The Duke of Olympia Meets His Match by Juliana Gray Page A

built almost into a gale—
Dirty night, sir, isn’t it?
some crewman had said, passing by a moment ago—and she was a sensible woman, after all.
    Another gust slammed against his back. An instant later, the air filled with spray. Yes, he would certainly give up and go to bed in his warm, dry stateroom. Tomorrow morning, he would put on his brown whiskers and find Penelope in her deck chair, before anyone else was up. That was soon enough, wasn’t it? He was too old for this. She was just a humble American widow. He would give up and go to bed.
    No, he wouldn’t.
    The deckhouse door flew open, nearly catching him in the face. A figure paused on the threshold and gasped for breath.
    â€œMrs. Schuyler!” he shouted. “There you are!”
    Before she could object—she would surely object, he knew—Olympia took her arm and guided her in a lurching zigzag down the deck and around the corner, into the relative shelter of the deckhouse lee. Together they leaned against the steel wall, panting, almost laughing at the shared triumph over nature.
    â€œWhat the devil did you think you were doing, coming out on deck tonight?” he demanded.
    â€œWhat the devil were you doing, lying in wait for me?”
    â€œBecause I knew you would be so foolish.”
    â€œI had to get out.”
    â€œYes, I know,” he said, and he put his arms around her and drew her into the wet breast of his overcoat.
    She was so surprised, she stayed there for a moment, nestling against him as if in relief. Her back moved a little with her breath, but that was all, and he closed his eyes and drew his fingers up the nape of her neck to touch the fine strands of hair at the bottom of her hat.
    â€œOh!” She pushed away and flung herself back against the wall. “Why did you do that?”
    â€œThat’s not the question,” he said. “The question is why I haven’t done that before.”
    â€œI wouldn’t let you. I shouldn’t have let you now, only you took me by surprise.”
    He turned to lean his shoulder against the wall, staring down at the top of her dark hat. “Whatever the reason, my dear, I thank you for allowing me the privilege.”
    â€œIt won’t happen again.”
    â€œWhy not? We are both adults, who act only for ourselves. We are both immensely interested in each other.”
    â€œThe difference, sir, is that
you’re
interested in me as a possible mistress, or maybe not even that. Maybe only as a very temporary companion to lessen the ennui of an Atlantic voyage. Whereas I . . .” She stopped.
    â€œYes, Mrs. Schuyler? Tell me. What is your interest in me?”
    Without warning, the deck tilted to starboard, sending her crashing back into his chest. He felt rather than saw the approaching wave, and flattened her against the wall of the deckhouse, covering her with his large body, just as a heavy tongue of cold salt water lashed against his back. She made a breathless
oomph
, as if the air had been knocked out of her, and gripped his waist.
    â€œAre you all right?” he said.
    â€œYes. Please let me go.” But her hands still clung to his coat.
    â€œYou haven’t answered my question.”
    â€œI have no interest in you at all, sir. I have no business having any interest in you.”
    â€œYet you do.” He pressed his lips to her cold forehead. “You
are
interested.”
    She ducked beneath his arm and turned away, bracing her hand against the wall for balance.
    â€œWait!” he said.
    â€œWhy were you waiting for me here?” she said. “Just to seduce me, in the middle of an Atlantic gale? Are you that mad?”
    A very good question. He shook his wet head and realized he was soaked through. They were both cold and damp; he should get her inside immediately. “Come along,” he said, taking her arm. “We’ll go indoors, to my cabin.”
    â€œYour cabin! Are you out