Karen Robards - Desire in the Sun

She took him out a side door to avoid Beulah and the kitchen maids. When at last they were safe outside, with the darkness all around them sheltering diem from prying eyes, she let out a breath of relief. He grinned at her, and she laughed back at him. They were partners in crime.

"So show me the rose garden," he instructed, taking her hand and tucking it in the crook of her arm. Holding up her skirt, Lilah walked closer to him than propriety perhaps allowed, but she didn't care. Already she felt more at ease with him than she did with gentlemen she had known for most of her life. The solid warmth of him beside her felt right, somehow. She looked up at him, at the breadth of shoulder that was just about on her eye level, at the underside of the firm chin that was just faintly darkened as if it had been some hours since he had shaved. Usually she didn't care for gentlemen with mustaches; she preferred them clean shaven, but in his case… She caught herself wondering how that mustache would feel if he kissed her, and blushed.

"Tell me about yourself," she said hurriedly as he looked down at her with a gleam in his eyes that made her think he had no trouble at all following the line of her thoughts.

He shook his head. "You first. You never answered my question."

"Oh, about my parents? I don't live here at Boxhill. I'm just visiting my great-aunt, and I'll be going home in a little more than two weeks."

The possibility that she might never see him again after tonight occurred to her with stunning force. Her throat tightened, and her eyes widened on her face. She couldn't bear the thought of never seeing him again…

"And where is home?"

"Barbados. We have a sugar plantation there. It's called Heart's Ease."

"Heart's Ease," he said, as if he were committing it to memory. "My ships sail to Barbados several times a year. I'll make it a point to be on the next one."

"Your ships?" She watched with fascination the different expressions that played over his dark face. He was looking down at her just as intently, his free hand moving to cover the slim, cool fingers that rested in the crook of his arm. Lilah felt the touch of his bare hand on hers with a jolt of her heart. His skin was so warm…

"I operate a shipping company out of Bristol, in England. Sometimes, when I have business somewhere, I captain one of my own ships. As I did to come here tonight. I must warn you, I am liable to be persona non grata when your uncle hears the nature of my business. He may very well order me off his land."

"Uncle George would never do that. He's a very nice man, really. Is it your company that ships his tobacco to England? If so…"

He shook his head. "My business with him is personal." His tone was faintly repressive. Lilah wasn't interested enough to probe further. His business with Uncle George had nothing to do with her. She was interested in the man, not what he did.

Another couple strolled toward them. Lilah recognized red-haired Sarah Bennet with a gentleman she thought was Thorn McQuarter, and hurriedly tugged Mr. San Pietro down a bisecting path. She did not want to go through the process of performing introductions, and then have their tete-a-tete turn into a quartet. Knowing how sweet Sarah Bennet was on Mr. McQuarter, she guessed that Sarah would be grateful for her quick action.

"This garden seems a trifle crowded," Mr. San Pietro observed with rueful amusement as minutes later they performed a similar dodging manuever to avoid another couple.

"Yes. It's a lovely night." She echoed his regret. Then a thought occurred to her that was so daring that she was shocked at herself for even entertaining it. With any other gentleman, she would never have made the suggestion. And if the gentleman had had the bad taste to do so, she would have excused herself from his company and made her way back to the house. Mr. San Pietro might think her bold… But then she remembered that they had only this one night.

"We could walk along the creek to the summerhouse, if you'd like."

He looked down at her with a quick grin. The white gleam of his teeth in the darkness was dazzling.

"I'd like that very much."

The scent of roses faded behind them, to be replaced by the earthier fragrances of grass and woods and water. A mosquito buzzed around her head, and Lilah swatted at it. She would probably pay for her daring in the morning with a rash of insect bites.

Put In Creek sliced through the property at an angle. Uncle George had built an open-walled gazebo of whitewashed birch where the creek formed a vee as it headed toward Chesapeake Bay again. This summerhouse, as everyone at Boxhill called it, had become a favorite retreat of Lilah's, though she had never before been there at night. Now she saw that it stood amidst the grove of rustling willows in which it had been built like a graceful lady ghost. More honeysuckles grew up around the elaborate scrollwork of the railings, their sweet scent lending a heady kind of enchantment to the night. In the creek a pair of ducks swam, their passing silent, marked only by rippling curves of water that gleamed in the moonlight.

Lilah hesitated. She had not realized quite how isolated the summerhouse would be at night.

"Mr. San Pietro…," she began.

"Call me Joss. As I said earlier, my friends all do."

"That's the trouble," she said with a nervous laugh. She made an instinctive move that put a little distance between them. Up to then she had been walking pressed almost against his side. He could not be blamed if she had given him the wrong impression. But though she had been carried away by the man and the moonlight, she was still bound by some proprieties. No matter what he might have been led to believe, beyond a certain point she would not go. "I'm not quite sure how good a Mend of yours you expect me to be. I confess I hadn't realized the summerhouse was so… so isolated."

He let her hand slide away from the crook of his arm, let her put a few more paces between them until she stood facing him.

"Don't worry, I know a lady when I meet one. You need not concern yourself that you'll have any reason to regret your trust in me. I won't take advantage of it, I promise. But I'd like us to be friends."

She looked up at him a moment, wavering. What she saw in his face reassured her. He was no bounder who would take disgraceful advantage of her lack of discretion in bringing him to this isolated spot. For all his flirting and his roguish smile, he was, as he had assured her earlier, a gentleman.

"Very well then. Friends."

"Joss," he prompted.

"Joss," she echoed, then preceded him up the summerhouse steps.

"I hope you have no objection if I call you Lilah? I like it-it's unusual, and it suits you." He followed her to the opposite side of the octagon-shaped structure, which looked out over the creek. Lilah stopped there, her knees resting against the built-in wooden bench, her hands closing over the polished railing as she stared unseeingly at the creek. Her every nerve ending was focused on the man who stood beside her.

"It's really Delilah," she said inconsequentially.

"That's even more unusual, and suits you even better. Delilah. What a good thing such an enchanting name wasn't wasted on a pudding-faced little miss. Your parents must be people of rare discernment-or else you were an unusually attractive baby."

Lilah smiled up at him fleetingly. "I don't think so. My mother died when I was small, but Katy, my old governess, said that I was the ugliest baby she ever saw. She said I was so ugly my father nearly cried when he saw me."

Joss grinned. "Time has certainly wrought a miracle, then. Because you are the most beautiful young lady I've ever seen. "

"There you go, flattering me again."

He shook his head. "Not a bit of it. May God strike me dead on the spot if I'm lying."