Harlequin Historical November 2015, Box Set 2 of 2 (29 page)

If only he could make her forget Sebastian was out there some place.

But her gratefulness almost evaporated at his next question.

‘Do you know this Senhor Lord Sebastian Barrett, then?' Luis asked and Mary could feel him watching her closely. ‘Were you perhaps friends back in England?'

Mary could not fathom why he would ask that. Had she revealed some of her emotions without realising it? Why would Luis even be interested? ‘I met him once or twice in London, when he was still serving in the Army. I was rather surprised he is now with the Foreign Office, but I do think the Barretts have long served in diplomatic positions.'

‘And do you like him? All the ladies seem to. And he seems to know much about the affairs of Iberian politics.'

Mary made herself laugh and she was afraid it sounded rather harsh. ‘I should think that would be his job now. But I confess I do not care for him very much. His manners are not—all they should be.'

Luis suddenly reached for her hand and she looked up at him in surprise. In the flickering light of the ship's lanterns, his lean, dark, handsome face, usually as merry as his sister's, was so very serious. He looked deep into her eyes and she had to turn away, flustered.

‘Senhorita Manning,' he said quietly. ‘No man should ever treat you with anything less than worship. This Lord Sebastian is foolish indeed if he has made you dislike him.'

Flustered, Mary drew away her hand. ‘Senhor Fernandes, I—that is, I think...'

The sudden movement of a boat breaking through the water below caught her attention. She turned towards it, grateful for the distraction. It seemed she had learned little in dealing with men's attentions since Sebastian in London and she felt rather silly. Silly and unsure.

Much to her relief, one of the men in the crowded vessel was her father.

‘Papa!' she cried, waving. He glanced up, and a smile broke across his worried face under the brim of his hat.

‘Mary, my dear,' he called back. ‘Thank heaven you got away in time.'

Got away.
Mary thought of Sebastian Barrett, his arms around her as he swung her up off her feet and into safety. She was suddenly afraid she had run away from Napoleon, only to fall into other trouble. Trouble for her uncertain heart.

Chapter Nine

‘W
hatever shall happen to us, Mary?' Teresa whispered. She pulled the blankets of the berth up over her head, but Mary could still hear her friend's muffled sobs.

‘We shall move through this, of course, and see sun tomorrow,' Mary answered, though in truth she wasn't entirely sure. When the fleet slipped past the bar amid deafening cannon salutes, moving into open sea, they had immediately been buffeted by gale winds, which hadn't yet ceased. The ships had tacked off their course, drawing in their sails, trying to avoid the worst of the storm and move in safety further into the Atlantic and on the way to Brazil.

Mary had travelled much in her life, but the howling of the wind, the wooden crashes overhead and the loud sobs of the passengers crowded around them in the other cabins was unlike anything she had experienced. She was trying to write it all down in her letter to Louisa, which seemed to have become a way of making sense of it herself.

‘Do you truly think so?' Teresa said.

‘Of course. I should go see if I can find some tea, or even a bit of brandy. That will settle our stomachs and I can find out what is happening as well.'

‘I should fetch that,
senhorita
. It is my job,' Adriana said weakly from her berth tucked under the tiny porthole. Ever since Mary had taken her aboard, away from the chaos of Adriana's home city, the maid had been even more eager to help. But her face was an alarming greyish-green colour and Mary feared she would be too weak.

‘No, you both stay here and rest, my stomach is quite made of iron,' Mary said quickly, tucking away her letter. ‘Read some of the books on Brazil. I won't be gone long.'

Wrapping her cloak around her, she hurried out of the cabin and carefully shut the door behind her, so it would not bang open every time the ship rolled. The corridor was narrow and dark, pitching under her feet as the wind tossed them around. Behind the other doors, she heard muffled sobs and voices, moans and then the unmistakable sour smell of seasickness.

She peeked into the small cabin assigned to her father, but he was not there, and she feared he was still working far too hard.

The
Hibernia
was a large warship, but she was crowded to the rafters with passengers. Mostly British citizens who had been living in Portugal, merchants and diplomatic families like Mary's, and a few Portuguese aristocrats who hadn't been able to lodge anywhere else. It was a bad start to a very long voyage, all stormy upheaval, and she could feel the fear and misery pressing around her, like a physical thing that tried to push her down.

But Mary didn't want to be held down. Holding on to the wooden wall, she carefully made her way to the steep stairs at the end of the corridor. A rope banister was strung along there and she used it to pull herself up on to the deck.

A cold wind bit into her cheeks and tugged her hair from its pins, reviving her. The salty spray, even chilly as it was, felt fresh after the stale, sour air below decks and she welcomed it even as the scene that greeted her was a frantic one.

The top sections of the masts had been dismantled and lashed down, she saw at a quick glance, and sailors rushed around everywhere, a melee of running feet and shouts. A few passengers were huddled together near the railings, their faces pale and terrified in the swaying lamplight. They seemed to be straining for one last glimpse of their home, but Lisbon was left far behind in the fog.

Mary wrapped her cloak closer around her and found a quiet spot at the railing, out of the way of the crew. She studied the scene in front of her, but all she could see was a blur of black and grey. Waves crashed against the ship's hull and clouds whirled past overhead. In the distance, she could barely make out the outlines of the other vessels, tossed like their own by the wind. The creak and moan of straining wood crashed through the air.

They were like toys, she thought, tiny, delicate things cast adrift in an unfathomable, vast sea. But Mary had felt like that for most of her life, tossed into situations she only half-understood in her father's political life, and was expected to grope her way through. A stormy ocean was surely just another challenge.

Only once, for a few precious days, had she begun to feel like there was an anchor cast her way that she might be able to grasp. When she had first met Sebastian Barrett in London and new, bright feelings had left her so uncertain and delighted.

But that had all proved to be the most unpredictable storm of all. She was not going to do that again, leave herself so vulnerable to emotions.

Mary held on tightly to the railing, the polished wood slick and cold under her hands. She stared out at the white, frothy waves, whipped higher and higher around them, but she didn't really see them. She saw Sebastian as he had been as he stood next to her as Lisbon fell away before them. The way he looked at her, so unreadable and—and maddening.

Once she had let herself cease to be cautious, had been young and foolish, and opened her thoughts and feelings to him. Even now, knowing what she did about him, she found herself intrigued by him all over again.

Damn him
. He upset the careful, content inner world she had managed to build for herself, a world where she could be useful. If she sometimes, very late at night, felt some pang of unspoken longing—well, she knew it would quickly pass, lost in work. Usually.

But Sebastian Barrett was like this storm, unpredictable, frightening and yet somehow alluring in its very changeable nature. Just by his very presence he unsettled her. He always seemed to be there when she was at her most awkward, to catch her as she fell.

‘I won't allow it,' Mary whispered fiercely. She slapped her palm down hard on the railing—and felt her feet slip away underneath her on the wet planks of the deck. A rush of panic caught her in its cold grip.

A hard, strong arm came around her waist, lifting her up before she could crack her head on the railing. She was swept up to safety again, the wind catching at her.

‘May I help?' a deep voice said near her ear, a voice that was all too familiar. It made her shiver with its heat.

Blast!
It was Sebastian, of course. Her thoughts of him seemed to conjure his very presence all the time now, especially when she seemed to be at her most awkward worst—like on the docks, and like now.

Yet she couldn't honestly say she wished he hadn't appeared, that he had let her topple into the cold water so far below. Or that his touch was—unpleasant. Yet it was certainly most unsettling.

‘Th-thank you,' she said. ‘I should be more careful.'

‘Indeed you should, Miss Manning.' He still held her tightly against him, blocking the wind like he was a haven from the storm itself. ‘A ship's deck in a storm is no place to be wandering about.'

‘I'm not the only passenger outside now,' she protested, all too aware he still held her—and that she didn't really want him to let go. ‘I couldn't bear to be trapped in that cabin for a moment longer.'

‘I can't blame you for that. It's a miserable situation.' He carefully set her on her feet at last, her body slowly sliding along his.

She spun around to face him. She stepped back so quickly, he had to grab her arm to steady her.

‘I thought you were once in the Army, not the Navy,' she said. She heard herself and feared her tone was far more accusing than she meant it to be. He still made her feel so young and uncertain—so foolish.

He smiled at her, so full of life and golden beauty that, for a moment she couldn't breathe. ‘I am following in my family's footsteps now, just as you are. We must do our best for our country now, yes?'

‘I—yes, of course,' Mary murmured. Could he truly have changed in the last two years, following a path not of his own making? Was the new solemnity in his eyes real? She didn't know what to trust.

The boat lurched on the waves, sending her off balance. His arms suddenly came around her again, tugging her closer. Mary clutched at his shoulders to hold herself upright and she found she couldn't move away. It felt like it had in London, so intoxicating and irresistible.

The cold wind twined around them, whipping her cloak around them both, as if to bind them together in that strange, dreamlike twilight world.

‘We must beware the storms of the world, Mary,' he whispered warmly against her ear.

It still seemed as if she was caught in a dream, yet at the same time it was more real than anything she had ever known, when his head dipped down towards her and he kissed her.

The touch of his lips was so soft at first, warm, enticing, pressing to hers teasingly once, twice. It felt so strange, and yet so familiar, too, this kiss that had haunted her dreams since they last met. When she didn't, couldn't, move away, when her hands tightened on his shoulders, his kiss deepened. It became hotter, more urgent, as if he felt drawn into that desperate unreality, too. She needed to feel alive again and he was the only thing that made her so.

She moaned, parting her lips until she felt the tip of his tongue slide against hers, seeking entrance. The whole unsure world around them vanished and there was only
him
. Only the way he made her feel, completely outside of herself.

It was a delirious moment that shattered all too soon. A shout, and a resounding wooden crash, broke into her instance of insanity. She tore her mouth from his, tilting her head back to suck in the cold, thought-clearing air.

He, too, stepped away, his broad shoulders heaving on a deep breath. For just a moment, his unreadable mask had fallen and she saw a flash of raw passion in his eyes. A passion that answered hers. But then it was gone, vanished into another expression she knew all too well—remorse.

‘Mary, I must...' he began hoarsely.

‘No,' she whispered. No words could erase the hurts of the past, or the confusion of the present. No words could explain what she was feeling, even to herself. She only knew she couldn't bear it if he was
sorry
. ‘I must go.'

She spun around and dashed across the slippery deck as fast as her boots could take her.

* * *

What was he thinking, to dare to kiss Mary like that?

But Sebastian feared he knew—he had not been thinking at all. Not in that moment, with the wild seas beyond them, and Mary looking up at him with her wide grey eyes. He had lost control, in a way he had hoped was left far behind him. He had even hoped he might prove to Mary he had changed, only to toss it all away as if he had heaved it overboard into the ocean.

And yet—yet her lips had tasted so very sweet, almost as if he'd been dying of thirst until he touched her again.

He leaned against the railing as he raked his hand through his hair. He was glad of the cold wind, of the stark reminder of where they were, who they were. He couldn't forget again.

Not if he was truly to gain her forgiveness.

Chapter Ten

‘I
f the weather improves, we should be in Madeira in only a few more days,' the captain announced as he passed an ewer of wine around the dinner table in his spacious cabin.

Mary smiled as she took a little more of the wine. Everyone aboard had been speaking of ‘better weather' ever since they pushed out of the Tagus and into open sea. The unrelenting winds kept buffeting them across the choppy waves and the damp, dark grey fog out of sight of the other ships. It felt as if they floated in their own world, cut off from all other people, all news, all sunlight.

That wasn't quite true, of course. Mary had stood at the railings and watched boats being lowered, carrying messengers to the royal vessels, assessing damage and levels of supplies, even transferring passengers when needed. It was a whole floating wooden world out there.

Mary was one of the few not yet laid low by seasickness. During the day, she helped nursing other passengers, bringing broth and wine and clean basins, talking to the sailors who had made this journey many times and had tales to tell of the islands and of Brazil itself. Her father was always busy with his meetings, hidden away in the captain's cabin with the other men of the diplomatic party, and she seldom saw him except at dinner.

But she also seldom saw Sebastian, which she was grateful for. After their kiss, she didn't know what to say to him, how to behave—how to hide from him so she could not be hurt by him all over again.

That didn't keep him from her thoughts, though. Especially at night, when she couldn't sleep. She would lie in her berth, listening to Teresa and Adriana in their restless slumber, and would remember London, her foolish young infatuation for him, the way he looked different now. What had happened to him since they parted?

She feared she was being fooled by his charm all over again.

Mary took a sip of the wine, wishing it could fortify her against herself. She had deluded herself for so long, thinking she had outgrown the silly girl who was so infatuated with Sebastian Barrett. Yet she feared she hadn't really changed at all, as he seemed to have done.

Her fingers tightening around the stem of her glass, she frowned down into the red depths. Of course she had changed. She could see now how foolish she was, where then she had leaped ahead, so sure Sebastian was a fairy tale come true. But there were no fairy tales, not in real life. There was only war and people who had to flee their homes, and love gone badly.

She peeked over the rim of her glass at where he sat at the other end of the tables, talking to Mr Warren and one of the ship's officers. He was still handsome, perhaps even more than he had been back then, with a new darkness in his eyes. He looked at her and she turned away, flustered.

It was a small group at dinner, thanks to the pitching waves. The captain and his officers, Mary's father and his secretaries, Sebastian and Mr Warren. The only other ladies were a stout Portuguese countess, who talked about the villa on the beach she intended to have in Brazil, and Teresa, who had pulled herself out of bed to come to the table and flirt with Mr Warren.

‘But I understand you intend to leave us before Madeira, Lord Sebastian,' the captain said.

Startled, Mary looked back towards Sebastian. Leave them? She felt a sudden jolt of something that felt oddly like relief—and dismay.

‘Yes, that is true,' Sebastian said with a smile. The Portuguese countess sighed. ‘I fear Mr Warren and myself have orders to transfer to the
Reina de Portugal
to oversee the voyage with the Prince Regent. We are to transfer by skiff as soon as possible.'

‘Better you than me,' the captain said, laughing. ‘That ship seemed to be in poor shape before we even left Lisbon. If you reach Rio long after we do...'

The conversation went on around her, but Mary did not really hear it. She sipped at her wine and secretly studied Sebastian in the candlelight. She did not know if she was glad he was going to be on another ship for their long journey, or if she was sorry they couldn't speak together more. That she couldn't find out what had truly happened between them in London.

* * *

After the meal, she made her way out to the deck to watch as the skiffs were lowered for the journey to the
Reina de Portugal
. It was a chilly night, a cold wind sweeping up from the sea, the waters below sprinkled with lights from the stars. She wrapped her shawl closer around her, listening to the echo of chatter from the cabins beyond. It was a strange night, lonely and beautiful.

She drew back into the shadows as Sebastian and Mr Warren made their way to the railing, their tall figures wrapped in greatcoats. Sebastian glanced back and for an instant Mary was sure he saw her standing there. She shrank back, hardly able to breathe, but in the next moment, he was gone from her sight.

She was alone in the night.