eyes, though I am sure you were unaware of it.’
‘Yes—yes, I was. But I did want you to kiss me, to hold me. That I cannot deny.’
‘This was not premeditated. Men are weak creatures when their manhood is involved,’ he murmured with some bitterness, ‘and cannot resist it. But you are right. It should not have happened. If we are to fall into one another’s arms every time we are alone, then we are in danger of failing in our mission.’ Distracted by raucous voices raised in song from down below, he turned away and retrieved his sword from the bed. ‘I think we should try and get some sleep. I doubt you’ll have any further trouble. The door has a bolt on it. Slide it when I’ve gone.’
Returning to his room, Nathan knew he would get no sleep that night. He thought long and hard about what had just occurred, on the way Lucy had looked at him when he’d entered her room, her head thrown back in triumph, her eyes filled with some gladness—satisfaction—as though a promise had been fulfilled. It made him wonder why it was that her actions and her words, which should have pleased him, satisfied him, left him with a deep unease, which, though he would see no difference in her over the following days, he would carry with him in the coming days and weeks.
He could not bring himself to believe she would have killed the man. To reach for a weapon was the kind of reaction everyone—men and women—would have in the heat of the moment and she’d had reason enough. Yes, he had taught her how to shoot, taught her well, yet she was so fine, bright and brave and true. He could not make her as he was, to see her tarnished by war and the corruption that war brings to a soldier—the death and the killing—and to feel the terrible guilt he would carry with him to his grave over the needless death of young Harry Connors.
He would do his utmost in the coming weeks to guard Lucy from the hazards which would be strewn across her path. But he must stand back. He would not coddle her, spoil her as before. There must be no repetition of what had just occurred between them, which would only serve to weaken their resolve to see this mission through to the end.
* * *
Lucy awoke to find it was not yet fully light. She had slept heavily, and now she got out of bed and padded across the floor. Pouring water from the ewer into the basin, she splashed it on to her face. Shivering from the cold, she glanced at her male clothes draped across the back of a chair. Already longing for the day when she would be able to don her gowns, she quickly dressed, arriving downstairs as Nathan came in from the street.
‘You must have been up early. Where have you been?’
‘I’ve arranged for the horses to be taken on board the
Harris
—that’s the vessel we will sail on. I’ve managed to acquire a couple of berths. I’ve also taken care of the money.’
‘My, you have been busy. You should have given me a knock—although I’m glad you didn’t. I was quite worn out when I went to bed.’
‘I’m hardly surprised—considering what happened.’ He raised a questioning brow. ‘No after-effects?’
For what, she wondered, the drunk’s intrusion or their shared intimacy? She shook her head. ‘No. I slept well.’
‘When we’ve had breakfast we’ll go on board. Hopefully the ship will be under way by early afternoon.’
* * *
It was a grey day, the sky the colour of old pewter with a hint of rain in the cool air. The noise and the sheer energy and vitality of Portsmouth’s docks Lucy could not have imagined. Men hammered and sawed, and carried huge things on their shoulders. Casks, ropes and chains were everywhere. A jumble of ship’s spars and masts towered above her head until she could barely see the sky. Tidily stacked piles of wood were lying about—stout oak for hulls, pine for masts. Figureheads at the prow of each ship reared at regular intervals. The redolent aroma of timber mixed with salt and tar, with every
‘Yes—yes, I was. But I did want you to kiss me, to hold me. That I cannot deny.’
‘This was not premeditated. Men are weak creatures when their manhood is involved,’ he murmured with some bitterness, ‘and cannot resist it. But you are right. It should not have happened. If we are to fall into one another’s arms every time we are alone, then we are in danger of failing in our mission.’ Distracted by raucous voices raised in song from down below, he turned away and retrieved his sword from the bed. ‘I think we should try and get some sleep. I doubt you’ll have any further trouble. The door has a bolt on it. Slide it when I’ve gone.’
Returning to his room, Nathan knew he would get no sleep that night. He thought long and hard about what had just occurred, on the way Lucy had looked at him when he’d entered her room, her head thrown back in triumph, her eyes filled with some gladness—satisfaction—as though a promise had been fulfilled. It made him wonder why it was that her actions and her words, which should have pleased him, satisfied him, left him with a deep unease, which, though he would see no difference in her over the following days, he would carry with him in the coming days and weeks.
He could not bring himself to believe she would have killed the man. To reach for a weapon was the kind of reaction everyone—men and women—would have in the heat of the moment and she’d had reason enough. Yes, he had taught her how to shoot, taught her well, yet she was so fine, bright and brave and true. He could not make her as he was, to see her tarnished by war and the corruption that war brings to a soldier—the death and the killing—and to feel the terrible guilt he would carry with him to his grave over the needless death of young Harry Connors.
He would do his utmost in the coming weeks to guard Lucy from the hazards which would be strewn across her path. But he must stand back. He would not coddle her, spoil her as before. There must be no repetition of what had just occurred between them, which would only serve to weaken their resolve to see this mission through to the end.
* * *
Lucy awoke to find it was not yet fully light. She had slept heavily, and now she got out of bed and padded across the floor. Pouring water from the ewer into the basin, she splashed it on to her face. Shivering from the cold, she glanced at her male clothes draped across the back of a chair. Already longing for the day when she would be able to don her gowns, she quickly dressed, arriving downstairs as Nathan came in from the street.
‘You must have been up early. Where have you been?’
‘I’ve arranged for the horses to be taken on board the
Harris
—that’s the vessel we will sail on. I’ve managed to acquire a couple of berths. I’ve also taken care of the money.’
‘My, you have been busy. You should have given me a knock—although I’m glad you didn’t. I was quite worn out when I went to bed.’
‘I’m hardly surprised—considering what happened.’ He raised a questioning brow. ‘No after-effects?’
For what, she wondered, the drunk’s intrusion or their shared intimacy? She shook her head. ‘No. I slept well.’
‘When we’ve had breakfast we’ll go on board. Hopefully the ship will be under way by early afternoon.’
* * *
It was a grey day, the sky the colour of old pewter with a hint of rain in the cool air. The noise and the sheer energy and vitality of Portsmouth’s docks Lucy could not have imagined. Men hammered and sawed, and carried huge things on their shoulders. Casks, ropes and chains were everywhere. A jumble of ship’s spars and masts towered above her head until she could barely see the sky. Tidily stacked piles of wood were lying about—stout oak for hulls, pine for masts. Figureheads at the prow of each ship reared at regular intervals. The redolent aroma of timber mixed with salt and tar, with every
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