‘Friendship and loyalty now, those are another matter. I like you, Dita. I want you and I am doing my damndest to balance those two things because I owe you loyalty.’
‘You call licking my ear—’
‘I never said I was a saint,’ he said with a grimace. ‘I take my pleasures where I can. And you, my darling Dita, are certainly a pleasure.’
‘Oh, you … you maddening man. Just keep out of my way from now on. No help, no defending me from other men, no teasing, no games. Nothing. Do you understand me?’
‘But of course.’ Alistair sketched a bow. ‘Behold, your most indifferent servant—until you ask me to behave otherwise. May I hold the door for you, or is that too demonstrative?’
Dita glared, beyond any retaliation. Inside something hurt. She wanted the old Alistair back, the boy, her friend. Instead she had this man whom she desired beyond safety or reason and who she could not understand any more than she understood herself just at the moment.
‘Far too demonstrative,’ she snapped, opened the door and swept out.
Chapter Twelve
Alistair was as good as his word. His manner was polite, impeccable, indifferent and drove her wild with desire. The cynical part of her wondered if he knew that. However, he still attended the evening meetings of what Daniel Chatterton had christened the ‘editorial committee’. As they left Madeira behind them the novel reached chapter thirty, enlivened now by the swordfight, pirates, the attempted keelhauling of the hero with a dramatic escape and the unfortunate Angelina still barely eluding the clutches of the evil Blackstone.
‘Who is not exerting himself very hard in that direction,’ Dita heard Alistair mutter to Daniel as they left the deck after a spirited discussion of the day’s incidents.
Neither are you, thank goodness, she thought, attempting to be glad of it. But the fact that Alistair was behaving perfectly did not mean that her own treacherous feelings were as obedient. She still wanted him, still longed to touch him. And she wanted their old friendship back as well. She wanted, she was well aware, the moon.
The light was fading fast and Dita reminded herself they were not yet halfway through March. It was chilly now they were in the Bay of Biscay, the ladies put heavy cloaks over their shawls before venturing out and Averil, brought up from childhood in India, shivered.
‘How much longer, Captain?’ she asked as they crowded into the cuddy, cheerful and warm with its lamps burning in their gimbals and the smell of the baked goods the cook had sent up with tea.
‘Impatient, Miss Heydon?’ He smiled. ‘We have made good time, you know. Provided we do not run into any trouble with French warships, or privateers—and the captain of British navy brig we encountered two days ago thinks we should not—and the wind holds, then I expect to sight Land’s End in two days and you should be on land in Plymouth the day after that.’
Most of the passengers, Dita included, would disembark at Plymouth and travel overland to their destinations, even those heading for London. After so long at sea the chance to be free of the ship more than made up for the trials of road travel.
‘Are you London-bound, Lady Perdita?’ Alistair asked her as she sipped her tea. He passed her the cakes, taking care not to touch her hand, she thought. Or perhaps she was being too sensitive. This distance was what she wanted, wasn’t it?
‘No. I shall go home to Combe,’ she said, with a smile of pleasure at the thought. ‘We will go up to London for the Season a little late, but Mama did not wish to make firm plans—the length of the voyage is so unpredictable.’
‘I will escort you then. I am returning to Lyndonholt Castle.’
‘There is no need,’ Dita protested, then caught herself. Her alarm at the thought of being in a close carriage with Alistair for a long day’s journey must sound as though she did not trust him. It was herself she did not trust. ‘Thank you, but I would not want to inconvenience you. Mr Bastable must get up to town immediately we land, but Mrs Bastable is going to stay with Averil and me until we are collected. My father will come for me and Averil’s betrothed will presumably send a carriage and a maid for her.’
‘But do you want to wait?’ Alistair passed her a biscuit, but she shook her head, too undecided to think about food. ‘Mrs Bastable can select a reliable maid that your parents would approve of. I will hire a chaise for you and a horse for myself.’
‘Thank you. I must admit that when I have landed I am sure I will not want anything more than to be home.’ She put her hand on his forearm and felt him stiffen. She lifted it away. ‘You are very kind, Alistair.’
No,’ he said, his smile thin. ‘I am a selfish devil; you would do well to remember that, Dita.’
‘Are you cold, too?’ Averil asked. Dita jumped and stopped watching Alistair’s back as he left the cabin. ‘You are shivering as much as I am. Shall we change into something warmer before supper?’
Wednesday 15th March—off the Isles of Scilly
‘We will put into Hugh Town on St Mary’s tomorrow, Mrs Bastable,’ the captain said as the steward cleared the cheese board from the supper table. ‘That storm last night has taken us west, and it will be as well to check the ship in quiet waters before we enter the Channel, but it will not delay us long.’
Alistair stretched his legs under the table, bumped feet with Daniel who was discussing fox hunting with George Latham, and grimaced. Oh, to be on land, stretching his legs. To run, to ride, to feel grass under his feet and a gentler sun on his skin. To have the freedom to be alone without the constant need to make conversation and allowances. Without the constant, aching, nearness of Dita Brooke. Marriage. Her question had both surprised him and made him wary. She wanted love, and that he could not give her. It was unfair to dally with her, to tease her into an unconsummated affaire, he kept reminding himself. So far that resolution had held.
‘English soil at last,’ the matron said with a sigh, dragging her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. ‘An English spring. It is twelve years since I last saw one of those. Can we not go into harbour tonight, Captain Archibald?’
‘No, ma’am, I’m afraid not. We must wait here at anchor until a pilot rows out to us at first light. The waters around the Isles are littered with reefs and rocks and sand bars and are not safe to be approached in the dark.’
‘I had no idea spring in England would be so chilly,’ Averil remarked. ‘I thought the sun would shine and it would be warmer than this.’
‘Not on a March night, Miss Heydon,’ Callum said with a grin. ‘Ne’er cast a clout til May be out, is the saying. It will be a while before we have temperatures that you might consider even passably warm enough for you to break out your pretty muslins.’