Passionate (16 page)

“Slipped right out of my fingers,” Mrs. Hodges said. “Dreadful mess.”

“You are extremely correct, madam. A most dreadful, clumsy, stupid mess.” He turned to the others. “You will excuse me. Goodnight.”

“Perhaps we shall see you later, Lord Huntington,” Lady Mary said.

And perhaps not, Lily thought, observing the thin smile that brushed James’s lips as his cousin stalked from the room.

When the commotion died down, Uncle Edward turned to James. “You are not pleased to see your cousin aboard?”

“No. His presence is…unexpected. We are not close.”

“I see how it stands between the two of you. And it was quite rude for him to bring up that shooting…er, well…at least you won’t be holding the fact that Mrs. Hodges bathed the chap in plum relish against us.”

“It wasn’t right, him paying such attentions to Miss Isabelle,” Mrs. Hodges said. “The way he kept
feeding
her—and her not even out yet. We’re well rid of the scoundrel.”

Isabelle thrust her chin out. “Lord Reginald was behaving with the utmost of good manners. You are all mistaken if you think him less than a gentleman. Besides, we can hardly avoid him—we are on a ship, after all.”

“We will be polite to him, of course,” Aunt Mary said. “But Isabelle, I am not certain he is the best company for you.”

“My cousin, though superficially charming, is one better left alone,” James agreed.

Isabelle dropped her gaze to her plate and pushed a forkful of fish about. “I understand.”

Understand? Lily found it doubtful. It was quite unlike her cousin to give in so easily. She hoped Isabelle would show some good sense concerning Lord Reginald. Why was he traveling to Tunisia anyway?

After dinner the passengers went on deck to take the air. The faintest blue glow lingered in the west, the brightest stars newly visible, and on the dark coast a few scattered lights burned. Sails had been run up to catch the favorable breeze—they bellied in the light wind.

Lily walked apart and leaned against the railing, watching the last light leave the sky. She felt strangely suspended between worlds, struggling to find her equilibrium. James was no help—he was a large part of the problem. And her family—how could she confide in them? It was all so complicated. She longed for the time when her greatest trouble had been correctly rendering the sepals of
Rosa floribunda.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, James appeared beside her. “I would like a private word with you, Lily.”

He was standing uncomfortably close. The light from the ship’s lamps brought out the planes of his face. She knew those features so well, after painting them, after…The heat rose in her cheeks and she hoped the light was too dim for him to make out her blush.

“If it concerns our time at Brookdale, I assure you I regret those indiscretions as much as you do. But like it or not, we are on board this ship together. We will simply have to put them behind us.”

He was silent a moment, looking out over the dark ocean. “I see. Thank you for making it clear where you stand.” He turned to her. “But that is not the reason I wish to speak to you.”

Not what he wished to discuss? Lily frowned. Why didn’t the man speak plainly?

James glanced about and lowered his voice. “It’s Reggie. He is not—how shall I say it—the most honorable of fellows. To put it bluntly, my cousin has a certain reputation with young women. You must—”

“—not speak to him? Avoid him altogether? Confine myself to my cabin?” She turned to face him squarely. “Why? Does he insinuate himself into their family, kiss them on terraces and in conservatories, and then order them back home to London when they become inconvenient?”

She whirled to leave, but he was surprisingly quick. He grasped the railing, his arm barring her way. His body blocked the wind, and he was so close she could feel the heat of him.

“You misunderstand me. It’s Isabelle that I’m concerned about. She is young and not prepared to deal with the likes of my cousin. You are older, and if any woman can put Reggie in his place, it would be you.”

Older? He considered her older? Lily drew herself up, the top of her head at a level with his chin. Why was this man so blasted tall? “Thank you for the warning, Mr. Huntington. As her
older
cousin I will be on my guard. Now, if you will excuse me, I have had a dreadful day.”

She pushed past, and he did not try to stop her.

A storm had come upon them late the first night, with winds that sang through the rigging and great foam-flecked waves that surged along the side of the ship and sent up jets of spray at the bow. Even now, three days later, the wind still blew in gusts, but the sun was warm on Lily’s face and the waves had subsided. She sat near the aft railing, her sketchbook propped on her lap, making quick studies of the seagulls that followed the ship. They seemed so sure of themselves, soaring effortlessly, their calls harsh and exciting. Behind them the distant coast of Portugal was a dark line where the sea met the sky.

One old veteran of a bird landed on deck to beg for a handout. “You must be the one Richard was talking about at luncheon. Did you approve of the sardine he stole for you?”

Her cousin had been one of the few passengers unaffected by the tossing of the ship—one of the lucky few who could face a sardine with a smile. James had been another, she had glimpsed him in a greatcoat exiting the saloon on two occasions.

She herself had not felt particularly ill, but Mrs. Hodges and Aunt Mary had both succumbed, and Isabelle was still not her usual self. Lily ought to go check on her soon.

The bird tilted its head to look at her.

“Sorry, I’ve no food for you old fellow.”

“But I do.” The baronessa was approaching with a bit of cracker in her hand. She tossed it to the gull, who took it and scuttled a few feet away to enjoy his feast.

“Hello, Miss Lily. You are drawing Richard’s friend, yes? May I see?”

“Certainly.” Lily handed her the sketchbook. She remembered that once she had felt shy about showing her work to others. Now it seemed natural. It was what it was—like a heartbeat, it needed no excuse or apology even when the work was rough.

“How lovely your drawing is. Just a line or two from your pencil and a wing appears, a beak, an eye. It is a magic, I think. I wish I could do this. Then I would never forget the beautiful things.”

Lily smiled. To never forget the beautiful things. That was what she wanted, too.

“I saw you also sketching the captain. He is an excellent subject, no? Despite that he is happily married.”

They both laughed. The baronessa exaggerated her attraction to the captain, who seemed a decent, though unremarkable, fellow. She turned the pages of Lily’s book and paused at a sketch of James sitting next to Uncle Edward. She tilted her head, dark eyes twinkling. “But the captain is not the only excellent subject aboard, I see. Mr. Huntington, he watches you with such eyes when he thinks you are not looking—and now I see you are watching him too.”

Lily held her hand out for the sketchbook. “I hear we will be stopping in Spain, at Cadiz. Won’t you be glad to take an afternoon off the ship? I certainly will.”

The baronessa made a humming sound and did not answer immediately. Lily watched the seagull sidle closer, hoping for another tidbit. She would not talk about James. She could not.

“Yes, Miss Lily, to feel the solid land, especially after these last days when we could not come out on deck. I am grown weary of books and cards. They say the cathedral is very fine, and one supposes many handsome Spanish men will be lounging on the piazza smoking their cigars.”

Lily smiled—she could not help it. “You and your handsome men! Think of the broken hearts you leave behind.”

The baronessa’s smile faltered. “I do. I think of it every day.”

“I am so sorry. I did not mean—”

“I know,
bella
. You have a good heart—one that you should learn to trust. As for my heart,” she shrugged, “It will mend. One day. But I am keeping you from your sketching.”

“Not at all. It’s high time I put it away. I promised Isabelle I would look in on her—she is still not feeling well and is resting in our stateroom.”

“I think she must be recovered, for I saw her strolling at the front of the boat just a moment ago.”

“Alone?” Lily reached for her satchel and pushed her pencils and sketchbook into it.

“No, not alone. She and Lord Huntington were conversing with the Fentons.”

“Then you must excuse me, Baronessa.”

“Of course. It was lovely to speak with you.”

The seagull squawked and took wing as Lily rushed past. Her cousin’s quick recovery was suspicious, especially if she was now passing time with Lord Reginald. Bother him. Aunt Mary had decided they all needed to keep a close eye on Isabelle where he was concerned—a task that had fallen solely to Lily the past few days, but it had not been difficult, until now. She recalled James’s words,
has a certain reputation with young women
, and sped her steps. She would not let that happen to her cousin.

There Isabelle was, standing at the bow, her golden curls tumbled by the wind. She was smiling up at Lord Reginald, who was standing much too close.

“Isabelle!” Lily called. The girl made no response.

“Isabelle,” she said again, coming up. “There you are. Good day, Lord Huntington. My cousin has been ill and should not be out on deck.”

“I thought some air would help clear my head, and Lord Reginald kindly—”

“Yes, well, he will kindly excuse you now. We had better get you back inside. I suspect Aunt Mary is wondering how you are faring.”

At the mention of her mother, Isabelle’s stubborn expression faded. She looked at Lord Reginald. “I’m afraid I should go. It has been delightful.”

He bowed. “The pleasure has been entirely mine.”

Indeed. Lily took a firmer grip on her cousin’s arm and hastened her away. When they were some distance down the deck Isabelle pulled free. “What has come over you, Lily?”

“I was going to ask you the same. I thought you were indisposed.”

“I felt better. And bored. You know that—”

“Listen to me. Lord Reginald is not proper company for you. There are certain types of gentlemen who do not have your best interest at heart. I fear Lord Reginald is one of them. Promise me you will not spend any more time in his company.”

Isabelle made no response, only hurried ahead to the stairwell. Lily followed and pulled the door firmly shut behind them.

Chapter 13

Cadiz, Spain, March 1847

From her seat in the ship’s boat, Lily could smell citrus blossoms and dust in the offshore breeze. The sailors plunged their oars into the sea, pulling briskly toward shore, and a drop of spray wetted her cheek, sudden coolness against her sun-warmed skin. Hills covered in olive and lemon groves held the town with its tall white cathedral in their embrace. Lily gripped her sketchbook. The distant sound of a bell echoed across the water.

“Picturesque, isn’t it?” James had claimed the seat beside her for the ride across the bay. The sea wind ruffled his hair and he looked relaxed, free of the tension he had carried since the voyage began. He grinned at her. It made him look charmingly boyish.

“Yes,” Lily said. “And after a week aboard, I’m more than ready for some time ashore, if only for a few hours.” His mood today caught her off guard. Like the weather, it had brightened.

Not that she had been much in his company. Lily’s eyes went to the lead boat where Lord Reginald’s darkly elegant form was visible seated beside the baronessa. At least he was in the other boat. She suspected James’s presence had much to do with that, and she was thankful. They were allies in this, at least.

Isabelle must be protected from Lord Reginald. She was too inexperienced to recognize her danger. She could not be allowed to make the same mistake Lily had. She must not.

But Lily knew Isabelle would not respond to ultimatums, so she had made a bargain with her cousin. She would not tell Aunt Mary about finding Isabelle in Lord Reginald’s company, if Isabelle promised not to seek him out. Her cousin had grudgingly agreed, although it did not seem to stop her from focusing her attention on him. Lily noticed that Isabelle had barely taken her eyes off him since the boats had set out. Lily hoped Mrs. Hodges would recover from her seasickness soon. She did not relish playing governess for her cousin, particularly under these circumstances.

“Doesn’t Lieutenant Mundy look as stuffed as his mailbag?” Richard asked, his eyes also on the boat ahead. A sailor behind Lily guffawed.

Mundy, the officer charged with delivering the Royal Mails, sat in the lead boat with his locked leather mailbag. He looked stiff and well-polished in his dress uniform. The brass buttons on his coat shone like miniature suns.

“Oh no, he is quite fine,” Isabelle said. Lily wondered just who she was referring to.

The boats crossed the bay, heading for a broad expanse of beach where a knot of barelegged men waited at the waterline.

“Almost there,” James said. “The
gallegos
will haul the boats onto shore.”

The lead boat was run up on the sand. Timing his exit to avoid wetting his shoes, Lord Reginald jumped down and hurried up the beach to well above the tide line, leaving the others in his boat behind. He bent and whisked the sand from his trousers.

Their boat followed, heaving through the breakers. The unexpected movement shifted her against James—she felt the long length of his leg pressing against her skirts. He offered a steadying arm, and after fighting for a moment to keep her balance she took it. He was solid and warm under her hand, and though she knew better, she could not help feeling that she was protected in his company. She did not let go until the
gallegos
waded into the surf and hauled the boat to shore, then she edged away, smoothing her skirts.

Richard was first out. “How strange to be on land again. The entire shore seems to be rocking.”

“I hope I shan’t appear too clumsy.” Isabelle resettled her bonnet over her blonde curls.