Ravished by the Rake (16 page)

‘Yes! No … no.’

‘Go on then.’ He closed his lips around her toes again, but did nothing more than nibble.

‘Um …’ She forced herself to concentrate. ‘I think we need a sword fight. De Blancheville has been freed by—oh, that is wonderful, don’t stop … Freed by Tom the cabin boy, who is really the lovely Maria in disguise. She has stowed away to follow Trueheart, whom she loves from afar, and thinks that if de Blancheville removes Angelina then Trueheart will stop wanting her and … ah, oh, please … be Maria’s.’

‘Please?’ He lifted his head again, put down her foot and shifted up the daybed. ‘Please what, Dita?’

‘I don’t know!’ He was sitting on the edge now, his hip against hers. Her voice shook as he leaned in. ‘That was my
toes.
Toes aren’t—’

‘Erotic? Oh, but they are. Every inch of your body, inside and out, is erotic, Dita. Think what fun we could have finding out about eyebrows, or earlobes or the back of your knees.’ His hand slid up her leg as he leaned closer. ‘And all the places my tongue wants to explore.’

‘After Christmas Eve, I don’t think it is wise,’ she managed to say. Eight years ago his lovemaking had not been so sophisticated. He had been practising, of course.

‘Don’t think.’ His breath was on her lips now; his hand cupped her intimately. She closed her eyes on a shuddering sigh as something, distant, banged.

Alistair moved so fast that he was on his feet, tucking her stocking under her skirts, pulling them down round
her feet, before she realised that it was the door of the cuddy banging to.

Dita sat up, pulled her feet under her and fanned her flushed face with both hands. Alistair, apparently engrossed in her notebook, was sitting on one of the chairs at the mouth of the canvas shelter as the approaching voices resolved themselves into the Chattertons and Averil.

‘Oh, here you are, Dita,’ Averil said, peeping into the shelter. ‘What have you been up to?’

‘Plotting,’ Alistair said easily. ‘We have just decided that the novel needs a duel.’

The others clustered round with exclamations of agreement. Dita made an effort. ‘This swashbuckling is all very well, but someone will have to write the duel for me because I have never seen a sword fight.’

‘We will choreograph it on the poop deck tomorrow,’ Callum declared. ‘And you can take notes. I’ve got my foils. Dan?’

His brother groaned. ‘You know I’m useless with a rapier.’

‘I’ll fight you,’ Alistair said. ‘No reason why we can’t do it after breakfast, is there? The chaperons aren’t going to object to a harmless bout of fencing.’

‘I would love to try it,’ Dita said wistfully. Any kind of violent exercise appealed just at the moment. ‘Would you show me, Mr Chatterton?’

‘Of course!’ Callum had loosened up considerably over the course of the voyage. He was not the only one, she thought, fanning herself. ‘No reason why a lady cannot try a few of the moves with perfect propriety.’

‘No.’ Alistair still lounged in his chair, but his voice was definite. ‘I will show you, if you insist.’

‘Lady Perdita asked me,’ Callum stated. The atmosphere became subtly charged.

‘I will fight you for the privilege,’ Alistair said.

Callum narrowed his eyes, his whole body tense, but Averil clapped her hands and laughed. ‘How exciting! Shall we lay wagers? I will venture ten rupees on Lord Lyndon.’

‘And I wager the same on my brother,’ Daniel said. In the sunlight Alistair’s amber eyes glinted like those of a big cat and she shivered.

‘Will no one else back me? Lady Perdita?’

‘Ten rupees on Mr Chatterton,’ she said.

‘Then if I win I will claim a forfeit from you,’ Alistair said.

‘Indeed?’ Dita tried to sound dignified and knew she simply sounded flustered. ‘I am sure you will choose something that is perfectly proper, my lord.
If
you win, that is. Gentlemen, perhaps you would excuse us? There is something I wish to discuss with Miss Heydon.’

The men took themselves off, Alistair with a sidelong smile. He made as if to slide the notebook into his pocket and then bent and put it on the end of the daybed. ‘What is this? Someone must have dropped it. Is it yours?’

Her blue garter ribbon dangled from the tips of his fingers, the fingers that only moments before had been caressing her intimately.

‘Certainly not.’

‘Oh well, I had better keep it, then.’ He put it in his pocket and strolled off while Dita seethed.

‘That was a garter,’ Averil whispered.

‘I know. Mine. I have taken my shoes off, and a stocking. Very fast, I know, but it is so hot.’ She retrieved her stocking from under her skirts and pulled it on. Perhaps Averil would assume her raised colour was due to the embarrassment of being almost caught shedding clothing.

‘What was that about?’ Averil asked, sitting down on the end of the daybed. ‘One could cut the atmosphere with a knife, all of a sudden.’

‘I expect the men are getting bored.’

‘It wasn’t that, I don’t think. Lord Lyndon sounded as though he was challenging Mr Chatterton to a duel; his eyes positively made me shiver. I do wish you would not tease him so, Dita.’

‘I do not tease him. I am going out of my way not to do so, but he is being extremely provoking.’

‘May I ask? Have you and Callum Chatterton an under standing?’

‘No!’ Dita laughed. ‘Of course not.’

‘Why of course?’ Averil put her feet up and curled her arms around her legs. With her chin resting on her knees she looked like a curious cat. ‘He is intelligent and obviously destined for preferment. His brother is an earl, he is charming and good looking and he doesn’t flirt like his brother. You like him, don’t you?’

‘Of course. I would be foolish not to. But I couldn’t possibly
marry
him.’ It occurred to her as she said it that she had looked at Callum, back in Calcutta, with interest. And close contact had only heightened her regard for him. So why couldn’t she contemplate him as a husband?

‘You would be a very good match for him and could only help his career.’

‘You forget my reputation,’ Dita pointed out.

‘If you were the daughter of Mr Blank, with a dowry of five hundred pounds and freckles, then possibly that would be fatal. If he thought the worse of you for it, then he would not be so friendly, and if he had less honourable intentions, surely you have become aware of that by now?’

‘True. But I do not love him.’

Averil was silent for just long enough for Dita to realise how tactless that was. They both spoke at once. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean—’

‘I am sure I will be very happy with Lord Bradon,’ Averil said with stiff dignity.

‘Of course you will,’ Dita said. ‘You are marrying with a strong sense of duty to your family and he is a most suitable choice and you have the type of character that will create happiness. I do not have a duty to wed and I do not have your amiable nature.’

Averil bit her lip. ‘Is it Lord Lyndon? You and he seem to have so much in common.’

‘Our only common ground is shared memories, and our only compatibility appears to be in the bedchamber,’ Dita said, goaded. And not just the bedchamber. Here, in the open air, at the dinner table when he only had to look at her from under sensually drooping lids for her to ache with desire. Anywhere, it seemed.

Averil blushed and investigated the lace at her hem intently. After a moment she said, ‘That is not enough, is it?’

‘No, it is not.’ Dita began to gather up her pencils.
‘Alistair is not jealous, he is just territorial and I seem to have become part of that territory.’

‘Oh dear,’ Averil sighed. ‘And I do love a romantic ending.’

‘Never mind.’ Dita conjured up a smile from somewhere. ‘When you are married you can find me just the man.’
If he exists,
she thought as Averil, cheered by that idea, smiled.

A
listair took one of the foils from Daniel Chatterton and tested the button on the point. It seemed secure and he brought the blade down through the air with a swish, pleased the weapon was light and well balanced in his hand. They were an expensive pair: Callum must take his fencing seriously.

Word of the bout had spread and most of the passengers were on deck to watch. One young lady had even brought her sketchbook and Dita was perched on a stool, notebook and pencil in hand, her face in shadow under a broad-brimmed hat.

Doctor Melchett had taken command of the wagers, which were growing prodigiously. As no one, except Daniel Chatterton, had any idea of the proficiency of either of them, it was hard to know on what basis people were staking their money.

‘You are the favourite,’ George Latham, one of the more senior Company clerks, remarked as he passed Alistair on his way to a place at the rail. ‘Everyone’s
heard about the tiger, no doubt.’ He glanced at Callum, who had discarded his coat and was rolling up his shirt sleeves. ‘Chatterton looks competent though.’

‘I am sure he’ll give me a good bout,’ Alistair said. He did not care if the man was the East India Company’s foils champion, he was not teaching Dita to fence and getting his hands all over her in the process.

‘How is the winner to be decided?’ someone called.

‘It is in the nature of a masquerade,’ Daniel said. ‘Lord Lyndon plays the villain, my brother the hero. They fight over the heroine, played by Mrs Bastable, who sits here.’ He indicated a chair at the foot of the main mast where the lady dimpled and waved to her friends. ‘She is the villain’s captive. To win, one man must either disarm the other, or land a hit that in the opinion of our learned medical advisor—’ Dr Melchett bowed ‘—is fatal or incapacitating, or must obtain the other’s surrender.’

Callum picked up his foil, walked forwards and took his position. Alistair faced him and raised the foil for the salute. As Chatterton’s blade came up Alistair saw the focus in the other man’s eyes and blanked everything beyond his opponent from his mind; however this had started, it was not a game now.

‘En garde!’
Daniel called and the blades touched. Alistair stepped back sharply and Callum cut to his right.
So it begins,
he thought, watching the other man for balance and strengths, knowing he was being assessed in the same way as they cut and parried, shifting around their circle of deck.

He let his guard waver deliberately, took a touch to
the arm that would have been a slash with an unguarded weapon and confirmed his suspicion that Chatterton was weaker on the left foot. But it was a damnably close match. Alistair pinked his opponent on the left shoulder, took another hit on the forearm and then, as Callum was extended from that lunge, shifted his weight and drove him back hard towards the hatch cover.

In a flurry of blows they were toe to toe, face to face, their hilts locked. On either side the spectators drew back, uncertain which way they might move.

‘Just what are your intentions towards Lady Perdita?’ Alistair asked between clenched teeth as they each thrust forwards against the weight of the other.

‘My
what?’
Callum gave ground and recovered.

‘You heard me.’

‘Entirely honourable—if that’s any of your damned business,’ he retorted. ‘What are yours?’

Alistair stepped back, lowered his weapon without warning and Callum stumbled, caught out by the sudden shift in weight. Alistair ducked under his guard, there was a sharp flurry of strokes and he had the button of his foil against Callum’s jugular.
What the hell
are
my intentions? ‘
Neighbourly,’ he said, showing his teeth.
And that’s a lie.

For a long moment his opponent stared into his eyes as though trying to read his mind. Then Callum gave a half-smile, let his foil fall to the deck and spread his hands in surrender. ‘You win,’ he said, then dropped his voice, ‘Just don’t try and run me through if I smile at her, damn it. She’s a delight—and I freely admit that it would take a stronger man than I to take her to wife.’

They went to get their coats, the antagonism between
them vanishing as rapidly as it had built. Doctor Melchett was besieged by those who had laid wagers and the two duellists were buffeted from all sides by well-wishers.

When Alistair finally made it to the comparative peace of the poop deck, he found Dita sitting scribbling in her notebook. ‘Was that helpful?’

‘Yes, it was. And extremely exciting.’ She closed the book and looked at him, her green eyes dark and troubled despite the steadiness of her gaze. ‘You have a forfeit for me, I believe.’

‘Yes.’ He had been thinking about that, ever since he had thrown the challenge at her. ‘You will allow me to show you how to defend yourself.’

‘I am not likely to be carrying a sword if I find myself in trouble, Alistair!’

‘No, but you have your teeth, your feet and your elbows and you will usually have a hat pin, or a glass of wine or your reticule.’ He regarded her seriously. ‘You are too attractive, Dita. That and the scrape you got into mean that men will try to take advantage of you when you get to London.’

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Surely not. I am not pretty—’

‘I know that. And you know perfectly well how attractive you are, which is an entirely different thing—you didn’t get that way without working at it.’ Dita opened her mouth and closed it again. ‘I will teach you a few fencing moves, as Chatterton could have done perfectly well, but I will teach you to fight dirty, too.’

‘Where, might I ask?’ She sounded outraged, but looked intrigued.

‘In my cabin—if you dare.’

‘You are teaching me how to repel unwanted advances—aren’t you worried that you might find your own lessons turned on you?’

‘Of course, you can try. You won’t best me though. Besides, my advances are not unwelcome—are they?’ he said with a deliberate arrogance designed to provoke.

Dita shook her head at him, but a smile she could not control twitched at the corner of her mouth. He felt something shift inside his chest, something almost like a twinge of fear.
Damn it, what am I getting myself into?
He gave himself a mental shake: she was not a virgin, he was not going to risk getting her with child, she was willing. What was there to worry about?