Return to the House of Sin. Anabelle Bryant
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Название: Return to the House of Sin
Автор: Anabelle Bryant
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780008229740
isbn:
‘Perhaps that was it.’
The men didn’t seem overly concerned and a sound akin to a trunk being dragged across the floor occupied the silence.
‘This is a step down. My grandfather’s yacht would have been more… what’s the word? Decadent. Next time, we’ll sail to Greece. Life is different there. I’ll show you.’
‘England is different as well, although I’m curious what you’ll make of London.’ The scrape of a chair came next. ‘We’ll continue this discussion later. I’m damnably exhausted. I’ll see you at dinner, Ferris. Try not to cause chaos in the meantime. No one needs the devil aboard.’
‘Me? I’m a saint. How is it you say?’
A pause followed and Amanda found herself angled forward with anticipation.
‘It takes a thief to catch a thief? Birds of a feather—’
‘That is the pot and kettle talking, eh?’
Baritone laughter filled the interior and then, with the click and subsequent clack of the door, the room fell silent.
Might both men have departed?
The answer came too quickly. She heard two thuds, a reminder of her father’s boots falling to the boards when he sat before the fireplace in his study. Good heavens, was the gentleman in the process of undressing? The closet door remained open the width of three fingers and, while she had no clear sight anywhere except to the opposite wall, her heart kicked into a panicked rhythm in concern she might see something she shouldn’t. Or miss something interesting instead.
What was she to do? She hadn’t eaten breakfast and if she didn’t melt from the cloying heat of being cramped in a narrow closet, the boisterous growls vibrating from her stomach would eventually reveal her hiding place.
The room fell eerily quiet. Not a rustle of a sheet or creak of a chair. The air thickened, each inhale an effort, and all because she waited, unsure what was to occur. Did the gentleman sleep? He’d stated he was exhausted. Could it be that easy? Were he to fall into a fitful slumber, she might silently slink past him and out, in search of another, more suitable room.
Ideas came to mind, entertained and rejected with lightning efficiency, all in the space of a few heartbeats. Sweat trickled down her spine as she sought to summon patience, one deep inhale after another until she realized she sounded louder than she intended. She stifled mid-breath and it was then she heard it. A matched sigh as frustrated and concerned as her own. With punishing trepidation, she pressed her teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip just as the closet door whipped open.
A man stood on the other side, his shirt sleeves rolled and cravat undone, yet his eyes, bright blue and acutely intelligent, held her in a captive gaze that shook her soul. A cataclysm of emotion swept through her, causing her hands to tremble, her heartbeat thrust into an off-kilter spiral, not from fear but something altogether unknown, and as they stood, stare upon stare, words evaporated on her tongue until all she could manage to produce was a startled gasp.
‘My ears did not deceive me. Indeed, I heard a mouse.’ Crispin eyed the young miss wedged inside the room’s closet with wry amusement. Whoever she was, she was on her way out. Stowaway, lunatic or pleasure seeker – this last idea gave him pause – he wouldn’t be caught in a situation that brought him further anguish or, worse, a wife. Never mind the illegalities and complications this situation promised.
‘I’m not a mouse.’
She squeaked out the words, her face pinched into a bemusing scowl that further confirmed the irony of his statement. With direct insistence, she held his stare. As a matter of fact, she hadn’t blinked since he’d thrown open the door and exposed her hiding place.
‘Would you like to come out of your hole, little mouse?’ He stepped aside, his stockinged feet silent on the floorboards, amused at her quick objection to his tease.
Her eyes widened, a flash of brown or was it green? He couldn’t tell within the dim confines of the cupboard. With a fair amount of grace, she wriggled her way out of the closet and made a show of shaking out her skirts. She was slim with a high, pert bosom that caught his attention until he noticed her round bottom. Her gown, absent of the layers most women suffered, outlined her figure and explained further how she fit into the narrow space.
Indeed, he amended, the lady was no mouse at all. Flushed cheeks and long mahogany lashes accentuated a pretty face, where striking cheekbones and pink lips finished the portrait of beauty. Who was she and why had she chosen to hide in a closet? What she was doing in his quarters was another matter altogether.
‘Thank you.’
Her voice sounded tight, nervous, or had he imagined he’d had that effect? Too many nights spent with too many actresses, opera singers and widows cluttered his memory to render him clumsy with the manners required of a highborn lady. Somehow, despite her less than refined dress and awkward appearance in his quarters, he knew before him stood a proper miss.
‘You’re welcome.’ He defaulted to manners. ‘Should I ask why you’re hiding in my closet or would you prefer I march you to the top deck and speak to the captain directly? I believe we’re not so far from the coast that we couldn’t turn around.’ The captain of The Haven would hardly inconvenience the passengers and crew for the appearance of a stowaway, but she didn’t have to know that, and indeed, his tactic worked. The colour drained from her face and he mourned the loss of the fetching blush she’d worn so prettily.
‘No. I mean… yes.’ Amidst her flummox she gave her head a little shake as if she wished to jar the answer loose. ‘I can explain.’
She didn’t begin readily, but he waited, a captive audience to the fiction she would concoct at his expense. The pause offered time for him to further assess her appearance. Long wavy hair, the colour of fine brandy, evoked the same spirited effect and was pinned back to reveal the gentle curve of her neck, the skin creamy and pale. He’d spent so much time in the arms of Italian lovers of late, the stark contrast of fair skin and delicate beauty proved arresting. Against conscious thought, his fingers twitched as if urging him to touch and discover if his assumptions rang true, to place a kiss there, or better, feel her satiny smoothness against his tongue. He silently cursed himself for the ridiculous idea. He’d indulged in debauchery overlong if he could no longer speak to a lady without wondering of the texture of her skin. Alas, he was that much a bastard. The worst kind.
‘I wandered into your quarters mistakenly. When I heard you enter, I panicked and chose the closet when the better choice would have been to tell you at once and exit. I’ll leave you now as to not cause further trouble.’ She looked at him directly, her eyes as guileless as they were crystalline. And yes, they were green. A fine mossy colour which reminded of England and all he’d left behind.
She made to move around him, but he stepped in to block her path.
‘Where will you go? Do you have passage on this ship?’ He had no reason to care other than a distant and buried sense of protective chivalry ingrained in him from birth and long ago tarnished. He couldn’t help but reflect on his sister Sophie’s tomfoolery. She was СКАЧАТЬ