How was she to cope with the next two months or more? For, at least on the ship, she would likely be near constantly in his company. It was her dreams come true – with the irritating constraint that they were accompanied by others, and did not have the kind of relationship which she had imagined in those dreams. Just the thought of that made her feel heated.
She wanted to be with him, near him, but… all the time, and yet unable to touch him? That was a challenge greater than she had ever imagined.
The sun rose, inexorably, the light changing, moment by moment, and the scene before her went from magical, to ordinary. She stopped attempting to add to her drawing, and dropped her pencil back into her pockets. From behind her, he spoke.
“I am fascinated by your skill. That, with just a pencil, which can render only shades of grey, you can somehow capture the effect of the golden light of sunrise, astounds me. I look forward to seeing more of your work – for I gather that you do intend to draw and paint everything we see?”
She turned to face him.
“Indeed I do – I have promised Lady Porthaven that I will create a body of work for her, in return for being given the chance to undertake this journey.”
He laughed softly, shaking his head a little.
“My brother and his wife are well matched – her business acumen in her chosen field is as great as Raphael’s in his.”
“I hope that I do not disappoint her…”
Primrose closed the journal she held, and tucked it into her pockets too, glad that she had insisted on a very large set of pockets to wear with her day gowns. She did not, in that moment, know what to do next – but she did know that she wished to prolong this time in close proximity to Mr Morton, even if it was under the gaze of an entire shipload of sailors.
Silence extended, and their eyes held each other. Without intending to, she stepped closer, then felt her cheeks heat as the scent of his cologne wrapped around her. She dragged her eyes from his.
Off to one side, Chartley stood, observing them – waiting, it seemed to see if they needed anything. Inspiration struck.
“Mr Chartley – would it be possible for you to provide us with something in the way of a tour of the ship, now that we are underway? I would like to know where everything is – and where I may, and may not, go. I am sure that Mr Morton would also welcome that information – even if this is his ship.”
Beside her, Mr Morton had turned to see who she was speaking too. Now, he nodded.
“I would appreciate that. I may know all of the specifications of the vessel, and a lot about the cargoes she carries, but I admit to a lamentable lack of practical experience of her intimate workings.”
“O’ course, Milady, Mr Morton – there be some parts o’ the ship we’d best not venture into, for the men will be busy until we are well out to sea, but the rest – follow me, if ye will.”
<<<
Three days passed, and Gabriel had settled into the rhythm of the ship. It was odd, to be somewhere other than home, to not have to go to the warehouse offices each day, to not have to always be considering business questions, and giving direction.
It felt, if he was honest, as if he was superfluous – and he did not like the sensation. So he had tasked himself with being useful, in a different way.
He spent much of the time thinking – about the business opportunity which Raphael intended to pursue in the Islands, and about how that might be optimised for profit, if what Raphael had heard was true. Gabriel had discovered, over the last two years, that, where Raphael’s talent lay in the logistics of things, the perfection of timing and coordination of the parts of an enterprise, his own talents lay in finding all of the small ways in which they could increase the profit from each venture, without cost cutting or doing anything unwise or shady.
To be able to spend his days thinking, and occasionally writing notes about his conclusions, was a luxury – one he was beginning to enjoy – almost as much as he enjoyed the fact that he could spend time with Lady Primrose every day, without anyone of the ton to see it, to judge it, or to gossip about it. The more time he spent with her, the more intrigued he was – he had known that she was not a shallow woman, any more than her sisters were, but he had not, until now, realised just how complex, and competent, she was.
He had spent the morning in the small salon which lay between the passenger cabins and the Captain’s cabin, his notebook on the table, adding to his list of questions about their planned venture – questions which would need to be answered, if he was to assess its potential value accurately. Now, however, the golden afternoon light slanting through the porthole had drawn him out.
Up on deck, the breeze blew his hair back from his face, rendering it into tangles, which would utterly frustrate Garrett, Raphael’s valet, who was also assisting Gabriel during their journey. Gabriel rather enjoyed the feeling – and the feeling of the sun on his skin, and the fresh scent of the air.
After London’s smokiness, the sea air was a delight.
He walked about the deck, observing everything – and discovered that ‘everything’ included Lady Primrose seated on a small folding chair, which was tucked between two large coils of rope. Her gown was as golden as her hair, and she glowed in the light, her hair unconstrained by a bonnet, and escaping its pins as the breeze tugged at it.
She seemed completely unaware of the picture she presented, and was, as so often, absorbed in drawing. He went towards her, unable to resist the pull of her presence.
The deck shifted beneath his feet as the ship rode the rise and fall of the waves – not a big swell, but enough to feel it, and he was still getting his sea legs, to the amusement of the sailors. He walked towards her, intending to settle onto one of those coils of rope, and simply watch her draw, or to converse should she wish it. He had reached her, and shifted his weight, about to sit, when a larger swell made the ship move more than he expected – his balance failed him, and he almost fell into her lap, catching himself at the last minute.
She raised her head, startled, and he found himself, yet again, mere inches, perhaps even less, from her face, from her lips, which had parted in surprise. Time slowed, and everything around him faded from his awareness. He allowed himself to ‘fall’ that last inch, until his lips brushed hers. It was as if he had been struck by lightning – heat rushed through every part of him, and that fall became real again, so great was his shock, he twisted, and collapsed onto the coil of rope beside her, barely avoiding landing on her as he did.
His breathing was ragged, and his heart pounded.
Her fingers still clutched her journal and her pencil, but her eyes never left his. She licked those lips he had just tasted, and the sight of it sent that jolt of heat through him again. He remained silent, utterly unsure of what to say – should he apologise? Or…?
She solved the problem for him.
“Th… thank you.”
He blinked in shock. That was not the response he had expected, at all. A young lady of the ton should be horrified at him having taken such a liberty – indeed, had he done so where anyone in London could see it, they would have been scandalised and howling for him to marry her immediately. And yet her response was to thank him?
“I… ah…”
He could not find suitable words. She broke eye contact for a moment, looking out across the waves, where the sun caught sparks of fire from their crests, then turned back to him, her smile almost wry, and her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Do you know, I have wanted you to do that, for more than a year now? I am so glad that it finally happened. Of course… that was barely a brush….”
He swallowed. Hard.
“Are you implying…”
“Yes, I do believe that I am. Are you shocked? Horrified?”
Was he? He discovered that he was – shocked, that was, but certainly not horrified. More than a year! Her words echoed in his mind – that she had desired such a thing from him…
She had desired him
to kiss her, for almost as long as he had desired to do just that. A bubble of joy rose inside him, but he sternly pushed it down. He had to remain practical – they might like each other, they might desire each other, but that did not change the fact that he was a commoner born merchant and she was a Duke’s daughter.
It could never be more than kisses – he had to accept that. But… that did not prevent him from stealing those kisses, while he could. They had this journey, suspended outside their normal lives – surely, during that time, they might indulge their desires, just a little?
“I do not believe that anything you might do could horrify me. But I will admit to being surprised. And very tempted to take you up on that implication.”
“Good, I look forward to the moment when you do. Don’t wait too long, or I may find myself being far more forward than a lady should, and doing something about your delay.”
He was shocked again, and delighted – there was something heady and exciting about being told, to your face, that you were desired. But this conversation could not continue – not here, not now, when at any moment someone might walk past.
He composed himself carefully.
“I will remember that. But perhaps, here and now, we should speak of something else? Will you show me your drawing?”
She nodded and, thrusting the pencil into her pockets, opened the journal and passed it to him. He stared at the page, yet again captivated by her skill.
“It is not as good as I wish it to be, but waves are difficult to capture, for they move so fast – as do the seabirds. But I will keep trying – we have many more days at sea for me to practice.”
“You may think it not good enough, but I cannot imagine how you might make it better – it is perfect – I can see the light on the waves, and the faint shadows of the seabirds wheeling above it. This is magnificent work.” She stared at him, her eyes wide. He met that gaze steadily. It was as if she searched his soul, as if she could not believe his words, and sought the truth of his thoughts in his expression. “I mean it. My words are not empty flattery, but the truth as I see it.”
She looked away for a moment, then turned back, her eyes glittering, as if with unshed tears.
“Thank you. I believe you – and you cannot know how much that means to me.”
Chapter Nine
The first sketch journal was full. Primrose flicked through the pages, considering her work, smiling at the images which captured life on the ship in its fascinating detail, as well as the life of the ocean around them – birds, fish which flung themselves up into the air for moments, as if they hoped to fly, and more. She rather thought that her work was getting better, that having the uninterrupted time to draw every day was good for her.
The sketch she paused at for longest was the one she had drawn the day that Mr Morton had kissed her – if that gentle brush of the lips could truly be called a kiss. She sighed. Since that day, he had not kissed her again, had not tried to get her alone, despite her words at the time, which had, she hoped, made it clear that she would welcome his advances. He had always been such a decisive seeming man – she could not understand why he hesitated, why he seemed a little aloof.
She closed the journal, harder than necessary. She would not give up hope.
They had weeks yet, of this journey, and whilst he had not shown any sign of trying to kiss her again, they still spoke, still enjoyed each other’s company. It was, she decided, a matter of time, and determination – she would break down his resistance, somehow.
With that thought, she stowed the completed journal in the drawer of the storage in her cabin, and pulled out a new journal, opened it, and pencilled the date onto its front page. That done, she deposited both the pencil and the journal in her pockets and left the cabin. She would go to the small salon, and seek some food and drink. It was late afternoon, and having spent the early part of the day on deck in the sun and the brisk sea air, hunger stirred.
Primrose barely noticed the wave driven movement of the ship as she moved along the narrow passage – she had adapted, as she had been told she would. Mostly adapted, that was – there were still times when larger waves might destabilise her, much to the sailors’ amusement. The salon was on the Starboard side of the ship, and the lowering sun cast angled beams of gold through the two portholes as they continued their southward journey. That light seemed overly bright as she stepped into the room, almost blinding compared to the dimness of the passageway.
She blinked, standing still a moment, then moved forward, turning to one side to remove herself from the direct glare of light. And ran straight into something… someone…
Shock drove a gasp from her lips, and she looked up, her eyes only now adjusting to the light, to discover herself to be pressed hard against Mr Morton, his lips barely an inch from hers, and open in a matching gasp of surprise. His hands held her shoulders, steadying her. His scent surrounded her.
Her heart was pounding, her breath coming shallow, fast, and uneven. The small voice in her mind whispered – ‘take the chance you’ve been given’.
She did as she had done so often in her life – and not always with positive results – and acted on impulse. She pushed up onto her toes and, placing her hands on his sides for balance, brought her lips to meet his. She had, after all, threatened to do just this, that day when his lips had first touched hers.
A small moan escaped him, and he shifted the position of his head, angling his lips to better cover hers, his tongue slipping out to trace the curve of her lips, even as his hands tightened on her shoulders, and pulled her closer. Pleasure shivered through her, and she melted into that hold, her mouth opening more and welcoming his kiss. This was more than that previous touch – deeper, more complex, and full of unspoken desire – on her part, at least, and she hoped, also on his.
Time seemed to stretch, and she was not sure how long the kiss lasted – nor did she care, until the magic of the moment was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps in the passageway. They stepped back from each other, flustered, but neither spoke. As the door opened, Primrose turned and quickly dropped into a seat. Chartley stepped through the door, carrying a tray which held food, a glass, and a wine bottle. He deposited it on the table with a nod to Mr Morton, then turned to Primrose.
“Milady, shall I bring the same for you? And another glass?”
“Yes please, Chartley.”
He gave a quick bow, and departed, leaving them alone again.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the ever-present creaking of the ship and the wash of the waves against her sides, accompanied by the distant cry of some seabird. Her eyes went to Mr Morton, and found him to be watching her. Their eyes locked, and he smiled – a smile so full of warmth that heat filled her body. What must he think of her? Had she gone too far? It was one thing to threaten to behave inappropriately, but quite another to actually do so!
Not that she regretted doing so, not one whit.
Chartley soon appeared with another tray, and deposited it beside the first, eyeing them curiously, then left. After a moment, Mr Morton reached for the wine bottle.
“Shall I pour you a glass, Lady Primrose?”
“Yes, please, Mr Morton.”
He paused a moment, the bottle suspended above the glass, his eyes meeting hers again.
“Might I ask you, Lady Primrose, to call me Gabriel, when we are not in… formal situations? For so much of my life, ‘Mr Morton’ was my father, or my brother – to be so called still feels odd to me. And… given the last few minutes, it seems ridiculous for us to remain so formal in speaking to each other.”
Primrose found her heartbeat, which had only just slowed a little after the effects of that kiss, racing again. To speak to a man who was not a relative, by only his forename, was such an intimate thing! A thing she very much wanted, with this man.
“If you wish so… Gabriel. But if I am to call you simply by your forename, then so must you do to me. Please, speak to me just as ‘Primrose’.�
�
His smile widened. He poured the wine, set the bottle down, and passed a glass to her.
“Your wine, Primrose.” He lifted his own glass. “Let us drink to the… pleasures… to be found in travel.”
The implication was obvious.
<<<
Gabriel had spent the last week in an odd state of what he regarded as ‘suspended reality’. His conversations with Primrose were wonderful, as were the kisses he had managed to steal in those few moments when they had been alone, yet, deep inside, he knew that none of it could last. Soon, they would arrive in Las Palmas, and the requirements of the normal world would re-exert themselves. And in the real world, a merchant could not expect to have any real relationship with a Duke’s daughter. Even a friendship would be frowned upon by many, and anything more….
But until they landed, he did not care. He would live in this fantasy world, where he might kiss a Duke’s daughter with impunity, might be welcomed by her. Once they landed, this time would be consigned to memory – so he might as well make the memories as good as possible.
He was not sure what Primrose truly thought on the matter, for they had not discussed it – to do so would be to destroy the magic of this moment. All he knew was that she was as complicit as he in creating moments where stolen kisses might happen.
Now, the time had arrived when that suspension of reality would end. Now, as the late afternoon light reached that same angle as it had been, that day in the salon when she had kissed him, they were approaching Puerto de la Luz, the port of Las Palmas, on the island of Gran Canaria.
He was torn between sadness and excitement – for his dreams of travel, of seeing exotic and different places, were being fulfilled, even as the illusion of anything more with Lady Primrose was stripped away. He had best get used to calling her that, again – it would not do to forget the ‘Lady’ in public.
A Minx for a Merchant : Book 5: Primrose: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 7