“F
resh air at last,” Martin said, leading Evelyn to the rail, where they could admire the yachts moored in the Solent. Hundreds of lantern lights twinkled in the velvety darkness, and distant bells rang. The air was cool with only a gentle whisper of a breeze, and Evelyn marveled at the reflection of the moon on the dark water, sparkling upon the waves.
“Thank goodness,” she replied with a deep, appreciative sigh. “It was rather warm below, wasn’t it?”
Leaning an elbow on the rail, he crinkled his nose. “Stuffy, I’d say.”
“I hope you are referring to the quality of the air, Lord Martin, and not the company?”
He leaned a little closer and spoke in a hushed tone. “Well
that
wasn’t a very proper thing for a proper widow to say.”
He was teasing her again as he had in the hotel corridor and trying to get a rise out of her. It was as if he somehow knew that she wished to break out of her shell, and he was poking at her. She wasn’t sure if she loved it, or was completely unnerved by it.
“I wasn’t the one who said it,” she replied with mock effrontery, followed by a slightly flirtatious sidelong glance.
He smiled. “Oh, but you were. I simply said it was stuffy. You implied that your companions were dull.”
Evelyn clasped her gloved hands together over the rail and pursed her lips. Honestly, he was like no other gentleman she’d ever encountered, and he made her want to laugh—something few men even attempted to accomplish. It was exactly what she needed right now—complete and utter audaciousness.
After a moment, he faced forward, too, and stretched to look straight down at the water. “We’re dreadfully high up, I daresay.”
“We are indeed,” she replied with a soft chuckle. “It’s a tremendous ship. In fact, Lord Breckinridge
informed me earlier that I was standing on twenty-four-hundred tons of pure luxury.”
Martin’s eyebrows lifted, then he stepped back and stomped his foot on the wooden deck. “My God, I believe he might be right.”
Evelyn relished the playful sarcasm in his tone. “He said a ship like this was every man’s dream,” she added.
“Not every man’s,” he softly said, leaning his forearms on the rail again. “I dream of other things. And when it comes to being out on the water, I prefer the power of the wind.”
A breeze lifted his dark hair, and Evelyn admired the classic beauty of his face, bronzed by wind and sun. “Why is that?”
“It’s peaceful,” he told her as he gazed out over the dark sea, “and a sailboat doesn’t smell like an engine room. It smells like fresh air and freedom.”
“That can’t be the only reason,” she said. “Surely there must be a greater allure for you. You like the speed, don’t you? The danger and excitement? You enjoy taking risks and winning trophies?” Surely that was the more relevant motivation.
He turned to face her, looking as if he found her opinions surprising. “Have you never been sailing before?”
“I’ve been on boats,” she replied, feeling rather naïve all of a sudden. “But they’ve all been steamers.”
“Well, that’s not the same at all,” he explained.
“To be on a sailboat is to be as close to heaven as anyone can get.”
Close to heaven
. She’d never heard anyone speak that way before—with such genuine, open passion.
Nevertheless, she could not quite give up her view on the subject. “I’m sorry, but I simply do not understand the appeal of being on a boat that is tipping so severely that the sails nearly touch the water and the passengers have to rush to one side to keep it from capsizing. That is not my idea of ‘peace.’”
He threw his head back and laughed. “You’ve got it all wrong, my dear. A good skipper has everything under control.”
“But where’s the ‘heaven’ you describe?”
He paused a moment, looked up at the stars while he contemplated his answer, and when he spoke there was a hint of melancholy in his voice.
“The simple act of hoisting the sails puts me in a wistful mood,” he told her, “and when I feel the wind in my face and I’m focused on the waves and the trim of the sails, my troubles seem to disappear, and sometimes I even forget who I am or where I’ve been.”
The murmur of laughter and music from below seemed to fade away as she listened to Martin speak, wondering why he would ever need to forget who he was, for he was the most celebrated sportsman in En gland, envied by every man,
adored by every woman. But then she remembered those rumors about the men in his family being such an unhappy lot.
“And to be at the helm…” he continued. “Well, there is nothing quite like those moments when all hell is breaking loose, and the sea is wild and the spray is stinging your face, yet you know you are proficient enough to keep the boat safe from harm and bring her back in once piece.”
For some reason she could not explain, Evelyn felt a painful twinge in her chest. A pang of apprehension for his future perhaps, because he took risks? For no one could control the sea. He of all people should know that, having wrecked two boats in the past.
“Promise me you’ll go sailing while you’re here,” he said, his voice becoming light again, which helped to allay her misgivings. “You’re in Cowes. You can’t go home without trying it.”
“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she replied. “I’m just here to watch the race.”
He turned to face her, and his gaze swept from her eyes down the length of her gown, then back up again, slowly, as if taking in every inch of her and finding her appearance greatly to his liking.
A nervous fluttering arose in her belly, for men never looked at her that way. She was not accustomed to admiration.
“You can’t go through life watching other peo
ple have all the fun,” he said. Then he leaned closer and whispered in her ear and the moist heat of his breath sent gooseflesh tingling down the entire left side of her body. “Don’t you ever want to try new things? To explore and feel truly alive?”
Evelyn breathed in the cool night air, mixed with the musky scent of his shaving soap or cologne or what ever it was, and felt a dizzying thrill run through her, from the top of her head straight down to her toes. It made her want to do everything he was suggesting—and more—because when had she ever done anything new? When had she ever felt as alive as she did at this moment?
She swallowed hard over the shock of her response though she should not be surprised. He was a handsome, mysterious, virile man who sailed boats on stormy seas, looked at her with sexual prowess like he wanted to devour her, and he’d been a hero in her eyes since she was a girl. He was like no other man in the world—charming on the outside, but dark and enigmatic under the surface—and there was something about him that touched her deepest desires. The ones no one knew about. The ones she couldn’t even admit to herself because she feared them.
All at once she realized the conversation had become too intimate. Yes, she had wanted to be more amiable and less aloof, but surely she had let
things go too far. He was speaking to her deepest thoughts and emotions when she should have kept her guard up and maintained a reasonably safe distance at least. Especially from a man like him, who knew how to seduce and did so on a regular basis.
“I could take you,” he said in a low, silken voice, surprising her yet again with his direct manner when he should not be suggesting such a thing, and certainly not like
that
—with such heated persuasion, as if he were insinuating all kinds of other activities that would take place on board his boat after he’d dropped anchor in a secluded cove. “I could even teach you. Show you how thrilling it can be.”
There was no point pretending not to recognize what he was proposing—that they could enjoy more than just a cruise on the water. It was shocking to the depths of her soul.
“I’m not looking for
that
kind of thrill,” she said, angling her head at him with a warning, and retreating into her customary cool demeanor.
He grinned and stepped back, giving her some space at last. “Ah, yes, the virtuous widow. I forgot with whom I was speaking.”
They stood in silence for a moment, leaning on the rail and looking down at the quiet water until Martin nudged her with his elbow.
She could not help herself. Her lips curved into a smile, then she laughed.
“My God,” he said, “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh.”
“I laugh,” she told him. “Just not around you. I’ve not had the opportunity.”
He eyed her carefully. “I would dearly love to change that. Please, come sailing with me.” He held his hands up, palms open. “I promise, I’ll be a gentleman. No hanky-panky. No flirting. No inappropriate thrills. I’ll teach you how to sail, nothing more.”
She remembered what he’d said in the hotel, that life was just a series of moments, and though she still did not agree with the idea that consequences played no part, she gave in to the possibility that there might be some wisdom in what he was trying to show her—that one had to enjoy life day by day and seize opportunities when they presented themselves, because one never knew when it could all end.
Just then, a number of guests from below emerged onto the deck, including Lord Breckinridge and Lord and Lady Radley.
Evelyn stepped away from Martin. “Is it over?”
“Yes,” Breckinridge replied, glancing with distrust at Martin as he offered his arm to her. “But most of us are heading over to the Esplanade for an evening stroll. You’ll join us, Mrs. Wheaton? We can walk to the Umbrella Tree.”
The Umbrella Tree was a large weeping ash upon the Green, known to be a favorite place for
courting couples. It was presumptuous to make such a remark, and she suspected it was for Martin’s benefit, not hers. She also suspected Martin knew it.
Nevertheless, her time with him was at an end, for they had been standing under the stars far too long. It was time for her to leave the ship with the others.
“That would be lovely, thank you.” She accepted Breckinridge’s arm. “Good night, Lord Martin.”
He bowed at the waist. “And to you, Mrs. Wheaton.”
He made no more mention of his invitation to go sailing, and Evelyn breathed a sigh of relief, for she did not want the others to know, nor did she wish to continue resisting his plea, because he surely would have pressed until she had said yes, for it was not in his nature to back down from a challenge.
“And do you enjoy croquet, Mrs. Wheaton?” Lord Breckinridge asked as he escorted Evelyn along the waterfront toward the Esplanade.
Lord and Lady Radley were strolling in front of them barely talking, gazing off in opposite directions, while Martin was walking with his first mate, Lord Spencer, and some other ladies at a distance behind them.
“Yes, I do. Very much.” She made an effort to sound enthusiastic.
“Well, if you would be willing to join me in a game this week, I have a very fine set of balls.”
Good Lord!
Did he just say what she thought he said?
“They were a gift from the Queen herself,” he added, his cheeks coloring sharply.
Evelyn let a chuckle slip out, then covered her mouth with a hand, but it was no use. She couldn’t keep the laughter in.
Lord Breckinridge stopped on the walk and frowned down at her. “Mrs. Wheaton, perhaps I should escort you back to your hotel. I fear there might have been too much champagne at the ball this evening.”
“No.” She laughed, still trying to fight it. “Truly, I’m fine.”
But this was not like her at all! She was usually so very composed.
“I believe you will thank me for it tomorrow, as it will prevent you from further embarrassing yourself.” His shoulders were stiff and his voice low with annoyance.
He turned and attempted to lead her in that direction, but she did not follow because his reproachful manner was grating upon her happy mood, especially after her most refreshing encounter with Martin, who always seemed to be looking
for a reason to laugh and whose desire to have a good time was surely becoming contageous. He certainly would have laughed if he’d been here to learn about Breckinridge’s fine balls.
“If you don’t mind,” she firmly said, “I would like to continue walking, as it’s a lovely evening. But if you would like to retire, I would be more than happy to join your aunt and uncle.”
She did not mean to sound rude. She simply did not wish to be escorted away in this manner.
He glanced back at Martin and Spence surrounded by pretty ladies, then pasted on a courteous smile. “That won’t be necessary, Mrs. Wheaton. Of course I will continue walking with you.”
She, too, pasted on a smile and did her best to be polite while they strolled in silence for a short time, passing in front of the Royal Yacht Squadron until they reached the Umbrella Tree.
Lord Breckinridge stopped. “Would you like to rest a moment?”
“That would be very nice, thank you.”
They walked to the benches and sat down. “What a lovely night,” he said.
“Indeed it is,” she replied.
They sat in awkward silence, watching a constant stream of ladies and gentlemen strolling along the Esplanade, talking and laughing. Evelyn squeezed her hands together and shifted uneasily on the bench, realizing that this was not a new sensation—this stiff discomfort. She had often felt
this way with her husband, especially before they were married. During their brief engagement, they had taken many quiet walks just like this one and said very little to each other.
“I heard the most interesting story to night,” she said, attempting to fill the empty silence and perhaps start again with Lord Breckinridge. “It seems that Baron Freemont discovered some old Viking tools on his estate. One of his dogs was digging in the dirt beyond his garden and—”
“I have a dog of my own,” Lord Breckinridge said. “He’s a filthy beast sometimes, but he belonged to my father, and my mother refuses to part with him. He barks incessantly when it rains.”
Lord Breckinridge went on to describe the amount of rain that fell each year on his estate, and how it was the perfect amount for the fields, and he had very little trouble with drainage.
It was not long before Evelyn realized that the earl had very little interest in her as a person. He asked her no questions about herself, and when she offered anything, he interrupted with a piece of information about his own interests or accomplishments. He was here with her because his uncle had encouraged him to be, which was all about her inheritance, of course. It was why he was trying to impress her. There was no other reason. He was tolerating these moments with her at best, just as she was tolerating them with him.