Daughter of the God-King(31)
Unable to resist the desire to dwell on how it had felt when he kissed her, she allowed herself to do so at some length. It was intoxicating—it was wonderful—but she didn’t know how she could face him again as though nothing had happened. Because it seemed evident he had no desire to be perceived by anyone—least of all herself—as a suitor; instead he had kissed her because he couldn’t help himself.
Which was odd in its own way, come to think of it; she was an eligible young woman and it was clear he was attracted to her, despite the fact he wrestled to resist that attraction. If she was an heiress—well, that was all to the good. She was vaguely aware that under normal circumstances, a man who took such liberties would be expected to make an offer forthwith. But she knew instinctively that no such offer would be forthcoming and indeed—she told herself firmly—she would not accept one as she did not know the first thing about him, other than he had admittedly lied to her and he was not who he said he was; hardly points to be toted up in his favor. There was only one thing she knew for certain; this was not the last time she would be held in such an embrace.
With a happy smile, she pulled the coverlet over her head.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Hattie awoke, heavy-eyed, to see sunlight glinting in under the cabin door. She was not certain of the time but guessed she had slept late—the price of debauchery—and swung her legs over the side to assess Bing’s state of health.
Her companion, however, was upright, dressed, and regarding herself in the small mirror hanging on the cabin wall with a critical eye. “You are recovered,” Hattie proclaimed with some surprise. “I am so glad.” This was to some extent insincere, but Hattie was encouraged to believe that Berry was the sort of man who could easily outfox a chaperone.
“Not as yet, my head aches abominably,” Bing confessed.
“Shall we go discover whether there is a cure for the cure?” Hattie was in a fever to see what was happening up on deck, and in particular whether there were any other battle casualties.
Pinning her hat firmly on her head, Bing acquiesced. “I do have need for some fresh air, I believe—if you are willing, Hathor.”
Needing no further encouragement, Hattie made ready to venture above decks before her companion could suffer a relapse. Although she was tempted to take the time to arrange her hair in a more becoming style, her desire to visit the scene of the cataclysmic events from last night took precedence, and so she quickly plaited her dark locks and decided a hat was unnecessary as it was only wont to blow off, anyway.
“You may wish to bring your parasol,” Bing suggested as she eyed her bareheaded charge. “Your face is a bit brown, Hathor.”
Upon emerging onto the quarterdeck, Hattie surveyed the immediate area, dutifully hoisting her parasol against the bright sunlight. Neither the captain nor Berry were in evidence, although a seaman was rinsing off the deck with a bucket and paused to tug at his cap. Hattie put her hand under Bing’s elbow to steady her, and the two women walked over to the gunwale and considered the shoreline, barely visible in the distance.
Vague about the particulars of their journey, Hattie asked, “Where are we, do you suppose?”
Her companion considered, her chin on her breast. “Portugal, I imagine.”
Hattie gazed with interest. “What will happen to Portugal, now?” The country had not fared well during the Peninsular War—after the betrayal by Spain it had been helpless when the French invaded and its losses had been staggering, particularly in those unfortunate towns between the port and Lisbon.
Bing held the brim of her hat against the sea breeze. “It is as yet unclear. The Congress of Vienna will make a determination—the recent unpleasantness has left matters in disarray.”
Hattie made a wry mouth at the euphemism, remembering the Prussian Ambassador’s heated criticism of the French Emperor. “More like one man has left matters in disarray.”
“One man could not cause a war of such magnitude,” Bing reminded her. “He has a plentitude of supporters.”
“He had a plentitude of supporters, you mean—now that he is shown to be merely mortal I cannot imagine he would inspire the same devotion. Why, he is fortunate to have survived so as to be packed off to Elba rather than be summarily executed, as the Ambassador suggested.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed the agreeable Bing. “There were many who demanded his blood.”
Her childhood companion came to Hattie’s mind, even though she hadn’t thought of him for several days. “I wonder how Robbie does, and whether he will return to the Congress after the funeral.”