alone in the universe. It was nothing but a fancy, of course. I could hear the faint, nostalgic sweep of the orchestra playing for the smart after-dinner crowd, and somewhere in the distance a deckhand was singing, low and off-key, something mournful. It had a keening quality to it, as if he were grieving for something lost, and I gave a shudder.
A whisper of velvet slid around my shoulders. “You forgot your wrap.”
It was Talbot, wrapping my stole about me, and standing a scant inch too close for comfort.
“Thank you, Talbot. That’s very kind,” I told him.
His eyes were glittering in the starlight, and I thought—not for the first time since I had met him—that he really was the most stunningly handsome man I’d ever seen. Particularly when he smiled that irresistible smile. “I think you’ll find I’m not kind, Miss March. I seldom do things except for my own amusement.”
“And I amuse you?”
“I think you could.”
“I think I won’t,” I returned, but with a smile of my own to soften the words. “You forget I have to keep my reputation intact, Talbot. I am in the colonel’s employ.”
“What I have in mind won’t tarnish your reputation,” he assured me. “At least, not much.”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
I laughed. “You must be joking.”
“I never joke about dancing, Miss March. Listen to that orchestra,” he coaxed. “They think they’re playing for the rich, the titled, the masters of the universe. But really they’re playing for us,” he said, stepping very close, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke.
“I suppose one dance wouldn’t hurt,” I told him, joining in with enthusiasm.
He was an expert dancer, and as he executed one particularly deft bit of footwork, leading me perfectly in time, he gave a soft laugh, squeezing my waist for an instant. “I can tell you’re surprised. I may be a valet, but I do have my accomplishments,” he assured me.
“I have no doubt,” I replied. “But I don’t think I should experience any more of them tonight,” I told him firmly. I slid out of his arms and wrapped my stole securely about my shoulders. “Thank you for the dance, Talbot.” I held out my hand to shake his and he took it, his expression grave while his eyes were alight with mischief.
“Such beautiful manners you have, Miss March,” he said silkily. “And how I should like to see you forget them.”
“Good night,” I said, turning on my heel and making my way inside. From behind me, I heard his soft laugh echoing in the shadows of the starry night.
* * *
The rest of the voyage passed swiftly with each port of call proving more memorable and exotic than the last. The odours of wood smoke and coal fires mingled with those of donkey and spices and ripe fruit on the sea air, and I was enchanted with it all. My days were spent in undemanding attendance on the colonel, taking a bit of dictation and occasionally typing up a few pages of his memoir notes, and reading everything I could get my hands on about the Near East and its inhabitants. I had maps, guide books, biographies of Lady Jane Digby and Lady Hester Stanhope, and the memoirs of Lady Hester’s doctor, Charles Meryon, as well as Kinglake’s
Eothen
. I devoured them all, and once, in a moment of sweet madness, I pulled out Sebastian’s copy of
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens
and read it for the first time in a decade, noting the passages he had underlined. “‘In this world, there are no second chances,’” I read aloud. And I wondered if that was what had driven him to the Holy Land. Was he chasing a second chance?
Increasingly my evenings were spent with Talbot. The colonel retired earlier and earlier as the ship neared its final port of call, and we were often thrown together. More than once the colonel told us to go ashore and enjoy the sights and sounds as he rested, sipping bouillon in his deck chair, or playing endless games of shuffleboard with one or two of the
A whisper of velvet slid around my shoulders. “You forgot your wrap.”
It was Talbot, wrapping my stole about me, and standing a scant inch too close for comfort.
“Thank you, Talbot. That’s very kind,” I told him.
His eyes were glittering in the starlight, and I thought—not for the first time since I had met him—that he really was the most stunningly handsome man I’d ever seen. Particularly when he smiled that irresistible smile. “I think you’ll find I’m not kind, Miss March. I seldom do things except for my own amusement.”
“And I amuse you?”
“I think you could.”
“I think I won’t,” I returned, but with a smile of my own to soften the words. “You forget I have to keep my reputation intact, Talbot. I am in the colonel’s employ.”
“What I have in mind won’t tarnish your reputation,” he assured me. “At least, not much.”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
I laughed. “You must be joking.”
“I never joke about dancing, Miss March. Listen to that orchestra,” he coaxed. “They think they’re playing for the rich, the titled, the masters of the universe. But really they’re playing for us,” he said, stepping very close, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke.
“I suppose one dance wouldn’t hurt,” I told him, joining in with enthusiasm.
He was an expert dancer, and as he executed one particularly deft bit of footwork, leading me perfectly in time, he gave a soft laugh, squeezing my waist for an instant. “I can tell you’re surprised. I may be a valet, but I do have my accomplishments,” he assured me.
“I have no doubt,” I replied. “But I don’t think I should experience any more of them tonight,” I told him firmly. I slid out of his arms and wrapped my stole securely about my shoulders. “Thank you for the dance, Talbot.” I held out my hand to shake his and he took it, his expression grave while his eyes were alight with mischief.
“Such beautiful manners you have, Miss March,” he said silkily. “And how I should like to see you forget them.”
“Good night,” I said, turning on my heel and making my way inside. From behind me, I heard his soft laugh echoing in the shadows of the starry night.
* * *
The rest of the voyage passed swiftly with each port of call proving more memorable and exotic than the last. The odours of wood smoke and coal fires mingled with those of donkey and spices and ripe fruit on the sea air, and I was enchanted with it all. My days were spent in undemanding attendance on the colonel, taking a bit of dictation and occasionally typing up a few pages of his memoir notes, and reading everything I could get my hands on about the Near East and its inhabitants. I had maps, guide books, biographies of Lady Jane Digby and Lady Hester Stanhope, and the memoirs of Lady Hester’s doctor, Charles Meryon, as well as Kinglake’s
Eothen
. I devoured them all, and once, in a moment of sweet madness, I pulled out Sebastian’s copy of
Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens
and read it for the first time in a decade, noting the passages he had underlined. “‘In this world, there are no second chances,’” I read aloud. And I wondered if that was what had driven him to the Holy Land. Was he chasing a second chance?
Increasingly my evenings were spent with Talbot. The colonel retired earlier and earlier as the ship neared its final port of call, and we were often thrown together. More than once the colonel told us to go ashore and enjoy the sights and sounds as he rested, sipping bouillon in his deck chair, or playing endless games of shuffleboard with one or two of the
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