A DARING ESCAPE, AND AN EVEN MORE DARING ATTRACTION!

Melina’s discovery of a priceless statue is her one hope of saving her family from ruin, if she can only persuade the Earl of Warrington to grant her safe passage on his ship to London. But Melina knows she’s gone too far when he takes her for a lady of easy virtue!

Thrown together during the voyage, he shockingly comes to realize his mistake. Now he’s honor-bound to keep her safe. But thrust into London’s social whirl, how long will it take before she discovers his scandalous, dark past?

He reached for the door, but her voice stopped him.

‘Please,’ she said, and touched the bed beside her. ‘The ship shakes so. I don’t want to be alone. I feel better with you near. Here.’

Lightning kept flashing through the glass, giving her a mythical glow. The intensity of her gaze caused him to stare—her eyes were as clear as a harvest moon. He dropped to his knees, landing beside her, entranced by the flickers of lightning on her skin.

He swept his finger over her bottom lip. Now he knew what magic felt like. His skin tingled with anticipation.

AUTHOR NOTE

As a child, I remember seeing a picture of the Venus de Milo. I didn’t understand the archaeological aspect—I only wondered why she didn’t have arms. Much later, while thinking about what story to write, I happened to see something on television about her discovery and began to imagine the Venus lying, waiting to be uncovered.

While researching I discovered that part of one badly damaged arm had once been found, and also a hand believed to be holding an apple. But I found nothing definitive about her other hand except the explanation that the fragments around her might have been another arm. It might have been…but it was so easy for me to believe someone took it!

I hope you enjoy my story and uncovering the magic of this wonderful time!

Safe in the Earl’s Arms

Liz Tyner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LIZ TYNER began creating her own stories even before she decided on the lofty goal of reading every fiction book in her high school library. When the school gave her a career assessment they came up blank—they double-checked and still came up blank. Liz took it in her stride because she knew that on the questionnaire she’d ticked an interest in everything but scuba diving. She believed the assessment proved she was perfect for becoming a novelist.

Now she and her husband live on a small acreage where she enjoys strolling her walking trails and wishes the animals she shares the trails with wouldn’t visit her garden and fruit trees. She imagines the wooded areas as similar to the ones in the children’s book Where the Wild Things Are. Her lifestyle is a blend of old and new, and in some ways comparable to how people lived long ago.

Liz is a member of various writing groups, and has worn down the edges of a few keys on her keyboard while working on manuscripts—none of which feature scuba divers.

This is Liz Tyner’s fabulous debut novel for Mills & Boon® Historical Romance!

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To Bill, who encourages my dreams and who buys me chocolate.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter One

Being wrapped in a shroud of sailing cloth—a shot ball secure at his head and one at his feet—and tossed into the Aegean Sea could only increase Warrington’s spirits. He linked his fingertips together, braced his elbows against the railing and ignored the sting of the wind slapping his hair on to his face.

His brother’s sparring remarks didn’t help.

Warrington turned his head from the words. ‘I swear you are not related to me,’ he grated out, interrupting the flow of Ben’s jests. ‘You talk more than any two women I’ve ever heard.’

Ben chuckled, moving so their shoulders touched briefly. ‘And you’ve made me proud on the voyage. Not of you, of course. Of myself. I’m a fine captain to be able to have an old melancholy miss like you on board and still keep from throwing you over the side.’

‘You’ve sailed us to an island that doesn’t even have the comforts of hell.’ Warrington used both hands, pushing back the hair from his face, and then he rested clenched fists on the railing of the ship.

‘You do not give me the respect due me,’ his brother said, shaking his head in exaggerated dismay. ‘I saved our lives by steering us here when the ship caught fire. You may have the title, but an earl drowns just as quickly as a mere captain when a ship sinks.’

Warrington didn’t speak, hoping to let Ben have the last word and himself some silence.

He’d had to leave England—he’d thought his memories would be easier to bear at sea. He’d been wrong. His wife’s face wouldn’t appear in his mind, but he could see the letters of her name carved on to the crypt.

He leaned into the rocking of the boat, letting it numb his mind from the endless days of sameness broken only by tribulation aboard the Ascalon. He wanted dry boots, freshly blacked, and not covering sodden stockings. Sea-misted trousers dried stiff and looked no better than a stable master’s discards.

Across the water, he saw the longboat returning from shore, and hoped the Ascalon could cast off with the next tide. With the crew back and the repairs almost finished, surely they would leave soon.

In minutes, the longboat thumped against the side of the ship. Gidley, the first mate, reached his gnarled hands to the top of the ladder. His face came into view. The mate’s eyes twinkled and he’d not yet moved on to the ship. ‘We have us another one of them problems yer so good at solvin’, Capt’n Ben.’

Warrington watched his younger brother take a forceful step forward.

‘If anyone has stolen a goat this time, I’ll personally throttle them until they are unconscious.’ Ben straightened his shoulders and stared at his second-in-command.

‘Not goats, Capt’n.’ Gidley pulled himself on to the deck, his face showing a barely reined-in pleasure at whatever news he was about to speak.

‘What, then?’ the captain asked.

‘It be a woman.’ Gidley spoke slowly and stepped aside to give the other three men from the longboat a chance to board. They rushed in behind him, feet thumping on to the deck, faces anxious to hear the response.

‘A woman?’ Ben straightened and strode to Gidley. ‘The island is practically afloat with whores.’ He spat the words out. ‘Why can’t the men understand how to handle a simple transaction and be done with it?’

‘Well...’ Gidley gave a demure smile. ‘This one claims she be savin’ herself for the capt’n.’ He stepped back against the railing, one arm resting on the wood, and with the other hand pulled his gangly chin whiskers. ‘I tried to give myself to her in yer stead, but she’d have none of it. Capt’n, she said. Kept insistin’ she had a treasure for the capt’n.’

Ben smiled, his even teeth too white in the sunlight. ‘Is she lovely?’

Gidley shrugged, but his grin flashed back hearty approval. ‘She’s some kind of mark here.’ He touched above his breast. ‘The birthmark...’ he smiled ‘...pulled my sight right to her breasts.’

Not a ripple of emotion passed behind Ben’s eyes. He turned to Warrington, indicating the shoreline with a quick tilt of his head. ‘Go ashore and see what the woman wants.’

Warrington could not believe his brother’s words. He examined Ben’s face and took a step towards him. ‘No.’ Warrington shook his head.

Ben’s eyes lost all familial ties. ‘Captain’s orders.’ The smug words slashed in the air.

‘I’m an earl.’ Warrington’s voice was tight.

‘In case you’re unaware, we’re not on English soil. Captain ranks higher—here.’ His brother bit out the commanding words and adopted the cocksure stance he’d perfected by five years old. ‘And my crew does obey me. See to the woman, or I will have you left on the island when we haul anchor.’

‘Like hell.’

Ben smiled. ‘You’re going to have to have a go at another woman some time. You might as well get some use out of your little man as to let it wither up and wash overboard.’ He raised a hand, summoning three other seamen who’d stilled to listen.

Seven men were ready to toss Warrington on to the longboat should he not go on his own. He stared at his brother’s face. He would kill him.

‘So go ashore.’ Ben crossed his arms. ‘Take care of the matter for me—and you might be able to return to England on this vessel.’

‘I—’ His hands clenched.

‘No. No,’ Ben interrupted, head dropping but his hand still high. ‘Trust me. Once you’ve been called captain by a woman in that breathless moment—you’ll fashion yourself a captain many times over.’ He waved his hand in the air. ‘Correct?’

Seven male heads quickly gave assent, eyes flashing amusement and watching Warrington.

‘Fine,’ Warrington snapped out, moving to give his brother a shove from his path, but Ben moved aside—the man was nimble as an eel—and Warrington strode to the port side, stopping to give Ben a bitter glance.

He grabbed the railing and turned, scrambling down the woven ladder. He saw the first mate’s boots next on the rope rungs. They would see him to the woman.

* * *

When the men reached the bank, the boat’s bottom grated into sand underneath. Warrington jumped from the longboat into the water. He stopped for a moment. The immobile land beneath his feet jarred him. He’d been at sea too long.

He sloshed to shore. The others splashed behind him, then pulled the boat free of the waves, showing no more effort than moving a child’s toy.

They started on the path. Water sluiced from Warrington’s boots. Gidley slogged beside him. ‘She’s near the town. Said we’d find her ’fore we reached Castro.’

The blowing wind pushed whiffs of the tainted egg smell that lingered at the base of the island. The shoreline reeked as badly as a demon’s breath—a scent Warrington supposed left over from volcanic eruptions centuries earlier.

Warrington nodded sharply, but gave no other acknowledgement. He trudged up the path and soon the sand gave way to a coal-hued surface. Glass-like shards of earth now crunched beneath his feet. The unusual land piqued his interest, but the scent didn’t. Warrington wished they had risked another island to recover from the ship’s fire, which had nearly cost them their lives. This one stank.

Gidley expounded on what a woman such as the one he’d seen could do for a man’s pleasure. He described the mark at her breast in fifteen different ways and each one included more details of skin than he could possibly have seen.

The mate spoke so earnestly and with such conviction, he’d convinced at least one of the other seamen the woman was a descendent of some goddess. Warrington wasn’t certain Aphrodite herself would be so free with her charms as Gidley recounted. The sailor loved his mythology—but it was all Gidley’s tales, not the ancients.

The road disappeared into a growth of olive trees and brush.

Warrington wondered about the woman—this bold woman who shouldn’t disturb an earl who’d been a month without a decent mattress, longer without a decent night’s sleep and even longer without a deliciously indecent tumble.

Meeting the woman might be interesting, he decided. He would return and tell his brother what it was like to bed a goddess in the flesh. No matter how the events unfolded, Warrington would manage a supreme tale of unsurpassed passion.

Gidley stopped where a path shot out from the road. ‘She lives in one of them red-roofed houses up this trail—a home overlookin’ the sea.’

Warrington stopped and turned to the seamen. ‘I will continue the rest of the way alone.’

Gidley and six other pairs of feet ceased all movement and their faces weighed Warrington’s words.

Gidley spoke softly, his downturned lips showing hurt at the exclusion. ‘We want to see yer meet her.’

‘I can meet her alone and need no help,’ Warrington said.

Gidley stepped nearer Warrington, facing him. Gid’s worn cap slid into a jauntier position when he raised his head. He clapped Warrington on the arm. ‘I wager a earl knows a bit about pleasurin’ himself. I mean...’ he paused for effect ‘...with a woman.’

The others snickered. Warrington raised a brow and gave them the glare that hours spent with a fencing master had made him confident to use, and that hinted Swords or pistols and choose your seconds.

Gidley took a step back and turned away with a disgusted grunt. ‘We be takin’ the longboat back to the boat in an hour or so,’ Gidley muttered. ‘Sun will be settin’ not long after. Ought to give you enough time to meet ’er, fall in love and get yer trousers back on.’ Gidley’s words faded away as he left along the road.

Warrington pushed through a clump of tree branches over the path and saw the roof of a house. The structure had two storeys and the stairs leading to the upper floor had no railing. He knew from his first day’s visit to the island that the house was made as the others he’d seen. The first level—a barn—held the livestock. He supposed the tradition of making homes in this manner started because of the houses built near the sea. If a low-lying area flooded, the animals could be released and water would be less likely to harm the house’s upper contents. Besides, the structure took fewer materials than if two were built.

He saw a nanny goat grazing near the corner, a kid at her side. And near the cliffs, a woman sat on one of the boulders overlooking the sea. She turned to him. In the chilled air, her red scarf fluttered around her face and she stood. He didn’t move. Let her approach him. She’d summoned.

The covering on her head showed scarlet enough to use as a beacon and another garment draped around her shoulders had only a little less colour. She pulled the covering snug as she walked. The wind didn’t warrant bundling so.

When she strode closer, he caught his breath. Even with the breezes constantly tossing the head covering against her, she drew his attention. Brown eyes with lashes thick enough he half expected them to flutter in the breeze, as well. She held her shawl closed with one hand and with the other brushed back the hair that kept blowing across her face. A waste of effort.

‘I’m Melina. Are you the Ascalon captain?’

Her words shocked him. She spoke King’s English and with only enough accent to give her words an exotic flair. And her voice—it purred into him, causing a jolt in his midsection that reminded him of how tempting a woman could be.

* * *

Melina appraised the man before her. She’d expected someone silver-haired. Perhaps scarred a bit. This one—she could see how he kept from being mangled. His body showed strength. She doubted he’d be able to scamper across the rigging as she’d seen French seamen do, but he could probably toss another man up to do the job for him.

His clothing fit tight over parts that held muscle, and loosely everywhere else. When the wind blew at him, he stood impervious. His stare trapped the breath in her and caused a pleasing quiver in her stomach.

She’d waited months for an English ship to anchor in the bay because she had to leave the island and discover the truth about the treasure. She had to be right. Her sisters must eat.

‘Where did you learn such speech?’ He asked his own question, ignoring hers.

‘I wish to go to London.’ She kept the scarf tight around her.

‘I wish for a soft bed at night, but the ship doesn’t have one,’ he said. ‘And it has no room for passengers.’

‘I’ve payment.’ She raised her chin. She would not give away this chance. Not willingly. Only certainty of death would back her down.

His shoulders relaxed and he gave her an apologetic smile. ‘We’ve had a fire. Our vessel is near ready for departure and we’re finishing the last repairs, but it might not withstand a storm. Another ship will be along shortly. Bargain with them.’

She took a step forward, closer than she would normally stand near someone who’d docked on the island. She looked up at him. ‘Before you decide, I must show you something.’

He gave a tilt of his shoulder and raised one eyebrow. ‘I told you I’m not interested.’ Then she saw his gaze drift to her chest and quickly move back to her face.

She pulled her shawl tight. ‘In the stable,’ she bit out, taking a step towards the structure.

He reached for her, trapping her arm, but his grip wasn’t tight.

She snapped her head in his direction and stood ready to push him back—first with words, then with force if she needed. He had to see her discovery.

‘I don’t wish—’ His voice softened, but he didn’t release her arm. His eyes, not true dark but reflecting the same colours as the almost leafless tree he stood near, showed compassion. ‘I can’t take you to London with us. Wait for another ship.’ His voice lowered. ‘Or stay here. The world is not kind for women away from their homes.’

Words fled her mind and she couldn’t look away from him. He’d trapped her—not with his hand, but with his gaze. His touch warmed her skin and his gentle grasp had taken her will to move.

‘Come with me.’ She thrust the words out, recapturing her strength.

He shook his head, still not releasing her arm. The grip held her firm, but she didn’t feel imprisoned. She knew a quick tug and she’d be able to slip away.

‘I... The ship is no place for a woman—even a...’ He tried again. ‘I’m sure you could have many times your passage back in your pocket in the time it will take us to reach London—but the men don’t need the distraction. They’d be competing for your favours instead of thinking of their duties. You’ll not go with us.’ He put his free hand in his waistcoat pocket, brought out a coin and held it to her. ‘Take it.’

She stared and didn’t move.

He kept his hand extended. ‘You may keep it. For getting me from the ship for a few moments and for letting me hear a woman’s voice. I want nothing more.’ His eyes softened. ‘I did not bring more funds or I would give them to you.’

She jerked her head in refusal of the coin.

He released her, putting the gold away, and took a step back. She reached out, grasping his sleeve, stopping him.

He turned, his mouth open, and seemed to struggle for words. ‘Miss. Truly. I do not want... And we cannot take you.’

He could keep his words—she needed a man who’d free her from the island.

‘Let me show you,’ she said.

‘As long as you understand you’re not stepping foot on that ship. The men...’ He finished his words with a soft tone. ‘They would not be able to ignore...’

‘I must show you my treasure.’ She turned away and strode inside the barn, knowing he would not resist following her.

They walked over dirt packed solid from goats’ feet, breathing dust from manure the animals kicked about. She moved towards a small stack of firewood branches. She knelt, reaching into the sticks, and pulled out the cloth-wrapped marble she’d hidden there.

She turned back to him, pulled away the fabric and handed the work to him. Even in the dark interior, the richness of the stone glowed.

He took the carved marble in his hands. The arm was slightly bigger than a human arm would be and the delicateness of the fingers proved the hand to be a woman’s. ‘It’s a part of some statue.’

‘Yes.’ Even as he touched and examined it, she rested her fingertips against the stone. ‘A learned man came here two years ago. He told us the island should have artefacts—worth coin to him—but he found nothing. I uncovered this—and more, after he left.’ She watched this one, noting his study of the arm. He looked at the hand the way a woman might look at a baby.

‘Take me to London,’ she said, ‘and you’ll be paid my passage once the British Museum discovers what I have—’

‘This is well done. When I get to England, I’ll get someone who understands art to look at it and he can send payment back if this marble is worth something.’

She jerked the carving from his hands. ‘I have to leave now. Not next week. Not the next ship. I must go.’ Already her neighbours had warned her. The man who led the island was planning to marry her soon. She would have no choice.

She turned, picking up the cloth she’d used to protect the arm. When she looked up, she caught his eyes on her. Her shawl had opened and her mark showed. He stopped moving. Her clothing fell open a bit more. With her free hand, she brushed the edge of the birthmark, letting her fingers rest a moment. Desire darkened his eyes.

She took a slow breath. Neither smiled. She stopped the words of caution blowing inside herself, pummelling her with the knowledge she could never turn back if she continued her path. ‘Is that what you want for my passage?’ she asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Then we’ve a bargain.’

He shook his head. ‘No. The captain will not let a woman sail with us.’

‘You’re not the archigos?’ She pulled the arm into her grasp, cradling it. He didn’t answer, but she could read the truth in his face. She’d just offered her body to a man who could not, or would not, say yes. Her mind hammered in rage. Controlling her desire to hit him across the face with the stone took all her strength, except for the amount she used to keep herself from shouting.

‘I’m the Earl of Warrington,’ he said. ‘I own part of the ship, but I don’t sail her. I’ll take you aboard the Ascalon and you may speak to the captain.’ His head moved sideways, indicating the direction of the vessel.

‘Very well.’ She could see his thoughts in his eyes. He believed the captain would refuse her. But if the ship’s leader had the same mind as most men, once her foot touched the deck, she would make it difficult for him to say no.

‘I will sail with the ship.’ She challenged him with her stare.

He turned and walked back into the sunlight.

Melina knew that once she stepped on deck, she’d find a way to stay, no matter what she had to do. Their father had given them enough to live on while their mother lived, but now he’d forgotten his daughters. Without funds, she could no longer escape a forced marriage to a man whose touch made her stomach roil. She could not let her sisters starve, or sell their bodies.

The arm, and a description of the goddess, would let the museum see what she had and they would tell her what the beauty was worth. The statue was valuable. Her heart told her so. She could support her family by selling the stone woman.

She ran to the steps of her house and grabbed the small satchel she’d stuffed together after talking with the other sailor. She’d told her sisters her plans. They now watched from the window. Melina waved and then took a step to the path.

The first footstep was easy. But then she couldn’t move. A hollowness in her heart told her she was leaving her home for ever. She squeezed her eyes tight and planted one foot forward, then the other.

Chapter Two

Melina rushed to keep up with Warrington’s long strides. As she reached the first bend in the path, her satchel strap slipped from her shoulder to her elbow. The weight pulled at her arm, but she kept the stone cradled. The bag bumped against her leg, slowing her pace.

She paused and he immediately stopped and turned to her. He’d been as aware of her footsteps as his own.

Warrington reached a hand out to her, gesturing for the bag, and she met his eyes. Reassured, she hefted the rock in one hand and let the errant strap slip into her grasp. He took the weight from her, tossing the leather sling over his shoulder.

Muffled tones reached her ears. She focused on the sounds. Two men talked as they moved towards the path. Her heart thudded when she recognised the voice of Stephanos, the man who planned to wed her. He was moving in their direction. A few more steps and he would see them. She’d be trapped.

‘Skase,’ she whispered, and then remembered her English. ‘Quiet.’

Warrington studied her, but gave a small lift of his chin in agreement.

She brushed past him, nodding for him to follow her. Snaking through the gnarled trees, she ran towards a knoll that rose just enough that they couldn’t be seen from the path.

She reached the hiding place and pulled him beside her, hoping they would not be seen. Listening, she realised the men no longer talked. Stephanos and the other man were silent—unmoving.

Fear crept into her body, clutching at her insides. If Stephanos saw her with Warrington, the Greek would not ask any questions, but would find his own answers. Stephanos and his friends always carried knives and they were skilled with them.

After a few moments of nothing, she heard the word, gida, and relaxed. Goat.

The men continued on. She heard their voices fading away and her breathing returned to normal. Warrington put a hand on her shoulder, the warm grasp somehow reassuring. He tugged her around to him and put his face so near hers that the breath of his whisper touched her cheek. He didn’t release her, but his grip was soft.

‘Have you stolen the stone?’ he asked, words quiet, creating a haven around her.

She would have confessed all if she’d done wrong. ‘No. The man who owns the land where I found the treasure knows what I have planned. We are in agreement and he has said he’ll keep my secret. I trust him.’

Just the gentlest touch of his hand again, moving over the crest of her shoulder and the merest bit down her back, and the waiting look in his eyes, trapped her in an intriguing web and she could not stop her words. ‘When they are sure I am safely gone a long distance, my sisters are to say I’ve been forced away by a man from a ship.’

His eyes widened and he stepped back as if she’d prodded him away with a burning stick.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she closed the distance between them, stopping almost against him. She could not risk him raising his voice.

‘You must understand our reasons,’ she said quietly. ‘No one will know who you are. My sisters will not describe the true person.’

He pulled the satchel from his shoulder and she could tell he meant to leave her there and go on his way.

‘No,’ she whispered, closing her fingers over his roughened hand, preventing him from giving her the bag. His knuckles were large in her grasp, startling her, and she knew she didn’t keep them closed by her strength any more than she caused the tides. Confusion flashed behind his eyes and something whispered in her that she had trapped his hand—that he could no more move his fingers than if their grasps had been reversed and his strength held her.

She could not lose her advantage. ‘I am not a thief. I merely wish to get to the British Museum and find out what my treasure is worth. Then I will be able to sell it.’

‘But kidnapped?’ He remained with his face almost at hers. ‘That’s a bit much.’

She closed her lips and let her breath out through her nose before she answered, ‘I have no choice.’

‘I do.’ He kept his words tight and lines appeared at the sides of his eyes and mouth. ‘I am not at ease with purchasing a woman and I certainly wouldn’t steal one.’

The words pleased her, yet they were not what she wanted to hear.

She had to convince him. She held his gaze with her own. ‘It is necessary. My sisters can’t be hurt by my actions. The man who rules the island would be enraged at them if he thought they had helped me leave and did not search him out to keep me. They would suffer. They could be starved, or beaten, or forced into marriage or worse. I cannot escape and leave them behind to face torture.’

She felt his movement and looked down to her hand. She’d tightened her grip on his fingers. He slowly slid his hand from hers.

‘You’re leaving behind a man.’ His words were thoughtful.

She had to make him understand. ‘Our land doesn’t support my sisters. The rocks only grow more rocks. I care nothing for the man who wishes to marry me, yet his mother often sees that we have food. If I stay, I will have no choice but to wed him. She wishes for it. So does he. He is powerful.’

Stephanos controlled the island and did so easily. But he had other secrets. He often left the island and returned with goods. One of his shirts was mottled with faded brown stains. Blood.

She could barely keep the kindness in her words when Stephanos called on her and she had to speak to him. Perhaps, as the others whispered, she truly had been tainted by her English heritage.

‘I have promised myself to no one,’ she said.

Warrington shut his eyes.

She put her palm flat on his chest. When his lids fluttered up, she could feel the change in his gaze. She wouldn’t beg, or ask again. She didn’t think she needed to.

He spoke harshly under his breath—the words directed at himself.

His hand closed at her elbow and he turned away, again taking the lead, only this time, his steps were careful and he watched the wooded areas around them.

She followed, knowing her sisters depended on her and she risked her life to be able to save them. But it wasn’t a choice. It was what she had to do. She was the eldest and that meant sacrifice. If she died at sea, or at the hands of a stranger, then she would know she did it for her family. Her mother’s last words to her had been Take care of your sisters.

* * *

Warrington forced himself not to stare at Melina. They stood hidden among the cragged rocks, watching the longboat and waiting for the sailors to return. The hem of her head covering fluttered in the wind and kept calling his attention to her.

He wished he could see her chest again. Her birthmark did have an interesting curve to it. He remembered the child’s game of imagining wisps of a cloud as objects and tried to recall the exact shape the mark formed.

He heard the first mate’s voice before he saw him emerging from the road. Once the men reached the longboat, he hurried Melina to them.

‘You ready to heave to?’ Gidley gaped at the woman even as he directed the words at Warrington.

‘Yes,’ Warrington snapped. ‘Hurry.’

Gidley’s voice became butler formal. ‘Will his lordship be having a guest?’

‘Launch the damn longboat.’

Gidley put his forefinger to his lips in a silencing motion and then lowered his hand. He mouthed the word lady.

Warrington mouthed back words for Gidley that neither would repeat in front of the woman. The other seamen beamed as if enjoying a particularly good scene at Drury Lane Theatre.

‘Yes, yer lordship.’ Gidley helped the others push the boat into the waves, then scrambled into the boat, and took the seat in front of her, facing the woman. Warrington made a forceful circular motion with his hand, commanding Gidley to twist around. Gidley’s eyelashes gave an innocent blink as he looked at Warrington, then gazed back at the woman, giving a bow of his head as acknowledgement, and turned in his seat. ‘Beautiful day for bein’ at sea.’ He spoke to no one in particular.

Warrington stepped over the side and took the empty plank beside Melina. His shoulder brushed hers. He thought he detected the scent of rosemary about her, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what the herb would smell like.

The other men thumped into the boat, voicing polite comments on the calmness of the sea and the beauty of the island as if speaking in front of their grandmothers. Gidley continued his teatime reminisces as the men rowed, recounting with the other seamen the polite sights they’d seen in their travels.

Warrington shut his eyes briefly. He had no idea where these dainty men came from.

‘Correct, yer lordship?’ Gidley asked.

‘Most certainly, my dear,’ Warrington answered. He heard a smothered snort from someone else, followed by a coughing attempt to disguise the sound into politeness.

Melina gathered the bundle closer. He hated that she felt discomfort.

Warrington kept his voice calm. ‘The next one of you who makes a sound before we board is going to let the rest of the crew watch him swimming around Ascalon and the first seaman who can bounce a biscuit off the swimmer’s head can give him orders until we’re home.’

Silence followed, except for the rhythmic sound of oars slapping the water.

Her shoulders relaxed and he wished he could retrace his steps. Bringing her on to the longboat had been foolish and she was the one being misled. He’d let himself be blinded by a little spot of skin and now she was on a longboat for no reason. They both should have stayed home.

He didn’t feel he’d had the option, though. The Foreign Office knew of his ship and had asked him for help. The trip had been a worthwhile diplomatic mission, in that he could tell them the Greeks still planned to rebel against the Ottoman rule. He didn’t know if the Turks suspected or not, but he had the information he’d been sent for.

When the boat tapped against the hull of the Ascalon, the men tied the longboat. The men closest to the ladder left first. Then Warrington or Melina would go on deck.

Melina stood and didn’t move forward, still holding her bundle and her satchel strap draped over her arm.

He touched the small of her back and she turned to him. He reached forward, taking the sculpture. ‘I’ll get it on deck. If you dropped it into the sea going up the ladder, we’d never get it back.’

She released the bundle and gave her shawl and scarf each a quick knot. She picked her way to the ladder, lifting her skirts to step over the seat in front of them. A simple, everyday movement. His mouth went dry. The image of her legs sealed itself around him. His imagination began to fill in the rest of her body while his mind generously unclothed her. Long limbs, smooth, and welcoming.

He brought himself back to the moment and saw her at the ladder, staring at the ropes.

‘Just go up as if you’ve done it every day, quick, and don’t stop.’

She took a few deep breaths, pulled at the waistband of her skirt, trying to keep the fabric away from her feet, and grabbed both sides of the ladder. She snatched the hemp in a stranglehold and moved upwards. Arms reached out to help her on board.

And now he held her parcel. He couldn’t risk dropping the rock.

Warrington looked up and called out to the man who stood at the side. ‘Toss me the end of a rope. I need you to haul something up for me.’

In seconds, a rope dropped at his feet and Warrington bound the end around the package. ‘Pull it up,’ he shouted and the arm went aboard ship. He shook his head at the waste of effort. The rock would be returning to the island soon.

The men were good sailors, but not a one of them was of the clergy and it would take at least that to ignore the woman. He’d send a decent crewman back with her to escort her home safely. No, he’d have to make do with a well-threatened one. All the decent ones were on other ships.

Stepping on deck, he saw the men assembled as if Ben demanded them for a meeting, but he knew the captain did no such thing. The cook sat on an overturned bucket and the cabin boy tangled himself in the rigging like a prisoner in stocks, waiting to hear what was said.

Warrington saw Ben’s stare. ‘You brought a woman because—’ Ben spoke, hands on his hips.

Melina stood, her scarf still knotted tightly and her jaw firm, and stared at Ben. Ben was getting sized up from the tip of his pointy nose to the last thread in his canvas trousers.

Warrington edged just to the side between them so he could see each face. He confronted his younger brother. ‘Since I am not the captain and do not have authority as such on this ship, she asked to talk to you.’

Ben didn’t speak, but his eyes darted up to the heavens in a disgusted manner.

‘Explain your request to the captain.’ Warrington spoke to Melina and clasped his hands behind his back. He leaned towards her, challenging them both.

She looked at Ben as if she stared across a battlefield and saw him as a target in front of her, then took a gentle breath—so small to be almost invisible. But the movement signalled a change in her.

Her shoulders dropped no more than a hair. She didn’t move her feet forward, but she swayed with the movement of the ship. Warrington was certain she leaned towards Ben as the ship moved and when it rocked back, he did not see her retreat. He locked his jaw and forced himself not to step between them or pull her back.

‘I wish taxidi—to travel to England.’ Her voice became lower—her accent turning into a siren’s husky whisper. Her hands reached to grasp the tied ends of her shawl and pull the knot free. ‘I have an agreement with this man.’ She spared a glance at Warrington.

Warrington commanded himself to remain still. Her voice dripped into him like warm pebbles of desire, bringing back the image of her legs and the spot at her breast. Perhaps he would take her back to her home and work out a true bargain there. The longboat could return him to the ship in the morning. He struggled to attend to the words of the conversation, making his plans for the night.

She reached up and pulled her scarf from her head, sliding the cloth away from her face, and the movements also caused the shawl to drop completely from her shoulders. Warrington watched two seamen collide in their haste to return the garment to her.

Ben’s expression glazed over. When Warrington saw that, his eyes followed his brother’s gaze.

Warrington stared, his mind not working. The scarf had kept drifting across her face before. He hadn’t truly looked beyond the spot on her breast.

Her eyes, he knew they were brown. And her lips red. And her nose, a normal nose. But somehow the arrangement of them and the curve of her chin, and dusts of her hair falling loose from her bun, swirled themselves around her in such a way as to bring them all into a delight for a man’s senses.

And that was before even looking lower to a mark that peeked out from the bodice, making one wonder what lay beneath—or making one fill in the imagination of what lay beneath in a stirring way.

‘You are in agreement,’ Melina said.

‘I would prefer not having a woman aboard...’ Ben’s voice sounded as a kindly father’s ‘...but since we can accommodate you with little effort I’ll allow it.’ Ben touched a flat palm to his chest. ‘I, of course, will be happy to share my quarters with you to make sure you are—’

Warrington knew too much of his brother’s life. Snaking an arm around Melina, Warrington pulled her close, sweat forming at his temples. ‘She and I have already discussed...the particulars. She will travel with me.’

‘Oh?’ Ben challenged, lowering his palm from his shirt. ‘I—’

‘Yes,’ Warrington said, feeling her brushing the length of his side. ‘We have discussed it. I will handle any expense she might incur. She will share my quarters.’ He levelled a glare at his brother. ‘I believe you mentioned that it might be best for me to have a woman’s company.’

‘Should lessen your growls to snarls, I hope.’ Ben smiled as he spoke. He looked at Melina. ‘If you could do that, miss, the entire ship will be grateful.’

Warrington could feel her hip through her skirts, pressed at his thigh, and smell the spiced scent again, which hinted at mystical pleasures. He felt nothing like growling.

He pushed the thoughts away and loosened his grip. Any tighter and he feared she would be gasping for breath. As it was, he felt on the edge of it and she seemed to have lost her words.

The captain looked at Melina. ‘Are you willing to sail this very night?’

She nodded.

Ben turned to Warrington. ‘While you lolled around on the island, the repairs ended. The wind is perfect, and the tide right. We can be at sea as the light fades. Show her your cabin, then get to the foredeck and give a hand.’

Warrington leaned his head towards Ben and spoke in a low voice. ‘Helping on deck is not what I had in mind.’

Ben smiled. ‘See the tears on my face.’ He turned and walked away, his boots clattering on the deck louder than before. With every step he shouted a new order to get ready to sail.

Melina whipped the shawl back around her shoulders. She took the parcel from the man who’d lifted it on board.

‘Follow me,’ Warrington said to her.

His berth was in the foredeck. The captain and the first mate had quarters in the aft deck, close to the wheel.

Warrington led Melina to his cabin, opening the door, which barely swung wide enough for his shoulders. He stepped back, letting her inside. He remained in the doorway and saw her survey the surroundings.

‘Take the bunk,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll get some other bedding.’

The hesitancy in her movements made him want to reassure her, but he couldn’t. He stood immobile, looking into the cabin. Everything appeared differently to him than when he’d first decided he would sail. Then, he’d seen the surroundings as an efficient use of space. Now he was not impressed to stand in the centre and be able to touch both walls.

The berth took no more room than for a man to lie on, with storage above, and below an open cabinet with a railing around it to keep supplies from escaping and a brace midway.

He could not sit upright on the bed and felt he slept in a casket for a man of slight build. He had a chair cinched to the wall and his sea chest sat underneath a table. He had floor space slightly larger than the length and width of his bed.

‘Are you certain you wish to sail with us?’ He spoke the words to her back. ‘This will be the room you and I will share. You can change your mind now and I will see that you are returned to your home. The ship can wait to leave.’

She didn’t turn to him. ‘I have no choice.’

As he heard her, his mind knew what her mouth said, but her voice barely touched him. The curve of her shoulders and the delicateness of her skin—those things reached him. And he knew without a doubt in any hidden crevasse of his mind he’d not overcome his weakness. Not even facing his own death had changed him.

He could never curse a woman as much as he cursed himself for his foolishness.

At least on Melos she had a home and family. She’d be soon lost among the dockside lightskirts at Wapping docks, trying to entice men. But it wasn’t his concern. He had tried to keep her from the ship.

Thinking of her on the docks, plying her trade, made him feel angry again. She only thought she moved into a place to improve her circumstance. The stews of London took no prisoners and willingly released no one alive.

He forced the concern from his mind.

The seamen could have their abstinence. He didn’t mind so much when solitude was his own choice. But he did prefer to see noses without close proximity to whiskers. Before, he’d not noticed how women’s presence made the world feel differently, until he found himself surrounded by men.

He missed Whitegate, his true home, but he’d left it well before he boarded the ship.

He’d left a perfectly sound home behind for the chance to sleep on boards and inhale salt water through his nose. And instead of a crystal decanter, kegs held stale water. The biscuits sometimes had to be broken into pieces and slowly mushed away in his mouth.

He’d not thought past his wish to keep her from Ben, or his own desires, to realise he was putting himself in such closeness with a woman. He’d never shared a room with a woman. Or awakened with anyone. Not even when he was married.

The act seemed intimate. More than a quick tumble would be. Sleeping near her, very near her, could be... His breathing increased. Pleasant.

Or not.

He examined her carefully, thinking of the rumblings from the ship at night. ‘Do you snore?’

She stood and looked at him. ‘Do you?’

‘No.’ He supposed he didn’t.

Her eyes opened wide, too wide. ‘If I sleep loud, will you go somewhere else?’

He smiled. ‘It’s an old sailor’s legend that if a woman snores it’s because she hasn’t had enough bed play to tire her into a sound slumber.’

Her nose went up. ‘It’s a Greek woman’s legend that if a man ronchalizo it’s because of the air moving about where his mind should be.’

‘We’ll have to find something to do together so neither of us sleeps.’

‘I do not snore...’ She paused and her gaze narrowed when she realised what she said. Her words were strident. ‘And it has nothing to do with bed play.’

‘It could.’ He returned the innocent look she’d given him earlier.

She huffed, not answering. He preferred the anger over the dread he’d seen on her face earlier. Before he sailed, he’d been concerned about the trip—and he knew his brother was a seaworthy captain and the crew was experienced.

Even so, he’d not liked the voyage and he’d hated the first climb up the ratlines.

‘I need to give you a bit of advice for sailing,’ he said.

She waited, eyes daring him.

‘Stay out from under me when I am climbing above. I am not as experienced as the others. If I fell, I could hurt you.’ He paused. ‘But if you decide to go up the ropes, please wear trousers. Otherwise, the men...would find it distracting.’

He hoped anger might help her forget the newness. Inside, he smiled at the way she ruffled from his words. Talking with her made the water seem smoother. His clothing less rumpled.

* * *

Melina saw the spark of humour in his eyes. He jested. She let her shoulders drop and her lips turn down. ‘Then I will merely lose my grip and see how the man below feels about breaking my fall.’

His lips thinned, but not in anger. ‘I could catch you.’

‘But you would not be able to keep your grip. The fall would frighten me so, I am sure my elbows might flail about.’

‘Would you like to test that?’

‘No.’ She made herself shudder. ‘I need to put my satchel away.’

He turned to the bunk. ‘Shove the bag under there. Wedge it tight or you will be fighting to keep it from sliding about.’

She moved, kneeling to be able to see and reach into the space. She lodged the bag inside and a tendril of her hair fell forward, loose from the bun. She finger-combed it back into place as she rose and then took one step to the door. ‘I would like to watch the sails as the ship begins to move.’

He moved in front of her, blocking her way out, his expression cold and dark. ‘I have to insist you not go about the deck. For the duration of the voyage, your attentions are mine alone.’

She opened her mouth to protest, then realised what he was saying. He thought her planning to sell herself to the men.

‘I—’ Her denial stopped before she could finish the sentence. She had sold her body and to him. It would be hard to convince him she didn’t use her attentions for funds. Every man on the ship thought her a porni.

Melina didn’t want their eyes on her. She already knew how sailors looked at the women they thought to purchase. She’d known it not safe to get too close. And now she was locked on a vessel with them. Her stomach roiled.

‘How many men are on this ship?’ she asked.

‘Thirty-three.’ His lips formed each sound of the word quite distinctly.

She didn’t like where his thoughts were going. ‘Women?’ she asked, her fingers gripping the back of the chair beside her.

‘One.’ Nothing in his expression changed.

She controlled her words. ‘I think I shall stay inside. I would not want one of the men falling from overhead when I am walking below. Nor would I wish to get tangled in the ropes. I have heard how things move about when ships are underway and sometimes mistakes are made.’

‘It would be wise of you to keep out of the way.’

She didn’t ask what he would have done if she’d not agreed to stay inside. From the look in his eyes, he would have been content with locking her in. And she would be able to do nothing about it. She tensed. She had stepped into a world where she was entirely alone.

‘Does the door—’ She had to ask. ‘Does it latch from the inside?’

He shook his head, one very definite movement. ‘No one would dare enter without my permission.’ His words held in the air.

Relief surged in her, until the next words he said reminded her where she stood.

‘And you cannot lock me out.’

‘I did not think to do so. I know what I have promised.’

He indicated the island with a turn of his head. ‘You can go back. Now. Last chance. No rock is worth going from your home. Leaving the people who can care for you.’

‘But it is worth leaving for the people I do care about.’

He stared at her, his eyes disagreeing, and left the room, leaving her alone with the reality of her actions slithering into her body.

Chapter Three

Warrington worked the davit, listening to the creak as it lifted the longboat to be secured on deck. He mustn’t keep thinking of her. This would be a bad time to get himself injured.

Taking one last look at the shore, he memorised the sight. If the fates were with him, he’d never see Melos again.

And if he had his way, he’d keep alive until they reached England. He had no sailor’s wish to be buried at sea. When he died, he wished to be boxed and put into a properly marked location.

He could understand fascination with sailing. The challenge of it. Men stood on rigging as comfortably as they stood on land.

Now the sailors unfurled the foremast sail, working from the middle, out to the side, and it dropped more softly than a lady’s skirt.

When the sun set the magic of the sea came out. In the night, the sails stiffened in the wind and the waters whispered a mesmerising sound. To stand on deck, with the blackness reflecting the heavens and the ship racing across the surface, a sailor could feel as if he were flying in an otherworldly vessel.

The moon rose well overhead and Warrington heard the bell, which signalled midnight and the end of the watch.

‘Well, old man...’ Warrington heard his brother’s voice ‘...I suppose you should go examine the trinket you’ve stored in your cabin.’

‘I’m in no hurry.’ Warrington watched Ben. ‘I’m not a man given to speed, but more to quality.’

‘It’s what we all say,’ Ben muttered, looking into the darkness at the rigging, and then patted the mast. ‘But I prefer to let the women boast about me.’ Ben called out, walking away, ‘And if you need instruction, return to me and I’ll explain how the deed is properly done.’

Warrington stopped, turned back, Ben’s form outlined in the moonlight. ‘Little brother, I see the error now. You’ve thought all along it is to be done properly, while the women most enjoy an improper tumble.’

Ben turned, waving Warrington on his way. ‘Get along, old man. Talk does not get the job done.’

When Warrington opened the door to the cabin, he noticed the lantern light flickering in the room. He looked to the bed. Empty. She sat in the chair backed against the wall, a bucket hooked at her feet by her heels, and looked up at him, her face ghostlike in the light.

‘I have lost...’ her voice followed the movement of the ship ‘...most food...’ another gentle sway of the boat forward, and her chin dipped over the pot ‘...I have eaten in the past year.’ The ship moved with the rocking motion of the sea and the breezes pushing them forward. She glared at him, but the look seemed more pitiful than angered. ‘No one told me...a ship would float so rough...trying to turn my insides...outside.’

‘You get used to it.’ He hung his cap on a peg. ‘About the time we hit land.’

She groaned.

Turning, he reached into the cabinet to move the brandy bottle aside and take out a cloth bag about the size of his hand. ‘Comfits. Don’t tell the men I have these. Wouldn’t want them to think me weak.’

He reached the bag to her, but she waved it away. He didn’t move back, but kept his hand firm.

‘I had some made with ginger. A servant I have, a former seaman, swears it helps when a man is at sea and his stomach refuses to settle into the ship. Just let it rest on your tongue.’

She frowned, but took the parcel, opened it and pulled out one of the orbs. She put it in her mouth and kept the bag clasped in her hand.

‘Since you’re not using the berth...’ he said, reaching to remove his coat and place it on the remaining peg, and over her shawl.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, thumping the wall behind her. ‘I can’t lie down. My feet keep moving higher than my head.’

‘Interesting.’

He usually sat in the chair to remove his boots, but no matter. Perching just on the edge of the berth and letting the bottom of the cabinet above him press against his shoulders, he tugged off his boots. Then he lifted them by the tops and pressed them into the railed opening beneath him so they’d not slide while he slept. He took off his waistcoat and stored it. Slipping his shirt from the trousers, his hand stopped when he looked again at her face. Her lashes rested against her cheeks. Her lips pressed together in a thin line and skin showed the same colour as the sails in moonlight.

For a moment he stared, torn between letting her alone and a need to brush tendrils back from her face.

He shook himself from his fascination and reached to the water pitcher, lodged in place and filled by the cabin boy earlier in the day. Warrington took the flannel lying inside the small raised edge, which kept it from sliding to the floor as the boat moved. He dampened the cloth and stepped beside her, putting it to her forehead. She held the compress in place. Their fingers touched, but she didn’t seem aware he was even in the room.

‘Try to think of something pleasant.’ He spoke to her, and in response her lips tightened. ‘Sing to yourself—some peaceful tune,’ he instructed. ‘It might help.’

‘Are the seas always rough?’ she asked.

He couldn’t tell her this was calm. ‘You get used to it.’

She nodded. ‘I hope.’

Her parcel lay beside her. He took it and her gaze flicked to him.

‘The rock can’t slide around. Might break or cause one of us to fall.’ He knelt at his bunk, trying to keep from brushing against her, and well aware that she pushed herself to the other side of the small room. He tucked the arm away carefully, knowing she watched every movement. Still kneeling, he looked across at her. ‘The light needs out.’

‘No,’ she whispered. ‘In the dark, the room moves faster.’

He frowned. ‘You cannot fall asleep with the lantern lit.’

‘I am not sleeping.’

Warrington stood and undid the top fastening of his shirt, then snapped the garment over his head, putting it on the remaining peg.

He pulled open the covers and slid between them. He turned his head and she looked forward, her gaze locked on the wall.

‘Would you speak of something soothing?’ she asked.

He stared at her. ‘I’m going to sleep.’

‘Say anything. Anything to take my mind off my stomach and the treacherous waters. Talk about your home. Your mother. A dog. Anything. Please.’

‘I remember a tale of a young child eaten by wolves on a winter’s night. What of it?’

‘Nothing with food in it—please,’ she mumbled.

He studied her face. The pallor only made her lashes seem longer. He decided he didn’t need sleep as badly as he thought.

‘Ben, the captain, is my brother. This is his first sailing on a ship he is captain of—but he was born with the taste for sea life in his blood.’ He stared into the wood above his head. ‘I’ve another brother, Dane, who is looking after things at home while we’re away. And a sister, Adelphinia—named after a batty aunt, who even refuses to answer to the full name. We call my sister Adele, which she much prefers over Phinny.’ He stopped. ‘Perhaps from our telling her the horses called her when they whinnied.’ His voice softened. ‘She thinks brothers are a curse.’

He looked at Melina. If the sound of his voice eased her, then the rise and fall of her breasts eased him. The little mark on her might be a scar.

‘Keep talking,’ she said.

He gave a grunt of complaint, but continued. ‘I like Hoby boots, on firm land. I like to be able to look out my window and see oak trees. Solid trees on solid ground. I like my horse, Chesapeake, and I hated leaving him behind. I’m never getting this far from him again. He’ll probably wish to bite me or throw me when I get home.’

‘You miss...your horse?’ She slid the flannel from her cheek.

‘Ches—’ He shut his eyes. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking to leave him.’

‘There is no person you miss?

‘For—’ His voice rose, but he stopped himself. He remembered his home. He’d not wanted to speak of family. ‘I have a son. And there’s his sister. She’s younger.’

He thought of Jacob, the morning after Cassandra’s funeral. At first light, the boy had darted into War’s room and bounded upon the bed with a question or two about death, then a concern about cat’s ears.

Silence and darkness around him, he spoke again. ‘My wife died a year or more ago. I’ve not forgiven her. I’ve not forgiven her for anything.’

She didn’t speak.

He didn’t want the sombre mood surrounding him so many times to engulf him again.

He turned his head back to her. ‘Chesapeake enjoys the same journeys as I do. You can jest and call him any name you wish and he doesn’t care. Chesapeake’s a good mount. His sire and dam—he inherited the best of both. Father’s size. Mother’s grace.’ The shadows in his world jostled him, taking his mind from the horse. Even though he knew he didn’t lie, he left out so much.

She daubed the cloth at her face. ‘I already miss my sisters.’

‘Women are different.’

‘Yes. But you have your brother nearby.’

He grunted his displeasure. ‘I intended him to tell you that you could not sail with us.’

‘I know.’ She patted her cheek with the cloth and stared at him. ‘No wonder you don’t talk of missing anyone but your children. You’ve no heart.’

‘Chesapeake would disagree.’

‘A horse.’ She near snorted, and if she only knew—she’d sounded a bit like Chesapeake. He wanted to tell her, but when he saw the paleness of her face he changed his mind.

‘A fine chestnut. You’d never get him willingly on a ship.’

‘So he’s exypnos—clever.’

‘Very.’

‘How did you come to be on the vessel?’ she asked, holding the comfits and flannel in one hand.

‘My brother convinced me to invest in something he could captain. We both own half.’ Warrington let himself settle into a more comfortable place. She needed to snuff the light so he could rest. ‘Ben can make having fleas sound like a lark.’

‘Should I expect fleas on this journey, as well?’

‘Not unless you get too close to the men.’

He saw her lashes sweep up as she checked to see if he jested. Let her guess. ‘You’ll have to put out the light,’ he reminded. ‘We’ve had one fire too many already.’

‘In a moment.’

Her head was against the wall. Graciously long neck. A delicious amount of skin creamy beneath it.

‘What is that mark at your breast?’ he asked.

Without looking, she reached to the colouration, running a fingertip along the skin, tracing the outline.

His gaze locked on her fingers.

‘I was born with a smudge and it seems smaller than it used to. My sisters have the mark, too, but none of ours is in the same place or shape. I think of it as an hourglass—to remind me to be useful because there is only so much time.’

‘Reminds me of...’ he paused and looked again ‘...two horses’ hooves close together.’

Again, she moved her fingers briefly to the mark and then stood, using both hands to brace herself against the table. She edged herself around the furniture and then doused the light, putting them in darkness.

‘How did you pry yourself from Chesapeake to get on a ship?’ she said, her fumbling movements leading her to the chair.

‘I hoped to see different sights and learn about the Turks, but mostly I’ve seen water not fit to drink, heard jests not worth repeating and eaten food with no appeal at all. I think this ship has no rats because they starved.’

He heard the slop bucket slide as the ship moved and pushed himself from the bed. ‘I’ll empty the pot for you—otherwise one of us might put a foot in it before morning.’ And he didn’t intend to sleep with the smell.

Not having illumination didn’t concern him. The walls were so close he could feel his way for what he needed. He slipped out through the door, his feet bare, and walked to the side, tossing the contents downwind. When he returned, he opened the small door to slip the pail back inside the cabinet.

‘I would like to keep that nearby,’ she murmured, stopping him.

He put it on the floor at her feet, and he saw the shadow of her pulling the bucket close so she could hook it again between her shoes.

‘Take the bed,’ he instructed, standing above her. He would have to pull together something so he’d have a place to sleep.

‘No,’ she insisted, moving her head. ‘I’m best here.’

‘Wake me if you change your mind.’ He reached to the bunk, took the pillow and then pushed it her direction. ‘At least put this behind your head.’

After she held the pillow, he took his shirt, rolled it and tucked it in the berth.

He slid back into the sleeping space. ‘My brother needs to get sailing out of his veins, return home and start a life there.’

‘You can’t fault him. The boat is his Chesapeake.’

‘Well, he’ll have to convince me we’ll find gold, silver and mountains of apple tarts to get me on board again.’

He could hear her silence. It wasn’t only that she was quiet—she was immobile. Not moving. Then she spoke. ‘Treasures convince people to risk much.’

Chapter Four

Warrington stepped out of the cabin. He’d not fallen asleep until dawn and the climbing temperatures of midday had awakened him. The sailors cleaned the deck, a daily job. They couldn’t risk growth of the green muck that flourished at sea emerging where men might slip.

Ben walked to his brother’s side, looking every bit a man without a care—even with clouds bundling above them. Air filling with steam. The sea too calm.

The unconcern in the men around him didn’t give Warrington a feeling of ease. He knew the men all too well. They didn’t fluster over a storm. They knew they’d either live or die through it and, either way, they’d still be at sea.

The captain leaned close to Warrington and spoke so no one else could hear. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Warrington ignored him. The young ferret could sniff for morsels awhile longer.

‘I’m thinking the earl is wantin’ for Stubby’s job.’ Gidley walked up. His whiskers quivered when he spoke. ‘Men said he emptied the pot three times in the night.’

‘Oh.’ Ben’s brows shot up. ‘I may have heard that rumour, too. When we get to London, I’m thinking he might become a lady’s maid.’ Ben looked to his brother and then jumped aside, dodging the boot swung at his heels.

‘For that...’ Ben’s chin went up ‘...you’re invited to spend the afternoon, and night, at the wheel.’

‘The woman’s in my bed.’ Warrington kept his voice light. ‘Mine. Slop bucket or no. My cabin. My bed. My woman. She’s perfection,’ Warrington added. He remembered the night before. Perfection—if you didn’t mind the greenish cast to her face. And seeing her fingers rubbing her own heated skin didn’t do him any favours. She must have touched that mark a thousand times and each time he’d become aroused.

And now a storm to toss the Ascalon about more. He was going to die before they reached port and without getting his own mast climbed. No. No matter what, he’d discover the real treasure before the storm hit.

‘You have any more of the medicinal you mentioned when we started out?’ Warrington spoke to Gidley.

The older man’s chin wobbled. ‘Two draughts.’

‘See that Melina gets them,’ Warrington told the first mate. ‘And remove the chair and table from my cabin. Get some bedding for her.’

‘Do as he says,’ Ben instructed Gidley, his voice light. ‘He’s not getting any younger and he needs all the help he can get.’

Gidley left to get the medicine and Ben looked at Warrington, saying, ‘I’d suggest, brother, that you attempt to manage—if you’re able—more than only a single tumble. I speak from experience when I say it is possible.’

Warrington’s hands tightened.

Ben put his hand at the back of his own neck, shut his eyes and rolled his head, then yawned. ‘I’ve had more than a lifetime of women already in my tender twenty-six—no, twenty-seven years—and probably your share, as well. That’s why you’re looking so sour at just past thirty. You’re fading and I’ve bedded more women than you could ever hope to count.’

‘If we take away the ones you’ve paid, how big would the number be then?’

‘Only ones worth having.’ Ben gave another stretch.

‘Said by a man who has only the single way of attracting a woman.’

‘At least when I pay,’ he drawled out the last word, ‘I manage to get her bedded.’

‘I’m sure they do so quickly so they can see the last of you.’

Ben laughed in response, but Warrington knew his brother had a point. In the night, he’d wanted to touch Melina. And he hadn’t. He’d not been able to reach out for a moment.

‘Ben...’ Warrington looked at the darkening clouds above ‘...do you ever fear dying at sea?’

Ben shook his head. ‘Man has to go some time. Best to be doing what he loves when his toes turn up.’

‘Then I will feel no regret for killing you if you don’t relieve me from the wheel before the storm hits.’

Ben laughed. ‘Give the medicinal time to work. Later, I’ll give you time to go “courting”. When you get to her, explain you must finish quickly so you may return to your duties.’ He tilted his head and stared upwards. ‘What’s a brother for if not to give the elder an excuse for rushing about?’

‘I have not once, in my entire life, concerned myself with your bedding habits,’ Warrington grumbled, glaring at Ben. ‘Not once.’

The captain tilted his head sideways and his tone was mournful. ‘Sadly, I know why. You would be distraught at what wonders you have missed in your own experience.’ He turned, glancing over the deck, appraising the ship. ‘I have some good wine. Come to my cabin and have a swallow while you’re resting up for the woman.’

Warrington shook his head and walked towards the aft deck, ducking his head from the ropes jutting out above. He could use some refreshment after the night he’d had, but he didn’t relish more of his brother’s company.

‘The wine is quite good. Worth what I paid.’ Ben lowered his head as well when he stepped beside War. ‘And I’ll not needle you any more.’

Warrington snorted, but followed Ben.

The quiet click of their boots as they moved to the cabin blended with the movement of the boat, and the murmurs of the sailors keeping their voices low so orders could be heard.

Inside the room, Ben reached to pull a bottle from a crate. The cork slid free of the neck with a comforting pop. Ben handed the drink to Warrington, who leaned against the door.

Warrington looked to Ben’s berth, which didn’t have the storage overhead. The bed wasn’t bigger, but the room itself was more than double the size of the others, with two windows instead of one. A miniature was affixed to the front of the cabinet and Warrington knew, if he looked closely, that the painting was of a mermaid—Ben’s version of a perfect woman.

The wine’s sweetness rested well on Warrington’s tongue. He handed the drink back to Ben, who dropped himself in the chair and helped himself to a hearty swallow.

Warrington snatched the bottle before Ben had a chance to put it down. ‘Every time the boat touched the smallest ripple, the noises she made woke me. She turned green to her toes, I wager. I’d have had more rest on deck—except the men would have made too much sport of it.’

‘You brought her on board.’

‘Had to stay awake to make sure the lantern didn’t falter. She couldn’t stand the dark—made her worse. Every time I convinced her to turn out the light, in a few minutes I was lighting it again. I finally persuaded her to lie down in the berth.’

‘So you were able to enjoy her.’

Warrington took a long swallow of the wine, frowned and looked at Ben. ‘Think of the width and height of my berth. Two squirrels could hardly mate in it.’

Ben raised his brows and put a hand to his chest. His voice became overly concerned. ‘I feel saddened for you and I don’t wish you more distress. Send her to my cabin. I’ll play nursery maid tonight.’

‘Not bloody likely. I did everything but rub her feet to soothe her. I will be enjoying the lady’s favours.’

‘Maybe you should have rubbed her feet.’

‘She wouldn’t let me.’

‘What can I say, old man, except send her my way.’ Ben clasped his hands behind his head. ‘I’ve a special remedy that eases any discomfort a woman might have. One look at it and she forgets all else.’

‘You’d best see the ship sails like treacle poured across a plate tonight, or I will be pounding on your door.’

Ben held out his hand, indicating time to return the bottle. He might as well have been looking over the top of spectacles in a schoolroom. ‘I think you let her make excuses.’

‘I do not,’ Warrington repeated, and then smiled. ‘Every time I looked at her I could see that little mark, like a drawing of breasts.’

‘It looks like a woman’s bottom.’

‘No.’ Warrington spoke with certainty. ‘Breasts.’

They were silent for a moment, then Ben held his hand out, palm raised, and didn’t lower it.

Warrington gave him the bottle.

Ben took a drink. He put the wine in front of him. ‘Just don’t forget she’ll be plying her trade on the docks when we reach port. Saw an opportunity to get to London and she took it. Doesn’t change what she is.’

‘I don’t care what she is. She’s in my bed and she’s going to do as she agreed. Then we dock and she goes on her way.’

‘Now you’re thinking. Not like with—’

‘Stubble it, Ben.’ He didn’t need reminding about his dead wife, the beautiful Cassandra, who always wore chemises that smelled of roses.

He knew he’d been a fool with her, two times over. And both his brothers knew. And the servants. Or at least they all imagined they did. He didn’t think anyone but himself realised how truly addled he’d been. At least afterwards he’d been able to let them believe most of his feelings were rage towards her.

But he’d grieved for her and not been able to pretend otherwise enough to fool his brothers. Only the misery of being trapped on a ship at sea, with conditions that might have otherwise driven him mad, had brought back his mind to reality.

He could see Cassandra for what she was, but that also meant he could see himself for what he was.

He’d not been able to stop wanting her. He’d hated himself for his desire.

‘Oddest thing came to me when I shaved.’ Ben gave a slight shake of his head. ‘Think I’ve seen your berth mate before.’

His thoughts snagged on Ben’s words. ‘The island?’

‘Never been to Melos before. Couldn’t be.’

‘But how could you forget a woman with a face like hers?’

‘Didn’t exactly forget her. Just can’t remember where I saw her. And I know I saw her.’

‘You told me all women look alike to you.’

‘In bed.’ Ben shrugged. ‘But I don’t think that’s where I saw her.’

Warrington felt the betrayal of his past again and anger with himself for having concern for a woman he didn’t trust. ‘I suppose I can ask her why she speaks so plain. It would not be unusual if she spoke French, or if she spoke a few words of rough English. But she speaks better than some of the seamen, even with her Greek flavour. I noticed on the island, but once she dropped her shawl, I lost interest in her speech.’

‘But she’s not said eros. Perhaps it’s the company she’s keeping.’

‘So you remembered one word from the tutor you tortured. Eros. I am not surprised. But she’s been paid—her passage—she’ll say it. And you’ll leave her be.’

‘Of course.’ Ben stretched out his arms, before clasping his hands behind his neck and grinning. ‘But don’t be surprised if she changes affections and decides she can’t stay away from me.’ He leaned back enough that the front legs of his chair lifted, completely at ease with the ship’s motions.

‘You touch her, little brother, and there are not enough men on this ship to keep you alive.’

‘You talk here and the woman is in the cabin regretting she did not get her captain.’

‘When we get to London, I’m sinking my half of the ship.’

Ben again leaned towards him. ‘Let’s just hope you don’t sink my half before we get there.’

Warrington kept himself from kicking the legs out from his brother’s chair. He truly didn’t want him hurt, but unsettled would be nice. Warrington crashed the door shut behind him when he left and hoped his brother’s ears rang.

He went to take his turn at the wheel, but knowing, before the night was out, Melina would soothe the memories that plagued him.

Chapter Five

Melina didn’t know whether she’d stepped closer to devastation or further away. The boat wobbled so much she thought her knees would buckle as she stood.

The cabin boy fidgeted at the door, holding several biscuits in one hand, and a cup of liquid in the other, which smelled the same as soured goat milk. ‘First mate says to drink the broth he had made from his special mix-up and we don’t have no choice when he says things. This won’t kill you, but it’ll give you some ballast in your stern. Keep you from going belly up.’

She took the offering from him.

‘Anything else you be needing, I’s your man.’ He plunked his finger against his chest—or where his chest would be once he grew. She didn’t think him aged more than most men’s boots. His red hair was streaked with dark strands. The locks fell across his eyes, but didn’t conceal the watchfulness behind them. ‘Gidley says I’m not to leave your side until you drink the last drop. He says I’m not to let you pour it overboard, either. Gidley says I should watch you with my own vision. Gidley says not to trust you ’cause of you being female.’

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

His face furrowed. ‘I be old enough. I keep working like I do—I’ll have my own ship some day. I want to sail on a man-o’-war. I’ll be...’ he straightened his shoulders and glowered ‘...tougher than any privateer, pirate or first mate. Gidley says first mates are toughest of them all.’

‘Malista,’ she answered. ‘Yes.’ She nodded, about to step back and shut him outside.

He put one scruffy bare foot to block the closing of the door. ‘Only toes I have, ’cept on the other side. Would sure hate to lose ’em.’

‘If I drink this, you might not wish to see the results.’

He waved a hand, indicating unconcern. ‘It’s your belly.’

She firmed herself and drank half the cup. ‘I’ll not take any more and the rest goes into the pot and neither of us will tell Gidley.’

‘Won’t pickle me none.’ He grinned at her, the smudge of dirt on his face wrinkling. ‘I’ll empty your slop bucket and no one will know.’

She stepped back so he didn’t knock her askew when he moved inside. He grabbed the pail, held it for her to pour away the medicine and looked at her.

He whispered, but his words near shouted he spoke so loud. ‘Where’s the treasure?’

She didn’t answer.

He bunched his lips, then moved his jaw from side to side as if the movement helped him think. ‘Gidley said you had a treasure for the earl. I figure it has to be in the parcel Warrin’ton hauled up. Jewels?’

She shook her head. ‘Some stone. Nothing you’d be interested in.’

‘Like rocks?’ His eyes lit up. ‘Gold ones?’

She shook her head. ‘Not gold.’

He frowned. ‘I was hoping to see me some gold. No use for rocks on Ascalon, ’cept for ballast.’ He turned, rushing out, barely letting his dirt-encrusted feet skim the planks.

Melina looked at the boards above her head, remembering the catacombs she and her sisters had explored, but they never stayed long in the darkness. She’d only explored inside to prove her bravery. Now the shadows outside the window increased her fears even as she told herself nothing had changed, but the sea had roughened.

Each lunge of the ship into the unsettled water slapped her stomach with the feeling of being in front of a battering ram. She stood, reaching out to the door, palms against the wood.

The image of Stephanos, the man she had fled, entered her mind.

‘I hate you, Stephanos,’ she whispered to the empty room while wiping away the moisture at her brow—for a moment, uncaring if the ship dropped under a wave, and kept plunging. Sinking would still the movement and silence the ship. Ascalon creaked and groaned, complaining more than any person she’d ever heard. She didn’t see how something could stay afloat while protesting so much.

The shadows in the room grew longer. The rocking motion made the walls move as if they reached to squeeze her in an embrace. Her lungs could hardly fill with air. She already felt she was drowning.

Without thinking, she jumped up and pulled open the door. She had to escape—to breathe.

Stepping on to the deck, she could see enough in front of her to realise the vastness of the water. The liquid reached to the end of the world. And she could run no direction to escape.

Melina would kiss Stephanos’s feet—each naked toe if he asked—to get back to her home. She pulled the door shut behind her and pressed her back to the wood, her fingers grasping for something to hold herself still. Now she didn’t care that she’d planned to leave the island for months and swore she’d do whatever the journey took. The sacrifice was too great.

Taking a breath, Melina took stock of her surroundings. She didn’t smile or look directly at any of the men. She did not want more concerns.

Two men sitting on crates immediately dropped their heads and studied the frazzled bits of rope in their hands. They continued twisting the frayed hemp back into shape. Everything on deck, but the boxes the men used, was lashed down.

She let out a breath, putting her hand at her stomach. Walking to the railing, she leaned against the barrier keeping her from the water, facing forward, feeling the comfort of the breeze.

Only a day before, Melina could not have imagined herself drinking a vile concoction, after spending the night inside a bobbing box at sea, with a silent man watching her cast up her accounts and him trying to calm her so he could bed her.

She’d bargained with Warrington and taken a risk, and she didn’t regret it, but she wasn’t certain her promise wasn’t troubling her stomach as much as the ship.

Shutting her eyes didn’t help. When she opened them nothing had changed.

Something—a hand—grabbed her elbow and she jumped, darting back from the railing.

‘You needin’ help, miss?’ The reedy voice of Gidley jarred her, and even in the dusk, she could see enough to recognise him leaning towards her in concern.

‘I’m well,’ she muttered. ‘I just needed air. My—’ She pulled her elbow from his grasp and touched over her stomach, taking care not to pat it. ‘I am not good over water...and...’ Things kept moving in front of her when she knew they were really immobile. ‘I keep being ill.’

He stepped back, a bundle tucked under one arm. ‘If yer need the earl, he’s at the helm.’ He lowered his voice, whispering, ‘He can prob’ly hear us yappin’ now. ’Less the wind is howling, yer can hear a sniffle from anywhere on deck. But yer need to take care. This be the bit of quiet before the storm slaps our masts up our...nose.’

She shook her head. Her bun slid back on her head and she hoped the darkness covered her dishevelment.

‘Yer want me to show you how well sound can carry, I’ll start singin’ and in a whisker shake, his lordship will start swearin’ at me to shut my mouth.’

‘No. I thank you,’ she answered.

He tipped his chin to her. ‘Well, I’m puttin’ this bedding inside yer cabin.’ He let his words ring loud. ‘Yer get tired of that peer and want to see what a real man can do, just say the word. Might not be the sea makin’ you ill. But the comp’ny yer keepin’.’

He gave her a fatherly pat on the arm before scooting her aside to open the cabin door and toss the bundle inside. He left, humming.

‘Melina.’ She heard the muffled shout of Warrington’s voice and turned towards the sound. She crept slowly until she saw his outline at the stern, holding the wheel. The night made him darker, and maybe taller, she wasn’t sure. Even the wheel seemed smaller with him holding it.

‘You should be in the cabin. You could fall against something, or stumble overboard.’ He raised his voice. ‘Or have to speak to someone like Gidley, who can’t sing and wouldn’t know what to do with a woman.’

She heard a chuckle wafting back through the air—and then another.

One more voice—a strong baritone she didn’t recognise—called out and she wasn’t even sure of the direction. ‘When I’m finished with a woman, she’s the one singing—my praises. Send her my way if she can’t sleep.’

Warrington snapped out, ‘You’re going to find yourself upside down and hanging from a mast if you don’t take care.’

‘Best leave his lordship be,’ an unrecognisable voice shouted.

Melina guessed the words came from Gidley, but she wasn’t sure.

‘His mama didn’t teach him to share,’ the man continued to taunt.

Warrington put his words low, snapped them together and spoke to her. ‘Are you pleased with the discussion you have caused?’

‘The only grumbler is his lordship,’ Melina said.

‘You tell ’im, sweet,’ a voice rang out.

‘Anyone touches her, they go overboard,’ Warrington said, his voice not overly loud, but with enough force to take the sound to the tips of the sails.

‘Including the captain?’ someone asked from the shadows.

‘Especially the captain.’

Melina crossed her arms and put challenge in her voice. She turned to face him. ‘It is a good thing I am fond of his lordship, then, so no one will have to go into the sea.’ Her lips turned up and she put her chin closer to his. ‘Besides, he’s the only man who’s ever emptied my pails.’

Whistles sounded, mixed with a few muffled hoots.

He stepped sideways enough to hold the wheel with one hand and snake the other around her waist, pulling her so close she could feel the heat of his breath and hear his rough whisper. ‘I should never have brought you.’

She turned, her hair catching in the bristles on his chin. ‘I know,’ she replied in kind. ‘But I’m here and the ship can’t turn back.’

His fingers loosened on her waist and as she moved away, he took a step, scooping her closer. Before her feet settled, she found herself tucked between the wheel and a firm male. Both his hands steered Ascalon. She had room to breathe and little else.

‘You might as well learn to guide the ship.’ Warrington leaned to whisper to her ear. ‘You’re not going anywhere for a while.’

She tried to push away, but he trapped her and she couldn’t leave.

‘Let’s not let the seamen think we’re having a lovers’ quarrel,’ he whispered.

‘I don’t feel well.’ She spoke between gritted teeth.

‘Then try to miss the boots.’

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