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Authors: Iris Johansen

Winter Bride (9780345546197) (21 page)

BOOK: Winter Bride (9780345546197)

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“Do you find these things as boring as I?”

His gaze collided with eyes the color of the sea on a clear day, a combination of blue and green. They smiled at him, those eyes. Crinkling at the corners and dancing with merriment.

Slowly his startled gaze swept over her, taking in shiny black hair piled high. One curled, ebony lock rested seductively on the top of a firm, golden breast encased in an off-white gown.

With all that dark hair and glowing skin, she reminded him of a Gypsy.

But what fascinated him the most, what caught his attention more than the curve of her breasts and the bewitching color of her eyes, were the dimples peeking out at him when she smiled.

The stunning vision held out her hand. “Emmaline Sutherland. And you are?”

He hesitated. He might disdain society, preferring the open ocean to a stuffy ballroom, but he knew the rules, and one of the biggest was that a lady did not introduce herself to a gentleman. Intrigued, he smiled, bowed over her hand and kissed it.

“Captain Nicholas Addison.”

“Well, Captain Addison, why don’t you ask me to dance? Maybe a sarabande will alleviate our boredom.”

If women didn’t introduce themselves to men, they certainly didn’t ask men to dance.
Who was this woman?
The fear of making a fool of himself kept his feet rooted to the gleaming wood floor. Would his leg withstand the complicated dance moves? If it didn’t, did he deserve the captain’s position just offered to him?

He held out his arm for her to take. “Would you prefer a stroll instead?”

She tilted her head, studying him while his elbow remained crooked for her hand.

Finally she took his arm. “I’d be delighted.”

As he guided her through the crush of people, he recalled his brother mentioning something
about this ball being held for an Emmaline Sutherland. “So, Miss Sutherland, to what do we owe the honor of this route?”

She grimaced, her gaze glancing over the dancers. “No honor. Aunt Dorothy will take any excuse to give a ball. I happened to be in town at the moment.”

“You are not from London?”

Her hand felt nearly weightless on his arm, yet he was well aware of its warmth beneath her glove.

“Originally, yes. But I live abroad now and return infrequently. And you, sir? Are you from London?”

“Yes, but like you, I am rarely here. I’m a sea captain and will set sail in a few days for Boston.” Not completely the truth. He was rarely in town because he preferred the family’s country home, where he didn’t have to encounter pitiful stares and whispers behind his back. If not for Kenmar’s summons, and Sebastian’s plea to attend this ball, Nicholas wouldn’t be here now.

Miss Sutherland raised an ebony eyebrow. “Boston. How exciting.” Her tone lacked the aforementioned excitement, as if her mind was far away. “And who do you sail for?”

“Blackwell Shipping.” Pride welled in his chest. Pride that he was once again
doing
something. Sailing instead of rusticating, as his brother called it. Sailing instead of recuperating. Sailing instead of feeling sorry for himself. “Where do you live, if not in London?” he asked.

“Barbados.”

“Barbados?” He turned to look at her.

Amusement lurked in those curiously colored eyes. “Does that shock you?”

More like fascinated. While Nicholas was well traveled, he didn’t know many women who were. In fact, he didn’t know
any
women who were. “No,” he lied.

“My husband and I own a sugar plantation on the island.”

Disappointment washed through him at the mention of a husband even though he had no right to his disappointment. It wasn’t as if he was able to pursue a courtship with Miss, or rather,
Mrs. Sutherland. He was leaving in five days, after all.

“And is your husband present tonight?” He glanced around the room, searching for an angry gentleman staring holes in his back.

“He’s in Barbados overseeing the plantation. He never travels to London.”

“I see.” But he didn’t see. If
he
had a wife as beautiful and charming as Emmaline Sutherland, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Definitely not to travel from Barbados to London alone. “Are you frightened traveling alone?”

A smile touched her lips. “What would I be frightened of?”

He shrugged, his discussion with Kenmar still fresh in his mind. “Pirates.”

“Pirates are the things of fairy tales, are they not?”

“Pirates are a very real threat, I’m afraid.”

“Are you speaking of a certain lady pirate who attacks ships and eats men?”

Nicholas chuckled. “Lady Anne they call her.”

“Ah, yes. Lady Anne,” Emmaline said with a slight smile.

“I’m afraid tales of her are most likely exaggerated. Especially the man-eating tales.” “You don’t believe in Lady Anne?”

Nicholas hesitated, recognizing the same question he’d asked Kenmar. “I’m afraid not. Sailing is difficult enough for men. It’s not a lifestyle a woman would become accustomed to.”

“But I sail frequently.”

He detected a note in her voice warning that he was treading on unstable ground. Yet, a little devil stood on his shoulder and he felt an unholy need to goad this woman. Not a very gentlemanly thing to do, but that what-the-hell attitude took root again.

“As a passenger. Not as a crewman. The work is strenuous and taxing. Not to mention dangerous.”

“And you don’t think a woman is able to engage in such dangerous work?” Her voice was tight, her shoulders even tighter.

He bit back the urge to smile. What a virago this woman was and what fun it would be to
debate with her. He’d met very few men, let alone women, he’d had the pleasure to clash verbal swords with.

“I believe a woman has her place in a man’s world, but not on the sea.”

Silence stretched between them as they completed a circuit of the room and stopped where they’d started. Mrs. Sutherland looked up at him, seeming to assess him. He was relieved to see she wasn’t angry, merely interested, as if she were studying a bug pinned to a board. Or, better yet, an unknown creature pulled from the sea. Her gaze drew him in, made him think thoughts that were entirely inappropriate.

He cleared his throat and stepped back.
She’s married, Addison. You don’t dally with married women
.

She curtsied, although he had the impression the move was less etiquette and more mockery, which delighted him and had him forcing back a smile he was sure she wouldn’t appreciate. “Thank you for alleviating my boredom, kind sir. Your conversation was … enlightening.”

He bowed, finding it more and more difficult not to smile. She certainly was peeved with him, and he found to his chagrin that he wasn’t at all pleased she was taking leave of his company. He would have liked to debate with her for the rest of the night. But that would be inappropriate. Besides, he was sailing in a few days and had to prepare for it. “My pleasure, Mrs. Sutherland.”

A mere hour later, Emmaline observed Nicholas Addison leave with his brother, the Earl of Claybrook. Both men climbed the stairs, twin specimens of masculinity that had every female eye riveted to their wide shoulders and full heads of black-as-sin hair. Neither wore the wigs that were so in fashion. Emmaline had a feeling that others would soon follow in their footsteps, because the two were decidedly delicious looking without them. Each moved with an animal-like grace, although Nicholas had a hitch to his step that had her wondering what happened to him.
The limp was his only physical flaw, although she didn’t consider it a flaw, just another fascinating aspect of a man who captivated her attention.

Inside she was still smiling at their conversation. So, Captain Addison believed sailing too strenuous for women. She couldn’t help herself as she laughed out loud, causing a few heads to turn her way.

Even though she disagreed with his assessment of females, she thoroughly enjoyed their verbal sparring, but something about him bothered her. Normally she was good at sizing up a man’s character. He’d been interested, but the interest in those deep navy eyes definitely cooled when she mentioned a husband. So he had morals.

He’d been a gentleman, sincerely concerned for her safety when he spoke of pirates in that smooth-as-velvet voice. Which meant he was caring.

He firmly believed a woman had no place on the sea, yet he wasn’t harsh about his belief. Merely naïve, as most men were. Unlike most of the gentlemen at the ball, who’d gone soft with drink and too much fine food, she felt his strength in the muscles of his arm, and in his wide shoulders unpadded beneath his coat. He was lean, the bones in his face finely chiseled, the pale skin stretched taut. There was no excess about him, as if he’d gone to hell and back, and the journey had taken everything from him, leaving him with nothing but what he needed to survive.

There were shadows in his blue eyes, a weariness and deep grief. Yet when he spoke of sailing she glimpsed a man who commanded authority and demanded respect. No doubt he was a very good captain.

No doubt she had her work cut out for her.

Kenmar had picked his spy well.