Fortune's Flower (Passport to Romance Book 1)

by Anthea Lawson

  At the bow she slipped her hand free of his arm and faced out over the dark sea.

  He broke the silence first. “Is something troubling you, Lily?”

  How to begin? The words scrambled, and she could not sort them into the measured, direct questions she had rehearsed. It was not going at all as planned. “Isabelle…” she managed.

  “I had been wondering. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since we returned from Cadiz.”

  “You noticed, then.”

  “How could I not? When someone as sociable as Isabelle suddenly starts acting as though I’ve been caught stealing the silver…”

  “She… she is confused. I am sorry for her behavior, but there are reasons.”

  “Tell me.” He set a hand on her arm. “Please.”

  Lily swallowed. The weight of his touch was warm, his eyes sincere. “Isabelle has heard some distressing things about you. It would reassure her greatly if I could tell her they are not true.”

  “She wouldn’t have heard these things from my cousin Reggie, would she?”

  “Who else? Who on this ship knows anything about you except your cousin? A month ago we didn’t even know you existed—then you come riding out of nowhere and suddenly the whole family is following you to Tunisia.”

  “I see.” He lifted his hand and set it on the railing.

  Lily turned to face him. Now that the words were coming, she could not stop. “What is Isabelle to think when your cousin, whom you obviously hate, appears on the same ship headed to the same destination and begins telling her that you are the worst kind of villain? James, the charges he makes against you are far more serious than stealing the silver.”

  “And you believe him as well.” The hand between them fisted closed, though his voice was controlled.

  “No! That is…” She didn’t want to, but doubt moved in her like the shifting surface of the waves.

  “What did Reggie say?”

  “He said that your family banished you from England. Because you shot a man in a duel over a woman.” It hurt to say the words.

  He gave a grim laugh. “He is quite right. Reggie, like the very best liars, mixes his falsehoods with a seasoning of truth. The woman is my sister. A lady, not a harlot—which is what young Hereford was publicly calling her before I challenged him.”

  “You were defending her? Your sister?” Something unclenched inside Lily. The stars seemed closer, the waves smoother.

  “Yes. Caroline and I were orphaned when we were children. I was the only constant for her as we were growing up—and she for me. I have always taken care of her as best I could.”

  Lily took a deep breath. She had known there must be a reasonable explanation. But it still meant—her heart stumbled—he had faced the man with pistols.

  “I don’t think your sister would have liked your solution, especially if you had been killed or injured. What good is dueling? If you are successful it is a tragedy, and if you are not, it is worse.” She closed her mind to the image of him bleeding in an open field. She hadn’t even known him then, and it still sent a chill through her.

  “I understand your distaste—but it was serious. If I hadn’t challenged him, my inaction would have been seen as agreement. Caroline’s reputation would have been in shreds. I would rather lay down my life than allow her to be slandered by a drunken dandy.”

  “Well, I would have advised you to punch him in the nose on the spot and have done with it. Why risk your life—or his—by shooting at each other?” Her hold on the railing tightened. “You didn’t… kill him, did you?”

  “No. I’m a better shot than that. Though, by unfortunate accident, he was injured.”

  “Then you didn’t mean to—”

  “Kill the puppy? No. Frighten him, maybe, teach him a lesson. I let him take the first shot—he was shaking so badly he couldn’t have hit the ground if he were aiming for it. His bullet was last seen heading in the general direction of the Thames. Then it was my turn. I aimed at him, letting him consider the graveness of his error. Then, just before firing, I swung my aim wide. He lost his nerve and dodged—right into the path of my bullet, as ill luck would have it.”

  “Was it serious?” Something about his story seemed familiar.

  “Let me just say he will be more comfortable standing than sitting for some time yet.”

  “Then it was you Lord Rowland was referring to that first evening, when Mrs. Hodges spilled the plum relish!” Lily was trying not to smile—the story was really not so laughable. It was just the relief making her feel giddy. She reached out and touched his arm. “Your sister is fortunate to have you, even if you are a fool for putting yourself in danger.”

  “I’m the fortunate one.” His voice had softened. “You’d like Caroline. She has strong opinions and a clever way of expressing herself. Sometimes too clever—she has cut far too many gentlemen down to size, but she is the best of sisters.” He studied her for a moment. “The two of you are similar in many ways, though her hair is not quite so…”

  “Untidy?”

  “Exuberant. Beautiful.” He brushed her cheek, where a lock had escaped.

  Lily gazed into his amber-flecked eyes. He was not a murderer, and he had not been fighting over the hand of some woman. Her body responded to his touch, his nearness, even though her mind was still filled with questions. “Then I take it you were not exiled from England.”

  “The exile, if you want to term it that, is temporary and self-imposed.” He reached and took her hand, almost casually.

  She did not let her eyes drop to where they touched. Could he hear how loudly her heart was beating? He was missing his sister and wanted some contact with the feminine—that was all. No doubt he would release her as soon as she asked her next question.

  “Then why are you traveling to Tunisia? What is your real reason?”

  He did not let go after all. If anything, the warm hand holding hers tightened. Back in the dining saloon the musicale had resumed—the notes of the pianoforte threaded the night air.

  “My cousin has been very busy whispering into innocent young ears,” James said. “We cannot let him spend any more time with Isabelle.”

  “Of course not. But we will make Tunis tomorrow. What more can he do?”

  “More than I’d like—but this talk has made me forget myself. I did not intend to spend our time out here discussing our cousins. You look beautiful tonight, Lily Strathmore. Like a blue flame in the heart of the fire.” His thumb moved against her palm, the slightest caress, but it was enough to send sudden sparks all through her. Possibility shimmered in the air between them.

  “Wait! You did not answer my question.”

  “Which question was that?” His voice was low as he leaned toward her.

  She was beginning to feel like the fire he had named her. This would not do—not at all. “Why Tunisia?”

  “To find the valley, the flower.”

  “Yes, but what more?” If only he were not so close. She could barely keep her balance.

  James set his hands at her waist. “What more? Much, much more.”

  She stared at his mouth, just inches from hers. “And how did you find out about it—the flower? Some family papers?”

  “Yes, papers…” He bent his head.

  “And your grandfather was a botanist too?” It came out almost a whisper.

  “Mmm, a most passionate botanist.” His mouth brushed her cheek.

  “Did he discover the flower during his travels?” She was acutely aware of his breath feathering her skin, the strength of his hands as he drew her to him.

  “… a most passionate traveling botanist.”

  He kissed her then, and her heart leapt, her questions silenced by the warm lips pressed over hers. She was immersed in sensation—the silky air, the piano music faint and low, the ship carrying them south under a burning banner of stars. And James, his arms encircling her, the sweetness of his mouth, the heat where their bodies touched.

  It was enough
to be there—to feel his hands, smoothing the thin fabric of her gown. It was enough to lean in and feel his grasp tighten, molding her against him. The gentle motion of the ship rocked their bodies together, swaying in a dance of balance and desire. He kissed her slowly, softly, his lips questing against hers. Her doubts vanished even as her blood took fire.

  “Lily,” he murmured, fluttering kisses across her cheeks, along her jaw. His mouth dipped to her throat, lips pausing against her pulse as she trembled beneath his touch. His mouth brushed her bare shoulder then detoured down to follow the low neckline of her gown. The railing at her back was the only solid thing left in a universe of quicksilver stars and rushing waves.

  She melted into him, breathing deeply of the sea-scented air. The thrum of the engines vibrated along her back and settled in her center. Lily suddenly knew that she was sure of this man, that she did trust him—with her honor and her safety. And, perhaps, even with her heart.

  Yearning for the taste of him, she tangled her fingers in his hair and drew his lips back to hers. He lightly traced the seam of her mouth, smooth and wet. She parted her lips for him. The first touch of his tongue sent heat streaking down into her belly, lower. Twining, probing, their coupled mouths gave and took from one another.

  James slid one hand along her side, then up, curving around the fullness of her breast. Her eyes flew open as his thumb slid over the light material, finding the hardness of her nipple and circling it. Lightning ran from his touch, sizzling through her. He continued to caress her, softly cupping her fullness with his palm, thumb moving against the tight peak. Tongue stroking hers, his other hand held her hard against him. She closed her eyes and kissed him fiercely in return.

  From the stern of the ship came the distant sound of applause. James lifted his head, glancing about the deck. “Come.”

  He led her down to the open deckhouse where sails were bundled. Walls enclosed them on three sides, shutting out the brightly burning stars. It was the easiest thing in the world to slip back into his embrace, to lose herself again to his kiss, his touch.

  “Gods, Lily,” he whispered, lifting his head. “You are beautiful.”

  She believed. She had to; his touch could not lie. The way his hands circled her hips, ran over the smooth silk of her gown, the way he kissed her as though he could never get enough—she was beauty, and passion, and flame. How could she be otherwise?

  The low-cut gown slid from her shoulders, leaving her bared, her corset pressing her breasts up into the night air—into his hands, his hungry touch cupping and circling her. Then his mouth, the hot thrum of his lips, his tongue curling around her nipple, shooting a dazzle of sensation through her.

  “Ah,” she breathed, fingers tight on his shoulders as he bent his head over her, relentlessly laving her with his tongue. Lily arched into his touch, wanting more, wanting…

  His hand smoothed along her thigh, coasting over the thin material toward the burning center of her. There, between her legs. The press of his fingers sent a jolt coursing along her nerves. He stroked her, gently, insistently, and she was floating, nothing but a handful of sparkles tossed into the air.

  Suddenly the motions stopped and James went rigid.

  “Hush,” he whispered, drawing her tightly against him, stilling her.

  Then Lily heard it too—footsteps moving down the deck toward them. She pulled up her gown, suddenly acutely conscious. If someone were to discover them, it would be a terrible scandal. Outside, the shape of a tall man was silhouetted against the ship’s railing. He paused, as if listening, and Lily held her breath, clutching the taut muscles of James’s arm.

  The figure put his hand to his mouth and muffled a cough, then, placing his feet carefully, he moved on, the sound of his steps fading.

  Heart pounding, Lily watched James step out of the deckhouse and glance about, then motion for her to follow. “He’s gone.”

  When she joined him, he took her hands, his look intent. The moon burning low was reflected in his eyes.

  “Lily. I swear to you that I mean your family no harm. I will do everything in my power to protect you.” He raised her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into each palm. “Come now. We must return.”

  She set her hand on his arm and let him lead her back toward the dining saloon. He had not answered all her questions, but her heart was satisfied. She knew she could trust him, difficult as that might be to explain.

  The music swelled as they approached the stairs. He drew her to a halt, his grip warm on her arm. “Lily,” he said softly. “I must tell you—”

  “Well, well.” The voice came from behind them.

  They turned and James took a step forward, his body shielding her as a figure detached himself from the shadows.

  “So, I am not permitted to pass the time of day with Miss Isabelle, but you may stroll the deck—rather intimately, I might add—with her cousin?”

  James took another step. “Say any more, Reggie, and I swear you’ll find yourself swimming home to England.”

  “Oh, I won’t say anything—yet. But how like you, fortune hunting with Fernhaven’s daughter. You do have a way of worming yourself into these well-born chits’ affections.” He looked past James to Lily. “And elsewhere, no doubt.”

  She caught her breath. The man was unconscionable. James’s shoulders bunched and he leapt forward. There was a dull thud and Lord Rowland sprawled hard onto the deck, hands covering his face.

  “We should go, before he recovers his senses.” James took her elbow and led her away. “I apologize for his words. I wish that I could have spared you, and your whole family, from making his cursed acquaintance.”

  “Was he spying on us?” She glanced over her shoulder, but Lord Rowland had disappeared into the shadows. “Will he…?”

  “Tell anyone? I don’t think so. If he had observed us, I’m sure he would have run to summon witnesses. But I have no doubt he’s guessed at more than he has seen.” James raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Lily.” They had reached the door of the dining saloon. “It is best I leave you here. Good night.” He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips, then turned and moved quietly away.

  Lily waited for applause, then slipped inside and took a seat near the door. No one had seemed to notice her return. She wrapped her arms around herself and wondered how she could possibly explain to Isabelle the certainty she felt about James.

  ***

  The next morning the Sidonia entered the Gulf of Tunis. Deep blue water lightened to turquoise, and to the west the distant purple shadows of the Dorsale Mountains stood sentinel. The passengers gathered on deck, chatting excitedly and watching as the ship approached the coast.

  “Look!” Uncle Edward pointed to the starboard side, where toppled columns and crumbling walls crowned a hill. “The ruins of ancient Carthage!”

  “Oh, it is too, too thrilling!” Isabelle said. “Just as described in the travelogue!”

  “Founded by a woman,” Lily added. “Or so the legend goes.”

  “Queen Dido of Tyre, wasn’t it?” James leaned against the railing, looking more handsome than any man had a right to.

  “Very good.” She smiled at him. “Queen Dido was given a cow’s hide and allotted just that much land—rather a poor gift if you ask me, especially for a queen. Fortunately she had ambition and common sense. She cut the hide up into hundreds of thin strips, fastened them end to end, and encircled the entire hill.”

  “Never underestimate a woman,” Isabelle said.

  “Never underestimate the practical value of sewing skills,” Mrs. Hodges corrected.

  “Yes, but her hill and all of Carthage did fall to the Romans.” Richard turned to his sister. “They sacked the place.”

  “Not while Queen Dido ruled. It took Rome centuries.” Isabelle tossed her head.

  Lily was pleased to see her cousin engaging in the family banter. Maybe her words on James’s behalf after the musicale had not fallen on deaf ears.

  Her at
tention shifted back to the ruins and the grey-green hills descending to the sea. The light here had edges and planes that England never knew, a hard, brilliant quality that lay over everything. She wanted to capture it, feel it tangibly through her fingers, make this moment of arrival even more real by translating it onto the page.

  “Excuse me, but I must fetch my sketchbook. I’ll just be a moment.”

  When she entered the ladies’ cabin, Lily paused. A woman in green sat alone on the velvet sofa. It was the baronessa, her hands folded and a wistful look on her face. She glanced up. “Hello, Miss Lily.”

  “Good day, baronessa. There is a beautiful view out on deck.”

  “I am sure.” She patted the couch beside her. “But I am glad to see you. I would like to speak a word before we part.”

  “Certainly.” Lily sat down. “It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance, baronessa. If you are ever in London again, please call upon me.”

  “I thank you for the offer, but it is most unlikely that I will return to London. There is nothing there for me now.” She took Lily’s hands. “It is of broken hearts I wished to speak—and men named Huntington.”

  Of course. The baronessa had not missed much with her sparkling, dark-eyed gaze. Lily pressed her lips together in a rueful smile. “I know—I am well aware that James, that is, Mr. Huntington and I have no future together. It is a passing fancy, that is all.”

  “You and James? But you are mistaken. It is not about him I worry. Your James, he is a good man.”

  “He is not mine.”

  “No? But I think he is.” She paused, letting the silence add its weight to her words. “It is the other one that worries. Lord Rowland. Tell Miss Isabella she does not want to learn what this man can teach. She does not want to know.” The baronessa shook her head as she spoke, and Lily felt a bond of sympathy with this woman who had also learned the hard lessons love could teach.

  Lily leaned forward. “Know what? What do you mean?”

  “He is full of shadows, and your cousin’s brightness will not be enough to keep them at bay. Her heart is in danger. Perhaps more.”