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Authors: Lorraine Heath
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don’t want to get scurvy.”
It was delicious, yes. She took the offering and popped it into her mouth. “I thought scurvy happened only on long voyages.”
“Who knows?” He tore off another segment, ate half, and extended what was left. It didn’t seem quite so wicked this time when she took it. “Maybe we’ll decide not to return to England. We’ll simply sail around the world.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized her mistake in saying them. He’d grown still, the partially eaten orange seemingly forgotten. She released a self-conscious laugh. “I was only teasing. I have far too many responsibilities to go wherever the wind blows.”
“Who hurt you, Princess?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I sense sadness in you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t confide in him. She barely knew him. Her heart was only just beginning to heal. She would not, could not, risk it becoming bruised again. Perhaps she would marry Walter’s brother. She would never love him, and therefore she could never again be hurt—or worse, cause hurt.
Tears pricked her eyes. She angled back her head and pointed. “What is it like to view the world from the crow’s nest? It must be marvelous to see so far, to be able to see everything.”
“You can’t see everything. You never can.”
“It’s like life then, isn’t it? Because if you could see everything, if you knew what would stretch out before you, you might say or do things that wouldn’t leave you with regrets.”
She looked to the sea, needing not to see the sympathy in his eyes. She didn’t want him to be kind. She simply wanted him to get her to Scutari so she could ask Walter for forgiveness. “Walter always wanted to sail the sea. Spoke of one day purchasing a sailboat.”
“Walter?”
The word came out like the crack of a whip.
“My fiancé. It’s the reason he arranged for his earnings to be sent to me. His brother is a marquess, and Walter feared the money would go into the family coffers. He was going to use it as our nest egg.”
“Is that what you were using to finance this voyage?” His voice was a bit more relaxed, but flat, the way the sea looked in the distance, as though nothing at all disturbed for good or ill.
“Yes.” She dared to look back at him. “Why did you agree to take me on the journey for something as paltry as a kiss? I’m sure you’re no stranger to kisses.”
“Kisses and I are well acquainted, and so I know their value. Every woman’s kiss is different. Some lips are chapped, others I could swear had been woven together from threads of silk. Some mouths are dry, others wet. Some women taste of garlic and some”—he touched his fingers to his lips, made a smacking sound before unfurling them like a flower—“are as rich as fine vintage wine. Some women make not a sound as they kiss. Others sigh a sweet melody that teases the ear and remains vibrant in memory long after she is no longer there. A kiss can be all things. It can be profound.” He shrugged. “Or it can be forgettable.”
She couldn’t imagine that a kiss bestowed by him could ever be forgettable. Would he forget hers?
“And if you discover that my kiss isn’t worth the trouble of the voyage?”
“I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening.” With a wide grin he got to his feet, towering over her, and set what remained of the orange on her plate. “I have to check my charts, see to my duties. It’s my hope that you’ll dine with me this evening in my cabin.” He tilted his head slightly. “Your cabin.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Until later then.” He gave a brusque nod and strode away.
She rose and walked to the railing where nothing blocked the breeze from cooling her skin. Walter had kissed her, but she could not remember the flavor or the texture or the warmth of it. One more thing to add to her guilt: she’d not savored every kiss as though it might be their
It was delicious, yes. She took the offering and popped it into her mouth. “I thought scurvy happened only on long voyages.”
“Who knows?” He tore off another segment, ate half, and extended what was left. It didn’t seem quite so wicked this time when she took it. “Maybe we’ll decide not to return to England. We’ll simply sail around the world.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely.” The words were out of her mouth before she realized her mistake in saying them. He’d grown still, the partially eaten orange seemingly forgotten. She released a self-conscious laugh. “I was only teasing. I have far too many responsibilities to go wherever the wind blows.”
“Who hurt you, Princess?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I sense sadness in you.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t confide in him. She barely knew him. Her heart was only just beginning to heal. She would not, could not, risk it becoming bruised again. Perhaps she would marry Walter’s brother. She would never love him, and therefore she could never again be hurt—or worse, cause hurt.
Tears pricked her eyes. She angled back her head and pointed. “What is it like to view the world from the crow’s nest? It must be marvelous to see so far, to be able to see everything.”
“You can’t see everything. You never can.”
“It’s like life then, isn’t it? Because if you could see everything, if you knew what would stretch out before you, you might say or do things that wouldn’t leave you with regrets.”
She looked to the sea, needing not to see the sympathy in his eyes. She didn’t want him to be kind. She simply wanted him to get her to Scutari so she could ask Walter for forgiveness. “Walter always wanted to sail the sea. Spoke of one day purchasing a sailboat.”
“Walter?”
The word came out like the crack of a whip.
“My fiancé. It’s the reason he arranged for his earnings to be sent to me. His brother is a marquess, and Walter feared the money would go into the family coffers. He was going to use it as our nest egg.”
“Is that what you were using to finance this voyage?” His voice was a bit more relaxed, but flat, the way the sea looked in the distance, as though nothing at all disturbed for good or ill.
“Yes.” She dared to look back at him. “Why did you agree to take me on the journey for something as paltry as a kiss? I’m sure you’re no stranger to kisses.”
“Kisses and I are well acquainted, and so I know their value. Every woman’s kiss is different. Some lips are chapped, others I could swear had been woven together from threads of silk. Some mouths are dry, others wet. Some women taste of garlic and some”—he touched his fingers to his lips, made a smacking sound before unfurling them like a flower—“are as rich as fine vintage wine. Some women make not a sound as they kiss. Others sigh a sweet melody that teases the ear and remains vibrant in memory long after she is no longer there. A kiss can be all things. It can be profound.” He shrugged. “Or it can be forgettable.”
She couldn’t imagine that a kiss bestowed by him could ever be forgettable. Would he forget hers?
“And if you discover that my kiss isn’t worth the trouble of the voyage?”
“I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of that happening.” With a wide grin he got to his feet, towering over her, and set what remained of the orange on her plate. “I have to check my charts, see to my duties. It’s my hope that you’ll dine with me this evening in my cabin.” He tilted his head slightly. “Your cabin.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Until later then.” He gave a brusque nod and strode away.
She rose and walked to the railing where nothing blocked the breeze from cooling her skin. Walter had kissed her, but she could not remember the flavor or the texture or the warmth of it. One more thing to add to her guilt: she’d not savored every kiss as though it might be their
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