“There’s too much at stake,” she insisted. “My new life—your responsibilities to the dukedom. We cannot be reckless.”
He kissed her again, hard and demanding. “The best things in life are reckless,” he moaned against her ear. “It is flight.”
He went to kiss her again, his hand moving from her waist to palm her bottom. He pressed her against his erection and her body pulsed with sensation.
Her eyes watered, her breath caught. She bit her lip and pulled away.
Breathing hard, she said, “I am not flying. I am drowning.”
“Wait, Isobel, no—” He reached for her.
She hopped out of reach and backed away. “Thank you for taking the air with me, Your Grace—er, North. In the future, we will speak only of pirates. And ice caves. And Icelandic farmers and their alliances. And nothing more.”
He opened his mouth again, but she held out a handwith her index finger raised, the universal gesture ofDo not say it.
He closed his mouth. He stooped to retrieve his discarded glove. He did not take his eyes from her face.
Isobel fled, running from the conversation, and the sunset, and him.
Chapter Eleven
“This open door is an invitation, is it not?” asked mercenary Declan Shaw, standing in the passageway outside the Duke of Northumberland’s cabin.
“ ‘Invitation’ is a stretch,” said the duke, not looking up. He’d been staring at the same page of a Scandinavian atlas for twenty minutes, seeing nothing. “Invitation for what?”
“We’ve not seen you for two days, Your Grace,” said Shaw, stepping inside. “The men want to know what to expect when we make landfall.”
“What to expect...” repeated Jason slowly, drawing out the words.
“Not me, mind you,” said Shaw. “My philosophy, as you’ll remember, is ‘Surprise me.’ Especially when it comes to pirates.”
Jason laughed. Declan Shaw was a known planner. Jason tossed the atlas aside.
“Tell the men,” the duke said, “to expect very little ice—the country’s name is misleading—and lichen apparently. Cod at every meal? This is what I’ve been told.”
“Hilarious,” said Shaw. “So tell them you haven’t the slightest notion?”
Jason leaned back and closed his eyes, propping hisboots on the desk. “These men were chosen for their ability to improvise. Why the hand-wringing? We are three days out.”
“We are a day and a half out,” corrected Shaw. “And clearly you reallydon’tknow. North, this cannot—”
He was cut off by a sudden knocking. Shaw blocked the door, but the force of the knock and the speed of therap-rap-rapcould mean only one thing. Jason sat up and slid his feet on the floor.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Isobel Tinker stood in the corridor behind Declan Shaw.
Jason pushed to his feet. She was dressed in a smart, moss-colored suit, her hair swept neatly into her signature bun. She stood straight and steady, clutching paperwork to her chest.
“I’ll call back,” said Shaw. “If you’ll excuse—”
“You willstay, if you please, sir,” said Isobel, extending her small, gloved hand. “Miss Isobel Tinker,” she said, introducing herself. “I’m—well, I’ve been given the title of ‘cultural attaché’ on this mission. Or so I’m told.”
Shaw had no choice but to take her hand. He affected a confused half bow, shooting Jason a glance that said,Surely you’re joking.
Jason nodded back.Introduce yourself.
“Declan Shaw,” said Shaw. “Leader of His Grace’s, ah—”
“Hired thugs?” provided Isobel.
