Once the meal was over and the tables cleared away, the ladies gathered behind the forecastle to gossip. Most of the men drifted to the rails, finding spots to lounge and enjoy the sunshine. The breeze, previously brisk, had faded to a gentle zephyr; the soft slap of rippling waves was punctuated by the raucous cries of gulls.
A postprandial peace settled over the yacht.
Michael found himself at the stern, for the moment alone. Ferdinand, deprived of Caro’s company, had initially sulked. Now he’d cornered Edward Campbell; the pair were lounging against a capstan. Michael would have wagered a considerable sum that Ferdinand was trying to learn more about Caro via her secretary. In that, he wished him luck; despite his relative youth, Campbell seemed well up to snuff, experienced enough and sufficiently devoted to Caro to ensure he revealed nothing useful.
Drawing in a breath, filling his lungs with the tangy air, Michael turned his back on the rest of the yacht and leaned on the stern rail. The junction of Southampton Water and the Solent lay some distance away; beyond, the Isle of Wight rose, a silhouette across the horizon.
“Here—try some of this. It’s quite bland.”
Caro’s voice. He glanced down, and noticed the open portholes. Elizabeth must be awake.
“I’m not sure…”
“Try it—don’t argue. Michael said you should eat, and I’m sure he’s right. You don’t want to swoon again.”
“Oh, heavens! How on earth am I to face him—or any of them? How mortifying.”
“Nonsense!” Caro spoke bracingly, but it sounded as if she, too, were eating. “When things like this happen, the correct way to handle it is to create no further fuss. It was unforeseen, nothing could be done to avoid it, it happened, and now it’s over. One deals with it in the most straightforward manner and gives oneself no airs, nor must you appear to be making yourself interesting because of your illness.”
Silence, punctuated by the clink of cutlery.
“So…” Elizabeth’s voice seemed to have gained some strength; it sounded almost normal. “I should simply smile and thank people, and…”
“And put it behind you. Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh.”
Another pause; this time, Caro broke it. “You know, being subject to seasickness is not a great recommendation for a diplomat’s wife.”
Her tone was musing, considering.
Michael raised his brows. Recalled his earlier suspicion that Caro knew of his interest in Elizabeth.
“Well, we’ll just have to make sure Edward fixes his sights somewhere other than the Foreign Office.”
Michael blinked. Edward?
“Perhaps the Home Office. Or maybe under the Chancellor.”
He heard Caro shift.
“We really must give the point some serious thought.”
Her voice faded as she moved further from the portholes; she and Elizabeth continued to discuss this and that, but he heard nothing more about diplomats’ wives and the requirements and criteria for same.
Straightening, he strolled to the starboard corner, propped a hip ‘
against the side, fixed his gaze on the shore, and tried to fathom just what was going on. He’d thought Caro knew of his tack regarding Elizabeth and had been aiding him. Yet clearly she recognized and actively supported a connection between Elizabeth and Campbell.
He stopped his thoughts—focused on what he felt about Elizabeth being Campbell’s wife instead of his. All he could summon was a mild observation that Elizabeth and Edward might indeed suit.
Grimacing, he folded his arms and leaned one shoulder against a nearby rope. That, assuredly, was not what he would feel had he been seriously set on winning Elizabeth to wife, if he’d felt convinced she was the wife he needed. He might not be a Cynster, yet if he’d been truly engaged by the desire to secure Elizabeth as his wife, his reaction would be considerably more profound.
As things stood, he felt far more exercised about Ferdinand’s pursuit of Caro than about Campbell’s apparent success with her niece. That, however, wasn’t what was pricking him.
Looking back on the last three days, ever since he’d returned home and set out to evaluate Elizabeth—or more specifically from the moment Caro had so dramatically reentered his life—matters had progressed smoothly with no real effort from him; the situations and opportunities he’d needed and wanted had simply appeared.
Looking back… he felt increasingly certain Caro had been playing fairy godmother, waving her wand and managing the scene, yet her touch was so light, so masterly, it was impossible to be absolutely sure. He had no doubt she was an accomplished player of diplomatic and political games.
The question was: What sort of game had she been playing with him?
He might not be a Cynster, but he was an Anstruther-Wetherby. Being manipulated had never sat well with him.
Once the anchor was hauled in and the yacht was once more slowly tacking up the western shore, at Elizabeth’s insistence Caro left her resting and climbed the narrow companionway back up to the main deck.
Stepping into the open air, she lifted her head and filled her lungs; lips curving, lids at half-mast against the sinking sun, she turned—and walked into a hard male body.
One she’d connected with before; even as the certainty over who it was registered, she fleetingly wondered why, with him, her senses sim-P’y seemed to know. More, why they leapt, hungry to experience the solid, powerful strength of him, greedy for his nearness. She’d been sliding her hand onto his arm and stepping close for days—she’d told herself she needed the nearness to capture his attention and direct it, but had that been her only reason?
She’d certainly never craved close contact with any man before.
Looking up, she smiled in easy apology. She would have stepped back, but his arm suddenly tightened about her waist, supporting her, gathering her close as if she’d been in danger of falling.
She gripped his arms. Her heart lurched; her pulse accelerated.
Eyes widening, she looked into the blue of his—and for one minute couldn’t think, wasn’t truly sure what was going on…
They were intent, those sky blue eyes of his; they searched hers— she returned the favor. To her surprise, she couldn’t fathom what was passing through his mind.
Then his lips curved easily; his hold on her slackened and he set her on her feet. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course.” She could barely breathe, but smiled her thanks. “I didn’t see you there—the sun was in my eyes.”
“I was just coming to ask how Elizabeth was.‘’ He waved toward the bow. ”Geoffrey’s growing anxious.“
“In that case I’d better go and set his mind at rest.” Resisting the urge to claim Michael’s arm, she turned.
Only to have him offer his arm. Inwardly shrugging, she took it in her usual trusting, close, and confiding way, the way she’d been dealing with him for the past days. Regardless of her susceptibilities, until he definitely lost interest in Elizabeth it would be wise to maintain that level of interaction—the better to steer his perceptions.
“Has she recovered?”
They strolled down the deck. “She’s considerably better, but I suspect it’ll be best if she remains in the cabin until we reach the landing stage.” She met his gaze, could read no overt concern there, nothing more than polite inquiry. “If you could lend her your arm then, I know she’ll be grateful.”
He inclined his head. “Of course.”
Michael steered her to where the others sat grouped in the lee of the forecastle. For most, the day had gone well—even Geoffrey had enjoyed the outing, his only anxiety being Elizabeth’s well-being. Caro assured everyone Elizabeth was largely recovered, with her usual tact smoothed over the incident, then refocused the conversation away from Elizabeth’s indisposition.