The Pleasure of Your Kiss (2 page)

1834

O
h, Clarinda! Have you seen the latest edition of the
Snitch
? I picked one up at the docks before we sailed and there’s an absolutely delicious article about Captain Sir Ashton Burke!”

Clarinda Cardew felt her fingers tighten involuntarily, biting into the leather binding of the book she was reading. Despite the balmy warmth of the sea breeze caressing her cheeks, she could feel her face freezing into the mask of calculated disinterest it always wore whenever That Name was mentioned. She didn’t require a mirror to know how effective it was. She’d had nine long years to perfect it.

“Indeed?” she murmured without lifting her eyes from the page.

Unfortunately, Poppy was too enamored of her subject matter to notice Clarinda’s marked lack of encouragement. Adjusting the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of her nose, Poppy leaned forward in her deck chair. “According to this article, he’s fluent in over fifteen languages, including French, Italian, Latin, Arabic, and Sanskrit, and has spent most of the last decade journeying from one corner of the globe to the other.”

“Strictly speaking,” Clarinda said drily, “globes don’t have corners. They’re round.”

Undaunted, Poppy continued, “‘After leading his regiment in the East India Company army to a stunning victory in the Burmese war, he was awarded a knighthood by the king. Based on his ferocious skill in single combat, the men under his command gave him the nickname Sir Savage.’”

“So much more intimidating than Sir Unfailingly Polite.” Feeling rather savage herself, Clarinda flicked to the next page of her book and stared blindly down at words that might as well have been written in Sanskrit or some other ancient tongue.

“‘Rumor has it that while he was in India, he rescued a beautiful Hindustani princess from the bandits who had kidnapped her from her palace. When her father offered him her hand in marriage and a fortune in gold and jewels as a reward, Burke informed him that he would be content with nothing more than a kiss.’”

“Her father must have been a most excellent kisser,” Clarinda replied, lifting the book to hide her face altogether.

Poppy dragged her rapt gaze away from the
Snitch
long enough to give Clarinda an exasperated glance. “Not from her father, silly. From the princess. According to the article, Captain Burke’s romantic exploits are nearly as legendary as his military ones. It says here that after requesting a discharge from the army, Burke was engaged by the African Association to lead an expedition deep into the continent’s interior. His alliance with the association was severed three years ago when he returned from Africa with copious notes on the carnal habits of the primitive tribes he discovered there. Even the most sophisticated of scholars were scandalized by the attention to detail evidenced by his findings. Some of them even dared to suggest he might have participated in these rituals himself!”

Clarinda winced as Poppy’s scandalized titter threatened to pierce her eardrums. The image of a man lowering himself into the sleek arms of some ebony-skinned beauty while flames leapt around them and native drums beat out an irresistible rhythm made her own temples begin to throb. She briefly considered throwing the scandal sheet overboard. Or perhaps even Poppy herself.

Normally Penelope Montmorency, known as Poppy to both Clarinda and to their former classmates from Miss Bedelia Throckmorton’s Seminary for Young Ladies, was a most amiable companion. She might be overly fond of society gossip and iced tea-cakes and have a tendency to speak as if her every utterance was punctuated by an exclamation mark, but she was also good-natured and loyal, without an ounce of genuine malice in her short, plump frame.

Poppy was usually content to read to Clarinda from the sacred pages of the
Ladies’ Fashionable Repository
. But Clarinda supposed the ornate plumes, stuffed birds, and clusters of ribbons the French were wearing on the brims of their bonnets that summer couldn’t hope to compare to the legendary exploits—romantic or otherwise—of the dashing Captain Sir Ashton Burke.

The gentle pitch and roll of the ship’s deck beneath their chairs no longer felt soothing to Clarinda’s nerves. Although she’d never suffered so much as a twinge of seasickness, she was starting to feel distinctly queasy. Hoping to ease the sensation, she set aside her book, rose from the deck chair, and made her way forward to the bow of the ship. Although there was nothing but sea and sky as far as the eye could see, there was still nowhere she could go to escape Poppy’s fascination with the subject of the article.

“‘Since severing his ties with both the East India Company and the African Association,’” her companion read, “‘the aura of mystery surrounding Burke has only deepened. There are some who speculate he now spends his time acquiring priceless archaeological treasures or that some foreign government may have even engaged his services as a spy.’”

Clarinda forced a yawn. “He must not be particularly adept at it if everyone suspects he’s a spy.”

“The article even includes a sketched likeness of him.” There was a cheerful rustling as Poppy turned the scandal sheet this way and that, studying it from every possible angle before announcing with great conviction, “I fear the artist must have flattered him. No man could possibly be
that
good-looking, could he?”

Clarinda clutched the ship’s railing, fighting the temptation to whirl around and snatch the newspaper from Poppy’s hands. She didn’t need a sketch to remember amber irises rimmed in black and flecked with sparks of the purest gold, a devil-may-care dimple slashed in one lean cheek, beautifully sculpted lips that always seemed to be on the verge of quirking in a teasing smile before softening to steal a kiss … or a defenseless heart. Perhaps Michelangelo or Raphael could have done justice to those details, but it would be impossible for a few careless strokes of a pen to capture the irresistible vitality of such a man.

“He may have been absent from England for many years, but you grew up on adjoining estates, did you not?” Poppy asked. “Surely you must have caught at least a glimpse of him.”

“It’s been years since I laid eyes on him and he was little more than a lad then. My recollection has grown somewhat hazy,” Clarinda lied. “But I do vaguely seem to remember a long, hooked nose, a pair of spindly bowlegs, and protruding teeth like a beaver’s.” It took Clarinda a moment to realize she had just described their least favorite dancing master from their days at Miss Throckmorton’s. Poor Mr. Tudbury had also had an unfortunate tendency to spray spittle when snapping out commands for them to pirouette or perform a
battement glissé
.

Poppy sighed wistfully. “I wonder where the captain might have disappeared to this time. Do you suppose he’s gone off to rescue more princesses?”

Betrayed by the treacherous twinge of yearning her friend’s mooning had stirred in her own heart, Clarinda swung around to face her. “Really, Poppy! There’s no need to fawn over the man as if we were both still a pair of simpering schoolgirls! He’s nothing but a greedy soldier of fortune who makes his living robbing tombs and selling his sword to the highest bidder. The press may choose to glorify him but that doesn’t make him a hero.” Clarinda dampened the smoldering fuse of her temper with a cool sniff. “Most men who cloak themselves in rumor and innuendo do so because there is nothing of real substance to hide. They spread these tall tales themselves simply to cover up their own …
shortcomings
.”

“Shortcomings?” Poppy’s periwinkle blue eyes widened behind the thick lenses of her spectacles. “Surely you don’t mean … ” The corkscrewed clusters of apricot-tinted curls gathered at her temples danced like the ears of a spaniel as she clapped a plump hand over her mouth to smother a shocked giggle. “Why, Clarinda, you wicked thing! You must learn to mind that naughty tongue of yours. After all, you’ll be the wife of an earl in less than a fortnight!”

Poppy’s chiding words reminded Clarinda of exactly what—and who—awaited her at the end of their journey through the choppy waters of the North Atlantic. She hardly needed Poppy to remind her she was the envy of every eager young debutante and scheming mama whose hopes had been crushed by the recent announcement of her engagement. She had somehow managed to snare England’s most eligible bachelor—and one of its most beloved sons—at the relatively advanced age of twenty-six.

Her fiancé was a marvelous man—handsome, kind, intelligent, and noble in both name and character. He was everything a woman should want.

Which didn’t explain the hollow ache in Clarinda’s heart as she turned back to the sea to escape Poppy’s teasing gaze. Or her desperate desire to tear off her wide-brimmed hat, pluck out her mother-of-pearl hair combs, and let the wind have its way with her long wheaten tresses.

The sun shimmered off the crest of the distant swells, its uncompromising brightness stinging her eyes. “When I am a countess,” she said with determined cheer, “I shall never have to curb my tongue again. Instead, I shall expect everyone around me to curb theirs.”

“Beginning with me, I suppose.” Poppy tossed the scandal sheet aside and rose to join her at the rail. “I would have thought you’d be more interested in Captain Burke’s adventures, especially since he is about to become your—”

“Let’s talk of something else, shall we?” Clarinda interrupted before Poppy could speak the unspeakable and drive her to throw herself overboard. “Like how you’re going to be the toast of the regiment once we arrive in Burma.”

“Do you really think so?” A glow of pleasure suffused the ripe apples of Poppy’s cheeks. “I do so fancy soldiers! It’s always been my opinion that a uniform can make even the plainest of gentlemen look like a prince and a hero!”

“Just you wait and see. Handsome young officers will be engaging in fisticuffs and challenging each other to duels, all for the privilege of standing in line to fill out your dance card.” Clarinda had every intention of making good on that promise. Even if her new husband had to order the men in his employ to do so upon threat of court-martial … or execution.

“But what if word of my”—Poppy threw a nervous glance over her shoulder and lowered her voice to a stage whisper, as if some gossip-minded old biddy could be lurking behind the oaken barrels lashed to the bulkhead—“
indiscretion
has already reached the ears of some of the officers’ wives through the post?”

It was one of the unfathomable ironies of life that a shy, mild-mannered creature like Poppy had unwittingly gotten herself embroiled in the scandal of the season. One that had set jaws to dropping and tongues to wagging from London to Surrey and effectively destroyed her last hope of landing a husband before she was placed firmly on the shelf.

Clarinda’s own jaw had dropped when she had first heard Poppy had been caught in a worse-than-compromising position with a certain young gentleman from Berwickshire. She had dismissed the torrid tale as so much rubbish until she learned there had been more than a dozen witnesses to the incident. Unable to bear the thought of Poppy being condemned for a sin she had not committed, she had immediately packed a portmanteau and gone rushing to her friend’s rescue, just as she had so many times at the Seminary when the wealthier, prettier girls were mocking Poppy’s ill-fitting bodices and thick spectacles or calling her Piggy instead of Poppy.

Poppy, the only daughter of a humble country squire, had always been absurdly grateful for Clarinda’s patronage, but Clarinda was equally grateful for Poppy’s stalwart friendship. Clarinda’s papa had been eager for her to get a first-rate education, but the first thing she had learned at Miss Throckmorton’s establishment was that money couldn’t buy the esteem of those who fancied themselves superior by birth. When the budding little “ladies” had discovered Clarinda’s papa had made his fortune in trade, they had turned up their patrician noses and openly mocked her lineage … or lack thereof. By turning up her own nose and pretending their cruel words and petty slights didn’t cut her to the quick, she had eventually earned their respect and ended up being one of the most popular girls at the school.

But she had never forgotten that Poppy had been her first and truest friend or that they had originally been drawn together because neither of them had fit in.

Clarinda was trusting the outpost at Burma would be ripe with lonely officers desperate for female companionship. Women of gentle breeding would be scarce, and past indiscretions would be more likely to be forgiven and forgotten instead of dwelled upon with malice and relish.

In their own way, she supposed she and Poppy were each fleeing England and its memories, both good and bad.

“Any officer—or gentleman—who wouldn’t dismiss such idle gossip isn’t worthy to polish the boots of Miss Penelope Montmorency,” she assured her friend, “much less seek her hand in matrimony.”

Poppy’s smile reappeared, dimpling her cheeks. “I’m only hoping I can find a man half as passionate and devoted as yours. I think it’s terribly romantic that he would arrange passage for you on one of his own ships so you could travel halfway around the world to become his bride.”

Passion
was never a word Clarinda had really equated with her fiancé. True, he had been pursuing her for a long time, but his proposal had consisted of a detailed list of all the reasons why they would suit, not an ardent declaration of love. Yet the steadfastness of his nature had finally convinced her he would never leave her to go chasing after some foolish dream.

Her shrug indicated a lightness of heart she did not feel. “The earl is both devoted and practical. His position within the Company carries with it tremendous responsibilities. I can hardly expect him to abandon his duties and return to London for something as frivolous as a wedding.” Linking her arm through Poppy’s, she turned her face toward the wind, relishing its promise of freedom, even if it was only an illusion. “I can’t begin to tell you what a comfort it is to have you by my side on this journey. I suggest we both stop fretting over the past and the future and start savoring every moment of this voyage. It may very well be our last grand adventure before we settle down into a life of dull respectability.”