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‘He did, but I have shopping to do, so I refused.’ Dita met Averil’s questioning gaze with a look of bright interest. ‘I saw the gardens on my way out. They are very fine—you will enjoy yourself.’
‘I am sure I will.’ Averil stuck a hatpin in her pincushion and fidgeted about tidying her things. Dita waited for the next question.
‘Shopping for two days?’
‘I have something to take to the jewellers and then I must collect it the next day.’
‘Is there something wrong between you and Lord Lyndon?’ Averil went slightly pink; she was not given to intrusive personal questions.
‘Yes,’ Dita said. There was no point in lying about it.
‘Since Christmas Eve.’ Averil nodded to herself. ‘That is what I guessed. Whatever is the matter?’
‘We had a … a misunderstanding.’ Or, at least, I misunderstood. I thought he cared for me and wanted to make love to me because of that. How naive! He wanted to make love and so he seemed to care and once he had, then he was all cool practicality. It was a mercy he had held back from entering her. She was shamefully aware that she would not have stopped him.
‘I thought you liked him very well.’
‘I do … did. I find him too … attractive for prudence with a man like that.’
‘Oh.’ Averil fiddled some more, dropped her gloves and blurted out, ‘Did he overstep the mark?’
‘Overstep it? Yes, I think you could say he over-leapt it. I should have known better—’ Dita broke off, but the sound she heard had been from above their heads, not from anyone returning to the roundhouse, and the windows were closed.
‘Dita—you didn’t sleep with him?’
‘Absolutely no sleeping occurred. Oh, I am sorry, I should not be so flippant. No, if you mean did anything occur that might lead to, say, pregnancy. I was more intimate with him than I should have been, and, it is fair to say, we are both regretting that now.’
‘So he kissed you very passionately?’ Dita reminded herself that Averil was a virgin, and a well-behaved one at that, and nodded. ‘But if you are both regretting it, could you not put it behind you now?’
‘It is one thing both of you regretting something at the same time,’ Dita said, jamming her own hat on her head as she got to her feet. ‘That indeed might lead to eventual harmony. What is not … flattering is when the man shows every sign of wanting to run a mile within moments of the encounter.’
‘Oh, no! How—’
‘Humiliating, is the word you are looking for. The fact that this is, of course, the most sensible and prudent outcome does not help in the slightest.’
‘No, I can see that.’ Averil gathered up her parasol, reticule and shawl and opened the canvas flap. ‘What a pity. I thought he was perfect for you.’
Perfect. He is beautiful and insanely courageous and intelligent and apparently rich and he makes love like an angel and he … he is no angel. An angel would bore me.
‘Lady Perdita, Miss Heydon. Good morning.’ It was Dr Melchett, a tough old survivor of everything India could throw at a man. Except possibly tigers, Dita thought.
‘Good morning, Dr Melchett. Are you going with the party to the gardens?’
‘I am not, Lady Perdita. I have seen them several times and I have every intention of buying gifts for my godsons. Might I escort you ladies, if you are also looking for bargains? Ostrich feathers, for example?’
‘Thank you, I would be glad of your company, sir. Miss Heydon is bound for the gardens, so I will be your only companion.’
He was a dry and witty escort, Dita discovered, and the perfect antidote to troubling and handsome young men. He tempted her into buying a huge ostrich feather fan and plumes for her next court appearance and then enchanted her by taking her to a wood carver to buy amusing carved animals for his godchildren.
‘Oh, look.’ It was a small oval box, no bigger than a large snuffbox, with Noah’s Ark carved in low relief on the lid. When the lid was opened it was full of minute animals, each in exquisite detail and so small that she could sit the elephant on her little fingernail.
Dita played with it for several minutes before she found the pair of tigers and remembered Alistair and her reason for coming shopping.
‘Is there a good jeweller’s shop, do you know, Doctor?’ Reluctantly she slid the lid closed and handed the box back to the dealer. She already had a number of larger carved animals for nephews and nieces and they were all too young for anything so delicate.
‘You are not intending to buy gemstones? You would have done better in India. There is one along here, I seem to recall. Ah, yes, here we are.’
‘I need a necklace stringing,’ she explained as the jeweller came to greet them. ‘These. They are already drilled.’ She poured the pearls out on to the velvet pad on the counter. ‘Can you do it for tomorrow? I want them in one simple string.’
‘I can do it for tomorrow morning, madam.’ He produced his loupe and picked up a handful. ‘These are very fine and well matched. Indian?’
‘Yes.’ They agreed a price and she let the doctor take her arm and find a carriage back to the ship.
‘Your mistletoe pearls?’
‘They are.’ She gazed out of the window, willing the doctor to change the subject.
‘Interesting young man, that. And generous.’ So he had guessed who had given them to her.
‘We knew each other as children.’ Talk about something else. Please.
‘And yet you are no longer friends.’ The old man rested his clasped hands on the top of his walking cane and regarded her with faded blue eyes. ‘A pity to fall out with old friends. When you reach my age you appreciate the value of all of them.’
‘It is his birthday tomorrow,’ Dita said. There was a lump in her throat for some reason. ‘I … Perhaps I should buy him a present.’
‘What would he like, do you think?’ Doctor Melchett sat up straight, a twinkle of interest in his eyes.
‘I do not know. He can afford whatever he wants and it is too late to make anything.’
‘Then give him simplicity and something to make him smile. He does not smile enough, I suspect.’
‘The Noah’s Ark!’
‘That would make me smile if a lovely young lady gave it to me,’ the old man said with a chuckle, pulling the check string and ordering the carriage back to the shopping district.
After breakfast Dita waited until Alistair strolled out on to the deck alone. If he snubbed her, she did not want an audience.
‘Happy birthday.’ She could have sworn she had made no sound as she walked towards him where he leaned against the rail, but he did not start at the sound of her voice right behind him. Nor did he look round.
‘Thank you.’ She waited, despite her instinct to turn on her heel, and eventually he shifted until he faced her. ‘You are speaking to me again?’
‘And you to me. Kindly do not imply I have been sulking.’ She drew down a deep breath: this was not how she had meant this encounter to go. ‘You are the most infuriating man. I was determined to be all sweetness and light and in less than a dozen words you have me scratching at you.’
‘Sweetness and light?’ He smiled and she found herself smiling back with wary affection. Thank you, Dr Melchett. ‘That I would like to see.’
‘I would like to forget Christmas Eve, to put it behind us. I wish we could just be friends again and not think about who was to blame or who said what.’
His smile was wicked. ‘I would suggest that staying in plain view of at least three fellow passengers at all times might be a good idea if that is your plan. You might want to be just friends, Dita, I would be a liar if I said I did. And I am not sure I believe you either.’
‘Have you no self-control?’ she snapped, then threw up her hands. ‘I am sorry. Doubtless you are right. It was both of us, I know that. Can we not forget it?’
‘We could pretend to forget it,’ Alistair said, watching her. Could he sense how aroused he made her feel, just standing there? She had kissed his mouth, just there. Those long, clever fingers had touched her there and there and. ‘Would that do?’ he asked. Something in his expression made her doubt he intended pretending for very long.
‘It will have to, I suppose.’ Dita brought her hands out from behind her back to reveal the box. ‘This is for your birthday. It is quite useless—its only purpose is to make you smile.’
‘That seems a good purpose.’ He reached out and took it, his fingers scrupulously avoiding touching hers. ‘Local work?’
‘Yes. Best to open it over a flat surface and out of the breeze, I think.’
It was reward enough, just to sit and watch his face, intent over the box, his fingers delicately lifting each tiny creature on to the table, arranging them in pairs, finding the miniature gangplank that could slope up to the box. ‘Here is Noah.’ He lifted the final piece out and looked up at her, smiling. She swayed towards him a little, drawn by the curve of his lips.
‘Thank you, this is exquisite.’ He lifted a finger and touched her cheek. ‘It makes you smile, too. I hated that I killed your smiles, Dita.’
‘You did not,’ she said, stiffening. He had only to touch her, it seemed, and her self-control wilted. Attack seemed the only defence. ‘You have an exaggerated idea of the influence you have over me. If I have seemed sombre, it is no doubt because I have been reflecting on the folly of allowing myself to be attracted to a personable rake.’
‘Attracted?’ That smile was back. He must practise it to have such a devastating effect, she thought, fighting down equal measures of panic and arousal.
‘Do stop fishing for compliments, Alistair.’ Dita pushed back her chair and stood up and he rose, too, the movement of his linen coat scattering the tiny animals across the table. ‘Of course attracted. I would hardly make love with a man for whom I felt no attraction.’
‘Wouldn’t you? I really have no idea what you might do, Dita, if the fancy took you.’ The amusement had drained out of his expression, leaving it bleak and arrogant.
‘You are suggesting that I would—’ What? Sleep with any man I fancied, on a whim? She almost asked the question, then bit it back; she did not want to hear him say yes.
‘That so-called chaperon of yours, sweet lady though she is, just isn’t up to your weight, Dita.’
‘I am not a damned horse! ‘
Alistair’s eyes narrowed into an insolent scrutiny that had her balling her fists at her sides in an effort not to slap him. ‘No. You don’t need a jockey, you go fast enough as it is. What you need, Perdita my love, is a husband.’
‘Perhaps I do,’ she said with every ounce of sweetness she could get into her voice. ‘Perhaps, somewhere, there is a man who is not patronising, arrogant, domineering or interested only in my money or my body. On the evidence so far, however, I am finding that hard to believe.’
Behind them the door opened, bringing with it the sea air and the sound of shouted orders to the men in the rigging. Dita whirled round and walked out, almost colliding with Dr Melchett on the threshold. She managed a thin-lipped smile as she passed, intent on reaching the prow of the ship before anyone, anyone at all, spoke to her.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_ca8689c0-17be-5712-9160-14c0f34d696a)
‘Happy birthday, my lord.’
Alistair looked up from collecting up the tiny animals. It took steady fingers and had to be done before they were scattered and damaged, whatever else he wanted to do. Like kicking the panelling or getting drunk. ‘Doctor Melchett. Thank you, sir. How did you—? Ah, yes, you knew Lady Perdita bought the Ark for me, I assume.’
‘I went shopping with her yesterday,’ the older man said as he sat down opposite Alistair. ‘Charming young lady. Intelligent, lovely and high spirited.’
‘She is certainly all those things.’ Alistair continued to slot each fragile piece into place.
‘You did not like her gift?’
‘Very much; it is a work of art.’ Dr Melchett was silent. Alistair recognised the technique: keep quiet and eventually your opponent will start babbling. He considered playing the game and saying nothing, but that would be disrespectful to an old man. ‘Lady Perdita is not certain she likes me.’
‘Ah.’ The doctor fumbled in his pocket, brought out a snuffbox and offered it to Alistair. He didn’t use the stuff himself, but he recognised the friendly overture and took a pinch. ‘Difficult thing, love,’ Melchett mused.
‘What?’ A minute elephant went skidding out of his hand and across the table.
The doctor picked it up and peered at it. ‘Love. Old friends, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Not lovers.’ He examined the last half-hour in painful detail and shrugged. ‘We were friends, as children, as much as one can be with a six-year age gap. We have apparently grown out of it.’
‘Love, lovers, in love, loving. So many shades of meaning to that word.’ Melchett sighed. ‘You were fond of her as a boy?’
‘She was a burr under my saddle,’ Alistair said evenly as he slid the box lid closed. ‘A pestilential little sister.’ He grinned reluctantly, remembering. ‘I suppose I was fond of her, yes.’
‘And you still want to protect her.’
No, he did not want to protect her—he wanted to make love to her for the rest of the voyage. ‘Lady Perdita requires protecting from herself, mainly,’ Alistair said as he put the box in his pocket. ‘But of course I keep an eye on her; she is the daughter of neighbours, after all.’
Melchett got to his feet. ‘That’s the ticket: neighbourliness. Now you know what it is, you won’t fret over it so much.’ He chuckled. ‘Nothing like a proper diagnosis for making one feel better. Don’t let me disturb you,’ he added as Alistair stood. ‘Have a pleasant birthday, my lord.’
What the devil was that about? Neighbourliness? Diagnosis indeed! He didn’t need medical assistance to know that he was suffering from a mixture of exasperation and frustration. And just a tinge of guilt.
He wanted Dita: wanted her in bed, under him, around him. He wanted her screaming his name, wanted her begging him to make love to her again, and again. Alistair took a deep breath and thought longingly of cold rivers.
He also wanted to box her ears half the time. That was nothing new—he had spent most of his boyhood in that frame of mind, when she wasn’t making him laugh. Not that he had ever given in to the temptation: one did not strike a girl under any circumstances, however provoking she was.
Unfair that, he thought with a slight smile. Spanking, now. The word brought a vision of Dita’s small, pert backside delightfully to mind.
Which brought him neatly back to the guilt. It was not an emotion he was much prone to. He certainly hadn’t felt guilt over leaving home. Since then he had done few things that caused him regret; all experience had some value. The problem was, he saw with a flash of clarity, he was not feeling guilty over wanting to make love to Dita, he was feeling guilty because he couldn’t be sorry about it.
Damn it. It would be a good thing when she was home safely, despite her best efforts otherwise, and when she was home he hoped she would do her utmost to find a decent husband, although her list of requirements from this paragon probably meant the man did not exist. He could watch this while he searched for a wife—who should be easy to identify when he met her. She would be precisely the opposite of Lady Perdita Brooke in every particular.
‘If I never see St Helena again it will be too soon,’ Mrs Bastable remarked as the island vanished over the horizon. ‘A more disagreeable place I cannot imagine, and the food was dreadful.’
‘There’s Ascension next; we can pick up some turtles and have splendid soup,’ Alistair remarked from his position on the rail, surrounded by a group of ladies, amongst whom the elder Miss Whyton was prominent. ‘And from there, if we have good fortune, perhaps only another ten weeks sailing.’
‘The Equator soon,’ Callum Chatterton added. ‘But no sport to be had there—we got everyone who had never crossed before on the way out from Madras.’
Alistair ducked under the sailcloth and sat down on one of the chairs under the awning that sheltered Dita, Averil and Mrs Bastable. He chose one opposite her and not the vacant one by her side, much to her relief. Then she realised that from where he was sitting he could meet her eyes. He seemed intent on doing just that. She held the amber gaze and her breath hitched, shortened, as his lids drooped sensually and the colour seemed to darken.
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