The Devil and the Deep

by Amy Andrews

  Stella panted even as she fought not to. ‘Really.’

  He moved his hand from her completely. ‘I think you’re lying, Stella. Mary’s so very, very familiar to me.’

  It was something he’d only just realised, too caught up in the big things to recognise the subtleties of the character. The nuances. The jut of her chin, the turn of her head, the glimpse of her humanity beneath all her starched upper-class Britishness.

  Stella glared at him, now torn between telling him to go to hell and lying to him so he’d finish what he’d started.

  And she felt vulnerable.

  A state that had nothing to do with her nudity.

  He wanted her to look at things that she’d never questioned too deeply.

  ‘What the hell does it matter?’ she asked in exasperation, yanking against her bonds.

  ‘Because...’ He looked into her simmering olive gaze, knowing that if he was demanding the truth from her then the least he could do was return the favour. ‘Because despite what your father decreed, I used to fantasise about you. Not consciously, never consciously. But in my dreams...that was different. And...’

  This bit was the hard part. The bit he’d never admitted to before, not even to himself. ‘I guess I’d always wondered...hoped, maybe...that you might have done the same.’

  Stella’s heart ticked away madly like a thousand halyards tinkling in a stiff breeze. There’d been a vibe between them as teenagers—not spoken about or acted upon. But if she’d known that he used to dream about her she might have ignored her father’s silent censure.

  He looked so serious kneeling between her legs. Torn, surprised even, as if his words had come as a revelation to him too.

  How could she not reciprocate?

  Her father was gone and, even if he hadn’t been, she was an adult, no longer needy of his approval.

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured, their gazes locking. ‘Lady Mary is me. Beneath all those layers of clothing she has my heart and soul. And my desires.’

  The admission was amazingly cathartic. She licked her lips, her mouth suddenly as dry as the ties binding her to the bed.

  ‘When Vasco stormed into my head, I knew he was you. Deep down anyway—it took me a little while to recognise it consciously. And when I knew that, I knew whoever his woman was going to be, she would be me.’

  Rick smiled triumphantly as Vasco had done at Mary’s capitulation.

  Stella rolled her eyes. ‘I fantasised constantly about you when I was a teenager. And when I was writing the book...’ She stopped and blushed at the memory. ‘Let’s just say that Mr Buzzy got quite the working out.’

  Rick blinked, relief flooding through his veins. ‘So, I wasn’t alone?’ he murmured.

  She shook her head. ‘You weren’t alone.’

  Rick laid both hands over his heart and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’ Then he leaned forward and brushed his mouth lightly over hers, murmuring, ‘Thank you, thank you,’ as he dropped a string of tiny kisses before sitting back on his haunches again.

  She quirked an eyebrow at him, a smile on her face. ‘You going to untie me now?’

  Rick shook his head as he ripped at the Velcro fastener on his boardies, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘I’m just getting started.’

  * * *

  The next day Stella and Rick were at six metres and just about to head back to the boat for lunch when Stella spotted a large shape looming below them. Visibility was still excellent but the find was partially obscured by a cascading wall of coral. Rick’s breathing and heart rate picked up and he made a conscious effort to control them as they headed down to explore further.

  As they neared, the ghostly grey shape of a remarkably intact, large, old wooden ship appeared. It was wedged into some kind of rocky ravine, the outer ledge of which fell away into the deep blue abyss of Pacific Ocean.

  They both hovered above it for a moment, their torches aimed at the broken waterlogged beauty, stunned to be finally staring at something they’d both wondered from time to time ever really existed.

  Was it The Mermaid? They couldn’t know for certain—yet. But Rick felt sure in his gut—either that or it was Nathan’s presence. They glided slowly through the waters surrounding the ship, trying to find any outward identifying marks but, whatever the origins, Rick already knew from years of salvage experience they had found something truly amazing.

  They circled it in awed silence, the coral encrusted ship spooky in its watery grave. Adrenaline buzzed through Rick’s veins as he became more certain, the dimensions of the find putting it in The Mermaid’s league. They didn’t attempt to go in—that would come later when a more detailed survey had been undertaken. Too many divers had got themselves trapped and died in wrecks to be foolhardy.

  And, as Nathan had always drilled into him, a shipwreck was a sacred site. The final resting place of the poor souls that had perished along with it and as such was to be treated with respect.

  They discovered a figurehead when the bow came into view but it was too decayed and encrusted with weedy growths and coral life to tell if it was the laughing mermaid that had famously spearheaded Inigo Alvarez’s ship. The nameplate proclaiming the ship as La Sirena was nowhere in sight.

  Of course. It was never that easy...

  Rick and Stella made their way to where the ghostly shape had settled on rock. He shone his torch, inspecting the damage, trying to ascertain a point of impact. Stella shone hers too, the beam hitting rock, a flash of something reflecting back. Stella looked closer, her heart thumping loudly in the eerie underwater stillness, her hand reaching for the object. She scooped it up, lay it flat in the palm of her hand, shone her torch on it.

  A gold coin.

  Rick felt a tug on his leg. He turned to find Stella, who was grinning like a loon, holding up what appeared to be a round coin. His heartbeat climbed off the scale as she passed it over.

  It was gold and in good nick. Gold coins of good purity usually survived in water unscathed, unlike bronze coins that were degraded by salinity.

  It was also Spanish.

  It still didn’t confirm the ship was The Mermaid. Archaeologists were going to have to decide that. But it was another strong indicator.

  He grinned back and hugged her tight.

  * * *

  A couple of hours later they were back on board and had finished notifying the necessary people. Rick had organised for the marine archaeology company they used to send a team and had started the application process for a permit to salvage.

  Stella was on deck looking at the marker buoy in the distance when Rick came up behind her. She was in a vest top and sarong and he pressed the chilled bottle of champagne they’d brought way back in Cairns for just this occasion against one shoulder as he kissed the other.

  Stella jumped at the shock of it, then turned in his arms, and hugged him. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  Rick held her close, the boat bobbing gently. Realising Nathan’s dream had meant as much to her as it had to him.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, pulling back slightly. ‘When they confirm it’s The Mermaid, I’d like to bring Dad’s ashes out here and scatter them.’

  Nathan had always wanted them scattered at sea, but until now Stella hadn’t felt ready to let him go.

  Rick nodded. ‘Good idea.’ He smiled. ‘Let’s drink to Nathan,’ he said.

  They eased apart and he handed her the flutes as he worked the cork. Its pop was lost in the vast ocean surrounds and he quickly filled the glasses, handing her one.

  ‘To Dad,’ she said, holding her glass aloft.

  Rick nodded, clinking his flute against hers. ‘To Nathan.’

  He glanced at her as she sipped the frothy nectar and she grinned at him. The breeze caught her drying blonde hair and the sun sparkled on the sea behind h
er like the champagne bubbles. She looked like a mermaid, a sirena, and he felt deep, deep-down-in-his-bones happy.

  ‘What?’ Stella asked as the glitter in his gaze became speculative.

  ‘I think I love you,’ he murmured.

  The words fell from his lips and he didn’t even bother to recall them because he knew in that instant that they were the truth. He did love her.

  He’d loved her for ever.

  Stella blinked. ‘Okay...no more champagne for you,’ she joked.

  He laughed, then sobered, his gaze roaming her lovely familiar face. ‘I’m sorry, I know that’s sudden but...it’s not really. It’s just been a long time coming.’

  Stella realised he was serious. Her pulse tripped. ‘But...I thought the ocean, this...’ she threw her arm out, indicating the glory of the scenery around them ‘...is your great love.’

  Rick shook his head. ‘This is nothing without you.’

  Stella’s heart clanged like a gong. She didn’t know what to say. The fact that she loved him too was a no-brainer. It was suddenly as clear as the tropical waters fringing the pristine Micronesian reefs. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time she hadn’t loved him. It had always been there, snuggled inside her. She just hadn’t been free to admit it.

  Until now.

  But she’d already lived through one broken marriage because of the sea and, no matter how much she loved him, she couldn’t be with a man who wouldn’t put her first.

  Stella shook her head sadly, not allowing her love to bloom. ‘It’s not enough, Rick. Love’s not enough. My father loved my mother, after all. I need to know you want me more than the ocean. That you’ll put me before it. Something my father and your father never did.’

  Rick stood firm, understanding her reticence, knowing that what he did for a job was hard on relationships but refusing to be cowed by it. ‘You want me to walk away, I’ll walk away.’

  Stella lifted her hand and stroked his whiskers. ‘I can’t ask you to do that, Rick. I’m not going to forbid you from the ocean—I saw how much grief that caused my mother in the long run. That has to be your choice.’

  Rick lifted his hand to cover hers with his. ‘The sea is not an easy mistress, Stel. She’s selfish and addictive. But I’ve seen what happened with Nathan and Linda, and lived with the consequences of my father’s inability to choose between two loves. Believe me, I know the heartache of that just as well as you and I don’t want that for you and me. Rest assured, Stel, I will never put the sea before you.’ His hands slid to her shoulders. ‘Never.’

  Stella wanted to believe him. His brilliant blue eyes glittered with openness and honesty and she wanted to fall into them for ever. But... ‘So tell me how this works?’

  He shrugged. ‘Up until we decide to start a family—’

  ‘Wait,’ she interrupted, the boat suddenly rolling under her feet a little. ‘We’re starting a family?’

  ‘Sure...one day. Absolutely.’ He frowned. ‘I thought you wanted kids?’

  Stella felt a lump in her throat as she nodded. ‘Absolutely. Not soon. But one day.’

  ‘Well, until then,’ he continued, gently rubbing his hands up and down her arms, ‘we can divide our time between Cornwall and salvage jobs. You have a portable career, Stel, and you love the business as much as I do so...why not?’

  Why not indeed? Stella thought. Just because her parents hadn’t been able to compromise didn’t mean that they couldn’t. And he was right—as long as she had a laptop and access to the Internet, her office could be anywhere.

  ‘And when kids come along I’ll manage the business from land and get someone in to do the hands-on stuff.’

  Stella frowned at him. ‘You would do that?’

  He nodded. ‘For you, I’d do it happily. I guess I’d like to go and spend the odd few days here and there at sea, checking on things, and when the kids get older we can take them on the Persephone in the school holidays just like when we were young.’

  Stella felt that lump thicken as he painted a picture she’d dreamt about all her life. One that she was supposed to have lived with her own parents, but her father hadn’t ever been able to stay on land long enough.

  ‘How do I know you’re not just telling me stuff I want to hear?’ she asked. ‘How many times do you think Dad promised Mum things would be different next time he came home?’

  Rick pulled her in close to him. ‘I’m not Nathan.’

  He held her fiercely for a moment before pulling back to look into her eyes.

  ‘I loved your father, he was like a father to me, you know that, but I was a little jealous of you having Linda. I wished she could have been my mother too. I never got how Nathan had such a terrific woman like Linda and didn’t appreciate her. I’ve seen two male role models in my life blow it with women who loved them with far-reaching consequences, so, trust me, I won’t ever make that mistake.’

  Stella nodded. She believed him when he said he didn’t want to make the same mistakes. Hindsight had put them both on the same page and love would keep them there.

  ‘I love you,’ she murmured, freeing her heart, letting her love bloom.

  Rick smiled a slow steady smile as she said the three words he’d been waiting to hear nearly all his life.

  Better late than never.

  ‘Is that a yes?’ he asked.

  Stella laughed. ‘A yes to what?’

  ‘Embarking on a lifelong pleasure hunt?’ he teased.

  She smiled and raised her glass. ‘That’s a hell yes.’

  Rick lowered his head. ‘Then let’s get started,’ he whispered.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.

  No one should have to put up with that.

  Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.

  She needed that job.

  Needed it.

  Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.

  It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.

  No!

  She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to the bailiffs but h
er father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!

  Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.

  There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.

  It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.

  None.

  Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.

  Per month!

  Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.

  She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a table near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.