Beth Henderson - Reckless

Such would not be the case, though. Her friend’s breathing would be just as erratic when Blackhawk was around as her own was at that moment.

If only he weren’t so…so…

Dangerous.

Yes, that was it. There was nothing in his appearance that could not be found just as attractive in a dozen other men aboard. It wasn’t the way the midnight black of his evening wear fit him. It was obviously the work of a master tailor. It wasn’t the breadth of his shoulders or the leanness of his build that pulled her eyes to him so often. Other men were as well of feature and form. No, it was something else. Something she had simply not managed to isolate as yet to explain why she thought him splendid.

He was most definitely that. The color of his coat and trousers was a continuation of his natural coloring, adding to the illusion that he was a reflection of his namesake, the black hawk. Was it simply his superficial resemblance to a hawk that gave him the aura of a predator himself, inclining her to believe he was as dangerous to court as would be the predatory bird?

Wyn was not surprised when Blackhawk chose to pick up the verbal gauntlet she’d tossed. “I would be honored to arrive on your heels, Miss Abbot,” he vowed, his deep voice still harboring the newly acquired sardonic edge. Rather than trail behind though, he fell into step at her side. “However, I find it very inhospitable of the good captain to keep you all to himself.”

Kittrick chortled. “Jealous of me, are you, Baron?” He patted Wyn’s hand on his arm. “Well, you see, I have first call on this lovely lady. She’s my chosen belle for the voyage.”

“Not an easy choice to make, I’ll wager,” Blackhawk said. “There are so many other lovely ladies aboard.”

“That there are,” the captain agreed readily. “But I’ve an eye for the special ones.”

“You do at that,” the baron murmured, casting Wyn another glance of approving admiration.

She laughed softly. “Thank you, my lord, but I can do without blatant compliments. You had best find another ear in which to feed them.”

“And if no other appeals to me?”

“I’m sure a good number of them will,” Wyn assured him. “Simply the knowledge that you are a lord—”

“A very minor one,” Blackhawk interrupted. “So minor, the state barely deserves notice.”

He was far too intent upon singling her out for a flirtation. Wyn wished she had followed Hildy’s course in remaining in the press of passengers at departure. If only she hadn’t been alone at the rail earlier, he would be as much a stranger to her as he was to the rest of the Nereid’s company. If only Hildy hadn’t decided that having a baron aboard suited her plans for the voyage perfectly. She must find a way to discourage him before Hildy misread the whole situation. Her friend’s emotional state was too fragile at this time to recognize that Wyn was not encouraging him.

Although to not encourage him was difficult. Very difficult.

He leaned closer to her as they walked, his voice dropping to a confiding rumble that made Wyn regret her vow to help Hildy find romance this journey. “Believe me,” Blackhawk murmured, “a good number of people have gone quite out of their way to avoid noticing the baronage in the past.”

“’Indeed? But I sincerely doubt they are among our companions on this voyage,” Wyn persisted. “Do you not agree, Captain?”

“Humph,” Kittrick said. “You see, sir, you are our sole personage, you might say, on this trip. There’s a good bit of money traveling with us, but it’s not the inherited kind, if you catch my drift.”

“Neither,” Blackhawk said, “is mine.”

“Still, that’s not how folks will see things,” Kittrick continued. “And, you being a single gentleman, the ladies will be atwitter. We’ve a number of families with marriageable daughters sailing with us and the purser’s planned at least one grand ball before we dock. Two if the crossing is smooth.”

Wyn smiled at Blackhawk. “You see, my lord? You will be quite merry without adding me to your string of conquests.”

“Will I now?” he asked, lifting one dark brow in patent disbelief.

“Can’t help but be,” Kittrick said with a chuckle. “Can’t say I envy you though, sir. It’s a hard life for a man dealing with bevies of beautiful women demanding his attention. Damned hard life.”

Wyn was glad that their leisured steps down the long paneled inner passageway at last joined another corridor and they began to encounter other guests. It enabled her to slip free of the captain and his now-captive lord. She lingered only long enough to enjoy the sight of the enthusiastic Kittrick taking great pleasure in introducing the baron to his fellow passengers, then she slipped into the dining room.

Although she had seen it the evening before, the intricacy of detail in the room still left her feeling stunned. The area appeared vast upon first sight, the bulkheads rising the height of two full decks before arching in a shallow dome over the room. Elaborately painted friezes rose above rows of portholes, the style and subject matter a distinct reflection of her older brother’s flamboyant taste. For a change Pierce had exercised a hitherto unknown sense of good taste. She had feared to see furnishings that rivaled those chosen by a whorehouse madam. She did, after all, know exactly where Pierce tended to spend his spare time.

Instead of a blur of scarlet, the room was tastefully decorated. An unknown artist had created massive portraits of two ancient sea gods. It was easy to recognize the Roman god of the sea, Neptune, with his spear, surrounded by ships, sea serpents and mermaids. The mermaids were lush creatures. Definitely Pierce’s choice. The Greek god Nereus was lesser known but, having fathered the sea nymphs known as the Nereid, his appearance in the frieze was de rigueur. He was banked by a host of his lovely daughters. Very lovely daughters.

Pierce definitely needed a new direction in his life.

The long dining tables had been set in advance, their tops covered with gleaming white linen, each place setting a picture of perfection, from glistening china to delicate crystal to highly polished silver flatware.

A number of the luxury-class passengers were already seated at their assigned tables or picking their ways through the crowded room in search of their places. The captain’s table sat at the head of the room, far from the double-doored entranceway, directly, she noted, under the complacent gaze of Nereus himself. The company there would number ten, four on either side of the board with chairs at both head and foot, as well. Some of the captain’s other guests were before her, already seated where the stewards directed. There was an older couple, so obviously married they had begun to resemble each other in feature, a very pretty, very young woman who was obviously their daughter, and a dapper but solemn-faced young man.

Choosing not to wait for Hildy—who planned to make an entrance—or the captain, Wyn began picking her way toward her own place. Briefly she wished it could be at one of the other tables rather than in the very visible chair at the captain’s right hand.

She’d barely taken two steps when a startled male voice gasped nearby.

“Wyn.”

Wyn closed her eyes briefly, letting the sound of Deegan Galloway’s voice wash over her. He still said her name with a lilt that hinted at adoration. It had once sent pleasant chills skittering up her spine. This time she felt nothing and, as a result, bereft that the sensation was missing.

“Wyn,” he said again, his voice sounding a bit thunderstruck as well as awed at her appearance. ‘’What are you doing here?”

She opened her eyes, turned to stare at him coldly.