Chapter Sixteen
The next leg of their travels was decidedly less comfortable than the first.
Ian asked where they were going once, nicely. When neither Birdie nor Diana responded, he asked two more times with less charm. Eventually, Diana murmured, “France.”
He finally stopped pushing for more details when Birdie flashed her pistol at him.
The crew hand arranged for them, along with two of her lieutenants, to travel with tramp cargo as far as Biarritz, where they caught the train to Toulouse.
Their first-class carriage afforded them some privacy.
One of the sparrows handed Ian a paper to hide behind while he sat watch over the compartment.
They knew he wouldn’t leave Diana’s side, and he appreciated this unspoken understanding of their situation.
As Diana sat across from him, with her eyes pointed out the window, he perseverated over how much of their interlude at the brothel consumed her thoughts. Even in his panic to flee San Sebastian and determine their next move, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The way she’d trembled. The softness of her skin, at odds with the edge of pain he’d felt when she’d bitten his lip.
He’d said filthy things, things he’d only imagined telling her, and never in those fantasies had she responded with such fervor.
The unmarried society women of Diana’s acquaintance might be ashamed of such a transgression. That was the mores she’d been raised to follow. While her secret life with the Stags empowered her freedom, such moral judgments were hard to shake.
It took a fair amount of his strength to resist reaching across and tipping her chin so he could meet her gaze, so he could assure her she shouldn’t possess an ounce of shame about what had happened between them.
At sunset, they reached Toulouse and caught another train to Béziers. Birdie directed them out of the station and set off across the street, where a wagon waited.
Ian raised a brow at Diana.
She gave him the ghost of a smile. “It’s a short drive.”
The forced lightness in her voice betrayed the lie.
They ended up at a port south of Marseille hours later.
Birdie led them through the narrow wharves to a well-fitted yacht.
The sparrows boarded the vessel while Birdie hailed the port attendant.
The man sneered at her, and Diana intervened, firing off in rapid French about an immediate need to reach Monaco.
When Ian reached for his pistol, Diana held up her palm in warning before settling the bureaucratic matter with a less than subtle exchange of notes from Birdie’s pocket.
Diana turned to board, but Ian stopped her with a gentle pull on her arm. “I thought I was a part of this now.”
“You are.” She wriggled. “Ian, we don’t have time. We must make sail.”
“To Monte Carlo?” He kept his hold firm so he could spool her in closer, while he gently stroked her other arm.
“What do you want from me?” she asked hoarsely.
“No more secrets, Di. It’s foolish.”
“And you’ll tell me yours?”
“When we reach our destination.”
Her glance drifted to the yacht. At the bow of the ship, Birdie whistled a shanty tune as she tightened the jib sheet.
Diana watched the ship for a moment before she sputtered an exhale. “Yes, we’re going to Monte Carlo. And yes, I know this is the most obvious way to travel, which makes it less safe. But it’s the fastest. We must get there by tomorrow evening.”
“Why?”
“I’m following protocol.” Her eyes flicked to the boat again, and Ian pinched her chin to draw her attention back to him.
“Diana. What is it?”
“If I don’t make it to the signal point in Monte Carlo tomorrow, my handler is going to make assumptions.”
“They’ll think I’ve turned you into a rogue.” The apprehension in her eyes made tension build between his shoulders. “I can help clarify the circumstances. I can be very persuasive.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly. “We can’t undo what happened. But we also can’t delay another minute.”
She led him onto the boat, and Birdie stepped in his way to prevent him from trailing Diana to the bridge. “You know how to man a line?”
“Mainsheet or jib?”
“Start on the jib until we clear the harbor. Two hours on, two hours off.”
“Aye,” he murmured as Diana’s skirts disappeared below deck.
Shortly after dawn, they made port in Saint-Tropez to take on supplies.
With only an hour of shore time, Ian didn’t bother stopping in at the dockside tavern for a bath—he’d be working lines again on his return to the ship.
He bought a coffee and a fine buttered croissant at a café and made his way to the telegraph office.
When he returned to the yacht, Diana was waiting for him, wearing a detached expression. “Someone will track that wire.”
“Probably.”
“You at least have a code?”
“Do you have to ask?”
“Yes,” she said indignantly. Her lower lip protruded.
He couldn’t resist swiping it with his thumb. “You said I was in this. Trust me to work my end of it.”
His fingers had curled around her chin and, to his immense pleasure, she gripped his hand fiercely.
“Ian, you don’t know—”
“And whose fault is that?” He strained to keep his voice gentle, his caress tender. It was worth the effort when she looped her arms around his neck.
“I’m trying to protect you, you stubborn devil,” she murmured.
“It’s more dangerous keeping me in the dark.”
“I’m in the dark.”
“I know. And it’s terrifying you.”
Her mouth twitched around a silent protest, but it never rose past her lips. Instead, her eyes took on a shine that made Ian feel things he didn’t think still lingered in his heart or his soul.
She met him halfway in a kiss. The wind had chilled her lips, but the swipe of her tongue brought heat and spice, and he let her take control because he knew she needed it. And because he was lost in her, too easily.
Gently, he ended the kiss, but continued holding her. It gave him a small sense of assurance because he could defend their position.
“We’re in this together now,” he declared. “If they want you, they’ll have to come through me.”
When they finally arrived at the Monte Carlo townhouse tucked at the end of a quiet lane near the tranquil harbor, Diana felt no less exposed than she had on the open water.
Fatigue weighed her down. Ian battled exhaustion bravely, but she hated the dark circles that hung beneath his eyes. Almost as much as she hated retreating to a separate room upstairs after murmuring she’d take a tray for dinner and go straight to sleep.
She fought every instinct to invite him to follow her. It would have taken few words to convince him.
Neither of us should be on our own.
Lie beside me. It will be safer that way.
We won’t do anything but sleep.
The door to his bedroom on the floor below hers slammed shut. She hoped he was fighting his own battle to remain apart from her.
Inside her room, Diana found hot water, a freshly laundered nightdress, and two envelopes. One was bordered with black. The other had the seal of the local telegraph office.
She pulled off her sodden cloak and shawl and worked her way out of the ruined evening gown and corset. Her shift and drawers were damp and clung against her skin, setting a chill into her bones. As she peeled off the cloth, she caught sight of herself in the mirror above the dresser.
Lamplight fell against the swell of her breasts, and she brushed a cool hand over one. Slowly, her fingers reached for the hard peak of her nipple. She grazed it with the tip of her nail to reclaim the sensation of Ian’s teeth teasing her through the fabric of her dress.
Despite the seedy surroundings of the brothel in San Sebastian, and the fear that had choked her, the way he’d caressed and kissed her as he stoked her pleasure had been the most erotic experience of her life.
She’d begged for more. He hadn’t hesitated one second debating it before giving it to her.
After all her imaginings, all her plotting, it was disorienting to act on the desires she’d stifled for years. On some level, she’d hoped that it would curtail the feelings she’d fought off. But it had rendered the opposite effect.
It made her hunger for all of him.
It made her dare to dream she could have it.
Her attention turned to the letters sitting on the dresser, and she remembered the obstacles between them.
With a shiver, she pulled on her nightdress and locked the door against her temptation.
As Ian wove his way through the city center the next morning, Birdie trailed him. He was too tired for subterfuge and took coffee and a croissant at a market stall while he waited for the telegraph office to open.
Although physically exhausted from days of grueling travel, he’d slept lightly and little the night before; he’d wanted Diana in his bed more than his next breath.
In the crisp morning air, he resolved to spend the day reconnoitering the city, since returning to the townhouse would be too tempting.
If they found themselves alone together, he’d try to finish what they’d started at the brothel in San Sebastian.
Until a few days ago, he would have taken whatever access to her delicious body she’d offered without question. Now, he couldn’t separate the physical act of pleasure from the potential cost to his sanity and his soul.
When the telegraph office opened, there were two wires waiting for him. The first from Hepburn, confirming that Jared had departed for France. The second wire gave an address for a meeting point at a café in Monte Carlo’s Old Town.
Thankfully, a pair of matrons usurped the telegraph attendant’s full attention, which enabled Ian to duck through the back-office entrance and outside to the alley behind the building.
He turned the new frock coat he’d found in his wardrobe inside out and covered his head with a soft cap he’d bought in Saint-Tropez before he jogged from the Avenue Main to the cathedral.
Behind the church, he found a small square and a café.
The tables outside only had one occupant.