Читать книгу Safe in the Earl's Arms - Liz Tyner - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Melina rushed to keep up with Warrington’s long strides. As she reached the first bend in the path, her satchel strap slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. The weight pulled at her arm, but she kept the stone cradled. The bag bumped against her leg, slowing her pace.

She paused and he immediately stopped and turned to her. He’d been as aware of her footsteps as his own.

Warrington reached a hand out to her, gesturing for the bag, and she met his eyes. Reassured, she hefted the rock in one hand and let the errant strap slip into her grasp. He took the weight from her, tossing the leather sling over his shoulder.

Muffled tones reached her ears. She focused on the sounds. Two men talked as they moved towards the path. Her heart thudded when she recognised the voice of Stephanos, the man who planned to wed her. He was moving in their direction. A few more steps and he would see them. She’d be trapped.

‘Skase,’ she whispered, and then remembered her English. ‘Quiet.’

Warrington studied her, but gave a small lift of his chin in agreement.

She brushed past him, nodding for him to follow her. Snaking through the gnarled trees, she ran towards a knoll that rose just enough that they couldn’t be seen from the path.

She reached the hiding place and pulled him beside her, hoping they would not be seen. Listening, she realised the men no longer talked. Stephanos and the other man were silent—unmoving.

Fear crept into her body, clutching at her insides. If Stephanos saw her with Warrington, the Greek would not ask any questions, but would find his own answers. Stephanos and his friends always carried knives and they were skilled with them.

After a few moments of nothing, she heard the word, gida, and relaxed. Goat.

The men continued on. She heard their voices fading away and her breathing returned to normal. Warrington put a hand on her shoulder, the warm grasp somehow reassuring. He tugged her around to him and put his face so near hers that the breath of his whisper touched her cheek. He didn’t release her, but his grip was soft.

‘Have you stolen the stone?’ he asked, words quiet, creating a haven around her.

She would have confessed all if she’d done wrong. ‘No. The man who owns the land where I found the treasure knows what I have planned. We are in agreement and he has said he’ll keep my secret. I trust him.’

Just the gentlest touch of his hand again, moving over the crest of her shoulder and the merest bit down her back, and the waiting look in his eyes, trapped her in an intriguing web and she could not stop her words. ‘When they are sure I am safely gone a long distance, my sisters are to say I’ve been forced away by a man from a ship.’

His eyes widened and he stepped back as if she’d prodded him away with a burning stick.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed the distance between them, stopping almost against him. She could not risk him raising his voice.

‘You must understand our reasons,’ she said quietly. ‘No one will know who you are. My sisters will not describe the true person.’

He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and she could tell he meant to leave her there and go on his way.

‘No,’ she whispered, closing her fingers over his roughened hand, preventing him from giving her the bag. His knuckles were large in her grasp, startling her, and she knew she didn’t keep them closed by her strength any more than she caused the tides. Confusion flashed behind his eyes and something whispered in her that she had trapped his hand—that he could no more move his fingers than if their grasps had been reversed and his strength held her.

She could not lose her advantage. ‘I am not a thief. I merely wish to get to the British Museum and find out what my treasure is worth. Then I will be able to sell it.’

‘But kidnapped?’ He remained with his face almost at hers. ‘That’s a bit much.’

She closed her lips and let her breath out through her nose before she answered, ‘I have no choice.’

‘I do.’ He kept his words tight and lines appeared at the sides of his eyes and mouth. ‘I am not at ease with purchasing a woman and I certainly wouldn’t steal one.’

The words pleased her, yet they were not what she wanted to hear.

She had to convince him. She held his gaze with her own. ‘It is necessary. My sisters can’t be hurt by my actions. The man who rules the island would be enraged at them if he thought they had helped me leave and did not search him out to keep me. They would suffer. They could be starved, or beaten, or forced into marriage or worse. I cannot escape and leave them behind to face torture.’

She felt his movement and looked down to her hand. She’d tightened her grip on his fingers. He slowly slid his hand from hers.

‘You’re leaving behind a man.’ His words were thoughtful.

She had to make him understand. ‘Our land doesn’t support my sisters. The rocks only grow more rocks. I care nothing for the man who wishes to marry me, yet his mother often sees that we have food. If I stay, I will have no choice but to wed him. She wishes for it. So does he. He is powerful.’

Stephanos controlled the island and did so easily. But he had other secrets. He often left the island and returned with goods. One of his shirts was mottled with faded brown stains. Blood.

She could barely keep the kindness in her words when Stephanos called on her and she had to speak to him. Perhaps, as the others whispered, she truly had been tainted by her English heritage.

‘I have promised myself to no one,’ she said.

Warrington shut his eyes.

She put her palm flat on his chest. When his lids fluttered up, she could feel the change in his gaze. She wouldn’t beg, or ask again. She didn’t think she needed to.

He spoke harshly under his breath—the words directed at himself.

His hand closed at her elbow and he turned away, again taking the lead, only this time, his steps were careful and he watched the wooded areas around them.

She followed, knowing her sisters depended on her and she risked her life to be able to save them. But it wasn’t a choice. It was what she had to do. She was the eldest and that meant sacrifice. If she died at sea, or at the hands of a stranger, then she would know she did it for her family. Her mother’s last words to her had been Take care of your sisters.

* * *

Warrington forced himself not to stare at Melina. They stood hidden among the cragged rocks, watching the longboat and waiting for the sailors to return. The hem of her head covering fluttered in the wind and kept calling his attention to her.

He wished he could see her chest again. Her birthmark did have an interesting curve to it. He remembered the child’s game of imagining wisps of a cloud as objects and tried to recall the exact shape the mark formed.

He heard the first mate’s voice before he saw him emerging from the road. Once the men reached the longboat, he hurried Melina to them.

‘You ready to heave to?’ Gidley gaped at the woman even as he directed the words at Warrington.

‘Yes,’ Warrington snapped. ‘Hurry.’

Gidley’s voice became butler formal. ‘Will his lordship be having a guest?’

‘Launch the damn longboat.’

Gidley put his forefinger to his lips in a silencing motion and then lowered his hand. He mouthed the word lady.

Warrington mouthed back words for Gidley that neither would repeat in front of the woman. The other seamen beamed as if enjoying a particularly good scene at Drury Lane Theatre.

‘Yes, yer lordship.’ Gidley helped the others push the boat into the waves, then scrambled into the boat, and took the seat in front of her, facing the woman. Warrington made a forceful circular motion with his hand, commanding Gidley to twist around. Gidley’s eyelashes gave an innocent blink as he looked at Warrington, then gazed back at the woman, giving a bow of his head as acknowledgement, and turned in his seat. ‘Beautiful day for bein’ at sea.’ He spoke to no one in particular.

Warrington stepped over the side and took the empty plank beside Melina. His shoulder brushed hers. He thought he detected the scent of rosemary about her, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what the herb would smell like.

The other men thumped into the boat, voicing polite comments on the calmness of the sea and the beauty of the island as if speaking in front of their grandmothers. Gidley continued his teatime reminisces as the men rowed, recounting with the other seamen the polite sights they’d seen in their travels.

Warrington shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea where these dainty men came from.

‘Correct, yer lordship?’ Gidley asked.

‘Most certainly, my dear,’ Warrington answered. He heard a smothered snort from someone else, followed by a coughing attempt to disguise the sound into politeness.

Melina gathered the bundle closer. He hated that she felt discomfort.

Warrington kept his voice calm. ‘The next one of you who makes a sound before we board is going to let the rest of the crew watch him swimming around Ascalon and the first seaman who can bounce a biscuit off the swimmer’s head can give him orders until we’re home.’

Silence followed, except for the rhythmic sound of oars slapping the water.

Her shoulders relaxed and he wished he could retrace his steps. Bringing her on to the longboat had been foolish and she was the one being misled. He’d let himself be blinded by a little spot of skin and now she was on a longboat for no reason. They both should have stayed home.

He didn’t feel he’d had the option, though. The Foreign Office knew of his ship and had asked him for help. The trip had been a worthwhile diplomatic mission, in that he could tell them the Greeks still planned to rebel against the Ottoman rule. He didn’t know if the Turks suspected or not, but he had the information he’d been sent for.

When the boat tapped against the hull of the Ascalon, the men tied the longboat. The men closest to the ladder left first. Then Warrington or Melina would go on deck.

Melina stood and didn’t move forward, still holding her bundle and her satchel strap draped over her arm.

He touched the small of her back and she turned to him. He reached forward, taking the sculpture. ‘I’ll get it on deck. If you dropped it into the sea going up the ladder, we’d never get it back.’

She released the bundle and gave her shawl and scarf each a quick knot. She picked her way to the ladder, lifting her skirts to step over the seat in front of them. A simple, everyday movement. His mouth went dry. The image of her legs sealed itself around him. His imagination began to fill in the rest of her body while his mind generously unclothed her. Long limbs, smooth, and welcoming.

He brought himself back to the moment and saw her at the ladder, staring at the ropes.

‘Just go up as if you’ve done it every day, quick, and don’t stop.’

She took a few deep breaths, pulled at the waistband of her skirt, trying to keep the fabric away from her feet, and grabbed both sides of the ladder. She snatched the hemp in a stranglehold and moved upwards. Arms reached out to help her on board.

And now he held her parcel. He couldn’t risk dropping the rock.

Warrington looked up and called out to the man who stood at the side. ‘Toss me the end of a rope. I need you to haul something up for me.’

In seconds, a rope dropped at his feet and Warrington bound the end around the package. ‘Pull it up,’ he shouted and the arm went aboard ship. He shook his head at the waste of effort. The rock would be returning to the island soon.

The men were good sailors, but not a one of them was of the clergy and it would take at least that to ignore the woman. He’d send a decent crewman back with her to escort her home safely. No, he’d have to make do with a well-threatened one. All the decent ones were on other ships.

Stepping on deck, he saw the men assembled as if Ben demanded them for a meeting, but he knew the captain did no such thing. The cook sat on an overturned bucket and the cabin boy tangled himself in the rigging like a prisoner in stocks, waiting to hear what was said.

Warrington saw Ben’s stare. ‘You brought a woman because—’ Ben spoke, hands on his hips.

Melina stood, her scarf still knotted tightly and her jaw firm, and stared at Ben. Ben was getting sized up from the tip of his pointy nose to the last thread in his canvas trousers.

Warrington edged just to the side between them so he could see each face. He confronted his younger brother. ‘Since I am not the captain and do not have authority as such on this ship, she asked to talk to you.’

Ben didn’t speak, but his eyes darted up to the heavens in a disgusted manner.

‘Explain your request to the captain.’ Warrington spoke to Melina and clasped his hands behind his back. He leaned towards her, challenging them both.

She looked at Ben as if she stared across a battlefield and saw him as a target in front of her, then took a gentle breath—so small to be almost invisible. But the movement signalled a change in her.

Her shoulders dropped no more than a hair. She didn’t move her feet forward, but she swayed with the movement of the ship. Warrington was certain she leaned towards Ben as the ship moved and when it rocked back, he did not see her retreat. He locked his jaw and forced himself not to step between them or pull her back.

‘I wish taxidi—to travel to England.’ Her voice became lower—her accent turning into a siren’s husky whisper. Her hands reached to grasp the tied ends of her shawl and pull the knot free. ‘I have an agreement with this man.’ She spared a glance at Warrington.

Warrington commanded himself to remain still. Her voice dripped into him like warm pebbles of desire, bringing back the image of her legs and the spot at her breast. Perhaps he would take her back to her home and work out a true bargain there. The longboat could return him to the ship in the morning. He struggled to attend to the words of the conversation, making his plans for the night.

She reached up and pulled her scarf from her head, sliding the cloth away from her face, and the movements also caused the shawl to drop completely from her shoulders. Warrington watched two seamen collide in their haste to return the garment to her.

Ben’s expression glazed over. When Warrington saw that, his eyes followed his brother’s gaze.

Warrington stared, his mind not working. The scarf had kept drifting across her face before. He hadn’t truly looked beyond the spot on her breast.

Her eyes, he knew they were brown. And her lips red. And her nose, a normal nose. But somehow the arrangement of them and the curve of her chin, and dusts of her hair falling loose from her bun, swirled themselves around her in such a way as to bring them all into a delight for a man’s senses.

And that was before even looking lower to a mark that peeked out from the bodice, making one wonder what lay beneath—or making one fill in the imagination of what lay beneath in a stirring way.

‘You are in agreement,’ Melina said.

‘I would prefer not having a woman aboard...’ Ben’s voice sounded as a kindly father’s ‘...but since we can accommodate you with little effort I’ll allow it.’ Ben touched a flat palm to his chest. ‘I, of course, will be happy to share my quarters with you to make sure you are—’

Warrington knew too much of his brother’s life. Snaking an arm around Melina, Warrington pulled her close, sweat forming at his temples. ‘She and I have already discussed...the particulars. She will travel with me.’

‘Oh?’ Ben challenged, lowering his palm from his shirt. ‘I—’

‘Yes,’ Warrington said, feeling her brushing the length of his side. ‘We have discussed it. I will handle any expense she might incur. She will share my quarters.’ He levelled a glare at his brother. ‘I believe you mentioned that it might be best for me to have a woman’s company.’

‘Should lessen your growls to snarls, I hope.’ Ben smiled as he spoke. He looked at Melina. ‘If you could do that, miss, the entire ship will be grateful.’

Warrington could feel her hip through her skirts, pressed at his thigh, and smell the spiced scent again, which hinted at mystical pleasures. He felt nothing like growling.

He pushed the thoughts away and loosened his grip. Any tighter and he feared she would be gasping for breath. As it was, he felt on the edge of it and she seemed to have lost her words.

The captain looked at Melina. ‘Are you willing to sail this very night?’

She nodded.

Ben turned to Warrington. ‘While you lolled around on the island, the repairs ended. The wind is perfect, and the tide right. We can be at sea as the light fades. Show her your cabin, then get to the foredeck and give a hand.’

Warrington leaned his head towards Ben and spoke in a low voice. ‘Helping on deck is not what I had in mind.’

Ben smiled. ‘See the tears on my face.’ He turned and walked away, his boots clattering on the deck louder than before. With every step he shouted a new order to get ready to sail.

Melina whipped the shawl back around her shoulders. She took the parcel from the man who’d lifted it on board.

‘Follow me,’ Warrington said to her.

His berth was in the foredeck. The captain and the first mate had quarters in the aft deck, close to the wheel.

Warrington led Melina to his cabin, opening the door, which barely swung wide enough for his shoulders. He stepped back, letting her inside. He remained in the doorway and saw her survey the surroundings.

‘Take the bunk,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll get some other bedding.’

The hesitancy in her movements made him want to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He stood immobile, looking into the cabin. Everything appeared differently to him than when he’d first decided he would sail. Then, he’d seen the surroundings as an efficient use of space. Now he was not impressed to stand in the centre and be able to touch both walls.

The berth took no more room than for a man to lie on, with storage above, and below an open cabinet with a railing around it to keep supplies from escaping and a brace midway.

He could not sit upright on the bed and felt he slept in a casket for a man of slight build. He had a chair cinched to the wall and his sea chest sat underneath a table. He had floor space slightly larger than the length and width of his bed.

‘Are you certain you wish to sail with us?’ He spoke the words to her back. ‘This will be the room you and I will share. You can change your mind now and I will see that you are returned to your home. The ship can wait to leave.’

She didn’t turn to him. ‘I have no choice.’

As he heard her, his mind knew what her mouth said, but her voice barely touched him. The curve of her shoulders and the delicateness of her skin—those things reached him. And he knew without a doubt in any hidden crevasse of his mind he’d not overcome his weakness. Not even facing his own death had changed him.

He could never curse a woman as much as he cursed himself for his foolishness.

At least on Melos she had a home and family. She’d be soon lost among the dockside lightskirts at Wapping docks, trying to entice men. But it wasn’t his concern. He had tried to keep her from the ship.

Thinking of her on the docks, plying her trade, made him feel angry again. She only thought she moved into a place to improve her circumstance. The stews of London took no prisoners and willingly released no one alive.

He forced the concern from his mind.

The seamen could have their abstinence. He didn’t mind so much when solitude was his own choice. But he did prefer to see noses without close proximity to whiskers. Before, he’d not noticed how women’s presence made the world feel differently, until he found himself surrounded by men.

He missed Whitegate, his true home, but he’d left it well before he boarded the ship.

He’d left a perfectly sound home behind for the chance to sleep on boards and inhale salt water through his nose. And instead of a crystal decanter, kegs held stale water. The biscuits sometimes had to be broken into pieces and slowly mushed away in his mouth.

He’d not thought past his wish to keep her from Ben, or his own desires, to realise he was putting himself in such closeness with a woman. He’d never shared a room with a woman. Or awakened with anyone. Not even when he was married.

The act seemed intimate. More than a quick tumble would be. Sleeping near her, very near her, could be... His breathing increased. Pleasant.

Or not.

He examined her carefully, thinking of the rumblings from the ship at night. ‘Do you snore?’

She stood and looked at him. ‘Do you?’

‘No.’ He supposed he didn’t.

Her eyes opened wide, too wide. ‘If I sleep loud, will you go somewhere else?’

He smiled. ‘It’s an old sailor’s legend that if a woman snores it’s because she hasn’t had enough bed play to tire her into a sound slumber.’

Her nose went up. ‘It’s a Greek woman’s legend that if a man ronchalizo it’s because of the air moving about where his mind should be.’

‘We’ll have to find something to do together so neither of us sleeps.’

‘I do not snore...’ She paused and her gaze narrowed when she realised what she said. Her words were strident. ‘And it has nothing to do with bed play.’

‘It could.’ He returned the innocent look she’d given him earlier.

She huffed, not answering. He preferred the anger over the dread he’d seen on her face earlier. Before he sailed, he’d been concerned about the trip—and he knew his brother was a seaworthy captain and the crew was experienced.

Even so, he’d not liked the voyage and he’d hated the first climb up the ratlines.

‘I need to give you a bit of advice for sailing,’ he said.

She waited, eyes daring him.

‘Stay out from under me when I am climbing above. I am not as experienced as the others. If I fell, I could hurt you.’ He paused. ‘But if you decide to go up the ropes, please wear trousers. Otherwise, the men...would find it distracting.’

He hoped anger might help her forget the newness. Inside, he smiled at the way she ruffled from his words. Talking with her made the water seem smoother. His clothing less rumpled.

* * *

Melina saw the spark of humour in his eyes. He jested. She let her shoulders drop and her lips turn down. ‘Then I will merely lose my grip and see how the man below feels about breaking my fall.’

His lips thinned, but not in anger. ‘I could catch you.’

‘But you would not be able to keep your grip. The fall would frighten me so, I am sure my elbows might flail about.’

‘Would you like to test that?’

‘No.’ She made herself shudder. ‘I need to put my satchel away.’

He turned to the bunk. ‘Shove the bag under there. Wedge it tight or you will be fighting to keep it from sliding about.’

She moved, kneeling to be able to see and reach into the space. She lodged the bag inside and a tendril of her hair fell forward, loose from the bun. She finger-combed it back into place as she rose and then took one step to the door. ‘I would like to watch the sails as the ship begins to move.’

He moved in front of her, blocking her way out, his expression cold and dark. ‘I have to insist you not go about the deck. For the duration of the voyage, your attentions are mine alone.’

She opened her mouth to protest, then realised what he was saying. He thought her planning to sell herself to the men.

‘I—’ Her denial stopped before she could finish the sentence. She had sold her body and to him. It would be hard to convince him she didn’t use her attentions for funds. Every man on the ship thought her a porni.

Melina didn’t want their eyes on her. She already knew how sailors looked at the women they thought to purchase. She’d known it not safe to get too close. And now she was locked on a vessel with them. Her stomach roiled.

‘How many men are on this ship?’ she asked.

‘Thirty-three.’ His lips formed each sound of the word quite distinctly.

She didn’t like where his thoughts were going. ‘Women?’ she asked, her fingers gripping the back of the chair beside her.

‘One.’ Nothing in his expression changed.

She controlled her words. ‘I think I shall stay inside. I would not want one of the men falling from overhead when I am walking below. Nor would I wish to get tangled in the ropes. I have heard how things move about when ships are underway and sometimes mistakes are made.’

‘It would be wise of you to keep out of the way.’

She didn’t ask what he would have done if she’d not agreed to stay inside. From the look in his eyes, he would have been content with locking her in. And she would be able to do nothing about it. She tensed. She had stepped into a world where she was entirely alone.

‘Does the door—’ She had to ask. ‘Does it latch from the inside?’

He shook his head, one very definite movement. ‘No one would dare enter without my permission.’ His words held in the air.

Relief surged in her, until the next words he said reminded her where she stood.

‘And you cannot lock me out.’

‘I did not think to do so. I know what I have promised.’

He indicated the island with a turn of his head. ‘You can go back. Now. Last chance. No rock is worth going from your home. Leaving the people who can care for you.’

‘But it is worth leaving for the people I do care about.’

He stared at her, his eyes disagreeing, and left the room, leaving her alone with the reality of her actions slithering into her body.