“My lady, I am a visitor, not a guest. I shall be on my way as soon as I have met with Sir Graham or his aide.”
“Ah, I see. More duty, then?” She laughed and flicked open a small fan which had been dangling on a cord at her wrist. “I had thought we might see more of you.”
He joined her in the paved entrance and caught her perfume, her warmth. The same woman, and yet so different from the one he had held and restrained in her moment of nausea and despair.
“It seems you are well cared for, m’ lady.” He looked past her as the music began again. “I hope the reception is a great success.”
She took his arm, suddenly and deliberately, turning him towards the music, towards her, until they were only inches apart.
“I do not care a fig for the reception, Captain! I have seen so many, too many… I am concerned that you choose to blame me because of such…” She seemed angry that she could not find the word to express her displeasure.
“Necessities, m’ lady?”
“No, never that!” She calmed herself; he could feel her fingers gripping his arm, like the night Napier had brought him to her.
She said, “Walk with me. There is a view of the harbour on the other side.” Her fingers tightened as if to drive away his resistance. “Nobody will see us. Nobody will care.”
“I do not think you understand…”
She shook his arm again. “Oh, but I do, Captain! I am well aware of the rules, the etiquette of King’s officers. No talk of women in the mess. But a knowing nod and a quick wink betrays such chivalry!” She laughed, and the sound echoed in the curved archway. “Listen! D’ you hear that?”
They came out on to a paved parapet, beyond which Adam saw the sea, sunset already bronze on the water, the riding lights and small moving craft making patterns all their own.
The hidden orchestra was playing now, and the other sounds of preparation seemed to pause as if servants and orderlies had stopped to listen.
She said almost in a whisper, “It’s beautiful,” and turned to look at him. “Don’t you agree?”
He put his hand on hers and felt her tense. A woman one moment, a child the next. Or was he deluding himself yet again?
“As you have observed, my lady, I am somewhat aback when it comes to the finer points of etiquette.”
She did not respond, but said a moment later, as if she had not heard him, “A waltz. D’ you know that some people still claim it is too risque, too bold, for public performance?”
He smiled. She was teasing him.
“I am thankful I am spared such hazards!”
She turned towards him again, and removed his hand from hers as if she was about to walk away. Then she took his hands once more, and stood looking at him, her head slightly on one side, deciding perhaps if she had already gone too far.
“Listen. Hear it now? Let it take charge of you.”
She placed his right hand on her waist, pressing it there, like the night when she had refused to release him.
“Now hold me, guide with your left hand, so.”
Adam tightened his grip and felt her move against him. Even in the uncertain light he could see the bare shoulders, the darker shadow between her breasts. His heart was pounding to match the madness, the pain of his longing. And madness it was. At any moment somebody would discover them; rumour could run faster than any wind. And jealousy could match and overwhelm any sense or caution.
But she was moving, taking him closer, and his feet were following hers as if they had always been waiting for this moment.
She said, “You lead,” and leaned back on his arm, her eyes wide. “Then I shall yield.”
And laughed again. The music had stopped, like the slamming of a single door.
How long they stood in the same position was impossible to know. She did not move, even when he pressed harder against her thighs, until he could feel the heat of her body, her shocked awareness of what was happening.
Then, carefully, firmly, he held her away, gripping the naked shoulders until she was able to look at him again.
He said, “Now you know, my lady, this is no game for tricksters. Bones mend, but not hearts. You would do well to remember that!”
She dragged her hand away and raised it as if to strike him, but shook her head when he seized her wrist. “It was not a game or a trick, not to me. I cannot explain…” She stared at him, her eyes shining with tears, and he felt her come against him again, without protest or amusement. He wanted to push her away, no matter what it might do to each or both of them.
Think what you are doing, of the consequences. Are you beyond reason because of a loss you could never have prevented, a happiness which was never yours to explore?
But there was no solution. Only the realisation that he wanted this woman, this girl, another man’s wife.
He heard himself say, “I must leave you. Now. I have to see the admiral.”
She nodded very slowly, as if the action was painful.
“I understand.” He felt her face against his chest, her mouth damp through his shirt. “You may despise me now, Captain Bolitho.”
He kissed her shoulder, felt her body tighten, shock, disbelief, it no longer mattered.
There were voices now, and laughter, someone announcing an arrival. She was fading into the shadows, moving away, but with one arm held out.
He followed her through the same low archway, and she said, “No, no-it was wrong of me!” She shook herself as if to free her body of something. “Go now, please go!”
He held her, kissing her shoulder again, lingeringly, and with a deep sensuality. There were more voices, closer. Someone looking for him, or for her.
He pressed the small silver sword into her hand and closed her fingers around it, then he walked through the archway and into the courtyard once more, his mind and body fighting every step, almost daring to hope she might run after him and prevent him from leaving. But all he heard was the sound of metal on stone. She had flung the little clasp away from her.
He saw Lieutenant Onslow peering out from the opposite doorway and felt something like relief.
“Captain Bolitho, sir! Sir Graham sends his compliments, but he is unable to receive you this evening. He is with Sir Lewis Bazeley, and before the guests arrived he thought-”
Adam touched his sleeve. “No matter. I will sign for my orders and leave.”
Onslow said lamely, “He wishes you every success, sir.”
Adam did not glance up at the balcony. She was there, and she would know that he knew it. Anything more would be insanity.
He followed the flag lieutenant into another room. While Onslow was taking out the written orders, Adam held out his hand and examined it. It should be shaking, but it was quite steady. He picked up the pen, and thought of Jago down there with the gig’s crew.
There were far more dangerous forces abroad this evening than cut-throats and thieves. Perhaps Jago had realised that also.
I wanted her. And she will know it.
He could hear her voice still. Then I shall yield.
Perhaps they would never meet again. She would know the perils of any liaison. Even as a game.
The gig’s crew sat to attention when he appeared, and the bowman steadied the gunwale for him to step aboard. Jago took the tiller.
“Cast off!”
Captain Bolitho had said nothing. But he could smell perfume, the same she had been using when they had carried her, almost insensible, below.
“Bear off forrard! Out oars!”
