by Maya Banks
She could feel Merrick’s gaze on her, probing and assessing. His scrutiny made her uncomfortable so she turned to face him. “Is something amiss?”
The perplexed look on his face faded rapidly away, and he closed the distance between them. “No, not at all.” He paused a moment and cocked his head sideways at her.
She arched a disbelieving eyebrow at him.
“Well, I suppose I was a bit taken aback back there. That is, I don’t suppose until now that I truly saw you as the future Queen of Leaudor…Your Highness.”
Discomfort plagued her at his words. He sounded so stiff, so formal now. Not at all like the man who had endured so much with her in the past several days.
“Can you not look beyond who I will become and concentrate on who I am?” she asked in a near pleading voice.
“In a few days, my familiarity will not only be unseemly, but disrespectful,” he said stiffly. “I just cannot credit that you will be queen. Not the woman…”
His voice trailed off into nothing, and he compressed his lips together as if regretting what he was about to say.
“Not the woman what?” she prompted softly.
He glanced back up at her, his eyes barely discernible in the soft glow of the lanterns bobbing back and forth as the crew passed above and below deck.
“Not the woman I’ve held and comforted…and kissed,” he finally said.
Her cheeks warmed, and inexplicably, she felt the prick of tears. She blinked rapidly to ward them off and moved even closer to him. “The woman you held is who I am. No title will ever change that.” She placed her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers out. “Did inheriting the title of earl change the man in here?” Her fingers pressed into his chest over his heart. “Did you stop being the man who served his country all because your name changed?”
He closed his hands over hers, holding them tightly against his chest. “No.”
“I cannot bear it if you start viewing me differently, Merrick. Not after all we have endured together. This stiffness I feel in you, the awkwardness, this isn’t the man I held.”
She felt him relax beneath her hands, and her relief was so great she nearly sagged against him. She leaned forward and rested her forehead just above where her hands lay on his chest.
He lifted one of his hands and cupped the back of her head, leaving his other hand over hers. Gentle fingers smoothed her hair, and for a brief moment, she wished she wasn’t the heir to the throne. Wished she and Merrick were just two normal people with only themselves to consider. No responsibility to a nation of people. No justice to seek for the family she lost.
She shivered against him as the brisk air blew over them. His hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her away from him. “We should go to our cabins where it’s warmer.”
Nodding, she followed behind him.
He stopped outside a door, opened it and gestured her inside. “Since the captain is fully aware of our circumstances, we no longer need to share a cabin for appearances. I’ll be next door should you have need of me.”
A tiny pang of disappointment tightened her chest, but she offered a quick smile and ducked into the cabin. She leaned against the door when it shut behind her, closing her eyes. Her hands brushed over the rough wood, and she felt the prick of splinters in her back.
She opened her eyes and glanced over the sparsely furnished room. A small bed, an upright barrel beside it with a half-burned candle. To the side of the candle lay a small bundle of dried flowers bound with a leather tie, seemingly out of place in the rustic cabin.
With a sigh, she pushed away from the door and crossed the cabin to the bed. She sat down on the side and pulled her boots from her feet. After rummaging through the drawers below the bed, she found a nightshirt. She peeled her clothing from her body and put on the clean-smelling shirt. Then she climbed beneath the covers and snuggled into the pillow.
In the morning, she was going to find soap and a washing cloth if she had to search every cabin. She had begun to fantasize about wonderfully scented baths and being able to submerge her entire head in a tub of water to give her hair a good washing.
As she lay staring up at the ceiling, she tried to envision Merrick in the next cabin. Wondered what he was doing and missed his presence next to her.
She flopped over and stared at her door instead. It was at least more interesting than the ceiling. And she could imagine it opening and him walking in.
Or she could just go to sleep and quit acting like a girl fresh out of the schoolroom who had just received her first invitation to dance. Acting like she had the right to dream.
The chasm that separated them was vast. More than her being queen, more than him being an English lord. Duty, honor, revenge, nationality. All those things floated around like tormented souls doomed to haunt a particular spot.
Would that she was a simple English miss or that he was a modest Leaudorian farmer. But they were neither of those things and too many people counted on them to be who they were. Furthermore it was time for her to get past her fears of ruling a nation and accept her responsibilities.
She turned over again, this time facing the wall. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. To forget everything but the fact she was finally returning home.
Chapter Sixteen
Simon woke after only a few hours of sleep. The rocking and swaying of the ship had been a welcome lullaby, but now he was alert and refreshed. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and rose, wiping his eyes to clear the hazy film.
He called for water and a basin and spared only a few minutes to dress and wash before hastening to the captain’s quarters. He knocked and the call came from within for him to enter.
“You’re just in time for breakfast,” the captain said from the small table across the room.
Simon ducked in, glancing around the small room. Books adorned nearly every inch of space on the shelves, and not all were nautical. The captain was well-read. As he drew closer, Simon noted that the captain had apparently laid aside a book he was reading to take breakfast.
“Sit,” the captain urged, motioning to the chair across from him.
Simon did as he was bidden and settled back in the chair, still taking in his surroundings. While it appeared on the surface that the captain kept less than neat quarters, upon closer examination, all the many items were very meticulously placed about the cabin. If anything the captain suffered from too little room.
The bed was impeccably made, the blankets tightly drawn across the mattress. The only piece of clothing in sight was a perfectly folded shirt lying at the end of the bed.
He deduced that the captain made his home aboard the ship even when it was docked. His cabin echoed his personality much more than the bland, nondescript cottage he owned in Dover.
The cabin was dotted with a range of personal items, ones that were certainly not a necessity aboard a ship. Newspapers, books, paintings, even a sketchpad that Simon wagered the captain likely dabbled on.
“Would you care for something to eat?” the captain asked, breaking through his thoughts.
He nodded and gratefully took the wedge of buttered bread the captain offered him. “How long before we arrive in Leaudor?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.
The captain rose and wiped his mouth then threw down his napkin. Shoving back his chair, he motioned for Simon to follow him.
The older man ambled over to a pedestal that held a variety of maps and charts. He fished through the stack then drew out one that showed Leaudor as well as the coastline of Belgium.
Smoothing it out, he cleared his throat then pointed to the western shoreline of Leaudor. “This is where we will enter Leaudor.”
Simon nodded and waited for the captain to continue.
“The southern and eastern ports have all been closed, virtually isolating the country. While we could sail around to the north, our chances of docking and the princess disembarking unnoticed are slig
ht.”
Simon frowned. “So docking on the western shore is your suggestion?”
The captain chuckled. “Not exactly, my lord. There are no ports on the western side. The entire coastline is rocky, sparsely populated and the currents are treacherous.” He paused and stared hard at Simon. “We aren’t going to dock. We’ll drop anchor off the shoreline, and my men will row you ashore. Preferably at night when you won’t gain any notice.”
The captain sounded knowledgeable, which gave Simon confidence that he would get them to Leaudor in the safest possible manner. “I like the plan,” he said finally. “It appears that you’ve taken everything into consideration. I’ll apprise Isabella…Her Highness of your plan.”
“I wish you both Godspeed,” the captain said in a grave voice. “The princess has a difficult task ahead of her. Montagne has much support, and the people of Leaudor are just waiting for him to be crowned. If all the princess says is true, he won’t easily allow her to take the throne.”
The captain’s words rang ominously in Simon’s ears. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already know, but hearing it voiced aloud sent a cold chill down his spine. Once he and Isabella reached Leaudor, they were no longer under the protection of the British crown or law. He could do little to help her if they were captured.
“If you will excuse me, Captain, I will inform Her Highness of your intentions.”
The captain nodded. “If the weather holds, I anticipate dropping anchor off the western coast tomorrow evening.”
Simon left the captain’s cabin and strode toward Isabella’s. He paused a moment outside her door, wondering if he wasn’t better served to let her rest. No, she would want to know exactly what was going to occur at the earliest possible moment.
He knocked softly and waited for her response. Almost immediately the door swung open and she stood before him. She presented a glorious sight, a nightshirt clipping the top of her knees, her long, disheveled hair thrown carelessly over one shoulder.
And she looked glad to see him.
She stepped away from the door and gestured for him to come in. As he stepped over the threshold, she shut the door firmly behind him.
“If you’ll excuse me but a moment while I dress,” she said, stepping behind a dressing screen secured to the wall.
He watched as she threw the nightshirt over the top of the screen and clenched his jaw as he imagined her naked behind it. Why was he torturing himself? He shifted uncomfortably and sat down on the edge of the bed, hoping to at least disguise the extent of his discomfort.
Seconds later, she reappeared from behind the screen dressed in a clean shirt and breeches. She smoothed her hands down the legs of her pants and crossed the room to where he sat.
“How are you faring this morning?” she asked.
He could detect a hint of nervousness in her voice and wondered if she was as affected by his presence as he was hers. With a mental shake of his head, he directed his thoughts to the matter at hand.
“I’ve spoken to the captain. We should be in Leaudor by tomorrow evening.”
He quickly recounted all the captain had told him then watched as she absorbed his words.
“It’s a sound plan,” she admitted, chewing the bottom of her lip in concentration. “And we shouldn’t have far to travel to the monastery depending on where we come ashore.”
“You intend to visit the monastery first?” he asked in surprise. He had assumed she hasten to the palace.
“I must see Father Ling first. He can tell me if Jacques has been successful in recovering the relics. He can also tell us exactly what has been going on since the deaths of my family,” she said after a deep breath.
“How far is the monastery from the palace?” he asked.
“Not terribly far by horse,” she replied. “The monastery lies on the western coast. The monks are said to be the keepers of the caves so the entrance is not far from the monastery. The palace is further inland atop Soleil Mountain.”
Mountains, caves—it all sounded difficult, not to mention treacherous. He felt a twinge of doubt nag at him. How could he and Isabella go against an unknown number of forces, practically take on an entire nation to right the wrongs against her family?
Montagne had gathered much support according to the captain, and Isabella’s claims might well fall on deaf ears. And the fact that an Englishman was aiding her might lend further credence to the conspiracy theory Montagne was spewing.
He said a fervent prayer that Kirk was successful in thwarting any escape attempt by Bonaparte. If that was indeed in the works, his failure to leave Elba could signal difficulties for Bonaparte sympathizers in Leaudor.
“Do you regret agreeing to help me?” she asked softly.
“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “Not at all, it’s my duty,” he rushed to say. His tongue seemed to rebel against him as he faltered to get the words out.
Her face fell then she stiffened beside him. Rising, she glanced back at him with those unreadable eyes he hadn’t seen since their first days together. “Yes, well, you mustn’t be remiss in your duty.”
She was bothered by something, but damned if he knew what it was. Perhaps she was growing more worried as they drew closer to her country.
“We will find the people responsible for your parents’ deaths,” he said in an attempt to reassure her once more. It was what she wanted to hear no doubt, something to bolster her flagging confidence.
But her expression remained stoic. “Yes, I know,” she said in a slightly clipped tone.
Her entire body was stiff and she flipped agitatedly at her hair. Annoyance burned in her eyes, and he realized perhaps she thought he was hinting that she was incapable of seeking justice. Instead of offering more platitudes, which he was sure would annoy her, he closed his mouth and remained silent.
A knock sounded at the door, and he immediately rose, but Isabella beat him to the door. A young man stood bearing a breakfast tray and handed it over to Isabella.
She smiled and thanked him then carried the tray over to the bed. “Have you eaten?” she asked as she uncovered the bread, cheese and a steaming meat pie.
“Yes, earlier with the captain.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Should you not have summoned me so that I could be present when the captain presented his plan?”
The imperious tone had returned, and it made him wretchedly uncomfortable. Not only did it outline in stark detail the vast distance between them, but it represented a coldness between them that hadn’t existed until now.
“You may be certain in the future I will not make such a mistake, Your Highness.”
A flicker of hurt flashed in her eyes but was gone in a second. He felt instant regret, but her demeanor hurt him, though he was loathe to admit it. “I should return to my cabin now,” he said in a low voice.
He walked out the door before she could say anything. Perhaps going above deck would clear his head.
* * *
Simon stayed as far from Isabella’s cabin as he could for the remainder of the day. The air was crisp, and the sea breeze stout, but the coldness kept his mind focused.
He watched the sun sink over the horizon, reflecting gold against the pink and purple hues that had long since replaced the blue canvas. In the twilight, he could make out the first stars as they appeared in the darkening sky. Soon the moon would rise and night would fall. The last night before an uncertain tomorrow.
Whatever accounted for Isabella’s curtness, he wanted to correct it before they left the ship. They had encountered far too much together, and he wanted the same trust and easy rapport between them when they embarked on the next leg of their quest.
His hands gripped the side railing of the ship as he steadied himself over a swell. For the first time, the idea of success didn’t fill him with satisfaction. For once he disposed of the threats against Isabella, she would become queen and he would return to England. The likelihood of even seei
ng her again was slim.
There was only tonight.
Drawing his shoulders up, he turned and walked back to Isabella’s cabin. He stood for several long seconds outside the door, debating whether to knock or just go in. His determination fueled his courage, and he opened the door in one motion, stepping in before he waited for her summons.
His jaw dropped when he saw her standing across the room in front of the washbasin. She turned when she heard him, just as surprised as he was. She dropped the cloth she had been washing herself with and returned his stare.
Her long hair fell in waves to her waist and swayed with her motion. Slender, bare legs slid seductively from beneath her shirt, and the shirt was parted giving him the barest peek of the swells of her breast. His gaze daren’t go lower. He locked onto her face, feeling foolish for barging in unannounced.
“My apologies,” he finally to say around a tongue that didn’t seem to want to cooperate.
But before he could turn and go, she reached up and gripped the lapels of her shirt in her hands and slowly pulled them over her shoulders, baring her breasts to his avid gaze. Her eyes locked with his, and he read insecurity, nervousness and desire within their depths. Then she shrugged from the shirt and let it fall in a pool at her feet.
Chapter Seventeen
Isabella stood tremulously before Merrick, praying that her courage didn’t desert her. His eyes flashed as they swept over her body and darkened to obsidian.
Then she prayed he wouldn’t turn and walk out.
But he moved closer, the blatant desire in his eyes frightening and arousing her all at the same time. He stopped directly in front of her, mere inches separating them.
She was a fool to throw herself so shamelessly at this man, but her body ached for him, her soul ached for him. And in her heart, she knew she would never feel this way about another man. Even the man she would eventually marry and produce heirs with.
There was no guarantee of what tomorrow would bring, and she wanted to experience the closeness, cement the bond between them. Wanted to pretend for one night that nothing else mattered. Not their duties. Not the uncertainty that awaited her in Leaudor.