Christa turned and looked directly at him, then smiled without reservation. Her rich voice was clear and vibrant, and Alex was again struck by how alluring a French accent could be.
“Yes. I have survived. And I have a debt of living to accomplish. I am much luckier than most of my unhappy countrymen. And what of you, Lord Kingsley? What is it like to come back to your childhood home, no longer a child?”
Accepting the change of subject, Alex considered for several moments before replying, “It’s very strange. Everything is the same, and at the same time everything is different. Even though I was the heir, I never really imagined myself as the master here. In fact, I never looked beyond escaping to the sea.”
Christa noted his choice of the word “escape,” but said merely, “Do you miss the navy?”
“Yes and no.” Alex smiled at her ruefully, then started walking back along the beach while she fell into step beside him. “There are no simple answers, are there? The navy has been my work and my family for half my life. And yet there were things about it that I loathed, like press-gangs. A pressed sailor was worse off than a convict, because impressment was often a life sentence. Some of those poor devils would be released from one ship, then pressed before they could even get home to their families. More than once I let a man go if he claimed to have a wife or child he hadn’t seen in years.” The viscount was silent for a few moments before continuing.
“The sea is a hard life, and a very confined one. A ship of war is one of the most crowded places in the world. As a junior officer, the only spot where I could find any privacy was perched up in the rigging like a gull. Sometimes I thought the confinement, the endless rules, would drive me mad. And yet . . .” He paused, trying to define what he felt.
“Now that it is gone, you miss it?” Christa prompted.
“Exactly, though I hate to admit it after all my complaining about how rigid the life was.” Alex gave her a wry smile, grateful for her ability to grasp his thoughts. “It also seems strange to be leaving the navy at a time when the opportunities for promotion will be greater than they have been in the last decade. War is an appalling waste, yet it is a fighting man’s great chance. Perhaps I am not enough of a fighting man.”
Christa nodded with resignation. “It is the way of the world. There is nothing uglier or less meaningful than war, yet courage and wisdom may flower from that great evil. Men may grow in ways impossible in times of peace.” She gave a melancholy smile. “That is the philosopher in me speaking. As a woman, I can only condemn a war that will kill so many. Will you go back to the navy someday?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said slowly. “Not before Annabelle and Jonathan are settled. Perhaps never. And yet, for all the drawbacks of a naval life, there are times, especially on the night watch, when the ship comes alive around you. The creaking of the timbers, the rigging and sails humming like a great chorus in perfect harmony with the wind and the stars. There is nothing like it.”
With French practicality Christa said, “Why not buy a ship here? You are a lord and can do what pleases you.”
Alex stopped, much struck by the thought. “Do you know, the thought never occurred to me? I suppose it is because all of my experience has been with working ships.” He laughed suddenly. “Or perhaps because one of our English writers, Samuel Johnson, said that ‘anyone who goes to sea for pleasure would go to hell for a pastime.’ Sailing is not a common pleasure.”
Christa stopped walking also and smiled. “Wasn’t it also he who said that ‘a boat is like a prison, only with the chance of being drowned’? He sounds like a man who had a very bad Channel crossing.”
Alex gave her a surprised glance. “You’ve read Samuel Johnson?”
Christa gave her best look of wide-eyed innocence. “I have been fortunate that former masters have granted me the use of their libraries.” She would have to watch her tongue; too much erudition was out of character for a lady’s maid.
“Please make yourself free with my library as well,” Alex said. Returning to the topic at hand, he said musingly, “I have been wondering what to do with myself all summer. Sailing is something Annabelle and Jonathan might enjoy also. Perhaps one of the local fishing boats would be suitable . . .”
A wistful expression flickered over Christa’s face so quickly that a less-attentive eye would have missed it.
“Have you sailed, Christa?”
She nodded. “Yes, as a child I went out on the fishing boats in Normandy.”
“Good. I can use you as crew. And you can take care of Annabelle as well. I’ll travel into Ipswich tomorrow to see what I might purchase. Thank you for a wonderful idea, Christa.”
On impulse, Alex bent over to place a quick kiss on her cheek, but somehow their lips met and suddenly his arms were around her, her soft curves molding into him. Christa’s lips parted under his and the whole world narrowed down to the delicious taste of her mouth, the tangy scent of her hair. It was an embrace as natural as the soft splash of the breaking waves, and her response was as free as his own. They stood locked together in the gathering dark, her arms circling beneath Alex’s coat, his hands gently exploring Christa’s back and richly curving hips.
The spell was broken by a wave from the advancing tide that raced up the sand and broke over their feet. They separated, each stepping back. Alex reached out one hand and tenderly brushed a dark curl from her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be one of those masters who abuses his authority.”
Christa smiled bewitchingly and briefly turned her cheek into his hand. “You know that I enjoyed that as much as you. But better that it not happen again,n’est-ce pas? There is only one way that would end, and it is not a way that would do honor to either of us.”
Alex laughed a little sadly. “You are right, of course. Are all Frenchwomen so irresistibly practical?”
She gave a saucy smile. “Most of us are practical, but not all of us are irresistible.”
Alex laughed again, this time without reservation. “Of all the things one might find thrown out on a London street, you are the best. Come back to the house now, and I shall do my simple male best to keep my hands off you. It won’t be easy.”
Somehow their arms slipped around each other as they crossed the sands, hers circling his waist, his protective around her shoulders. They ambled their way up the beach and across the heath lands, their steps matching with unconscious harmony until the house was in view. The sight of the Orchard subtly reestablished the social barriers that had dissolved in the sea breezes. Alex halted. “You go on ahead. If we come in together all windblown and sandy it will do neither of our reputations any good.”
Christa gave a very Gallic shrug. “I doubt if a French maid has any reputation to begin with, and your reputation would be enhanced rather than injured.”
The viscount stepped back and said firmly, “You are a cynical wench. You are also probably correct in your estimate, but I will send you on ahead anyhow. There is no point in being condemned for deeds we haven’t even done.”
Christa’s answering smile was no more than a white flash in the dusk. “Yes, milord.” She dipped one hand into her pocket, then held it out, dropping a smooth, cool object into his hand before she turned and entered the gardens.
