Not that it mattered. Jason saw only her. In his mind’s eye. In his memory. In his dreams. Now. He hadn’t lied when he said he wasn’t a predator. But that did not mean he did notwant.
He watched Isobel shake her head in the manner of someone dislodging a bad thought. The motion loosened her cloak, and the heavy wool fell open. Her neck and collarbone were bare. She tapped two gloved fingers at the base of her throat.
Jason tried not to look, failed miserably, and watched her fingertips. What did she wear beneath the cloak? How much weight had she lost to seasickness?
He felt sweat on the back of his neck. The late-summer air was just above freezing and it was colder still in the wind, and he was sweating. Jason didn’tsweatbecause of women—not on the deck of a freezing brig or anywhere else for that matter.
He was just about to tell her again not to worry, but a wave rocked the brig, tipping the vessel nearly forty-five degrees. Rigging clanged and swung, wood creaked. With no warning, Jason and Isobel were pitched sideways. He lashed out his right arm to catch the railing just as Isobel lost her footing. He caught her at the waist with his left hand and dragged her against him.
“Careful,” he shouted over the sound of crashing waves. “I have you. Hold on.”
She froze against him for a long, sideways moment. The brig rode the swell of a wave. Jason held to the railing with one hand and to Isobel with the other. At thehighest point, the angle of the deck was nearly put to rights. The ship seemed to hover in the mist. Then it dropped, slamming downward with bone-cracking force.
Isobel let out a little moan, breathing against his chest. Jason cinched his arm around her and she burrowed deeper, wrapping her arms around him and nosing inside the open flap of his coat.
“I have you,” he repeated into her hair, straining to hold on to the rail.
She made a nodding motion against his chest and mumbled something indistinguishable.
“What?” he shouted.
She plied her head off of his chest and peeked up. “My cabin,” she said, her voice cracking. “I need my cabin.”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “I’ll take you. Will you allow me?”
She nodded again and ducked her head against him, pressing so tightly he almost lost his footing. He shifted, finding a more secure hold, and began the careful, unsteady journey from quarter deck to forecastle hatch.
Isobel tripped along with him, shifting a little with every step, making their progress easier. She fitted her tiny body more securely to the hollows and dips of his. With every step, she burrowed closer.
It occurred to him that dragging her across the slippery deck of a bobbing ship felt like the most correct, natural thing in the world. A small, bright spark flashed in his chest, the flick of flint against stone. A beckoning. He put one boot in front of the other, following the spark.
Chapter Ten
Isobel told herself that her sunset rendezvous with the duke had been a known—nay, aplannedencounter. She’d pursued the conversation to be perfectly clear. The duke’s intentions must be honorable. Her intentions must be prudent and with an eye toward her future. They spoke to be reminded that no respectable person would approve of their circumstances.
If, in that encounter, she’d revealedtoo much; if she’d (God help her) clung to his muscled body with too much enthusiasm—well.
Not every planned thing went off perfectly.
She’d not failed at making her point.
And rough seas could not be helped.
As to her unknown wish to share the details of her life with him?
It all just sort of spilled out, didn’t it?
And so now he knew.
Rather than punish herself, Isobel embraced mindless seasickness instead. For the next day and night, she lay on the cool floor of her cabin, riding the waves of nausea and the heavy hand of skewed balance.
When, finally, she felt well enough to drag herself again on deck, she vowed to do better. If the duke was there—and perhaps he would not be—she would exchange pleasantries and one or two facts about Iceland, butnothing more.
“She lives,” called a familiar voice when she finally made it down the corridor and up the ladder that led to the deck.
The sound of his voice sent a twinkling shimmer through her, like a chime that had been softly tapped with a mallet.
She frowned. She’d spent the last thirty-two hours barely able to rise from the floorboards and now sheshimmered?
