Verity shook her head. She wished she’d given her story more consideration. He had clever eyes.
“Your history is unusual. Where did you meet your husband?”
“In Hon Fleur. So many questions, my lord.”
He smiled. “And such brief answers. I gather Rouen is your destination?”
“Oui.”
He left his seat and joined her on the bench. Leaned over and stroked her cheek. “You’re a very pretty woman.”
“You are too kind.”
He edged closer. “Why, you might be a famous actress, if you chose.”
Verity’s scalp tingled. So, he knew. “An actress, my lord? Might a widow choose such a profession?”
His eyes gleamed. “You should be able to tell me that.”
“Will you forgive me if I cannot?”
“Will I?” He tapped his chin. “You shall have to pay a forfeit.”
Verity put her cup down. She rose to her feet and moved beyond his reach. “These cabins are surprisingly comfortable.” She strolled around the airy space, tamping down her dread. He knew her to be an actress traveling in disguise for some reason and thought her a courtesan, perhaps. He was keen to act on it.
As she walked, she trailed a finger along the fine wooden paneling edged in gold. A matter of hours before they reached land. She could handle him. “I grew sick of England. Gray sky, gray water, and gray gulls. I am eager to reach my homeland.”
His gaze rested on her face. “You don’t ask what the penalty might be.”
“You hold all the cards, do you not?” She raised an eyebrow. He stared back at her without any sign of embarrassment, and she knew he was a formidable enemy. “Please put your cards on the table. That is what the English say,oui? What is the forfeit to be?”
He walked over to her, held her chin in his hand. “A kiss, to begin with.”
“And if I refuse?”
He tilted up her chin with a finger, his eyes on her mouth. “I might kiss your page instead.”
Verity forced a laugh. “You like to kiss pages?”
“A young female page, certainly.”
“I will pay the forfeit,” she said.
He pulled her against him and brought his mouth down on hers. She stiffened within his arms. It was a hard, proprietary kiss, a statement of possession, lacking tenderness. Verity had played this game before. She had learned much in her short career. When his lips lingered too long, she pushed him away. “I have paid your penalty, my lord.”
He breathed heavily, his eyes narrowed. “We have tonight, Madame.”
She opened her fan and waved it in front of her face, longing to wipe away his kiss. “It is airless here. Might we go up on deck?”
He bowed. “As you wish.”
Verity hurried out to stand at the rail. She welcomed the moist wind on her face as if it could remove his touch. England was vanishing in the distance, a dark-gray shape behind them. “I’m afraid I do not appear to have sea legs. When do we reach France?”
“If we continue to make excellent time, before dawn. If the wind changes, during the morning. Perhaps your page deals better with the sea?”
She turned to face him. “Let’s leave my page out of this.”
His eyebrows rose. “Plain speaking?”
“I will come to your cabin tonight.”
“I shall expect you.” His eyes flashed at his success. Well, he didn’t know her, did he.
