own parents had married for love, and had stayed in love, rather distressingly so. At least it had been distressing for the poor adolescent boy forced to witness his parents holding hands under the table. Not to mention all the times Richard had accidentally stumbled upon his parents kissing in corridors. But for all he made faces and the occasional inarticulate noise indicating extreme disgust (because everyone knew that parents weren’t supposed to engage in intimate behaviour), Richard secretly thought it was rather sweet. He thought it was rather sweet the way his indomitable mother would blush and flutter at a whispered comment from his father, and he thought it was rather sweet the way his dignified father would bolt abruptly out of debates in the House of Lords just to take tea with his mother. Of course, you wouldn’t catch him confiding that to just anybody.
It wasn’t until he had hit the London social scene as a rakehell, fresh from the innocence of Eton, that Richard had realised how unusual it was, that sort of connection his parents enjoyed. Untilthen, he had naïvely assumed that all married couples were like that, holding hands under the breakfast table and kissing in corridors. But then he saw married men in brothels, received scented solicitations from married women, and watched marriages contracted with no more feeling on either side than…well, no feeling at all. In all of his meanderings from ballroom to ballroom, Richard had seen perhaps one couple in ten who shared some sort of affection, one couple in a hundred truly in love. And he had realised, for the first time, that what his parents had was something wonderful and rare, and that he himself could never stoop to settle for anything less.
And Amy had seen that, too, and had been forced to see it wrenched away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly.
‘Why should you be? You didn’t wield the axe.’
‘If I had known, I wouldn’t have baited you so. I didn’t realise you had a personal interest.’
Amy looked up at him in confusion, wondering at the sudden change in his demeanour. The moon had gone behind a cloud, leaving his face in shadow, no glimmer of light to reveal whether he spoke sincerely. If only the clouds would part and she could see – she wasn’t sure what she hoped to see. Something that would tell her whether he was honest or a thorough blackguard.
‘I am truly sorry,’ he said again, and with his deep voice vibrating through her ears, Amy knew, just knew, he was sincere, the same way she knew that Jane was good, and that sheep were vile, and that she was going to find the Purple Gentian.
And somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he would take her free hand in his own, and even more natural that he was leaning towards her and she towards him. Their joined hands formed a bridge across the sliver of deck she had laughingly called their Channel. Amy couldn’t tell if he were pulling or she was; there no longer seemed to be a place where her arms ended and his began. And what did it matter if there were? Amy closed her eyes, and felt his warm breath on her lips.
Chapter Seven
C rack!
The piece of railing Amy had been leaning upon earlier detached itself from the deck and tumbled into the water. Suddenly, Amy’s hands were her own again. Blinking dazedly as she opened her eyes, she saw that their own personal Channel was back in place between them and that Richard had his own hands planted firmly on the deck on either side of him. It was enough to make her think she had imagined those past few moments, if she still hadn’t been able to feel the tingliness left by Richard’s breath on her lips.
‘The captain should see to getting that repaired,’ Richard commented, his voice the slightest touch unsteady. ‘I’ll say something to him in the morning.’
Amy nodded. For once in her life – and such occasions were rare indeed – she couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘Excuse me, were you
It wasn’t until he had hit the London social scene as a rakehell, fresh from the innocence of Eton, that Richard had realised how unusual it was, that sort of connection his parents enjoyed. Untilthen, he had naïvely assumed that all married couples were like that, holding hands under the breakfast table and kissing in corridors. But then he saw married men in brothels, received scented solicitations from married women, and watched marriages contracted with no more feeling on either side than…well, no feeling at all. In all of his meanderings from ballroom to ballroom, Richard had seen perhaps one couple in ten who shared some sort of affection, one couple in a hundred truly in love. And he had realised, for the first time, that what his parents had was something wonderful and rare, and that he himself could never stoop to settle for anything less.
And Amy had seen that, too, and had been forced to see it wrenched away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly.
‘Why should you be? You didn’t wield the axe.’
‘If I had known, I wouldn’t have baited you so. I didn’t realise you had a personal interest.’
Amy looked up at him in confusion, wondering at the sudden change in his demeanour. The moon had gone behind a cloud, leaving his face in shadow, no glimmer of light to reveal whether he spoke sincerely. If only the clouds would part and she could see – she wasn’t sure what she hoped to see. Something that would tell her whether he was honest or a thorough blackguard.
‘I am truly sorry,’ he said again, and with his deep voice vibrating through her ears, Amy knew, just knew, he was sincere, the same way she knew that Jane was good, and that sheep were vile, and that she was going to find the Purple Gentian.
And somehow it seemed the most natural thing in the world that he would take her free hand in his own, and even more natural that he was leaning towards her and she towards him. Their joined hands formed a bridge across the sliver of deck she had laughingly called their Channel. Amy couldn’t tell if he were pulling or she was; there no longer seemed to be a place where her arms ended and his began. And what did it matter if there were? Amy closed her eyes, and felt his warm breath on her lips.
Chapter Seven
C rack!
The piece of railing Amy had been leaning upon earlier detached itself from the deck and tumbled into the water. Suddenly, Amy’s hands were her own again. Blinking dazedly as she opened her eyes, she saw that their own personal Channel was back in place between them and that Richard had his own hands planted firmly on the deck on either side of him. It was enough to make her think she had imagined those past few moments, if she still hadn’t been able to feel the tingliness left by Richard’s breath on her lips.
‘The captain should see to getting that repaired,’ Richard commented, his voice the slightest touch unsteady. ‘I’ll say something to him in the morning.’
Amy nodded. For once in her life – and such occasions were rare indeed – she couldn’t think of anything to say. ‘Excuse me, were you
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