Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“ W hat is taking so damnably long?” demanded Orlov. “We should have reached Southampton long before now.”
Shannon took her cloak down from its peg. “The captain heard rumors of a French corsair cruising off Land’s End. He was forced to head north around the Scilly Islands to avoid any chance of an encounter. And now . . .” She paused, listening to the crack of canvas and the thud of footsteps on the deck above. “The weatherglass shows a storm approaching. I imagine it will mean further delay.”
He muttered an oath.
“If I were you. I would not be quite so eager to set foot on English soil.”
“Newgate would be preferable to this cursed hellhole. At least its floors do not dance around like a damned dervish.” Orlov drew in a breath and let it out in disgust. “And surely the stench could be no worse than this god-awful bilge water. ”
Shannon couldn’t blame him for being in a foul temper. She, too, would be swearing if she were confined in such a dark damp space. A sidelong glance showed that the Russian was looking pale as the underbelly of a dead fish beneath the stubbling of fair whiskers.
Theirs eyes met, and she saw his jaw tighten. “Let me come with you.”
“The captain’s orders . . .” she began.
“To hell with his orders.” Defiance flashed in his eyes, along with an unspoken plea. “Bloody hell, it is like being trapped in a coffin down here. I am not used to such inaction. Surely you can appreciate what I mean.”
A knock on the door signaled the appointed time for her exercise on deck. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and slipped out. But in a few minutes she returned with an extra oilskin. “Here—and be quick about it, before the captain changes his mind.”
Though his movements were stiff, Orlov managed to navigate the steep ladder and hatchway without a slip. Crossing the deck, he leaned on the ship’s rail, and lifted his face to the salty breeze. “Thank you,” he murmured, after drawing in a deep breath. There was no trace of his usual sarcasm.
She took up a position by his side, ready to steady his footing against the pitch of the deck. They stood silent for some time, a strange harmony flowing between them as they listened to the wind sing through the rigging and the waves drum against the hull.
Then, moved by his pensive expression, she ventured a question. “Are the Russian steppes as vast as the ocean?”
“Yes,” he replied. “There is the same sense of freedom, of a limitless horizon, despite the trees.” He glanced upward. “And the sky—it is the same. A stretch of infinite possibilities.”
Shannon looked thoughtfully at the constellations. “I should like to learn the art of navigating by the stars.”
His brow winged up, mirroring the sliver of crescent moon. “Do you ever feel lost?”
She wasn’t quite sure how to reply. The truth would expose a weakness, make her vulnerable. She could hear her fencing master’s exhortations ringing in her ears —Non, non, non, Falconi! Never drop you guard—a skilled opponent will seize an opening, mental or physical, and drive his blade home.
Orlov seemed unaware of her hesitation. Before she could speak, he ran a hand through his hair and gave voice to his own answer. “Orion and Ursus Major look so sure of their position in the firmament. While I often fear I have drifted to some dark corner, far beyond the reach of any light.”
Such melancholy musings took her completely by surprise. She knew that the man had cavalier courage and a rapier wit. But this abstract brooding was a whole new facet of his character. A man who was capable of self-doubt? He suddenly seemed more . . . human.
The illusion lasted no longer than the scudding glimmer of starlight on the waves. His mouth quirked, and as he turned to light up one of the captain’s cheroots, he gave a curt laugh. “But then, I awake in the arms of some sumptuous ladybird and find I am exactly where I belong.”
The cynicism sounded a bit forced. Rather than react with a barbed retort, she slanted another look at the heavens. “According to Greek mythology, Orion was a hunter pursued by the goddess Diana. When she accidentally killed him, she begged the gods to immortalize him in the night sky. If you follow the line of his belt, it leads to the North Star.”
“Is that supposed to have some special significance for me?” he asked coolly. “An arctic star for an arctic soul?”
Shannon matched his nonchalance. “Only that there are times when we all can use a guiding light.”
He seemed lost in thought for several moments. “What of you, Shannon. You seem to march along with steadfast steps, undaunted by any obstacle in your path. It’s hard to imagine anything coming between you and your chosen destination.”
Did she appear so certain of herself? Feeling that the conversation was drifting into uncharted waters, she didn’t answer. There were too many dangers on which to run aground.
To her relief, the Russian seemed content to steer clear of further questions. Leaning back, he exhaled a series of perfect smoke rings.
“Clouds are blowing in fast from the west,” she said at last. “No doubt we are in for some rough sailing. We had better go below.”
The deck was already heaving wildly as Orlov stumbled into their cabin. How he hated ocean voyages! On land he could cling to the illusion of having some control over his destiny .
Shannon caught him as his knees buckled. “In your weakened condition, you ought not be on your feet, sir.”
Her cheek grazed his, igniting his simmering frustrations. Turning, he captured her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss. “Is that an offer to warm my sheets, golub ?” The touch of her lips sent heat spiraling through his limbs. He deepened his embrace, holding her tightly, like she was his only lifeline.
It was as if he had broken loose of his moorings and would be lost at sea without her.
“Damn you!” Outrage flooded her voice as she fought to break away.
Beneath his hands, he felt the ripple of lithe muscle. Her shoulders were smooth, sleek, and the sudden twist caused his hold to slip . . . But there wasnothing unyielding about her breasts. Soft and sweetly rounded, they fit perfectly into the curve of his palm.
“Damn you.” But the force was gone from her voice. When he looked in her eyes, he saw something other than anger. In the wildly swinging arc of the binnacled lamp, her eyes were a swirling seafoam green. A hue of unfathomable intensity. A man could drown in their depths.
He kissed her again, mindless of the rising fury of the storm. Everything was spinning. The hull shuddered, the beams groaned. Or was it his own rasping sound as he savored the velvety softness of her mouth. Orlov closed his eyes for an instant, willing the moment to last for an eternity.
“Valkyrie.” She tasted of salt and a sweetness beyond words.
Was it merely the gusting gale or were her hands threading through his hair, drawing his body into hers .
“No.”
The sea witch spell was broken by the whisper of her breath. Orlov reluctantly loosened his hold, allowing a sliver of space to come between their faces.
“Very well,” he rasped. “I shall not force my attentions on you again.” Summoning a ghost of a grin, he added, “Not until you ask.”
“Ask you to ravish me?” She hesitated, her expression lost for a fleeting moment in the rocking shadows. “Hell will freeze over before that happens.”
“Cold comfort, indeed.”
Her hands unclenched from his collar, but did not fall away. “You are quite fond of using your biting wit as a weapon,” she said slowly.
“Most of the time, humor is infinitely preferable to the alternative.” Orlov looked away, afraid she might see the uncertainty in his gaze. He suddenly felt vulnerable, and hated himself for it. His voice hardened. “One day you will learn that it is one of the keys to survival in the grim world we both inhabit. Even more so than bullets and blades.”
“And you wield it very well. It’s only now that I see how skillfully you use it for defense as well as offense.”
He forced a sardonic curl to his mouth. “Do not presume to know the full range of my arsenal, Shannon. Or how I may choose to employ it. ”
“Warfare is the Tao of deception,” she murmured. “I am trained to parry whatever weapon you wield.”
“I, too, can quote from Sun Tzu—first make yourself invincible. Are you invincible, golub ?”
“Are you?” she countered, refusing to be distracted
At that moment a monstrous wave slammed into the hull, knocking them up against the shuddering timbers. His jaw tightened as his face fell into shadow. “The devil take it, is there not another stash of brandy somewhere in here?”
This time it was he who tried to break away, but Shannon kept hold of his coat. “It’s not drink or drugs that you need.”
“Spare me the lecture on morality,” he snarled. “I don’t need advice, I need oblivion.”
“Yet yesterday you claimed to be in harmony with your own inner demons.”
“As you see, I lied.” He shrugged. “It’s an unfortunate habit of mine.”
Her fingers threaded lightly through his tangled hair, brushing it back from his brow. “You need not be embarrassed. We all have moments when we feel . . . alone.”
“Trust me golub . There is nothing I would like better than to be alone at this moment. I am by nature a lone wolf, and aside from the occasional wench to warm my sheets, I vastly prefer my own company to that of anyone else. So, unless you have changed your mind about offering up your maidenhood, let us seek our own beds.”
Orlov saw her cheeks flame in anger as he pulled free of her touch. He much preferred the look of ire to one of sympathy.
“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” she said caustically. “Obviously, Shakespeare never met the likes of you.” With a toss of her curls, she turned away. “To my mind, the final lines in this farce cannot come quickly enough.”
“Land ho!” The cry echoed through the cabin as the ship broke through the fog and tacked for the harbor of Southampton. The storm had broken during the early morning hours and the seas had subsided to a gentle swell. Footsteps thumped over the deck and shouts rang out from aloft, punctuated by the snap of wet canvas as the crew trimmed the sails.
“So, what are you going to do with me?” Orlov’s brow quirked in question as he watched Shannon begin to stow her belongings in her bag,
A good question.
She looked away. Damn the man. Duty demanded a dispassionate assessment of the circumstances. The Russian had escaped once from Lynsley’s pursuit. Now that she had him as her prisoner, there was no question that the rogue should be handed over to her superiors.
Or was conscience a higher authority?
Sensing her dilemma, he shrugged. “Don’t torture yourself, golub . Perhaps the marquess will be in a merciful mood and not hang me out for the crows at Newgate.”
“Damn you.” This time she muttered the oath aloud. “No doubt I should be strung up from the yardarm for dereliction of duty, but . . .” She sighed. “I shall turn my back for one moment once we are on the docks. One moment —is that clear? When I look back, you had better be gone.”
“I owe you a rather large debt of gratitude, Shannon.” As he bowed, he slipped a hand inside his boot. “Allow me to hand over a parting memento before I go.” He tossed her silver dagger atop her sea bag. “I trust it is none the worse for wear.”
“If you truly wish to repay me, you will do your best to make sure we never meet again.”