She freed her hand and traced his jaw, his nose. “There is perhaps some resemblance. Not so much to Charles II, but to his brother King James, and his father, Charles I.”
He captured her fingers and used them to seal her own lips. “Hush. In former times, royal blood could have my head on the block.”
“And not so former. It’s less than twenty years since men lost their heads for supporting a Stuart pretender!”
He shook his head at her alarm. “Whatever the truth, I’m safely on the wrong side of the blanket, love.”
Love.
He used it casually, but it was another pearl.
He released her hand and slid his fingers into her hair. She leaned into the cup of his hand, thinking this one short night might give her pearls enough to last a lifetime.
“Why not sail in search of Venus, Ash? What’s to stop you?”
“Some would say I seek out Venus far too often.”
“Be serious.”
He nuzzled her neck. “I’m always serious about such matters.”
She smiled but waited.
“Duty, then. That’s what ties me. My duty to manage my estates, to make laws, to shape a nation.”
She understood. “Your marquessate is your ship. No one else can captain it.”
“My ship is likely to sink for lack of tar, or whatever it is keeps ships afloat. I have to marry, Genova, and I have to marry money.”
She knew, she thought she knew, why he was telling her that. It hurt, but it hurt less because he was honest. “If you must, you must. Only promise me that you’ll be a good captain.”
He drew her into his arms, into an embrace more tender than any they’d shared. Her head rested perfectly on his broad shoulder.
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “I know it’s time to take over my properties from my grandmother. I would have done it already if not for other problems.”
“Molly Carew.” She was relishing the hard heat of his body and a steady strength she wouldn’t have expected to find in him just a few days before. Inhaling his scent, she said, “Can you tell me about that? I’m not easily embarrassed.”
His hands moved on her back slightly, in a tender touch that might even have been unconscious. “It’s a ridiculous tale.”
She moved back to look at him. “Ridiculous?”
His smile was rueful. “Isn’t that what we all fear the most, to be ridiculous? Are you too cold to stay out here for a sorry saga?”
“No.”
He drew her close again, sliding her arms around him beneath his coat, and tucking her shawl securely. “Listen, then. Last February I attended Lady Knatchbull’s masquerade. It is not noted for taste and sobriety. I went as an Indian brave, largely naked….”
Genova hummed with approval against his chest and felt his chuckle.
“Molly Carew went as Salome, in seven extremely transparent veils. I am not a saint.”
“I think I noticed that.”
“Not shocked yet?”
“No, impatient to get to the point.”
“I might as well confess all my sins. I had been Molly’s lover in the past, when Booth Carew was still alive.”
