But…
Er, therehadbeen a but within that train of thought, he was sure of it. He just couldn’t seem to remember where.
No one offered him sandwiches. Indeed, all he got were menacing looks and more than one muttered promise that he would“nourrir les poissons”the moment he let his guard down. Knowingpoissonsdid not actually meanpoisonsomehow failed to reassure him. Apparently what was good for the goose was not good for the gander after all. He made himself an uncomfortable seat upon a coil of rope, hunched in his coat against the endless drizzle, hungry and tired and thinking thoughts so impolite, Beth probably would have fainted had she known them.
As night labored on through murky darkness, Devondrifted asleep despite himself. Upon awakening in the faint, blue-toned light before dawn, he looked out with relief at the town of Dover, its black silhouette glinting here and there with lights like slumming stars. The boat was dawdling into harbor. The fishermen stood around the wheel, talking quietly and casting him vicious looks. Surprised that they hadn’t turned the boat around while he slept, Devon nodded to them as he crossed the deck to where Beth sat on an equipment box, sheltered by a makeshift canvas roof.
She was rigidly upright, clutching her satchel against her midriff protectively, but her eyes were closed, and Devon indulged in a moment of observing her without fear of being chastised. She must have been freezing in her light skirt and jacket. He wanted to wrap her in his arms—merely on the scientific principle of sharing body heat, of course. He wanted to remove her hat and unbind her glossy hair slowly, pin by pin. It would reach almost to her waist, he guessed with the expertise of a man who had unraveled many a coiffure. It would feel like silk against his skin. He’d brush it back, then tip her chin so as to kiss her soft, lucent throat until she opened those heavenly eyes and saw him…
Saw him.
His heart, decidedly unimpressed with such a dangerous notion, silenced all further thought. Removing his coat, he draped it over her.
“Wake up, angel,” he whispered. Then louder: “Wake up, we’re almost here.”
“Strix owl,” Beth muttered, then wakened with a jolt. She blinked up at him dazedly, her eyes brimming over with shadows.
For a moment, Devon forgot to breathe. The emotionvisible in her gaze was so stunning, and made her so beautiful, so haunting, it was as if she’d risen from the sea like a forgotten daughter of Poseidon. But then she rubbed a hand across her brow, and when he saw her again she was guarded once more.
“I must have dozed off,” she said.
“We’re almost here,” he repeated. “Dover.”
“Already?”
“Already?”he echoed incredulously. “It’s taken at least three hours. This boat is a tub.”
She sat even straighter. “It’s an eighty-six-foot steam drifter with a tonnage of—” She stopped herself. “In any case, the gentlemen were kind to bring us at all.”
A laugh broke from him, and he hastily turned it into a cough. Solemn, Beth regarded his damp, crumpled shirt, then the coat enveloping her.
“This is yours,” she said. The words snagged a little on her breath. “You gave me your coat.”
“You looked cold,” he said gruffly. “I—I didn’t want you to be cold.”
His brain sighed in self-disgust. Beth touched the coat, and Devon found himself shivering like it was his skin she’d laid those finely gloved fingers upon. Her wondering expression might have broken his heart had she not quickly hidden it away.
“You look colder,” she said with a brief, shy glance at his damp shirt. “And that is a worrying cough you have.” She handed him back the coat. “But thank you for your kindness.”
Devon came so close to blushing he could feel its heat in his throat. No one had ever accused him of being kind before. Mesmerized, he reached vaguely for the coat and missed; it dropped to the deck. He barely noticed. In the dreaming twilight, he knew nothing but her.
The first moment he’d seen the woman at that tedious birders’ meeting, standing alone at the edge of the room with her gaze fixed on the exit door, he’d thought she looked like an angel visiting earth and finding it horribly boring but, being angelic, not wanting to complain. Pretty face, lovely eyes, eminently kissable. But now his attraction was becoming complicated by a far more treacherous emotion. Helikedher. She was Sunday morning, a bird in the hand, fresh chalk for a clean blackboard. And damned if he wasn’t in—
“Ahem.”
Turning, blinking, they both looked at the fisherman standing beside them.
“Ton manteau, crétin,”he said, holding out Devon’s coat.
Beth smiled at the man in a way that sent jealousy rampaging like feral carnivorous ostriches through Devon’s blood. “How gracious,” she said. Then she flicked a reproachful look at Devon. “Isn’t that gracious? He’s offering you tea and toast—you know, croutons.”
Somehow, Devon did not think so. He took the coat, then hurried away before wishes, or French fishermen, eviscerated him.
Finally, as daylight seeped red-gold and glimmering through the harbor, they docked at the Admiralty Pier. Devon gave the trawler’s captain a handful of francs and got a scowl in return. He climbed onto the pier, heavy-limbed, cold, and determined to find a place that served coffee. Beth, however, took a ridiculously long time with farewells. Devon watched bemusedly as she shook the hand of each fisherman, murmuring a few words, eliciting smiles and much doffing of caps. It appeared she was thanking them, wishing all good things upon their families, and inviting them to call upon her shouldthey ever find themselves at Oxford during the Michaelmas term. And they werethanking her right back. Devon rolled his eyes.
At last they handed her up onto the pier, saying things in rapid, impassioned French, which Devon suspected were instructions on how to kill him and steal all his money. Grasping her elbow, he proceeded totowguide her solicitously toward the train station at the end of the pier.
“Good heavens!” she declared, clutching her hat to keep it on her head. “This is altogether vigorous of you!”
