Sail Away (11 page)

He saw very little of the town, although Zoe spent some hours in the shops and came back to the ship wearing a new dress—a simple thing, blue—and looking very pleased with herself. Kit complimented her on her appearance mostly because that was how he had been brought up. To him, she looked exquisite no matter what she wore, but he knew that ladies set much store of having notice taken of their clothing.

The conference that brought them here involved only a dozen scientific gentlemen besides the two doctors and their host. It was held on a comfortable, rambling estate about an hour's ride into the hills outside Lisbon. The landowner, Don Giraldo da Almansor, possessed a keen interest in natural science and philosophy, but his age and infirmity prevented him from exploring the world in search of new subjects. He had invited a group of medical and scientific gentlemen to hold their meeting at his home, and was voluble with gratitude for a packet of French insectivora that the doctor had somehow preserved through their travels.

Don Giraldo's estate produced grapes and olives, a combination of crops that required carefully tended rows of vines and long winding paths shaded by dusty-green olive trees. The bright Mediterranean sun was warm and hospitable, and while the scientific gentlemen entertained themselves with the minutiae of living things, Kit spent several hours each day in Zoe's company, wandering the rolling hills either on foot or in a little two-wheeled cart pulled by a patient, well-mannered donkey. As an invalid, Kit was apparently considered unable to misbehave—either that, or the widowed Don Giraldo ran a loose ship. Either way, it was a delight to wander about alone together.

Their perambulations were not aimless. They had been shown a vast collection of dead insects in a glass case, and Don Giraldo gave them a mission: to be alert for any such creatures that differed from those in the case, and bring them back for examination.

Thus far, their search had produced only specimens like the ones they'd seen, though Kit doubted he would be able to tell any of them apart. But they discovered that the trunks of olive trees were not only a splendid hunting ground for insects of all sorts, they were pleasant to lean against, and the shade beneath was cool and restful.

Paris seemed a thousand miles away, England even further. The days and weeks passed as in a dream. Kit could not think of a time in his life when he had been happier. And the more intimately he became acquainted with Zoe, the harder he found it to reconcile the well-mannered, slightly reserved doctor's daughter with the forthcoming young woman who had propositioned him in no uncertain terms. Here, she seemed uncomfortable if he so much as held her hand. Seeing that he owed her his life, Kit certainly did not want to offend her in any way—but as his health and strength returned, so did his interest.

Finally, he mustered his courage as they picnicked in the olive groves. “Zoe, I know there are things I don't remember. The doctor says I'll probably never get them back. But there's something I do remember with great fondness: one night shortly before my unfortunate accident."

Her eyes were very grave. “Yes?"

"I—I had the impression that you liked me, it seemed, very much. And I certainly felt the same about you. I realize it's a delicate question, but if I have inadvertently done anything to offend you—"

"Oh, Christophe, no.” Zoe shook her head. “You had been in Paris before that night, no? You saw how it was—people being denounced, the guillotine, the death. It was as if every day might be the last, every night. With such fear, one must pretend to be happy. My father was afraid to let me go to Angelique's party, but finally he told me to be careful, and enjoy what I could of my youth."

She touched his hand. “When you walked in, I said to Angelique, ‘Look at that beautiful young man!’ and I was so sad, that we would never meet, that I would never live long enough to meet anyone, to marry and be a mother, a grandmother ... And Angelique, she said, ‘I will get him for you,
cheri
. You will have him this very night!’”

Zoe turned a becoming shade of pink. “I think the wine made me bold, Christophe, and Angelique—I could not believe what she did! If I had been by myself, I would never have dared."

He took both her hands in his and kissed them. “Then God bless the vineyards of France. I owe Angelique more than I thought. I hope you were not—disappointed."

"Oh, no!” The small, secret smile that was hidden by her lashes made him want to repeat the event immediately, with just the two of them. “But everything is different now. It appears I will live; my father plans to settle in England, and I must be a credit to him. You warned me yourself that if—” she blushed. “If we were lovers, there might be a baby—"

"Yes, there might.” Kit found himself grinning like an idiot. For some reason, the idea of Zoe having a baby—his baby!—filled him with glee. “Lots of babies. As many as you like."

She blinked at him. “But think of my father, Christophe. I could not bring such shame upon him!"

"Darling, I see nothing shameful about a man and his wife making a baby!"

"Wife?"

"Well, concubines are generally frowned upon, at least in England—"

"You—” Her lips parted but for a moment indignation left her speechless. “Christophe, you said nothing about a
wife
."

"That's because I haven't got one, but I thought if you—if we—” He got no further; Zoe pushed him flat on the ground and kissed him with such ferocity he couldn't think. By the time he collected himself, she stopped for a breath. “Zoe, for heaven's sake—"

"You—you English!” she said, and kissed him again.

He was ready for it this time, and it was awhile before either of them came up for air. “I do apologize,” he said at the first opportunity. “Made a mess of it, but you should know I've never proposed marriage before—"

But this simply was not the time for a conversation; he decided to save the words for later and demonstrate his feelings more directly. After a wholly delightful interval, he asked, hopefully, “May I take it your answer is ‘yes'?"

She ran a finger across his eyebrow, the one that now ended in a small, quirked scar. “If you can face your fine English ladies with a common French girl for a wife."

"I'd hardly be the first,” he pointed out. “My cousin Reggie married an actress, for heaven's sake, and I will be much amazed if the emigrés in London do not add a great deal of
joie de vivre
to our English families. Besides, you are a most
un
common French girl. It may be more the knightly tradition to marry the damsel one has rescued ... but I think that a damsel who can turn about and save her knight is a rare and wonderful lady."

She narrowed her eyes. “Are you certain you would not someday want a more pretty, exciting woman, like Angelique?"

What in the world? “Angelique is in France. I hope she will be safe,” he said, sensing that this was a one of those questions a man had to answer very carefully. “But I want a wife that I can trust—a partner in life, not a mere playmate.” It had been Zoe's quick thinking and patient care that had kept him alive, after all. Kit silently thanked Venus and Cupid for giving him the sense to send Angelique off to play with Philip.

"You will not change your mind?"

Kit wished he could guess what was going on behind those big grey eyes. “Angelique is too wild and vivacious for me,” he said firmly. “She will have to find her own Englishman. I'm no Turkish prince, to service a seraglio. Two of you would exhaust my vital forces."

She sat up and looked all around, then leaned back in the curve of his arm and put her lips very close to his ear. “How are your vital forces right now?"

Her breath tickled deliciously. “They're very—very—vital."

"Bon!"
She busily began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Have we time, do you think? Will anyone see?"

He held her at arm's length. “Zoe, for heaven's sake!"

"You do not want to make love? Christophe, that night was most wonderful. I have been waiting, I have tried so hard to behave respectably, but if we are to marry, I do not want to wait!"

She had him unbuttoned and was busily tugging his shirt out of his trousers.

"What about babies?” he said, still trying hard himself to behave respectably. Her father trusted Kit not to seduce his daughter, but there were limits to anyone's self-control.

"I want babies!” she said simply. “I want
your
babies!"

"My mother will adore you,” he said, trying to decide whether to catch her impertinent hands or help her get the trousers unbuttoned. How was any red-blooded man, however responsible, supposed to respond to a raven-haired beauty demanding the attention she so richly deserved? Kit stood up to survey the countryside. The donkey was tethered nearby, grazing peacefully, the cart screened them on one side, some shrubbery on another, and they had the hill at their backs. If anyone approached, Zoe would have time to dart into cover and they could claim she was answering a call of nature. Very well, then ... if it was babies she wanted, it was his duty to help her achieve that laudable goal.

But the long, lazy afternoons were drawing to a close. The day after his unconventional proposal, Kit was bereft of Zoe's company; she found it necessary to travel to Lisbon with her father to visit the dressmaker she had seen when they'd arrived. He understood that she wanted to be presentable in England, and knew it would be a good thing if she looked her best when presented to the Dowager, but he grudged the lost time.

Before either of them was ready to leave, the conference was over and the doctor had made arrangements with another small boat that would get them out into the Channel. They bade a regretful farewell to Don Giraldo and his sunny estate with its many secluded trysting-places. Such a strange courtship, Kit thought as they stood waiting for the shoreboat. First that peculiar night together as strangers, then the honeymoon, and now, finally, they would sail home for the wedding. Assuming, of course, that he could find the courage to ask Dr. Colbert for his daughter's hand!

It was not making the actual request that deterred him, but the circumstances. As far as he knew—and as far as Zoe herself knew—Colbert had not really opposed the Revolution. He had decided to leave when it became obvious that the rule of law had completely broken down, and anyone might be picked up and executed without any reason whatever. Colbert had never been anything but courteous to Kit, but for two people living under the same roof they had spent remarkably little time in one another's company.

What would this French citizen of a disordered Republic say to an aristo's proposal of marriage to his daughter? The Revolution was a topic that everyone seemed to avoid; when either of the physicians said anything about it, their main regret seemed to be that it had failed. If Dr. Colbert felt strongly about the overthrow of aristocracy, Monsieur le Baron might be tossed out on his aristocratic ear for taking advantage of his position in the Colbert household—because of course Kit could not tell the man that the relationship between said Baron and his daughter had gone far past the point of no return. The presumption of bedding such a young girl, barely above the age of consent, might set Kit and his prospective father-in-law at pistol point, and that must be avoided at all costs.

Patience. He would have to have patience. Once back in England, Kit could pay courteous court to the Mademoiselle, take her to the theatre, go riding in the park, let Dr. Colbert become acquainted with the Dowager and other family members. When everything had settled down a bit, he could make the proposal in a decent way—if he could persuade Zoe to wait.

Ah, well. They still had to cross hundreds of miles of Atlantic to reach England, and even on a neutral vessel their best hope was to meet an English ship rather than a French one. That was enough to worry about for the time being.

Within hours, Kit had an effective distraction. The ship was no sooner out of the harbor than his seasickness returned with a vengeance. He resigned himself to an indefinite period of terrible soup and pease porridge, and accepted the doctor's wretched draughts between times.

Two nights after they sailed, Zoe came below, annoyingly pink-cheeked and cheery, to tell him that they had been stopped by a British vessel and were going to be taken aboard immediately. The doctor, she said, had some sort of safe-passage document for the trading vessel in exchange for its services.

They went aboard late at night; Kit was given medicine that made him so sleepy he barely remembered being swung up like a parcel of freight and carried to another hanging cot. Once he was tucked into his hammock, the physic put him into a deep slumber, and when he awoke again it was early afternoon of the following day.

Dr. Pierce was sitting in a hanging chair beside his cot. “Good day, your lordship,” he said cheerfully. “As you see, I have restored your title. Do you feel up to dining with Captain Smith and his officers this evening?"

Kit assessed himself cautiously. The ship they were on now must be considerably larger than the little merchant sloop, and correspondingly more steady in the water. His stomach quailed only slightly at the thought of food. “If I can make myself presentable, yes. I ought to thank them, if nothing else."

"Excellent. The ship's surgeon has asked if he might examine your sutures—we have been discussing the trepan procedure—but I told him that would depend on your willingness."

"Doctor, but for you I would be nothing more than a memory. I am at your service as a lecture exhibit whenever you like."

"If only all my patients were so agreeable! I have told him he must wait a day or two, until you have had time to reap the benefits of the sea air."

"I think this ship has already done me good. Tell me, Doctor, this place—” he rested a finger on the spot on his head that always seemed cold to the touch. “Will this always be cold? Is that usual?"

"That is your silver patch. I suspect it will always feel slightly different, although the scar tissue should thicken in time, as circulation is restored."

The way he spoke was slightly different from his customary sanguine exposition, and Kit frowned. “Doctor, have you performed many of these operations?"