His brows snapped together as he took the step that brought them toe to toe. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We were pressed very close together. Did you think I would not notice, or not understand? I am not an innocent.’ What had possessed her to say that? The fact that he was obviously thinking of her as a child to be extracted from scrapes, even though his body was well aware of her age? He really does not remember that last night, she thought. He had been drinking, a little, when she had gone into his arms; she had tasted the brandy on his lips, but he had not been drunk.
‘No, you’re not, are you?’ Alistair agreed, his voice silky as he moved again, turning them both so that he was between her and the door. Once she had been small and lithe enough to slip from his hands, evade his clumsy adolescent attempts to control her. Now he was a mature man, with a man’s strength, and he was not going to let her go. Not until he was ready. She was angry and a little frightened and, it was disturbing to realise, aroused by the fact. ‘You would be wise to behave as though you were.’
‘I mean—’ Dita bit her tongue. But she was not going to explain herself to Alistair and tell him that her only experience was their eager, magical, lovemaking. If he chose to believe that she had lost her virginity to Stephen Doyle, that was up to him. She could hardly accuse him of failing to understand her, when she couldn’t forgive herself for going off with the man. ‘I mean, why should I trouble to pretend, with you?’
‘Is that an invitation, Dita?’ He was so close now that she had to tip her head back at an uncomfortable angle to look up at him. He gave her a little push and she was trapped against the massive table.
‘No,’ she said with all the composure she could muster. ‘It is an acknowledgement that we were … friends, once, a long time ago and I do not think you have changed so much that you would deliberately hurt me now.’
‘And an affaire would hurt?’ He lowered his head so his mouth was just above hers. His lids were low over those dangerous eyes and she stared at the thick fringe of spiky black against his tanned cheek. Not a young man’s fresh skin any more. There were small scars, fine lines at the corners of his eyes. Her gaze slid lower. He hadn’t shaved yet that morning and the stubble showed darker than she remembered. Alistair’s mouth was so close now that she could kiss him if she chose.
I do not choose, she told herself fiercely. ‘Naturally.’ And an affaire is all you would consider, isn’t it? You’ve as much pride as I have and you wouldn’t offer to marry another man’s leavings. And I am not the girl I was, the one who was dazzled by you and had no idea what the fire was she was playing with that night. I am the woman who desires you and who knows that to surrender would be my undoing and the last blow to my reputation. I must be sensible.
She made herself shrug, then realised that her hands had come up to clasp his upper arms, her fingers pressed against the bulge of muscle. Dita made herself open her hands and pressed them instead to his chest. Pushing was hopeless, but it gave her at least the illusion of resistance.
‘A dalliance with you, Alistair, would doubtless be delightful—you have so much experience, after all. But I have my future to consider. In this hypocritical world you may dally all you wish and still find yourself an eligible bride. I must do what I may to repair my image. One slip, with my name and my money, might be overlooked. Two, never.’
‘You are very cool about it, Dita. Where’s the impulsive little creature I remember?’ His right hand moved up her shoulder and she stiffened, refusing to give in to the shiver of need running through her. Between her legs the intimate pulse throbbed with betraying insistence and she made herself stand still, expecting him to cup her head and hold her for his caress. Instead his hand curled round her neck and pulled the long plait out of the back of her shirt.
‘Where’s the intense, straightforward young man of my memory?’ she countered as he twisted her hair around his hand and tugged gently.
‘Oh, he is still intense,’ Alistair said. ‘Just rather less straightforward.’ He was close enough for her to see the pulse in his throat, exposed by the open-necked shirt. Close enough to smell the fresh linen and the soap he had used that morning and the salt from the sea breeze and the sweat from that rapid climb to reach her.
Dita closed her eyes. He was going to kiss her and she was not strong-willed enough to stop him, nor, in her heart, did she want to. One kiss could not matter; it would not be of any importance to him. He pulled gently on the plait and she swayed towards him, blind, breathless, and felt his warmth against her upper body in the thin cotton. His knuckles brushed her cheek, his breath feathered over her mouth and she tipped her face up, remembering the feel of his lips on hers, the sensual slide of his tongue as he had explored her mouth while he sprawled on the ground.
Nothing happened. Confused, Dita opened her eyes and looked straight into his dark, amused amber gaze where her reflection was trapped like a fly. Alistair flicked the tip of her nose with the end of her plait and stepped back. She swayed and threw out her hands to grip the edge of the table to keep from falling
‘As always, I will do my best to keep you out of trouble, Dita my dear.’ He sauntered to the head of the companionway leading down to the lower deck and the Great Cabin and paused at the top. ‘The stewards are on their way, Dita. What are you waiting for?’
Chapter Six
What am I waiting for? A kiss? An apology? The strength to walk over there and slap that beautiful, assured, sardonic face? Whatever it was, she was not going to let him see how shaken she felt, how close she was to reaching for him. Dita blinked back angry tears, furious with herself and with Alistair.
‘Waiting for? Why, nothing.’ It was quite a creditable laugh and really should have been accompanied by the flutter of a fan. ‘I had thought you might have wanted a reward for your gallant rescue just now, but obviously you are not as predictable as I thought you were.’ The door to the roundhouse was mercifully close. ‘I will see you at breakfast perhaps, my lord.’
Something showed in his face, just for a second. Admiration? Regret? Dita got safely through the door and ran, her hand pressed against her mouth to stifle the furious sob that was struggling to emerge.
‘Dita!’ Averil’s startled cry stopped her dead in her tracks. ‘What on earth are you doing dressed like that?’
Dita pushed back the canvas flap of her own cabin and pulled her friend inside. ‘Shh!’ The walls were the merest curtains, enough for an illusion of privacy only. She pulled Averil down to sit beside her on the bed. ‘I have been climbing the rigging,’ she muttered.
‘No! Like that?’ Averil whispered back.
‘Of course, like this. I could hardly do it in a gown, now could I?’
‘No. I suppose not. I was going to come and see if you were ready for a walk before breakfast. I thought if the other ladies weren’t out there we could walk faster and stretch our legs.’
‘Without having to stop every minute to exclaim over an undone bonnet ribbon or bat our eyelashes at a man?’ Dita stood up to pull off the kurta and Averil modestly looked away as she tugged off the trousers. ‘Pass my chemise, would you? Thank you.’ Her stomach was churning with what she could only suppose was a mixture of unsatisfied desire and sheer temper.
‘Did you really climb up? All the way? What if someone had seen you?’ Averil clasped her hands together in horror.
‘Someone did.’ Dita unrolled a pair of stockings and began to pull them on. She had to tell someone, pour it all out, and Averil was the only person she could trust. ‘Alistair Lyndon. And he climbed up after me and made me come down.’
‘How awful!’ Averil got up to help lace Dita’s light stays.
‘I was glad to see him, if truth be told,’ she admitted, prepared to be reasonable now that Averil was aghast. ‘Or, rather, I was glad when he came after me. My first instinct when he told me to come down was to climb higher and then I wished I hadn’t! It is much harder work than I realised and my legs were beginning to shake and when I looked down everything seemed to go round and round in circles.’