Her sighs soon grew to moans, and she reached the heights of rapture, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck as she buried her face in the crook of his shoulder and exploded with sizzling triumph. Moments later, he reached his own climax and flooded her with liquid, throbbing heat. She quivered again, pulsing, shuddering, and he thrust hard into her one last time, then collapsed his full weight upon her, heavy and damp with perspiration.
They lay there for a moment, limp and ex
hausted, until he let out a groan and rolled over onto his back. “
My God
.”
Evelyn was aware only of satisfaction. “Now I understand,” she said, working hard just to breathe, “what all the fuss is about.”
He chuckled softly and gathered her into his arms. “Congratulations, my dear, you are officially corrupted.”
“And eternally grateful. I never knew it could be like that.”
Martin held her close, then inhaled deeply and kissed the top of her head. “It was rather out of control.”
“Definitely,” she said, “but in the best possible way.”
He paused, rubbing a finger over her shoulder. “Perhaps not in all ways, Evelyn. I wasn’t very responsible.”
She lifted her chin to look up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I should have withdrawn sooner.”
Ah
, she thought with a resigned sigh, her intellect finally waking from the eroticism of this wonderful dream. These were the practicalities of casual intercourse. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking…”
He stared up at the ceiling and shook his head. “It was my responsibility to do the thinking, not yours. But is this a safe time, do you know?”
She hesitated. “I wasn’t aware there
were
safe times.”
“Shortly before and after your monthly?” He waited for an answer.
“Oh. Then I think yes, it must be a safe time. I expect it soon.”
“When?”
She anxiously cleared her throat. “Before the end of the week, I believe.”
It was an answer he seemed relieved to hear. He reached for her hand. “Good. But I apologize. I didn’t mean to spoil things.”
“You didn’t.”
He chuckled with a strange sort of amused disbelief and leaned up on one elbow. “You know, it is utterly baffling to me, Evelyn, that you could ever think yourself not desirable to men. I just lost my head over you completely. I kept meaning to withdraw at the right time, but I simply could not stop myself.”
Her mouth curled up in a smile. It was deeply satisfying to know she had that power over him.
“I promise I will be more careful next time,” he said, brushing her hair back off her face. “And if I appear negligent, I’m asking you to be the responsible one and remind me to be prudent. Can you do that?”
“This means there will be a next time?” she asked in a suggestive tone, sliding closer and
letting her hand drift down over the taut muscles of his abdomen to the coarse hair at his genitals.
He grinned with tempting allure and spoke in a husky, deep voice that sent a rushing fever into her senses. “Undoubtedly, darling. Sooner rather than later, I should think.”
Then he moved over her with a smile. He imprisoned her mouth in his, planted his hips firmly between her eager, parting thighs, and Evelyn feared she might very well die of happiness—for the rest of Cowes week was surely going to be the most remarkable week of her life.
T
he next day brought sunshine and a swift breeze from the west, which lured many of the competitors out onto the water to test their skills. Evelyn had eaten lunch with Lord and Lady Radley and was now strolling along the Esplanade with them, while they speculated about who would improve their times over last year and who would fare worse.
They reached the pavilion at the far end of the Green and encountered Lord Breckinridge with his first mate, Mr. Sheldon Hatfield.
“Good afternoon,” Lord Radley said, greeting Breckinridge with a pat on the back. “I’m surprised
you’re not out there with the rest of them, practicing your maneuvers for race day.”
Breckinridge bowed to Evelyn and Lady Radley. “One needn’t practice with a boat like the
Endeavor
, at least not in front of the opponents. We wouldn’t want to give away our secrets, now would we?”
Lord Radley nodded. “Smart man. Overtake them when they least expect it.”
“We’re going to overtake them whether they expect it or not,” Mr. Hatfield interjected. “No one stands a chance against the
Endeavor
, least of all the Cowes champion and his obsolete boat.”
He spoke with such contempt, Evelyn found it immensely unsettling. “Perhaps you would be wise not to underestimate the competition,” she said. “From what I hear, Lord Martin is a very gifted sailor.”
And gifted in other areas, too
, she thought to herself with a pleasant recollection of what had occurred in her bed the night before.
Everyone’s gaze shot to her face, and a noteworthy silence ensued until Lady Radley came to her rescue. “Yes, indeed, you are quite right, Evelyn. I once heard that Lord Martin can recall the exact details of every race he’s ever been in and all the mistakes the other skippers made, and he doesn’t require a chart or tide table when he’s at the wheel. He keeps everything stored in his head like a scientific tactician.”
Hatfield’s lips twisted into a most unattractive scowl. “That is all idle gossip, madam, blown out of proportion. He was a classmate of mine at Eton, you see, so I know him better than anyone here. I assure you, when it came to practical applications like science and arithmetic, he was the worst student in the school. He never did a stitch of work, and he constantly misbehaved in class.”
“Perhaps he was simply bored,” Evelyn said in Martin’s defense.
Mr. Hatfield and Lord Breckinridge both stared fixedly at her, their eyes narrowing.
“Well!” Hatfield said, slapping his hands together. “I think we should go out there and show everyone how it’s done.”
But Breckinridge wasn’t listening. He was still staring at Evelyn. She shaded her eyes with a gloved hand and looked out at the boats.
At last he turned to Mr. Hatfield. “I believe we
will
go out. It’s a good day for a pleasure cruise. Anyone care to join us?” He directed the question specifically at Evelyn.
“That’s very tempting, my lord,” she replied, “but I don’t think I have the fortitude to endure these rough waters today. Perhaps another time when the wind is not so swift?” And when she did not have plans to meet Martin in her room for tea and sweets at five o’clock.
He bowed politely. “Of course, but I will hold you to that promise.” He raised an eyebrow at
her—as if attempting to flirt—but after being on the receiving end of Martin’s flirtations, Lord Breckinridge’s attempt fell completely flat.
Nevertheless, she smiled in return.
“Come along, then,” Mr. Hatfield said, already starting back to the yacht club. “It’s time for the competition to begin.”
“Look at you.” Spence jumped from the foredeck into the cockpit of the
Orpheus
and approached Martin. “With your eyes on the sails and your hands on the wheel—you’re the very picture of contentment.”
Martin merely shrugged, though he was indeed content today, enjoying the sensation of the salty spray in his face. The hiss of the waves beneath the leeward bow was music to his ears, and he felt refreshed and optimistic. Ready to take on the world. He could not deny he had a certain not-so-virtuous widow to thank for that.
“I had a good night’s sleep,” he replied, careful not to reveal anything that might cause Spence to pry because he didn’t want to discuss the intriguing particulars of his personal life at the moment, and certainly not with Spence, who would only make assumptions and state opinions, and Martin wasn’t in the mood for it. He didn’t want to overanalyze this unexpected affair he’d entered into, nor did he want to interrupt the pleasure of the sail.
“In about ninety seconds,” he said, “I’m going to bring her around, and I’d like the spinnaker set to starboard.”
“We’re heading back then?” Spence asked.
“Yes, I think we’ve ironed out most of the wrinkles.”
Besides, he had an appointment for tea at five o’clock and did not wish to be late.
Spence made his way forward and waited for Martin’s command, while the rest of the crew knelt in a straight line near the weather rails.
“Ready to come about!”
Martin shouted.
Spence raised a hand. “Prepare to release the jib!”
The scene on the deck suddenly erupted into activity as each crewman scrambled to his station. Martin turned the wheel hard over, hand over hand, every muscle in his body straining as he swung the
Orpheus
around.
“Boom coming across!” Spence shouted, and Martin ducked as it passed over his head.
Seconds later, the spinnaker pole was run out, and the colorful sail filled with wind, snapping taut at the bow. The apparent wind became still, and all was quiet again on deck.
Martin nodded at Spence. They’d managed the maneuver well.
For the next half hour, they sailed on until they spotted another yacht in the distance, also turning and heading back to Cowes.
“Isn’t that the
Endeavor
?” Spence said, joining Martin at the helm.
“I believe it is,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the black sloop.
They continued on their starboard tack, gaining upon the other vessel, which was traveling on a slower port tack.
“She’s not setting any records, is she?” Spence said.
“Certainly not.” That fact gave Martin pause. “We have the right of way,” he added a moment later. “Mark our direction in the log if you will, Spence.”
Spence understood and quickly obeyed, and was back at Martin’s side a minute later, looking anxiously at the
Endeavor
, then at Martin, as the yachts sailed toward the same point on the horizon.
“Do they
want
us to overtake them?” Spence asked, then he stepped up on the bench and grabbed hold of a line. “What the blazes are they up to? They must know they have to give way.”
Martin kept the wheel steady and glanced up at the sails, then down at the whitecaps on the water. He raised a hand into the air to feel the wind. “We’re doing eighteen knots. Mark it in the log.”
“How fast are
they
going?” Spence asked as he scribbled. “They seem to be picking up speed.”
“I’d say sixteen. Maybe seventeen.”
“Bloody hell, Martin, if they don’t give way, we’re going to collide.”
Martin continued to hold the wheel steady, aware of his crew staring at him in silence with mouths agape, waiting for a command to trim a sail, drop the spinnaker, anything to slow them down or alter their direction.
“They must give way,” he firmly repeated, noting the distance between them, closing and closing…
Spence shot an enraged glare at him. “We have to turn, Martin.”
“No.
They
must turn.”
“Do you have a death wish?”
That question—for some reason he did not wish to contemplate too deeply at the moment—captured his attention. For a long moment, he and Spence stared at each other as the yachts continued on a certain collision course, until Martin finally shouted, “Drop the spinnaker! We’re turning starboard to windward! Release the jib and main, and
hold on
!”
At the very last second before they rammed the
Endeavor
, Martin turned the wheel and the
Orpheus
heeled impossibly, tossing one crewman into the rigging, while foaming white water poured across the deck. The tip of their mast came only inches from tearing apart the
Endeavor
’s mainsail.
“Bloody bastards!” Spence called out to Hatfield, who was standing on deck, saluting
extravagantly with a crooked smile as he and Breckinridge took the lead back to Cowes.
“You did the right thing,” Spence assured Martin as they marched up the landing stage toward the club. “Otherwise, we’d all be at the bottom of the sea right now.”
Martin shook his head, still furious over what had occurred. Breckinridge had broken one of the critical rules of the water, endangered all their lives, and he’d mocked him after the fact.
“I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “Breckinridge was playing a game, testing me to see what I would do, and I should have called his bluff. I should have forced him to give way.”
“That would have been an awfully big risk with your boat and the lives of your crew,” Spence replied. “I will not change my opinion on this, Martin. You made the right choice. Breckinridge is at fault, not you.”
They walked at a swift pace up the drive and pushed through the Squadron gate to find Breckinridge and Hatfield standing on the back lawn with drinks already in their hands.
“Looks like we arrived first,” Breckinridge proudly announced.
Everyone on the lawn fell silent and stared uneasily at Martin. There were a few quiet whispers.
I should not have given way
, he thought, stop
ping just inside the gate and looking around at everyone.
But there was no way to change what had already occurred, so he strode forward with Spence at his side and met Breckinridge in the middle of the garden.
“I should have you disqualified,” Martin said.
Breckinridge’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “I beg your pardon? You want to disqualify
me
?” He shook his head. “That is low, Lord Martin, even for you.”
Martin darted a glance at Hatfield, who was eyeing him with disdain.
“You know as well as I do,” Martin said, “that a boat on a starboard tack has right-of-way over a boat on a port tack.”
“Yes, and we were on a starboard tack.”
Spence stepped forward and pointed a finger. “Liar! We were on the starboard tack, not you!”
Head drawing back elegantly, Breckinridge paused for a few seconds. “I had always heard you were reckless, Lord Martin, but this is beyond reproach.”
Martin felt the muscles in his jaw clench. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
But he already knew what Breckinridge was trying to do. He just wanted to hear him say it.
“I am suggesting that you are trying to have me removed from the race,” the earl said, “because you know you cannot win.”
Martin glared at him while Spence scoffed and took a step backward in disbelief. Everyone on the lawn was watching in silence.
“Or perhaps it is
you
trying to remove
me
,” Martin replied. But from an entirely different race, he suspected.
Breckinridge glanced around at the others and raised his voice for all to hear. “I am a gentleman, Lord Martin, and I would never risk a boat or the lives on it. You, however, have a different history in that regard, do you not?”
Martin bristled and clenched a fist, while Spence stepped forward, almost nose to nose with Hatfield.
Just then, Sir Lyndon came trotting over, pushing the men apart and glancing uneasily from one to another. “Now, now, surely we can resolve this. It’s a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
Martin never took his eyes off Breckinridge. “If a man can misunderstand what tack he’s on, he has no business at the helm of a sailing vessel.”
Hatfield’s lip twitched. “I’m telling you this as a friend, Martin—you really ought to leave now before you find yourself disqualified from the race.”
Martin glared at Hatfield.
As a friend?
Spence took another menacing step forward, but Martin raised a hand to stop him. “No, Spence. Let’s go.”
They both backed away and headed for the gate.
“I would have liked to knock Hatfield on his fat arse,” Spence said as they strode down the hill. “If it weren’t for the ladies looking on…”
“I wanted to do the same thing to Breckinridge, that pompous ass.”
Spence stopped on the road. “So what are we going to do about it?”
Martin stopped, too, and considered it for a moment. “Part of me would like to somehow retaliate, but I would never disregard the laws of the sea. My feeling is that we must sail this race as gentlemen and let Breckinridge and Hatfield hang themselves. If there is any justice in the world—and pray God there is—they will. The truth will come out, and people will see them both for what they are. We must have faith in that.”
Spence raised an eyebrow at Martin, as if he weren’t quite sure he agreed.
What had become of him? Evelyn wondered irritably, touching the teapot in her room and finally resigning herself to the fact that she would have to send it back because it was cold. It was now five minutes past six. He did not appear to be coming.
She sat down on the bed and chastised herself for assuming he would keep their appointment for a teatime rendezvous. He had made it clear on more than one occasion that he did not wish to become involved in any meaningful or lasting relationships. Their encounter the night before
had been wonderful, but certainly no promises had been made and today he had probably changed his mind about…
Just then, a knock sounded at her door. She froze and did not get up right away. Her pride would not let her go leaping across furniture to answer it.
Taking her time to breathe, she rose from the bed and crossed the room. She opened the door and there he was, standing in the corridor looking windswept and weary, raking a hand through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said with impatience, not looking at all like the seductive charmer she had expected an hour ago. “I’m late.”