“Goodbye, Amelia,” Miss Allard said, not taking her eyes from his. After a long moment, she took his hand. Warmth lapped up his arm. He cleared his throat. She stepped into the boat.
“Careful,” he said.
“Thank you.”
She concentrated on her footing, her face turned away. A crackling magnetism bounced back and forth between them, familiar and heart-pounding. He was disoriented, he was grounded, he was at risk of falling into the river. He wanted to snatch her to him. He wanted to scramble back. He wanted to—
“What’s happened to the viscount?” she asked. There was no proper seating in a punt, and she lowered herself onto the treads at the bow and leaned forward, her elbow on the huff.
“The viscount has developed a punishing anxiety in the company of boats.”
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said. “You are not so affected, I hope?”
“No.” He took up the pole and shoved them off the dock. “Boats are one thing that I’m not afraid of.”
“It’s been said you are not afraid of anything.”
I am afraid of you,he thought. He said, “I am afraid of forgetting the memory of the men I lost.”
“Oh. This fear is unjustified. Your loyalty is very plain to me. You’ll not forget them, Captain.”
“No,” he said. She was correct in this; the memory of these men would haunt him forever. Just last night, the nightmares had returned. He planted the pole into the riverbed and pushed them into open water. “No, I will not.”
Chapter 10
“Will your friend Lord Fernsby break the heart of Amelia Broom?” asked Danielle Allard. She’d twisted to watch the rapidly diminishing figures of the couple. They walked arm in arm up the path to the village.
“I beg your pardon?” Luke blinked down at her. He could think of no useful response. She was a tumble of lavender strewn across the bow. Awareness strummed through him—he was aware of closeness, aware of the privacy of this boat, aware of the crackling energy between them. He had the errant thought to pull up the punting pole and stab it through his own chest.
“Your friend?” she prompted. “The viscount? Can you vouch for his intentions toward Amelia?”
“No. I cannot.”
“You will not or you cannot?”
“I have no idea of his intentions,” he said.
“What of his honor, then? As a gentleman? Is he the sort of man who seeks out women for dalliances everywhere he goes? I can only guess a titled peer, a decorated veteran, a relative of the king, has many women vying for his affection. It begs the question, what could he want with Amelia Broom? She is sweet and fetching but a vicar’s daughter from Ivy Hill, Kent.”
“I cannot speak to the preferences of the viscount. Considering he suggested this bloody outing and then deserted us, neither can he.” Luke punted another stroke. “I can say that he hasn’t ‘dallied with women,’ in the years since I’ve known him. Unless I’m mistaken, he enjoys chamber music, and military history, and bird-watching.”
“Oh,” she said.
She turned and propped an elbow on the huff, staring into the bottle-green water. The wind chopped up the surface of the river, scaling it into little tiles. The shoreline was close enough to touch, and she snapped off a stalk of river grass. He eased the boat forward, and she dipped the blade of grass in the water, dragging it along.
“I believe Fernsby to be a good man,” Luke finished.
“And what of you, Captain?” she asked, turning to him. “Are you a good man?”
His heart clenched. “No. I am not.”
She twirled the grass above the surface, watching it drip. “For what reasons are you not good?”
He shook his head. He would not stumble into another discussion about himself. She already knew he was a smuggler. The point of this outing was to describeherlife; to identifyher.
A family of geese paddled close, the mother gliding gracefully while her goslings zipped behind her like bugs. The line of the boat dissected their formation. The mama and two goslings swam along one side, while the other three goslings paddled up the opposite side, squawking. Miss Allard pulled off her gloves and scooted them along.
When the family was reunited, she asked, “Why do you call yourself a bad man?”
