She answered him truthfully. ‘You gave me more pleasure just now than Stephen did in two days and nights.’ You gave me as much pleasure as that boy had done, so long ago, even though I ache because I need you inside me.
Alistair laughed and caught her to him for another kiss. As they stood there, her arms twined round his neck she said, ‘Do you want your gift?
‘Of course!’ He sounded eager, almost the young Alistair that the present had been intended for all those years ago.
‘Where is my reticule?’ They found it on the floor and she pulled out the package and handed it to him and watched as he flattened out the crumpled label.
‘Happy birthday?’
‘I was going to give it to you the day you left home. I tossed it into the secret drawer of my jewellery box when I realised you were gone. Then I found it again, quite recently. I thought it might amuse you.’ She shrugged, ‘I will not vouch for the embroidery—I think I will have improved since I was sixteen.’
‘You were sixteen when I left?’ He frowned at her. ‘I suppose you must have been. Dita, did we quarrel, that last day? There was something, some memory in the back of my mind that I cannot catch hold of. Dreams like smoke. A kiss? But that cannot be right: I would not have kissed you.’ She thought he muttered, Let alone more, but she was not certain. ‘God, I was drunk that night. The whole thing was such a hellish mess I can’t recall properly.’
‘Yes, we quarrelled,’ she lied. He does not recall making love, his anger, the things he said afterwards. He must have been beside himself. ‘And I cried and you … I left.’
‘Ah.’ The tarnished silver paper flashed in the light as he turned it over in his hands. ‘What are you going to give me for my birthday this year if I open this now?’
‘It depends upon what you deserve,’ she said, and tried to keep her voice light to match his tone.
‘Mmm.’ The low growl held a wealth of promise as the paper tore away to reveal the comb case, wavy stripes of amber and gold and black on one side, on the other a tiger, copied painstakingly from a print in her father’s library. The stitching was a little uneven, the sewing not quite smooth.
‘You made me a tiger?’ Alistair slid the comb out and then back, turning the case in his hands. ‘You had powers of prediction?’
‘No. I always thought you had tiger’s eyes,’ she confessed. ‘When I was a little girl I used to dream you would turn into a tiger at night and stalk the corridors of the castle.’
Alistair stared at her from those same uncanny amber eyes. ‘I frightened you that much?’
‘No, of course not. I thought it was exciting. You know you never frightened me, even when you were angry with me. You looked after me.’
‘I did, didn’t I.’ There was a silence that was strangely awkward while he stood there, quite still except for the restless fingers that turned the comb case over in his hands. Then, just as she opened her mouth to break it, he pushed the gift into his pocket and took up the lantern.
‘We shouldn’t have done that, Dita,’ he said flatly. She stared at him as he turned the magic of their lovemaking into an ill-judged romp with his matter-of-fact words. ‘You look a little ruffled—we had best go up the companionway at the end here and account for that with some sea air. Ready?’
It was as though another man entirely had come into the cabin: brisk, efficient and practical. ‘A good idea,’ Dita said, chilled, and followed him as he stepped with wary care into the corridor.
Chapter Nine
Alistair looked from the charming, slightly clumsy piece of embroidery in his hands and up to the generous mouth he had kissed until it was red and swollen. And then up again and into the green eyes that were Dita’s, just as they always looked, unchanged even though he had taken her with careless lust. He had seen the sophisticated, adult Dita at Government House and somehow she and the girl in his memory had seemed separate individuals; now, with her gift in his hand, the two slid together, became one.
It had been very strange, that feeling that they had done this before, that she had lain in his arms, that his lips had tasted the tender skin of her breasts, stroked those long, slim legs. It must be because he had known her so well. And those frequent dreams: confused, erotic, troubling dreams touched with anger and betrayal, all mxed with the memories of how he had left home.
The last thing he needed was her becoming in some way attached to him. Lovemaking was all very well, but perhaps he had underestimated her experience. His brain felt as though he had a fever, but one thing was clear: Dita might not be a virgin, but she was inexperienced. The man she had eloped with had obviously been a clumsy boor and now he had shown her a glimpse of what lovemaking could be like. He suspected he had given her her first orgasm.
Alistair led her up the companionway and on to the foredeck. Other passengers had come out, too, but they were laughing and talking and listening to the sailors playing, not paying any attention to two of their number who appeared to have strayed a little further along the deck to catch the warm breeze.
‘There—safe,’ he said, giving his neckcloth a final tug.
‘Indeed.’ Dita was a good actress, he thought with gratitude. Her voice was cool even though she looked flushed and a little … a little loved. He had thought her still a skinny beanpole, but now he had caressed those slight curves he knew he had been wrong: she was perfect and made for his touch. Her skin glowed under its slight golden tan, her lower lip pouted with a fullness that held the promise of passion with its potential still unfulfilled. Dita raised one hand and curled the
loose ringlet around it and his body tightened at the memory of those slender fingers circling his flesh, the ache to sheathe himself in her tight, wet heat.
Perhaps he had been worrying unnecessarily and she was sophisticated enough for these kind of games. He would wait and see.
Some of the passengers had begun to dance a country jig. Alistair caught Dita’s hand and almost ran down to join them, whirling her into the end of the line next to the elder Miss Whyton and Lieutenant Tompkins.
‘Mistletoe!’ Miss Whyton cried as Dita was spun past her, on down between the row of dancers by the lieutenant. ‘Wherever did you get that?’
But she was safely down to the other end now and Alistair made himself focus on the steps as he caught her hands and waited for their turn to dance to the other end.