It wasn’t as if he’d been sleeping much anyway, and he hadn’t been sailing since early spring, so readying the ship was a welcome distraction. He supervised Andrew and Fitz and the other members of the crew, and did his own share of work as well, for despite several days of preparation, the ship wasn’t as up to par as he’d like. When ten o’clock came and everyone else arrived at Queen’s Wharf, there was still enough to do that it was easy for Henry to stay well away from Miss Deverill, and he left it to his siblings to give her a tour of the ship, finding excuses to be busy elsewhere every time conversation with her became a possibility. If this trend could be made to continue, he might be able to get through the entire day without imagining Miss Deverill naked, and all would be smooth sailing.
They’d barely passed Battersea Park and cleared the Albert Bridge, however, before he made the mistake of taking the helm from Andrew, and his first mate had barely departed to the galley for a cup of tea before he saw the object of all his thoughts coming along the starboard deck straight toward him, no one with her and a determined look on her face. Henry glanced around, but no member of his crew was close enough that he could hand over the helm, and he knew all his efforts to avoid her had been an exercise in futility.
So much, he thought, for smooth sailing.
In the normal course of events, Irene would never dream of forcing her company on anyone who didn’t want it, and as she walked along the deck toward him, it was obvious that Torquil would prefer to be anywhere but in her vicinity. He’d been making that fact plain for five days now. Given his confession that night in the library, she couldn’t blame him, and if this had been any other man, she would never dream of inflicting further embarrassment upon him by her presence, but in this case, she had no choice.
Time was going by, and she was no closer to a happy exit from this situation than she’d been when she’d arrived. Half her allotted time to find a way out of this mess was gone, and after five days of being avoided, she was determined to force her company upon him, whether it pained him or not, so that she could make him see sense.
He might have taken some comfort in the knowledge that he was not the only one who would have preferred no reminders of that night. He might have derived some satisfaction from knowing that ever since that extraordinary kiss, her nights had been restless ones. He might even have relished the fact that his voice, thick and dark, had insisted upon coming to her again and again in dreams, arousing in her all the dizzying feelings he had evoked with his kiss and his erotic confession.
I am a man possessed of deep carnal appetites.
He might have savored the knowledge of her sleepless nights, of how his lush kiss and passionate words had called to something carnal inside of her, too. But he was never going to know any of that because she’d have died rather than tell him.
As it was, by the time she reached where he stood at the helm, he was wearing his usual countenance of cool disinterest. But it didn’t matter, for now she knew what lurked beneath.
Her face was growing hot before she’d even reached him, but she could not avoid this. Plucking up her courage, she said in as normal a voice as she could muster, “I am glad to find you alone. I need to speak with you.”
“Unless the ship is on fire,” he said, “I would prefer you didn’t.”
Her face was what was on fire, but she persevered. “I have no doubt of that, and I’m sorry for it, but it cannot be helped. At some point, Duke, we must have a conversation.”
He wanted to refuse, that was clear. But in the end, perhaps due to a lifetime of civility, restraint, and politeness, he did not.
“Very well,” he said and stepped to one side. “Would you care to take the wheel?”
“I beg your pardon?” She looked at the helm, then back at him, her frustration with him momentarily forgotten in her surprise. “You’d let me do that?”
“I would.”
She frowned, suddenly a bit suspicious. “Why? Because the moment I put my hands on the wheel, you’ll dash off and leave me stuck?”
That actually made him laugh, and the sight and sound of it made her laugh, too, easing the tension between them even as the sight of his smile and the sound of his laugh made her tummy give a nervous dip. He was handsome enough when he bore his usual expression of cool indifference, but when he laughed, when the edges of his eyes creased a little and his eyes glinted brilliant gray, and his mouth curved in that heart-stopping smile . . . goodness, he was a treat to look at.
“I wouldn’t dash off and leave you, Miss Deverill,” he said.
Given that he’d been doing just that for five days, she couldn’t help raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“My ship,” he explained, still smiling a little, “is at stake.”
“It might be anyway, if you let me steer. What if I wreck it?”
“You won’t,” he promised. “I’ll help you.”
He was, at least, talking to her about something besides the weather. “All right. What do I do?”
“Stand here.” He moved aside, gesturing for her to take his place before the large wheel of smooth, polished oak. “Now, pretend you’re first mate.”
“First mate?” she cried with mock indignation. “Why not captain?”
He frowned, looking stern. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Oh, very well. I had so hoped for the chance to order you about, but I suppose it’s not meant to be.” She faced the helm. “What do I do?”
“First, determine your direction.” He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward a round oak stand behind and to her right, on top of which reposed a large brass device with a dial she recognized even before he added, “The compass says you’re heading southwest. But look what’s ahead of you.”
He turned her to face the bow again, then let go of her shoulders and moved to stand slightly behind her. His arm stretched out above her right shoulder grazing the side of her neck as he pointed to the shoreline, which was directly in front of them, though still some distance away. “You stay on this heading, and you’ll run aground.”
