Sailing to Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “If you were thinking clearly, you’d realise that you ought to be grateful to me.”

  “Grateful! Upon my word, madam, you have a strange way of looking at things. Grateful to you for making a fool of me?”

  “Grateful to me for saving you from looking a fool,” she retorted. “How would you have felt if you had arrived at Mary’s home that night to discover that she’d already fled? Or worse, if you’d turned up at the church and had a long, and extremely public wait at the altar, only to discover that the bride was not coming?”

  She could see by the chagrin in his face that this had hit home.

  “What would you have done then?” she demanded. “Or can I guess? You’d have forced her, wouldn’t you? You’d probably have dragged her to the altar by her hair, since that is your self-proclaimed method of dealing with any woman who doesn’t bow down before your mightiness.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” he growled. “I would have done nothing of the sort.”

  “Oh really? That treatment was to be saved for me, was it?”

  “I mean I wouldn’t have forced her to marry me.”

  “You wouldn’t have had to. Her parents would have done the forcing if I hadn’t stepped in. I told you before, Mary is carrying another man’s child. Perhaps a son. How would you have liked to discover that after the wedding?”

  He glared at her. “I wouldn’t,” he snapped.

  Then he sat in bitter, brooding silence and she thought she had never seen a man’s face so harsh and forbidding.

  “Then maybe what I did wasn’t so very terrible, after all,” she suggested.

  “You’ll be wanting me to thank you next,” he growled.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” Venetia said. “What I did, I did for Mary. I want her to be very happy with the man she loves. In fact, I think that it’s the only way to be happy.”

  “Then what about your own happiness?” he asked. “Married to a man you don’t love?”

  After a moment’s thought she decided to tease him.

  “When a woman becomes an old maid of twenty-four, she has to stop being sentimental and settle for what she can get.”

  To her surprise he gave a cackle of laughter.

  “So you decided to settle for me?”

  “No, I decided to settle for adventure. The thing that influenced me most was the fact that you were going to India. If I can’t have love, I’ll have excitement, that’s what I say.”

  “Do you indeed?”

  “Women get so little excitement, you see. You couldn’t expect me to give up such a chance.”

  He stared at her. Young ladies who talked like this were quite outside his experience.

  “I suppose,” she said at last, “it’s time I asked you why we’re going to India and what we’re going to do there.”

  “We shall land at Bombay, which is luckily a shorter voyage than it used to be. At one time we’d have had to sail around the horn of Africa, but now we can cross the Mediterranean to Egypt, then pass through the Suez Canal to the Red Sea.”

  “And at Bombay, what do we do?”

  “We board the train for Calcutta, where we shall stay with the Viceroy for a few days.”

  “The Viceroy!” Venetia breathed.

  The Viceroy of India was the representative of Queen Victoria, who had been proclaimed Empress of India two years earlier. The current Viceroy was Lord Lytton, who lived and ruled in great splendour at Raj Bhavan, his palace in Calcutta.

  And she was going to stay there!

  “I’m going chiefly because Her Majesty wants a report about what’s happening on the North-West frontier,” he went on.

  “The North-West frontier!” she exclaimed, filled with delight. “How wonderful!”

  He gave her an odd look.

  “What do you know about the frontier?” he asked.

  “Only what everyone knows. The trouble is with the Russians who are determined, sooner or later, to conquer India, and take it away from us.”

  “That is something they will never do while I am alive,” the Earl answered firmly. “Her Majesty is determined to keep India as part of the Empire. As for ‘everyone knowing’, I’m not sure that everyone does. Certainly most ladies don’t.”

  Venetia clasped her hands.

  “But how could anyone not be inspired by the thought of the Great Game?” she asked ecstatically. “I’ve been reading about it for years and it’s the most wonderful, thrilling adventure.”

  “And just what do you imagine the Great Game to be?” he asked sardonically.

  “It’s a battle between England and the Russians, who want to expand into the countries between India and Russia – Afghanistan, Turkestan, Tibet, Mongolia, right up to the border with India and maybe right into India. We have troops on the frontier, but also explorers and archaeologists who are really spies, sending back news all the time.”

  “And just because one misguided romantic described it as a ‘Great Game’, you think it’s fun?”

  “Well, it’s got to be more interesting than sitting home sewing,” she said tartly.

  He grinned.

  “Besides,” she added, “it’s hardly fair to call Captain Connolly a misguided romantic, when he died for his beliefs.”

  He stared at her, a glimmer of respect dawning in his eyes.

  “Captain Connolly,” he echoed. “You really do know about it, don’t you? There isn’t one woman in a million who would know that name.”

  “Papa once met a man who had actually known him,” she said in a tone that was almost reverent.

  Captain Arthur Connolly had been one of the ‘explorers’ whom she had mentioned, until he had been captured by the Emir of Bukhara, a city in Turkestan. The Emir had accused him of spying for the British Empire, which was probably true, forced him to dig his own grave and then had him ceremonially beheaded.

  That had been nearly forty years ago, but his name lived on, especially in military and diplomatic circles, because he had coined the phrase ‘the Great Game’ and played the game to the end.

  “And we’re going to play the Great Game,” she breathed.

  “We most certainly are not,” he said at once, sounding aghast. “I will be on a tour of inspection. You will sit sedately in the Viceregal mansion in Calcutta, waiting for me to return.”

  She made a face. “Not sedately.”

  “No, I don’t suppose you’ve ever done anything sedately in your life.”

  “Anyway, it’s dangerous,” she countered. “Suppose you don’t return?”

  “Then you will be a rich widow and everyone will say how fortunate you are,” he responded tartly.

  She smiled at him, refusing to answer his riposte.

  “I think,” he said slowly, “that neither of us is exactly what the other expected. I didn’t even know that women like you existed.”

  “Then your experience of women has been sadly limited,” she told him.

  “Nonsense,” he said at once. “My experience of women has been –”

  He checked himself, seeing, too late, the trap she had laid for him and the blind way he had walked into it.

  Venetia saw him looking at her and there was something in his eyes that was almost respect.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The waiter returned with champagne and they toasted each other courteously.

  A silence fell. Venetia became aware that her new husband was looking at her intently. It was growing late and suddenly she could not meet his eyes.

  “Well, madam?” he said.

  “Do you think we could take a turn around the deck?” she asked. “I should like to look at the sea.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I believe we are expected to show ourselves, looking and behaving like a newly-married couple.”

  Offering her his arm, he led her out of the suite and up to the main deck. As he had predicted the sight of them aroused much interest.

  The night was velvety black around them, the darkness broke
n only by the lights from the ship, the stars and the full moon.

  If she had married for love, she thought, this would have been the perfect, romantic wedding night. Wherever she looked she saw the crew, keeping a polite distance and smiling as if to say that all the world loves a lover.

  But they were not lovers and she felt that she must find something neutral to talk about.

  “It is certainly a magnificent ship,” she said at last.

  “Could it be anything else,” the Earl asked, “when it was designed for Her Majesty? She has only used it once or twice, but it’s still a Royal ship and few people get to use it.”

  “Then I feel very honoured. I was only hoping we wouldn’t have one of those over-crowded and dirty vessels which usually are en route to the East.”

  “So you have travelled quite a lot?” he enquired.

  “Yes, but not like this.”

  The Earl gave her a wry look.

  “You’re talking as though this was an adventure,” he said, “instead of a bout of hostilities.”

  “Why shouldn’t it be both?” she asked lightly. “There’s nothing like a little hostility to add spice to life.”

  “Good grief! I think you mean that.”

  “I do. One always has to fight for anything which is worth having. Any history book will tell you that.”

  “And what did you decide to fight for?” She thought before answering this.

  “For a life that was different,” she said at last. “One where every day isn’t exactly like the day before.”

  “So you ventured out into the unknown? Have you no sense of danger at all?” he demanded.

  “If I had, I should not admit it to you. Or even to myself. That would be fatal.”

  “Which would be the more fatal?” he asked at once. “To admit it to me, or to yourself?”

  She considered. “I haven’t decided that yet.”

  “When will you decide?”

  “Perhaps I never will.”

  “There’s no doubt that your mind works differently to any woman I have ever met. What has made you so different?”

  Venetia thought for a moment. Then she said,

  “I’ve been alone since my parents died, and I’ve had to think for myself and plan for myself. At last I decided that, whatever happens, I must meet life unafraid and be ready for anything.”

  “You’ve certainly done that. I like the fact that you have a brain, unlike so many women, and I like the way you use it. It might even be useful to us both in whatever lies ahead. Perhaps not entirely for ourselves, but for the country we are representing.”

  “I do hope so,” Venetia agreed. “The trouble with most people is that they feel rather than think. So often, because they don’t use their brains, they lose the battle.”

  “What a very combative person you are! Do you realise that you discuss almost everything in terms of battle?”

  “No, I hadn’t realised that,” she mused. “But it’s true.”

  As she spoke the ship gave a sudden lurch. At once his arms were about her, holding her steady.

  “We’ve reached the Bay of Biscay,” he said, “and it’s usually a bit choppy, but don’t be afraid.”

  To his astonishment she turned shining eyes onto him.

  “I’m not afraid,” she said. “I always love this part of the trip.”

  “So you have been this way before?”

  “Many times. My parents both loved travelling and I think I was only three when I was first taken on board a ship. After that I sailed more or less every year.”

  “That means you are not afraid of being seasick,” the Earl remarked, “and you won’t beg me, as women have begged me before, to make the ship go slower so that they would not be thrown about.”

  “I rather like the sea when it’s rough,” Venetia said. “I have been in the Bay of Biscay so often that it almost isn’t exciting any more.”

  “I’m sorry for that, madam,” he said ironically. “I naturally hope to provide you with as much excitement as possible.”

  “Never mind. I shall have all I want when we reach India. That’s a country I long to see.”

  “Yes, I gather from what you said earlier that if I’d been stuck in the country you wouldn’t have looked at me.”

  “Well, I’m used to a quiet country life,” she pointed out. “There would have been no novelty. Let’s talk some more about India.”

  “I think not,” he said. “Some of your ideas make me nervous.”

  At that moment another great wave made the ship lurch, so that once more they were forced to cling together.

  “It’s going to be very rough,” he said.

  “Good,” she said firmly. “The rougher the better.”

  “But perhaps we should go below.”

  “You go if you want to. I’m enjoying myself.”

  He could see that this was true. She was instinctively swaying with the ship, so that she kept her balance without trouble.

  Now the wind was gathering force, making the sea heave and the boat rear up. The Earl felt spray lash his face and looked at Venetia to see if she was troubled. But it was clear that she was enjoying herself. He had a glimpse of her face with its shining eyes and look of blissful expectancy.

  Then she turned away and went to stand by the railing, bracing herself against it and staring out over the sea. She had arranged her fair hair as best she could, unaided, but several curly strands had come loose and fell over her face and down about her long neck.

  Now the wind was blowing these back, giving her the appearance of an old-fashioned ship’s prow. She looked wild and magnificent, standing there, confronting the gale, defiant and unafraid.

  He began to wonder just what kind of woman fate had caused him to marry unknowingly. So far she had been full of surprises and he had a feeling that there were many more to come. He could not say whether the prospect filled him with pleasure or unease. At this moment it was about equal.

  The air was growing chilly and he thought he saw her shiver.

  “You should have worn a shawl out here,” he said, regarding her daringly low-cut gown, revealing the soft swell of her bosom that just vanished into the material at the exact moment demanded by propriety.

  All evening he had feasted his eyes on that sight in the soft light of their suite. Even now he could see the smooth perfection of her skin, no longer glowing and golden, but turned to white marble in the moonlight.

  He had no objection to her offering her beauty to his eyes like this, but he had every objection to the other men on the ship being afforded such a treat.

  “You must cover yourself,” he insisted, adding hastily, “or you’ll take a chill.”

  “I don’t need anything,” she said, not taking her eyes from the sea where the foam gleamed white.

  She put her head back, so that her face was lifted to the moon and took a deep breath, as though wanting to drink in every moment of the experience.

  Without wasting further words he hurriedly removed his coat and wrapped it around her, placing his hands on her shoulders to prevent the coat falling off.

  He thought he sensed a tremor go through her, but he could not be certain. And she gave no other sign of acknowledging his presence.

  The ship’s Captain approached them.

  “May I suggest, my Lord, that you should both go below? We’ve entered the Bay of Biscay and it’s going to be a rough crossing.”

  “But I love rough crossings,” Venetia insisted.

  “The Captain’s word is law, my love,” the Earl said. “He wants to concentrate on negotiating the Bay without having to worry about us.”

  As he spoke he tightened his grip, so that she had no choice but to turn and walk with him towards the steps that led down to their suite.

  Once there he took her straight to her room. She heard the click as he locked the outer door so that nobody could disturb them.

  Then he slipped the coat from her shoulders.

  “I�
��ll help you undress,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  She whirled, looking at him, alarmed. “There’s no need –”

  “Can you undo this dress alone?”

  “No,” she admitted reluctantly.

  He turned her round and began to work on the hooks and eyes. She felt his hands moving lower until they reached her waist and waited for him to release her. Instead he dropped his head and laid his lips against her bare shoulders.

  Venetia tensed, her heart thumping wildly. There was something about the gentle touch of his lips that sent wild tremors flickering through her. She had meant to be sensible, to find a way to fend him off until she was ready. That was the common sense thing to do.

  But her body knew nothing of common sense. It only knew what it wanted and it wanted this man’s touch.

  As she hesitated he let his mouth drift in closer to her neck. He drew her back against him, turned her and held her hard against his chest.

  Now she could sense that his heart was pounding as hard as her own. He was full of tension, determined to claim what he considered his by right. That was clear in every confident movement he made.

  Too confident!

  Something shouted in her mind that she must not allow this to happen. He thought he could take her for granted, and if she allowed him to do so, then she had lost the battle for ever. In his eyes she would be just another woman, to be treated no better than any other.

  And with that thought came the strength for which she had prayed.

  “No!”

  Summoning all her strength she managed to release herself and step back.

  “It’s too soon for this,” she said desperately.

  “Too soon for me to make love to my wife, on our wedding night?”

  “You know what I mean. I need more time.”

  “But surely you took all this into account when you forced yourself on me?” he asked sardonically.

  He knew, of course, that she had taken none of it into account. She had thought of him in the abstract, but the reality of the real man was overwhelming. Her defences were almost shattered, leaving her with only a thread of self respect to cling to.

  But she would cling to that thread no matter what.

  “Please let me go at once,” she protested firmly.