Beyond Seduction (31 page)

"Don't even—" His voice was too choked to finish. She opened her eyes, touched by his concern even

if it made her want to laugh.

"I'm just weak from too much lying around," she soothed. "I very much doubt I'll expire from mal de mer."

A sound broke in his throat that he immediately shook away. "Of course you won't," he said heartily.

"I simply think it would be prudent to consult a doctor in your case. Perhaps you can be restored to

your former self a little sooner."

As it turned out, the yacht was too small to employ a doctor. Nic did, however, beg a remedy from the cook, a drink composed of sugar, lime juice, and some salt.

The captain himself came to see her, a courtesy that seemed unnecessary to her, though Nic pronounced himself very grateful. Indeed, his gratitude was fervent enough to be embarrassing, even if the captain

did take it with aplomb. He was an older, sun-bronzed man in a crisp gray uniform who peered at her eyes and clucked like a mother hen.

"I'm all right," she said faintly, struggling to sit up. "Haven't been sick in days."

"She hasn't eaten, either," Nic put in, hovering worriedly behind. "As you can see, she can't afford to

lose the weight."

"Thanks so much," Merry snapped, which made the captain smile.

"I'll send down a bit of crystallized ginger," he said. "Nibbling that should settle her stomach enough to eat. Then we can try some soup and rice."

Merry bridled at being talked around like a child but managed to hold her tongue.

After the captain left, Nic laughed at her expression. "You look so fierce, Duchess. I suppose you aren't

at death's door after all."

She scowled even harder, but his care had warmed her heart.

*  *  *

"Tell me a story," she said as the rice settled uneasily in her stomach. Nic smelled of fresh air and peppermint-lemon tea. He'd squeezed next to her on the narrow bunk and sat with his arm around her back and his long legs crossed at the ankle. When he spoke his voice was guarded.

"A story about what?"

"Anything. You and Sebastian. What life was like when you were young."

"I'm not that much older than you, Mary. I imagine it was similar to what life was like for you. Knew

the world was round and all."

"I didn't mean it that way. I meant where did you grow up? What sort of games did you play? Did you get on with your parents? Are they still alive?"

Nic squirmed perceptibly on the mattress. "That's, a lot of questions."

"Then just answer one. I need distraction from my digestion."

He smiled at that, though she could tell he was reluctant. No doubt it wasn't fair of her to push, considering her own lack of candor. All the same, she couldn't resist the chance to pry.

Nic intrigued her more than ever.

"Very well," he conceded, shifting her head to a more comfortable position on his chest. "I can tell you my mother is alive. My father, however, was killed in a hunting accident some years back."

Merry stroked his shirt where it lay above his heart. "How terrible for you both."

"Mm," said Nic, an odd, dry sound. "What's even more terrible is that it probably wasn't an accident."

That brought her head up. "You can't mean he was
murdered
?"

His mouth lifted crookedly as he stroked his finger down her cheek. His eyes didn't so much look at her as beyond her. Into the past, she imagined. She could tell he hadn't liked his father enough to mourn him. Good riddance, his attitude seemed to say, which to her—a papa's girl if ever there was one—was every bit as shocking as having one's parent killed.

But at least this explained why he had not wanted to share his past.

With a soft exhalation, he dropped his hand to his thigh. "The man who shot him said he mistook my father's hunting cap for a grouse. Possible—though there was talk that my father seduced his wife."

"Oh," she said, hardly knowing how to take this seamy tale. What sort of family did Nic come from? "Surely the matter was investigated?"

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "I suspect the local constabulary didn't look into the matter as closely as they might. Neither my mother nor the purported adulteress were especially eager for the

truth to come to light. Besides which, my father was hardly an innocent victim."

"Nonetheless," said Merry, aware she was treading on shaky ground, "a man does not deserve to die

for an indiscretion."

"No," Nic agreed, his face drawing tight in a look as dark as she'd ever seen him wear. "Not for that."

Wanting to comfort him, she stroked the muscle ticking in his jaw. "It was the woman's responsibility as much as it was your father's. She wasn't helpless. She could have repulsed his advances."

"I believe her husband thought the same. He took his wife to Australia as soon as the inquest was over,

as if they both were transported convicts. Of course"—he released a breath of laughter—"their hasty departure could have been my mother's doing."

"Your mother is that forceful?"

"Forceful doesn't begin to describe her. To be fair, she's almost always in the right. Has a keen sense

of justice."

"I imagine that could be uncomfortable."

"Yes," he said wryly, then half drew breath as if a thought were just then occurring to him. "Uncomfortable for her as well, perhaps. Even with all her will she can't bring the world up to her standards. She must suspect, now and then, that she might be driving the people she loves away."

Mary opened her mouth to protest putting the blame for his father's choices on his mother. Then she realized he wasn't talking about his father. He was talking about himself. Nic was the one who'd run

from his mother's judgment.

Before she could decide if this was a topic she ought to broach, he smiled warmly into her eyes. "You were thinking about your parents, weren't you, when you asked me about mine? That if they were

alive they might disapprove of what you've done."

Since her parents
were
still alive and since there was no
might
about their disapproval, she hadn't been thinking anything of the kind. Rather than admit this, she looked down at her hands. "Maybe they'd be right to disapprove."

Nic made a soft, snorting noise. "You're thinking of society's rules, rules society itself does not follow unless they are convenient."

"But one must live by some code of conduct!" Amazed by her own words, Merry pressed her fingers

to her lips. The objection was one she had not meant to make, one she would have thought more

suited to her father.

Happily, Nic did not take offense. His gaze serious, he tucked a fallen curl behind her ear. "What does your conscience tell you is right? To me, it is not wrong to take pride in one's youth and beauty. Nor do

I think it a sin to share the pleasures of the flesh with a willing partner. What is sinful is cruelty to one's lovers, cruelty and lack of care."

She could not answer. Her mind did not disagree but her heart was swiftly reaching the conclusion that the pleasures of the flesh, at least for her, were not a concern for flesh alone. Like it or not, her emotions were engaged.

"Can it really be that simple?" she asked, the question slightly rough. She lifted her head to gaze at him but he did not gaze at her. Water-threaded light, pale as straw, danced across his skin, making his features seem by contrast very still. His eyes were soot-framed ash, his mouth a line of autumn rose. He looked both beautiful and sad.

"It can be that simple," he said, "if one remembers to be wise."

*  *  *

By the time they passed the island of Corsica. Merry was able to totter onto the deck and watch the

stars rise from the sea. The water was calm, an inky glitter that swept unmeasured to the sky. A single line of portholes lit the ship while a net of foamy waves parted around the prow. Nic held her to his side by the forward rail, warming her, steadying her. Her enjoyment of his company should have disturbed her. Instead, she drank it in. This trip had changed her, perhaps as much as her experiences in his home. For the first time since childhood, she'd been completely reliant on another person. Nic had neither begrudged her his care nor abused her dependence, and that had shifted the axis on which she turned.

She was living in the moment now, weak yet serene, as if her past had been swept away like the wake behind the ship.

Though she knew this was an illusion—the past was with her always—the effect was very real. She felt light and calm and, under that, a quivering sense of anticipation.

She didn't know what would happen next, didn't know who Merry Vance would turn out to be.

"I feel reborn," she said.

Nic chuckled, taking it as a joke. "Wait till you see Venice," he said. "Then you'll think you've gone to heaven."

Fourteen

The shining black gondola slipped from the dock at St. Mark's Square into the shimmering mouth of the
Grand Canal
. The day was still, the water a luminous raffled mirror. Watching the palazzos rise on either side, Nic felt the happiness only a surfeit of beauty could inspire. La Serenissima. He was in her arms again and she was as fascinating, as gorgeous, as crumbling and stained and changeable as ever.

No city had ever affected him like this one.
Venice
radiated a peace and a mystery time would never dim. He longed for his paints with an ache that was physical, but at the same time was content to have them packed away.
Venice
could not truly be recorded.
Venice
had to be experienced. One opened oneself, made oneself vulnerable, and then one soaked her in.

But perhaps he'd made himself too vulnerable, because when Mary's hand closed over his, heat burned unexpectedly behind his eyes.

"It's astonishing," she whispered as if they'd entered a holy place.

Blinking quickly, he turned on the narrow seat to smile at her. "Are you comfortable? Not too cold?

I'm afraid the weather won't really warm up before next month."

"I'm fine," she said, her expression softly amused as she pushed an errant curl out of her eye.

Oh, that hair of hers. Titian gold, the perfect shade for Venice. In truth, all of her was perfect for Venice: her flaws and quirks the gilding for her charm. Nic brushed his thumb up the slope of her cheekbone and kissed her, really kissed her, for the first time in a week. The gondolier chuckled with a Venetian's tolerance for romance, but Nic wouldn't have cared if he'd disapproved. Mary's kiss felt as much like coming home as his first sight of the ancient city.

When he finally released her mouth, she was flatteringly breathless.

"You're too thin," he said, touching her kiss-reddened lips. "As soon as we get settled, I'm going to stuff you full of biscotti."

Mary dropped her lashes like a courtesan, her mouth curved and rosy, her hands folded primly in her

lap. "Is that all you're going to stuff me full of?"

He hadn't realized he'd grown hard until she said it, but now he knew those demurely lowered eyes

were measuring his lust. His erection pulsed at her attention, growing hotter and tighter at the thought

of making up for its long neglect.

"No," he said, the answer a muted rumble. "As soon as I get you alone, I'm going to cram you full of every inch of me you can take."