'No!' Her deep voice almost tipped over the edge into desperation. If only he would stop looking at her like that! She cleared her throat and continued more calmly. 'No, I think that I'm a little worn out from travelling after all, and I'd rather lunch at the hotel, so if you don’t mind, Monsieur Hawkwood...'
For a moment she thought that Hawkwood was going to persist with his perverse offers of alternatives until he had forced her to flatly beg for her passage, but Serena Corvell came unexpectedly to her aid.
'So it's settled, then. Now can we go, Jack? I would like to get to the island before nightfall!'
He made a soothing response to her brisk sarcasm and then graciously made the belated introduction.
'Serena Corvell, this is Miss... ?'
It seemed a defeat to have to say it. 'Elizabeth,' she said sullenly.
'Elizabeth Lamb.' His mocking smile acknowledged his victory. 'We travelled together from New Zealand.' He made it sound as if they had had a formal assignation. 'Please, call me Jack—Monsieur Hawkwood sounds so...proper. And I bet they call you Beth.'
She would have liked to deny it. Somehow he made the nickname sound gentle, ineffectual, boring... It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was a spritely, dynamic Liz, but she quelled the impulse. She merely ignored him as the other woman brushed impatiently past her on the narrow decking and began striding sleekly towards the end of the pier.
Hawkwood bowed slightly to Elizabeth, indicating that he would bring up the rear, and after hesit
ating she reluctantly complied with his silent command.
Having him walk behind her was an unnerving experience. She discovered that she had forgotten how to move her limbs naturally, her hips and knees stiffening so that she stumbled slightly like a little girl trying out her mother's high heels.
Hawkwood must have thought so, too, because he murmured closely enough to send shivers up her nervous spine, 'I can’t let you wear those shoes on board. You'll have to go barefoot. After all the persuasion it took to get you on board, I don’t want to lose you over the side.'
He might if he knew what she was up to!
'I have some trainers in my bag,' she said gruffly, and almost tripped again when she saw where Serena Corvell was leading them.
Le Faucon. Black lettering on the bow arrogantly proclaimed its ownership. After her initial surprise passed, Elizabeth had to admit that the vessel was exactly like its owner—handsome and emphatically individualistic. Elizabeth had pictured a rich man's toy—a sleek, fast, stylish white launch bristling with every piece of marine technology known to man. Instead, what she got was a graceful old wooden yacht whose gleaming teak deck and highly polished brass fittings didn’t disguise the subtle signs of her considerable age.
There was even a figurehead, but not the usual deep-breasted nymph. It was a hawk, wings swept back against the bow, predatory beak thrust aggressively forward in search of new prey. A pirate's boat.
Elizabeth was unaware that she had halted, until she received a soft nudge behind her knee that set her in hurried motion again.
'Beautiful, isn’t she?'
Was he talking about his yacht, or Serena, who was frowning back at them from the deck and still managing to look gorgeous?
Elizabeth pretended to concentrate on taking off her shoes and stepping gingerly down the weather-beaten gangplank. Once on board she felt horribly trapped.
'This way. We'll stow your bag below.'
Elizabeth followed him carefully down the steep companionway. There was a compact galley and two other cabins below, as well as extra sleeping bunks in the fo'c'sle. The cabin that Jack placed her bag in was surprisingly large, and the wood panelling and floor gleamed with the same loving polish that the rest of the vessel showed.
'It would probably be a good idea to change out of your skirt as well as your shoes. When the wind hits our sails you might find your modesty compromised,' Jack told her blandly.
Elizabeth gave him a prim look, although she had every intention of following his advice. 'I'll have your shirt laundered at the hotel before I return it,' she began, fingering the buttons, feeling suddenly very conscious of the wide, comfortable-looking double bunk behind her.
He shrugged. 'In that case you may as well keep it on. Once we get away from the protection of the "Grand Terre"—the mainland—there'll be a fair amount of salt spray on deck. No point in your ruining another clean blouse even before we reach the hotel.' As she opened her mouth to tell him she had no intention of wearing his clothing longer than necessary he continued glibly, 'Unless, of course, you have some personal reason for rejecting the most sensible alternative.'
Unfortunately her reason was all too personal. The thought that the silk against her skin had once sheathed his own lean, hard physique was disturbing. Lovers wore each other's clothes... Elizabeth was disgusted with herself for the wayward thought. He was right. The offer was the most practical, and, besides, at the moment she couldn’t think of a convenient lie to explain away her deep reluctance to being in his debt even in the simplest of ways.
'No, of course not,' she murmured awkwardly, and when he made no immediate move to leave she abruptly changed the subject. 'How many crew do you employ?'
He regarded her with a hint of puzzlement. 'You do have very odd preconceptions about me, Eliza-Beth
Lamb,' he enunciated softly. 'I don’t have to employ anyone, I'm quite capable of handling her all by myself. Although it does help to have someone on board who knows how to rig a sail. Ever done any sailing?'
Elizabeth shook her head, deciding to ignore his provocative pronunciation of her name. His remarks explained the roughness of his hands, so different from the pampered softness she had expected from a wealthy executive.