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‘I am sorry, I was wool-gathering. You were saying?’
‘A hotel,’ Gabrielle repeated patiently. ‘It is small, but clean and comfortable. I suggest we try for rooms there. Then tomorrow, while I make my calls, you can find us berths on the next ship bound for London.’ When he nodded agreement—at least she was not proposing to march down to the docks and haggle with seamen herself—she added, ‘What were you daydreaming about, Gray?’
‘The Godolphin Arabian, one of the founding stallions of the thoroughbred line. He was a gift from the Sultan to the King of France and somehow ended up as a carthorse before Lord Godolphin found him.’
‘And men say that the workings of the female mind are mysterious,’ she teased. ‘Whatever made you think about racehorses as you sail down the Douro?’
‘I cannot imagine,’ he lied, averting his gaze from the lovely lines of the thoroughbred in front of him.
Chapter Nine
‘There is Spain.’ Gaby leaned on the ship’s rail next to Gray and nudged his elbow companionably with hers. ‘The entrance to the harbour of Vigo.’ She had been below since they had reached the open sea, organising the cabin to her liking and making sure that Jane, not the best traveller, would be comfortable in the cabin they were sharing.
‘Is the accommodation satisfactory?’ Gray asked. ‘It seemed so, but what would suit me might well not be to the liking of two ladies.’
‘It is well fitted out and has more space than I feared. You found us a good ship, I think. The captain was very obliging about stowing the port I have brought for you. We will see how it is handled at the other end, but I may well use him again.’
‘What port?’ Gray half turned, one elbow still on the rail. The freshening breeze whipped his hair across his eyes and he pushed it back with an impatient gesture.
‘I did promise to see to replenishing your cellars. You do not have to buy it, of course. I can easily sell it in London through my usual agents, but I thought you might like first choice.’
‘You, Miss Frost, are a merchant to your fingertips.’ There was a hint of admiration there, not the condemnation she half expected.
‘I have to buy all the smart new clothes I will need for London somehow.’ She could easily afford an entire new wardrobe, but it did not do to boast of her wealth, even to Gray. The thought brought her up short.
Why do I think, even to Gray? Do I trust him so much then?
Gaby tucked the puzzle away to think about later. ‘Does my aunt have good taste? I can’t recall and anyway, I was too young to be much interested in gowns when I saw her last. Now I find myself reluctant to put myself in her hands to any extent.’
‘Good taste? Frankly, no. Rather like Mrs MacFarlane, overfussy. I can recommend one or two modistes who should suit.’
‘And how do you know about them, might I ask?’ she enquired and was rewarded by the tips of Gray’s ears turning pink. Or perhaps it was the wind. ‘Your daughter is far too young.’
‘Naturally one is au fait with the most fashionable designers in all fields,’ Gray drawled. ‘And, equally naturally, I have no idea how much the establishments I will recommend might charge you.’ The steel-grey eyes challenged her to persist and try to make him admit he paid for his mistresses’ gowns. Or that he had a mistress at all.
He must, surely? He?
??s a virile man, and I can’t believe he frequents bawdy houses, he seems far too fastidious.
But she was not going to fish for a response, that might imply that it was of some concern to her. Which, of course, it was not. Gaby shivered.
‘You are cold.’ Without waiting for her response Gray unfastened the neck of the heavy boat cloak he was wearing and flapped it out so that one half settled around her shoulders. ‘Move up.’ He put his arm around her shoulders as he tugged her gently against his body. ‘There, that will keep the wind out.’
Harmless, Gaby told herself. Mutual warmth and shelter from the wind. Perfectly acceptable.
Only it was not just the cloak that was warming her. There was the heat of the big male body so close to hers and her own heat that had nothing to do with an absence of cold breezes and everything to do with a purely feminine desire to unbutton Gray’s coat, rip open his waistcoat, push him back against the bulkhead and bite his neck. Then rip open his shirt and lick all the way down—
‘The captain asks if we will join his table at dinner. And Miss Moseley, of course,’ Gray said. ‘Can you get access to any of the port—my port? I could donate a bottle or two to the occasion.’
Gaby blinked, pulled out of erotic imaginings.
Oh, yes. Make love to a man in front of an interested audience of half a dozen sailors, two shippers known to me and a pair of very respectable-looking Portuguese matrons. A man who made it quite clear he was far too prudent to indulge in any such thing, audience or not.
She took a careful half step to the side, opening up just an inch of air between them. ‘The port is in the hold, except for the two dozen assorted bottles jammed into my cabin. I never know when I am going to find a new buyer so I always make certain some is to hand. I will certainly choose a few bottles for dinner.’
Gray simply looked at her, the hint of two vertical lines between his brows, and Gaby realised she could read his frowns so much more easily than his smiles. The smiles hid things—they were a mask he used quite deliberately, but the frowns were thoughtful, genuine. And not hostile either, however severe they made his face seem. This one held a hint of amusement at her presumption in bringing wine for him, a touch of admiration for her entrepreneurship and the merest suggestion of banked heat that caught the breath in her throat.
This man wanted her and she wanted him and, it seemed, neither of them was going to get what they wanted—Gray because his past held something that had soured his view of relationships, she because it would be wrong to ask for what she needed from him.
