His wealth therefore would not derive from his army stipend alone.

His affluence or otherwise made little difference to her-if he proved to be her “one,” she would marry him regardless-but his relative wealth would certainly help in securing her parents’ approval of the match.

She brought her attention back to the captain’s cabin to discover he and Gareth were shaking hands.

Both were smiling identical smiles.

They both looked like pirates.

She rose as Gareth did, and they took their leave of the captain, who bowed very prettily over her hand. She made a mental note to be sure to do nothing to encourage Ayabad. She judged him a womanizer, undoubtedly with a woman in every port on the Red Sea.

When the door had closed behind them, Gareth smiled at her. “Excellent.” He waved her to the companionway.

She preceded him up the stairs. He fell in beside her as they strolled down the deck.

“That went well.” Gareth glanced at her face. “I wanted to avoid mentioning my mission, and you were a great help in that.” He looked ahead, matching her step for step as they neared the stern. “You behaved in just the right way to evoke Ayabad’s chivalrous streak. I felt sure he had one. He’s an honorable man, which is why I hired him in Mocha.”

She halted by the stern railings, gripping them and staring out over their wake.

Halting beside her, he glanced back along the length of the schooner. The decks had been scoured first thing that morning; there was no sign remaining of the night’s battle. His lips twisted. “I should upbraid you for strolling the deck alone last night, but everyone in our party is feeling rather better for having weathered the attack we all knew would come. We took a few cuts and bruises, but no one sustained any serious injury.”

He paused, recalling-vividly-that moment when, looking down from the roof, he’d seen the cultists closing in on her, seen her helplessness, understood her peril…but he’d been there, and had rescued her, for which she’d been duly appreciative.

And in the midst of the melee, she’d rescued him. He glanced at her, but she was still looking out over the waves. “I haven’t yet thanked you for your assistance last night. Indeed, to commend you on your quick thinking and levelheadedness. If it hadn’t been for you, I might have been seriously wounded.”

Or killed, Emily thought, as she swung to face him.

She caught his gaze. Expectantly waited. If he wanted to thank her, she’d shown him the way.

Her jaw had dropped, mentally if not physically, when he’d revealed his reasons for requesting her presence that morning. Every word he’d uttered since had only succeeded in prodding her temper to greater heights, but if he was going to redeem himself by thanking her appropriately, she was willing to overlook his arrogance.

So she waited.

His gaze traveled her face, returned to her eyes. “I…have to admit that when I suggested we join forces, I imagined myself taking responsibility for you much as a nursemaid with her charge, but you’ve already contributed in a positive way-many positive ways-to our joint party’s well-being, and deserve our, certainly my, thanks and gratitude.”

She waited. Waited.

He seemed to sense her expectation, but all he did was shift uneasily, then say, “I’m sure the others-”

Others? She gave up-threw up her hands on a sound of frustration, stepped closer and slapped her palms to his cheeks, hauled his face down, and pressed her lips to his.

Again. Harder this time.

More definitely, more confidently.

More evocatively.

Provocatively.

She felt the light scrape of his beard beneath her palms, felt again the hardness, the sculpted lines of his cheeks and the bones above them, traced the latter lightly with the tips of her fingers even while she registered, absorbed, and explored again the fascinating hardness of his lips with hers.

Again he didn’t return the kiss, but he did respond-she could sense it. She could all but feel the battle he waged to hold back, to keep the inch of separation between their bodies, to keep his arms from her, to keep his lips from seeking hers.

It was a battle he won-damn him!

Head starting to spin from lack of air, she was forced to draw back.

Gareth hauled in a breath the instant her lips left his, shackled his instincts in iron, nearly swayed with the effort it took.

He frowned down at her as her eyes searched his. “What was that for?”

Her eyes narrowed, golden flints sparking in the mossy green. “That was to shut you up. And to thank me for last night!”

With that, she spun on her heel and, skirts swishing angrily, stalked to the companionway.

Gareth watched her disappear down the steep stair.

Leaving him with the taste of her on his lips.

And thoroughly confused over what was going on.

11th October, 1822

Morning

My cabin on Captain Ayabad’s schooner

Dear Diary,

I fear that in the matter of Gareth Hamilton, I am in danger of becoming quite wanton. I kissed him again, in the middle of the day, on the stern deck, in full view of anyone who might have been watching. I’m not sure anyone was, but I was in such a temper that I strode off before checking.

My temper, of course, was all his fault. He admitted he commenced our journey thinking of me as a charge-a burden to be borne. No doubt out of honor. Huh! I refuse to be cast in such a light-to have him view me in such a patronizing way-but after recent events, he is, it seems, adjusting his perspective. Just as well. Him being my “one” necessitates his seeing me as the lady with whom he wishes to spend the rest of his life.

Which was in large part the reason I kissed him again-to assist in rescripting his view. And for that I cannot be sorry. My next step, clearly, is to get him to kiss me back. I did hope, for a moment, but he patently needs further encouragement to step over that line.

I am now adamant about pursuing him further. No one would expect me to desist given he is shaping up so well. With every day that passes, I grow more convinced-everything I see in him is laudable and attractive…well, except for his tendency to assume absolute command. And his continuing reticence over allowing himself to respond to me. I know he is not immune to the attraction that flares between us.

Sadly, no further opportunity to advance my cause presented itself yesterday. After stealing that second kiss, I did not feel I could initiate another, not without risking his seeing me as fast. Today is unlikely to offer any new chance to go forward, but tomorrow Captain Ayabad says we will be putting in at Suakin. We will be spending the day there, on dry land, which might well result in further opportunities.

We shall see.

E.

The next morning saw the schooner sliding over calm waters into the bay in which Suakin Island sat. Connected to the mainland by a causeway, the island itself remained the center of the bustling township. Indeed, as far as Emily could see, buildings covered the entire island, all the way to the waterline.

Their vessel circled to come into the docks. They passed craft of every conceivable type and style, but other than the heavy barges, off to one side, none were larger than the schooners.

Captain Ayabad joined her, Gareth, Dorcas, and Watson in the bow. “We must take on water and supplies, which will occupy most of the day, but I am keen to put out in mid-afternoon, to use the tide to carry us down the channel and back into the Red Sea. So if you are planning to go ashore, you must be back by then.”

Gareth nodded. He looked at Emily. “The market?”

“Yes. We need supplies, too.”

“The souk is roughly in the center of the island.” Ayabad pointed. “That is the Hanafi Mosque-if you go past it a little way, you will find the stalls.”

Gareth thanked him. By the time the schooner was made fast and the gangplank rolled out, their party was ready to depart. After some discussion, Gareth had agreed that Arnia and Dorcas had to see what was available in the souk for themselves. He’d attempted to suggest that Emily might stay on board-the implication was “safe”-but after being cooped up on the schooner for days, she wasn’t about to pass up the chance of stretching her legs.

Or of being present if the cultists attacked again.

In the end, their entire party, bar only Watson-who agreed to remain aboard and keep an eye on their possessions-went ashore. Walking through the narrow streets, which only got narrower beyond the mosque, Emily was very conscious of trying to look everywhere at once.

The others were the same. The last contact with the cultists was days past; none of them imagined they’d given up and gone home.

Once in the souk, the tension only grew. While Emily, Dorcas, and Arnia haggled over flour and dried meat, Gareth and Mooktu loomed beside them, their hard faces and menacing stances making it clear they were guards. Bister, Jimmy, and Mullins lurked nearby. Bister seemed to be educating Jimmy in how to merge with crowds, and how to find the best vantage point from which to keep watch.

Emily was glad when she could turn to Gareth and inform him that they’d completed their purchases.

He humphed, and signaled the others to form up for their journey back to the ship. No one suggested ambling around to take in the sights.

Gareth heaved an inward sigh of relief when the last of their party passed him on their way up the gangplank. He turned and followed. What they’d all hoped would be a few hours of relaxation had instead been filled with burgeoning tension.