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Currents of relief slid into his body. If she meant to leave him, she could not be planning to ensnare him. But, he couldn’t forget himself. He didn’t need a child on some island, not knowing whether the babe was being fed or the funds he sent given for some man’s ale.
Yet he could not look at Melina without wanting to push her back on to the bedding, and if he thought of her longer than it took to say her name, his body readied itself to join her.
He frowned, rocking back on his heels and leaning against the wall of the cabin, pulling her close. He could control himself for a few moments if it meant the peace of having her in his arms.
He traced the outline of her jaw and then moved to grasp her shoulder, dismayed by the coarseness of her clothes. A body such as hers should only have silks against the skin. Or his touch.
He rested his chin on her head and took her hair down. Having no place to put the hairpins, he saw his coat hanging on a peg and dropped them in the pocket. He finger-combed her hair around her shoulders, pleased deep within himself at the dark hue. ‘Not much time left before we reach London. We must make the most of it.’
‘I cannot even imagine the towns.’ Her eyes were wistful.
‘Where did you learn to speak English so plainly?’
‘At Melos. I understand French, too. I speak it some.’
‘Who taught you?’ He didn’t really care. All he cared about was the perfect shape of her breasts and to let his lips trail to the mark. But then he remembered Ben’s mention of the painting. ‘You could have chosen a French ship to take you to France. What ties do you have to England?’ Warrington watched her face.
She gave a shrug. ‘I see the French seamen often and they talk badly of the English, but I have also heard pleasant tales of London and the English life. And it is the biggest city I know of and the best museum. They will have a larger purse.’
Because of the French vessels harbouring at Melos, he would have expected her to approach one of those ships, but they would have less freedom to take a passenger.
‘Your ties to England?’ he asked again, just as he repeated pressing his lips to her neck. He shut his eyes, tasting her skin, letting the sweetness of her flow into his body and melt the tightness of his shoulders, and ease his memories.
She pushed him back. ‘I do not ask you of your life’.
‘How did you learn the language so well?’ he asked, stilling.
‘We are a natural harbour with many travellers on the island. I speak to them.’
‘Melina—I don’t believe you are telling me all.’
Brown eyes met his. ‘No. I am not. And I won’t.’
A knock interrupted her and a voice commanded. ‘Captain needs the woman.’
‘She’s busy,’ Warrington shouted through the door. His hand clasped her wrist and he saw reluctance in her face.
‘Go ahead. But if you do, I expect a few nights once we hit land to make up for the ones you don’t give me on ship.’ He let his hand slide to hold hers and knew he made a mistake. ‘Melina... Soft beds. Clean clothing. Food made by someone who knows what it is supposed to taste like. Water—real water—fresh, not stale or salty, to bathe in. Compared to this, we’ll be royalty.’
He saw her chest rise in a deep breath. ‘Very well,’ she murmured, her hand at the door. ‘With the ship rocking, and the food, my stomach feels one step from death. Hearing the men shout outside the walls and the captain calling me, I feel surrounded by watching eyes. On land, surely the world will not rock so and will have some quiet about it.’ She sighed. ‘I would like to be free from all the men shouting and scratching. It feels as if we all smashed inside a large bottle and someone has put the cork on it, and shakes us about.’
‘We will get out of this bottle, and we’ll have a bed of clouds.’ He stood with her. ‘And now I will go to the captain’s cabin with you. I can trust Ben with my life, but I don’t want him too near you.’
She touched the mark at her breast. ‘He thinks it looks like a fish.’
Warrington snorted. ‘He lies.’
He put a hand to her back and guided her to the other cabin, aware of how much the men watched her. He didn’t blame them. If they looked the other direction, all they could see would be an expanse of nothing. And to look at any part of Melina was a treat.
When Melina reached to knock on the captain’s door, Warrington leaned in, touched the knob and pushed the door open for her.
Inside the cabin, the air was bitter from some stringent herbal. Ben sat on the bed, head back against the wall, eyes closed, chest still bare. His bruising had faded. He half opened his eyes, then frowned when he saw Warrington. In one hand, he held a poultice pressed to his ribs, and in the other, a brandy bottle Gidley must have collected for him.
