Chapter Six
Simon absorbed the impact of her statement with surprise. He searched her eyes for some clue to her change of heart, but they gazed earnestly back at him, imploring him to help her.
“I must return to Leaudor at once,” she continued.
Though her plan was no different from his own intentions, he remained silent about that fact. Perhaps his willingness to help her would win her favor. And her trust. “What exactly do you want from me?”
She glanced away, her long black hair streaming over her shoulder. He wanted to touch it again, to run his hands through it as he had done before. The most expensive silk had no advantage over the velvety softness of her tresses.
When she looked back at him, her eyes were alight with emotion, a startling contrast to her usual shuddered expression.
“I need your help in getting to Brighton.”
He frowned. “But Brighton is to the south. The voyage would be much farther to Leaudor.”
Even as the words left his mouth, he understood her intent. It was an intelligent plan, but they didn’t have the time such a journey would take.
“Exactly,” she said. “It’s less likely that someone will be looking for me there.”
He stood up abruptly. He had no desire to show immediate disagreement with her, and there were other things more pressing at the moment than which port they would take out of.
“Before we come to any sort of agreement, Princess, there are a few matters that must be addressed. Foremost, you must be completely honest with me.”
He watched in fascination as her eyes clouded, and the barrier was once again erected before him. She also stood and paced in front of him, her agitation evident.
“I have questions. Questions that I want answered before we go forward,” he added.
“Very well,” she said, surprising him with her abrupt capitulation. “What is it you would like to know?”
“Not now. Not here,” he replied.
She jerked her gaze to him with a mixture of irritation and confusion registering in her eyes. “I see. And where would you like the interrogation to take place?” she asked in a tone to match the frigid air outside.
He swore under his breath, ready to shake her senseless. “We must leave here. We will not be safe here for long. I would merely prefer to have our conversation somewhere we won’t be disturbed by people bent on our destruction.”
A myriad of expressions crossed her face. Anger, confusion, and finally contrition. “I’m sorry.”
“It is I who should apologize,” he said, feeling regretful of his terse response. “I know how very trying this whole experience has been for you.”
To his surprise, she chuckled.
“You English are so well versed in understatement. Trying experience indeed.”
She continued to laugh, her voice cracking in near hysteria.
Not pondering the discomfort he felt when she was so close to him, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly against him. He felt her tears against his neck, and his chest tightened with some unnamed emotion. A disturbing habit he was getting into around her.
He stroked her hair with one hand, his other arm wrapping solidly around her, pulling her closer to his chest. God, he couldn’t afford to admit how damn good she felt against him. How good it felt to connect with another person in such an intimate manner. He felt precariously light-headed, adrift in a veritable storm of sensation.
She fit perfectly. Too perfectly. The shock of such close contact with another human being nearly had him jerking away at the explosive tide of feeling that swamped him.
Her muffled sobs grew louder as she let loose a tide of pent up emotion. Small hands crept around his waist, and she held him as tightly as he held her. He stood rigidly, praying for control, willing himself to remain indifferent, not to react to her pain.
After a moment, her sobs quieted, and she hiccupped softly against him. She rested her head against his shoulder then sniffled and pulled slowly back. He felt the loss of her closeness as keenly as if a bucket of cold water had been sloshed over his head.
She hastily averted her eyes in obvious embarrassment. She wiped her tears with her shirt sleeve and turned away. “Do you know where we will go?”
He wanted to reach out to her. Let her know it didn’t make her weak to expose her overwhelming grief, but he could relate to her discomfort all too well. Never once had he showed any outward emotion when his brother, and then his father, died. She wouldn’t likely appreciate his gesture anyway, and he didn’t feel comfortable extending it.
