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Nick stretched out his long legs on the roughly made bunk and regarded with disfavour the evidence of what seemed to be a constant state of arousal. Will-power did not seem to work, neither did the illusory safety of a thin wooden barrier shut Anusha out of his imagination.
He eased his sweaty back against the pillows, uncomfortable in the heat. To call the spaces they were sleeping in cabins was a wild exaggeration—cupboards was more like it. There were no portholes and, with the hatch closed as it was at night, precious little ventilation.
Nick got up and rolled his shoulders experimentally. Not too bad, he thought. Luckily he had always healed well and he doubted anyone observing him would realise how bad the wound had been. He pulled on the pajama trousers and a kurta that was loose over his bandages, picked up his musket and a pillow and eased open the door. Then he wedged Anusha’s door ajar and climbed the ladder to unbolt and push open the hatch onto the deck.
On the flat expanse of sand the small crew were gathered around a fire, talking quietly now their meal was finished. Soon they would be asleep, a man at each of the four mooring ropes, one at the foot of the gangplank, the others on the cook boat.
He laid the pillow by the open hatch, put the musket within reach, slid his dagger under the pillow and stretched out. Like this some air would filter down to Anusha and he would have the relief of several more feet between them. His wound throbbed, his groin ached, but the air, at least, was cool on his hot body. Nick willed himself to sleep.
* * *
‘Teach me about etiquette.’ Anusha was proud of herself for getting her tongue around the word. Her first word of French. ‘What must I know?’
Nick, slumped in the canvas chair, sat up and sighed. ‘I find it a dead bore at the best of times: I am not a dratted governess!’
‘Please. I do not wish to seem foolish.’
‘Very well. When you meet someone new you should wait to be introduced. If you are of higher rank than they are, they will be presented to you, and the other way around. If they are the same rank as you, then you defer to an older person.
‘Then you curtsy. After that, if they are of higher rank and you meet them, you make a little curtsy. For everyone else, a slight bow of the head, or shaking hands.’
‘Show me how to curtsy,’ she demanded.
‘How should I know? I can’t see under ladies’ skirts when they are doing it!’ Anusha merely waited. She was finding that if she gazed soulfully at Nick for long enough he usually did what she wanted over trivial matters. She had not tried it in any major clash of wills yet.
‘Er...put your heels together, toes apart. Now bend your knees outwards, keep your back straight and sink down.’ He frowned as she obeyed. This was no effort, her thigh muscles were strong. ‘That looks about right—and up again. The more important the person, the lower you curtsy.’
‘That was easy. And bowing my head?’
He stood up and inclined his head. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Laurens.’
She copied him. ‘Good afternoon, Major Herriard. That is easy too. But shaking hands? I only do that with ladies?’
‘Oh, no, anyone of rank.’
‘Men? I touch hands with them?’
‘Certainly. Some may then kiss your hand.’ Anusha whipped both hers behind her back. ‘Come, let me show you—you will be wearing gloves, of course.’ Nick held out his right hand. ‘Give me your right hand.’
Their fingers slid together. His big, warm hand enveloped hers as he closed the grip in a light squeeze, then released her. Surely he could feel her blush from its heat, let alone see it! He must be able to feel her pulse, jumping erratically, as she had felt his, strong and steady. His palms were slightly rough, with rider’s calluses. Anusha hid her hands again.
‘No, it is nothing, the merest pleasantry,’ he assured her. ‘Now, pretend we are at a reception and you have been introduced to me. Give me your hand again, palm down, like this.’ She copied him, wary. Nick caught the ends of her fingers in his, bent, raised the back of her hand almost to his mouth and kissed the air a rice-grain’s width above her skin, released her hand and bowed. ‘Miss Laurens, you are in great beauty this evening. Now you curtsy and smile and say You are too kind, Major Herriard.’
‘You are too bold, you mean!’ She took a step back, hands gripped together. His breath had feathered the sensitive skin on the back of her hand. She had felt his lips even though they had not touched her, and her pulse was all over the place. ‘That is indecent—and I am meant to endure those caresses from men I have only just met?’
