Page 58 of The Cornish Widow

He was right about that, but that didn’t excuse her for having imbibed too much. She’d shown herself up and now he was refusing to let her forget it. “I didn’t realize I’d drunk so much.”

“You didn’t. You’re just not used to it, I’d say. We only had the two bottles between us, and I drank the lion’s share.”

She gave a little shrug, part turning so she could see him better and peeking out of the corner of her eyes. “Nevertheless, I should have known better.”

He didn’t appear at all bothered. In fact, he smiled. “You did nothing to show yourself up, if that’s what you’re worrying about. You never could, in my eyes.”

What? Her eyes widened at his words. What did he mean? His words held deep sincerity, she was certain.

He rolled onto his side without relinquishing his hold on her hand. “Harriet Penhallow, I believe I am growing fond of you.” His golden eyes fixed on hers, trapping them in his gaze, so firmly she couldn’t drag them away.

She stared, unsure how to reply to this. The deeper she looked into them, the less she could read in his expression. She floundered, her cheeks heating. Only once in her life had a man ever declared himself like this to her, and that had been Ben. And his proposal had been so overbearing. She hadn’t thought it at the time, but now she knew it had been. He’d told her they would marry, that they would live at first in London, near to his aunt, from whom he hoped to one day inherit, and then, when he had amassed some money, they would move to Bath. She’d had no opportunity to refuse him. He’d spoken with her father already and her answer, had it been required, had been a foregone conclusion. And anyway, she’d fancied herself in love with the handsome officer.

What should she say? Something that wasn’t trite and missish. Not that she’d ever been missish. What had Bertha once said to her? If in doubt, be honest. Was honesty the best bet here? She swallowed. “I own I am growing to like you a little too.”

Those golden eyes flashed for a moment with something like triumph, but he had them guarded in an instant. “Something I am happy to hear.” He smiled, relaxed once more. “I had feared initially that you held me in dislike and scorn. For my trade and for my manners in kidnapping you like this and taking you to France.”

“It was hardly kidnapping.”

He chuckled. “But I thought you assumed it was.” He pushed himself into a seated position, a little closer than he had been when prone, still with her hand captured in his own. And now, of a sudden, she no longer wished to snatch it back. Her heart, which had been gradually speeding up, began to pound. This was so silly. She wasn’t a green girl like Lyddie. She was a woman grown, married, widowed and mother to two children. She was not the sort of woman a gentleman of means, by-blow or not, would even consider. And yet here he was, staring at her out of his mesmerizing golden eyes as though she was something he greatly desired.

Another thought rose to the forefront. “I am not a woman to be trifled with,” she managed, a little stiffly. “I am no man’s mistress, and do not intend to be.” There, she’d said it, even though it had made her cheeks flame.

“And nor do I want you to be.”

“Oh.” What else was there to say? Conscious that her mouth was hanging open, she closed it with a snap. What did he mean by that?

He took a deep breath. “Harriet.” He closed his other hand around the first, her own hand trapped between the two, his thumbs gently massaging her skin, something that sent undeniable shivers coursing through her body.

“Yes?” She found she was breathless, her heart increasing its rate even more.

“Might I kiss you?”

The sails flapped overhead in the wind, a gull called and the wind whipped across the deck. Harriet stared at him in a state of absolute wonder. Ben had never asked for permission to kiss her. He’d just taken what he wanted when he wanted it with no thought to whether she shared his desires at that moment in time. But that was what men did, wasn’t it? And in return for the safety of a home, a woman complied. That was what her mother had told her before she died, advice she’d not been able to repeat on the morning of her wedding but which had hung over the ceremony and what had come after. “There’ll be things to put up with that you won’t like, Harriet. But grin and bear them, because they won’t last long, and in return a man will give you a home and children and keep you safe.” Not all of which had come true. Hardly any of it, in fact.

She stared at Jack’s slightly parted lips. Oh, she wanted him to kiss her, but that would mean she was doing just what Ben had always accused her of doing. If only she could take a swig of wine, or better still, strong spirit, right now for confidence. If only she could find it in her to say yes and let him fold her into his arms against that strong chest like he’d done last night. Only then might she feel safe. But she had to make a decision, because he was waiting for her.

“Yes.” It came out as a strangled whisper, startling herself with her own boldness.

He shifted closer, but he didn’t attempt to hold her. Instead, he leaned in, his face drawing closer.

She glimpsed his dark lashes, the stubble on his chin, a look in his eyes she didn’t recognize, before she closed her eyes, feeling like a girl about to experience her first kiss. Which, in a way, she was. Ben’s attentions had not often been so personal as to begin with kissing.

His lips brushed hers, soft, gentle, undemanding. Warm.

A little shiver of excitement ran through her. For just a fraction of a second, she was able to enjoy the sensation, and then, from nowhere, the specter of Ben’s last visit home before embarking for the continent, Waterloo and his death, leapt into her head. The embraces he’d forced upon her, taken by right because, as he so liked to inform her, she was his chattel and nothing more and he could do with her what he willed. The embraces she’d had to steel herself to bear in silence, lest her cries woke the children or servants.

Suddenly, those weren’t Jack’s lips on hers. She jerked back from his kiss, her heart hammering with fear this time.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” His golden eyes showed only confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she gabbled. “I shouldn’t have let you do that. It’s all my fault. I-I—” Her words trailed away and she felt a sob rising in her throat. She’d spoiled the moment. Ben had reared his ugly head and driven a wedge between them before anything had even begun. He always would. She could never escape him.

She was saved from further explanation by an excited shout. “Ship to starboard side, Cap’n.” Young Clemo, who’d rather daringly climbed onto the gunwales, stood pointing out to sea, one hand on the ropes that held the mast up, his bare, almost prehensile feet gripping the wooden railing.

The aborted kiss forgotten, Jack leapt to his feet, pulling a short telescope out of an inside pocket in his waistcoat. “Where?”

“There, Cap’n. East-nor’east.”