since Castor Apollonius had last pressed his wicked suit. Perhaps this time he was gone for good, finally convinced she would never be his. Maybe, she could risk just a little.

‘Can you do without them? The glasses?’ Brennan asked.

During the war, she’d done without a lot more than glasses. Patra shot him a daring look and tipped the bottle back, taking a deep swallow of the rich red wine, feeling adventurous and decadent—for a moment, free. The wine tasted good after the dancing and the climbing. She passed the bottle back, watching him drink deeply and run his sleeve around the rim before giving it back.

Brennan stretched out, propping his head on one arm as he pointed to the sky. ‘Tell me what you know about the stars. There’s Cassiopeia, there’s Orion’s Belt.’ He gestured to the familiar arrangements.

‘There’s Gemini, the twins, there’s Draco,’ Patra added, scanning the sky. It was better to focus on the stars than to think too much about the very masculine body stretched out beside her in a pose of rather shocking familiarity, as if they were old friends or something more, two people used to one another’s bodies instead of strangers who had shared a dance and an escape. But he was not at all concerned about the intimacy of his pose or their proximity to one another.

‘You know a lot of them. I’m impressed.’ Brennan’s gaze shifted from the stars to her and she met his eyes, a most dangerous challenge.

‘When you grow up around boats and sailors you learn the stars early. Can’t afford not to.’ She reached for the bottle.

‘Have you lived here all your life?’ Brennan’s tone was soft, his fingers gentle as they closed around hers, taking back the bottle.

‘All of my married life. Kardamyli is my husband’s home. I came here as his bride.’ As an innocent eighteen-year-old, flushed with love, looking forward to the life she and Dimitri would make in his town. She did not volunteer where she was from. It would make for more questions. Did she miss her home? Did she ever think of going back there? Did she have family? Those answers dug up memories she didn’t want tonight, reminders of all she’d lost instead of focusing on all that she still had. ‘What about you? Where do you live?’ Perhaps if he talked about himself, he’d be less inclined to want to talk about her.

‘I’m from a place called Sussex, south-east of London.’ He seemed reluctant to say more. She understood. Places carried memories. She hadn’t meant to pry, only to distract. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t like to talk about it.’

Brennan shook his head. ‘No, it’s just that I’ve been gone for two years. It doesn’t seem like I’m from there any more. I’ve been travelling with friends. We’ve seen a lot of places and now I suppose I feel a little rootless.’

She’d not heard of the friends before. ‘Where are your friends now? Will they be joining you?’

‘No.’ Brennan chuckled, his eyes starting to spark again. ‘The funny thing is, they all got married. Haviland married in Paris, Archer in Siena and Nolan in Verona, although Nolan met his bride in Venice. They all asked me to stay with them, but I just wanted to keep moving.’

Patra played with the fringe of the blanket, twisting it between her fingers, daring herself to ask more personal questions, daring herself to satisfy her selfish curiosity. ‘So here you are. Kardamyli isn’t exactly a tourist destination.’

Brennan shrugged again, unbothered by her probing. How wonderful to be such an open book. ‘I like it here, though. I like being some place where there’s no other Englishmen, no one who might know me. Here, I can just be me.’ He let out a sound that was half groan, half laugh as if he was remembering something unpleasant. ‘You should have seen Rome. It was crawling with English. I could go days without seeing any Italians. It was awful.’

She laughed with him because his laughter was infectious and his stories heartfelt. One couldn’t help but be taken in by his sincerity. He was different than her, his life was different. He’d seen so much of the world while she had seen Kardamyli and the town she’d been born in. To her, the fifteen-mile journey between her town and Dimitri’s had been significant, important.

He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘If I wanted to see Englishmen, I would have stayed home.’

‘I wouldn’t know, I haven’t been more than twenty miles from here my entire life,’ Patra said softly. The disparity in their ages seemed to flip. She was thirty-five and yet, in some ways, she lacked his worldly experiences.

He considered her for a long moment, his eyes quieting, his gaze turning serious. His smile faded to be replaced by a small, almost rueful grin. His hand came up to stroke her hair, to cup her cheek. All she had to do was turn her head and kiss his palm. That was the wine talking. The bottle was nearly empty now and she knew she’d been responsible for a significant portion of it. If she kissed his palm, it would invite other kisses, kisses she’d promised herself to avoid.

His voice was soft when he spoke, too. ‘That’s a good sign. You mustn’t have anything to run from.’

How she wanted to argue! It wasn’t true. She had plenty to run from: memories of Dimitri, memories of the war, memories of the man who’d led Dimitri and other patriots to their deaths, who’d coaxed her into believing such sacrifice was worth it. But to argue would mean she’d have to prove it, she’d have to tell her stories, to expose herself.

Brennan tugged at her hand. ‘Come...lie down, Patra.’ And she did, because it was the lesser of two evils to lie down beside him and stare at the skies than to let the evening be overrun with memories of things she couldn’t change and people she couldn’t save.

‘What do you have to run from?’ She stretched out beside him, matching his pose, her head resting on her hand. She had not been this close to a man in ages, certainly not such a virile one.

‘Everything. Nothing.’ His blue eyes flirted with her quietly, the night and the stars adding their own layers of intimacy to this impetuous wine picnic. He would be intoxicating even without the drink. She had to be careful. She hadn’t broken her rule...yet, but she was dancing close to the fire. She was recognising in hindsight there were probably other promises she should have made herself. Don’t lie down with a man you don’t know, don’t stare at the stars with him and absolutely don’t drink wine with him.

‘There was no reason to stay in England, or Paris, or Venice, or Milan, or Siena.’ Brennan’s hand stroked her hair, pushing a strand behind her ear. It was becoming far too easy to let him touch her. It felt far too good.

‘And Kardamyli?’ The words were out of her mouth before she could think better of them. Reasons to stay were dangerous.

‘We’ll see. I like it here.’ The implied but hovered in the air. Oh, he was smooth, he knew all the right things to say: If a woman would give me a reason to stay, I might consider it. No wonder Katerina Stefanos had fallen for him. He could certainly bait a hook.

She decided to give him a dose of reality, and perhaps a dose for herself, too—a reminder that he was not for her...that she was merely looking for an escape from her friends’ well-meaning efforts. ‘There may be conditions placed on your ability to stay.’ Like taking a wife.

He merely gave one his shrugs, unconcerned about future consequences. ‘You’ve managed to remain unattached. I am sure I will, too. Maybe that’s something we could work on together.’ His hand drifted to the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair, cradling it as he had done her cheek. His eyes dropped to her lips, his head angled slowly in fair warning, giving her time to choose her response and then he made his move, closing the gap between them with swift confidence, his mouth moving fast and sure over hers.