Claire Delacroix (104 page)

And notice he had. Rowan folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “For a slave, you seem to know much of Venetians.”

The lady lifted her chin. “One hears tales, even from other slaves. We are not mute, after all.”

“Indeed!” Rowan caught her chin with one fingertip when she might have turned away. She held his gaze warily, her uncertainty making him feel oddly protective of her. “Why did you welcome his touch?” he asked softly.

“I did not welcome it,” she snapped. “I endured it.”

“You enjoyed his salute.”

She pulled her chin away from his touch, that intellect bright in her eyes again. “Do you know so little of men that you did not guess his manner had naught to do with me? He sought only to prick
your
pride.” An unexpected smile danced over her lips. “Indeed, there is much between men in matters of prick and pride.”

Thomas chortled at her unexpected earthiness, and
Rowan’s mood worsened that she—once again—made the jest instead of he.

“And ’tis the way of a merchant to be concerned with ensuring a deal is made,” he retorted, annoyance dismissing his intent to be cautious. “As well as to have knowledge of Venetians.”

Ibernia’s lips thinned only slightly before she met his gaze squarely. “What are you saying?”

Aye, there was a catch in her voice, one that a man who was not watching for a hint of the truth might have missed.

But Rowan was watching. He leaned closer to her, newly confident in his conclusions. “Only that you,
ma demoiselle
, are no slave of humble origins, regardless of what you claim.”

She smiled as if this was ridiculous. “Do tell. What else might I be, in such exquisite garb? Have you forgotten my fine rope? Or my charming companion of earlier this day? Perhaps you have forgotten the coin that won you my companionship?”

Rowan glared at Thomas before he could snicker, though the boy grinned. “Make no mistake, you lie to me in this and I know it well. You are from a merchant family—there is no other way you could know of Venetians and of making deals.”

“No other way indeed!” she scoffed. “Do not imagine that slaves do not witness the making of bargains. Any with eyes in their head can learn much of that with little effort. I have been in this port long enough to have learned some-thing of matters!”

Rowan did not doubt that. Just as he did not doubt that her tale was not the truth.

“You lie,” Rowan insisted.

Her eyes flashed dangerously, the sign of her temper doing
marvels for Rowan’s mood. He knew he was close to the truth when she could not hide her response.

“And you are as innocent as a newborn babe?” she demanded impatiently.

Ah, she was magnificent in anger! All sparks and flash, all color and heat. Truly, a part of him enjoyed matching wits with her, for he could not guess what she might say. Indeed, her manner made Rowan wonder how she would look in passion—a prospect so intriguing that consideration of it nigh distracted him from the conversation.

Ibernia, however, showed no such distraction. “What of
your
lie that we are wed?”

“I never said that we were wed.” Rowan grinned. “Not
precisely.
”

Ibernia’s eyes shone with blue fire and she propped her hands on her hips. “Do not play games with me, sir! I am not so witless that I did not hear the words fall from your lips. You quite clearly said that I was your lady.”

“And so you are.” Rowan leaned closer, virtually daring her to deny the truth. He had a sudden urge to kiss this challenging woman, to kiss her fully, so deeply that she moaned for more.

“You
are
a lady,” he insisted.

“I am no one.” She folded her arms across her chest mutinously, clearly unaware of the enchanting view of her ripe breasts that the pose granted Rowan.

What had ever possessed him to admire lean and lithe women?

“A lady, to be sure,” he insisted, “and by virtue of the coin I parted with, you are
mine.
”

When he might have expected an angry retort, Ibernia’s lips twisted and she lifted a hand to her heart. “Your gallantry overwhelms me,” she declared, then fluttered her eyelashes. “Is this the moment that I should cede to your
chivalrous charm?” She turned to Thomas, her eyes wide. “Indeed, how could any woman choose the fine manners of Baldassare over your master’s boldly possessive claims?”

Thomas snickered in a way that was becoming most annoying. It helped naught that Rowan felt like a clumsy knave. Indeed, he sensed he had disappointed Ibernia and disliked the feeling most heartily.

Matters could not be said to be proceeding to his plan.

“And what was I to do?” Rowan demanded, his voice rising that she should find him less than appealing. Especially in comparison to that Venetian! “Let you share his quarters? He would make you no wager, of that I am certain!”

“Perhaps not.” Ibernia shrugged and smiled, composed once more. “Perhaps he would make
a finer
offer.”

“And you would willingly be his courtesan?”

She shrugged. “Perhaps.”

’Twas infuriating that she should think so little of his offer of protection. And truly, how could one who loathed the touch of a man—as Ibernia claimed she did—even consider the possibility of becoming a courtesan?

“You do not fool me!” Rowan retorted. “You are not fond of liaisons with men, be they knights or merchants or sea captains. You would not roll willingly to your back for anyone!”

Ibernia’s lips tightened, then she shook a finger beneath his nose. “I will never roll willingly to my back
for you
, of that you can be certain!”

“So you have said, and so we have wagered upon the outcome.” Rowan smiled slowly. He savored the sight of her bright gaze and the flush in her cheeks.

Aye, he angered her.

And anger did not come from naught. Nay, the lady was
aware of his charms yet determined, quite naturally, to win their wager by denying her attraction to him.

’Twas a fine prospect for this journey. ’Twould not be an easy seduction, but Rowan guessed the prize was well worth the price of winning it.

“Indeed,” he mused, his confidence restored. “I cannot wait for the privacy of our small chamber on this ship.”

Ibernia’s eyes flashed. “There will be no small chamber and no such privacy between us!”

“Of course there will be.” Rowan clucked his tongue. “One cannot expect a married couple to endure the open decks or share quarters with the sailors.”

“We are not wed!”

“Ah, then you would prefer I tell the captain the truth and let you share
his
quarters.”

She bit her lip and glared at him, her silence as much of an endorsement as Rowan was likely to win. “I could loathe you,” she muttered, although the corner of her mouth quirked in opposition to her words.

Rowan grinned. “But I shall coax you to love me instead.”

“You are most audacious …” She might have said more, but Rowan had already turned away.

“We shall have a cabin.” He nodded with confidence. “This captain will see the way of it and will oust one of his men, no doubt encouraged by the beauty of your smile.”

“You may be certain that I will not ask him for this favor.”

Rowan shrugged in his turn. “Then a measure of coin will change his thinking, of that I am certain. You have my assurance that I shall try.”

“You cannot do this thing!”

“ ’Twill be done, Ibernia. You have my word upon it.”

Suddenly she looked so agitated by the prospect that
Rowan bent close to reassure her. He whispered in her ear and felt her shiver at the warmth of his breath on her nape.

“Ma demoiselle
, I steal naught that is not freely offered.” Rowan let himself smile when she glanced up at him, surprised to find a shimmer of tears in her eyes. He felt the sudden urge to coax her smile or her anger.

Anything but tears.

He winked. “Though I am not adverse to persuading a lady to freely make such an invitation.”

“Oh, your surety of your own allure is insufferable!”

Rowan cupped her elbow in his hand before she could step away, smiling determinedly for the captain who watched their exchange. “And until we reach Dublin, I am your spouse, however insufferable I might be.”

“You cannot insist upon this!”

“Indeed I can, for I just have.”

“I will not countenance your lie,” she insisted. “I will tell the captain the truth of it at first opportunity.”

“And he, no doubt, will be quick to assure you of his own charms. Do you truly wish to share his chamber, all the way to Dublin?”

The lady exhaled mightily. “Caught between the devil and the sea,” she declared through gritted teeth, and Rowan did not want to know which role she believed him to fill.

He dropped his voice persuasively low, intent on reassuring her. “I made you a wager and I will keep it, Ibernia. Do not be so certain that others would do as much.”

A consideration dawned in her eyes, as if she wanted to believe him but did not know whether she should. The hint of her vulnerability tore at Rowan and made him want to make her smile.

He pulled her closer and brushed his lips across her brow, liking that she did not fight him in this. “As for claiming
you as my wife, well, do not forget, my Ibernia, that all is fair in love and war.”

“ ’Tis clear enough which this is,” the lady murmured.

Thomas chuckled behind him and Rowan could not help but grin. “Aye, when I turn my charm fully upon you, you will not be able to resist me,” he teased. “Love will make you swoon!”

The lady laughed, albeit quickly and unwillingly. The sight of her smile restored the last vestige of Rowan’s good humor, though her comment was cutting.

“Indeed, has there ever been a man so smitten with himself?”

Even Thomas’s snort of laughter could not dispel Rowan’s optimism.

Aye, he would win their wager yet!

Infuriating man!

Ibernia’s innards felt tangled. Her flesh tingled beneath Rowan’s gentle grip, her temple burned where he had pressed his lips. She could neither catch her breath nor stop the shiver that tripped over her flesh whenever Rowan touched her.

Because he made her so angry, of course. Indeed, Rowan loved himself well enough for two. Oh, she would not cede to his touch, not on this ship or afterward.

She caught her breath once more as he did just as he had warned he would do. Truly, he made his victory in pursuit of that cabin look so easy it might have been predestined. Ibernia stood by, helpless to change the course of events and not liking it all, while Rowan negotiated for the navigator’s chamber with smooth finesse. She hovered behind him as much as she was able, uncertain whether the captain knew something of her or not.

Baldassare’s dark eyes told naught of the secrets he held. Ibernia did not know whether to be more troubled by the captain’s courtly manner or by the possibility that he might know something of her true tale.

To be sure, she had erred in approaching this ship, but realized her folly too late. Ibernia had been terrified that this captain might have heard a rumor and guessed her true identity. It helped naught that he studied her so intently. Indeed, she had been so frightened that her guise would be stripped away when first they met that she had not been able to find a word to say.

That was not like her. Rowan and the response he spurred from deep within her had only confused her. She must be falling ill, there could be no other explanation.

Ibernia had never met Baldassare di Vilonte, that was no lie. But she favored her mother strongly in appearance, and Rowan—a pox upon him!—had quickly guessed aright as far as her father’s occupation.

Had her father posted a reward for her return? Ibernia had no desire to become a pawn in any man’s quest for coin—and there was something about Baldassare that prompted her distrust.

But as the captain turned away one more time, saying naught, Ibernia exhaled shakily. Perhaps she had feared wrongly, perhaps there was no risk here at all. Perhaps she would soon be home safely, secure in her father’s home, able to make her own choice—and that more wisely than she had done before.

But there was still some measure of risk to be had on this journey. Aye, the reminder of that danced within her as Rowan laid claim to her arm once more, his warm touch making her want to lean against his strength.

Though Ibernia relied upon no one. Even when she was
ill. She straightened proudly and walked ahead of Rowan, turning quickly away when he winked at her.

Oh, Ibernia would grant him a reckoning of his charm!