He had no idea, and he wasn’t one for thinking deeply about the opposite sex.

Women, he knew, were trouble.

Best to keep things simple.

On deck he spied the jib sail hastily folded and squashed between the mast and the hatch cover. He spread it out on the cabin top, and they lay down together, folding the edges of the jib over their exposed flesh.

It was a cozy yet tantalizing shelter. He put his arm behind her head, and she pressed her hip tightly against him. Together, they looked up, beyond the gently swaying boom with its loosely furled sail, to the stars.

“Tonight is different from any other night I’ve ever had,” Poppy murmured. “When I saw my mother in that painting, it was like I woke up from a dream. Everything’s crisper now. Bolder.”

She looked at him and smiled.

It was hard for him to remember to breathe. She was gorgeous. Her hair, a dark, coppery forest, fell about her creamy shoulders and breasts. Her hip was an alabaster hill that sloped away to long, slender legs.

He leaned over her and kissed her, and while he did, he explored the soft depths of her most feminine flesh with his fingers, reveling in the sighs of pleasure she was making into his own mouth.

“Nicholas,” she murmured, and he continued his finger play.

In the next few seconds, he switched positions, not a small feat on top of the small boat. He was back at his favorite spot, in between her legs, his mouth on the sweet core of her femininity.

“Oh, thank heavens,” she said breathily, arching her back. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this since you—”

He lifted his head. “This time you don’t have to be silent,” he said into the soft mound of curls between her thighs. Then he went back to playing with her flesh with his tongue, sipping and kissing and taking his fill.

“This is bliss,” she whispered, and wrapped her hands around his head, grabbing for him, pressing him closer. In an ancient motion echoed by the gently rocking boat, her hips lifted to meet his probing tongue.

“Nicholas,” she cried, and at the right moment, he brought her to pleasure, two fingers of one hand sliding deep into her, his other hand gripping her bottom, her femininity drawn up to his mouth. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, and her chin pointed heavenward, toward the stars. Her slender neck and taut breasts reflected the moonlight.

She was beautiful.

Beautiful.

“You’re … beautiful,” he said, feeling rather drunk with the word.

When she was fully spent, he laid her down and lay next to her, scooping her into the circle of his arms. Her body quivered, and she gave a languid sigh. For a few moments, she was quiet, and together they looked up at the night sky again.

“Look,” she said, pointing.

“I see it,” he said, and had a sudden feeling of completeness.

Naked girl.

Shooting star.

Rocking boat.

It didn’t get better than this, did it?

* * *

After a few more minutes of listening to the creaking sounds of the boat tackle and the slap of water against the hull, Poppy sat up.

“Where are you going?” Nicholas asked her.

“Nowhere.” She looked down the length of him, and pressed her hand over his shaft. Instantly, it hardened into rock again.

Her touch was exquisite.

She bit her lip and smiled. And then slowly, she began to run her hand up and down him. “Do you like this?” she asked shyly.

“God, yes.” What else could he say? He was hers. All hers. She could do anything she wanted with his body, as far as he was concerned.

She applied herself more vigorously. “I like it, too.”

He pulled himself up, leaned back on his elbows, and watched her. Just seeing her this way, kneeling over him, intensely focused on pleasing him, was enough to send him over the edge. But he didn’t want that to happen. Not quite yet.

“Watch the boom,” he warned her as it swung dangerously close to both their heads.

She laughed.

“I’m serious,” he said.

She lowered her head, but she also laughed again. “You and your lectures,” she told him.

In retaliation, he caressed her bottom. She moaned with pleasure. And then he put his hand between her legs and began to stroke her.

She dropped her head, and her hair fell over his torso, tantalizing him with the sensation.

“You’re wicked,” she whispered, and made those whimpers of delight that he knew would come to haunt his nights.

“Just a warning,” he said, as his climax came nearer. “It can be quite messy.”

“I don’t care.” She sucked in shorter breaths.

“I want you to come, too.”

“Come?”

“To pleasure,” he said. “With me. What you did before.”

She didn’t have time to reply because a few seconds later, they did just that.

Together.

Afterward, they lay side by side on their backs, arms and legs outstretched, the boat bobbing a bit more forcefully.

“The wind’s picking up.” Nicholas wished Mother Nature weren’t working against him at the moment. But he supposed they must eventually leave this lovely little boat—how could he ever have thought it plain?

Poppy rolled over on one elbow and looked at him. “I suppose this time we’ve had together—being naked and kissing … and all those other wonderful things—is over, then.”

He rolled up, too, and pulled her hair from her face. “You’re right,” he said. “And I hope you enjoyed it. Because”—he hesitated—“it can’t happen again, especially if you don’t intend to marry me.”

He wondered, and not for the first time, why she found him so unsuitable.

She cast her eyes down. “I know it can’t happen again,” she whispered, and looked back up at him. “I see the danger now.”

He pressed his lips together. “Yes. You see how—”

“How now I can’t think of anything else,” she said rather passionately, almost angrily. She pressed her lips together.

“Don’t be upset,” he said. “Of course you’ll be able to think of other things. But it takes time to … recover. And if you stay busy, you can manage without this, um, sort of experience. Until you marry. And then you can do it all the time, and it’s even better when—”

She brightened. “When what?”

“When the man and the woman can have a real coupling.” Did she not care that they never would, if she had her way?

The waves rocked the little sailboat, and all was quiet. Snug. In their intimate little world, he felt he could ask her something he’d wondered about—but hadn’t had the courage to ask until now.

“Poppy.” He heard a faint edge of unsurety in his voice. “What exactly are you looking for in a mate?”

He was unfamiliar with rejection from women, but his curiosity went deeper than that. He wanted to understand her, what she thought about, who and what made her happy. Or sad. Or angry.

For the first time in his adult life, he was interested in forging a connection, a bridge, to another person.

“Someone who understands me,” she said instantly.

“And I don’t?” he responded, quick as lightning.

“Do you?” she challenged him with a saucy grin.

He pulled a piece of hair off her face. “We certainly have fun together,” he said, and thought hard. “I think you like adventure. You’re restless, searching for something, but perhaps you’re not sure what.”

She bit her lip. “You’re right, actually.”

He chuckled. “I’m the same way. Yes, I’m a duke, a position many might envy, but I want adventure, as well. I think it’s in my blood. Uncle Tradd must have had this same restlessness. A large part of me would like to drop everything and travel the world.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Mainly because of Frank. But also because of the other responsibilities I have as the Duke of Drummond—keeping up Seaward Hall and my other estates, for one. It’s why I work for Groop. At least I can experience a little adventure without leaving home.”

“So you’re saying … you’re sad.”

He shrugged. “Not sad, exactly. But not happy, either. Caught between the life I have … and the life I want.”

“Funny,” she said. “I feel the same way.”

“So you can have no objections to our betrothal. I understand you, don’t I?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “But there are other things on the list, too.”

“What list?”

“The Spinsters Club list. A girl can’t resign her membership unless a potential mate meets all qualifications.”

“Which are?”

“I can’t tell you. They’re confidential.”

A covetous, predatory look came into his eye. He never appeared more dangerous, Poppy thought, than when he was after a secret.

“Hmmm,” he muttered, “said like a real clandestine agent. Although your friends let me know about a couple of your requirements. They both involve love. Is that what you’re seeking?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Of course.” She felt out of breath when she said it. “Which is why I won’t marry you. I must love my husband, and he must love me.”

Nicholas looked down at the deck of the boat, and her heart sank.

When he met her gaze again, his was shrouded. “It’s time to go back.”

No fairy tales, she told herself, and hardened her heart. “You don’t want to discuss frivolous things like love,” she said evenly. “You think I’m foolish.”

He shook his head. “Not foolish. I think you’re fanciful, yes.”

She huffed. “You believe love isn’t possible.”

“No.” He stood and began unraveling a line. “I told you my parents loved each other. So it can happen.”