To taste, then claim, then devour.

Fought to hold steady, to not move, not an inch, to let her kiss him for how ever long she would…

Her lips lingered.

Then, on a sigh, she drew back.

As her heels touched the deck, he straightened-reluctantly. Disappointedly.

Those lovely lips curved. His gaze still locked on them, he saw her words form.

“Thank you, Major.”

He forced his gaze up to her eyes.

They were smiling, too, then she inclined her head. “Good night.”

He couldn’t reply, said not a word as she turned and headed for the companionway. It was all he could do to keep his feet planted and not follow her. To keep the tip of his tongue from skating over his lips and tasting her.

He didn’t need the torment. Her kiss had been a thank-you, fueled by gratitude, not desire.

It had been nothing personal, meant nothing of great moment.

Not to her.

He swore beneath his breath, then forced his feet in the opposite direction. There was nothing between them-he’d be a fool to think there was.

This-whatever it was-was all in his mind.

10th October, 1822

Very early morning

In my cabin in the schooner, bobbing on the Red Sea

Dear Diary,

I am in two minds about having my last wish granted. The attack was truly frightening, and brought home to me-as if that were necessary-the true violence of the cultists’ natures. They are fanatics and think nothing of fighting to the death. If it hadn’t been for my gallant major…but that, of course, was what I gained from the experience, terrifying though it was. Gareth was nothing less than superb in whisking me from the imminent clutches of the fiends, and then protecting me against the rabble. He accounted for numerous of their number. The others, too, and the crew, did their part, I’m sure, but understandably I had eyes only for my rescuer, a fact that enabled me to account for one cultist of my own, protecting the major from a dishonorable attack from the rear, and thus evening the score between us a trifle.

Naturally, later, I had to kiss him. Yes, it was exceedingly bold, but the moment-and the excuse-were there, and I would have been foolish indeed to let the opportunity slip.

And therefore, dear Diary, I am now in a position to report that Major Gareth Hamilton is no frog. Even though the kiss was all on my part-he very properly did not respond-I could sense, and feel…suffice it to say that the aftermath of the experience disturbed my slumber for the remainder of the night.

Naturally, given its success, that kiss can only be my first step. It has opened the door, so to speak, and now I must learn what lies beyond.

I have to admit I am insatiably curious.

E.

The next morning, as he’d promised, Gareth went to speak with the captain.

In order to give himself every advantage in the negotiations that were sure to ensue, he took Emily with him.

He tapped on the captain’s cabin door, and when Ayabad bade them enter, opened the door and ushered Emily, fetchingly dressed in a flimsy spring green gown, over the threshold.

Ayabad came to his feet in a rush, then hurried to hold a chair for Emily, who returned his greeting coolly and sat.

Drawing up a second chair, Gareth sat alongside her.

She’d been as pleased as punch when he’d asked her to accompany him; he was growing adept at reading her expressions. Of course, she didn’t comprehend exactly why he’d requested her presence, but he saw no harm in allowing her to imagine he needed her counsel, and distracting Ayabad was, he judged, a strategically wise move.

“Now, Major.” Ayabad resumed his seat behind the small desk. “Perhaps you will be so good as to explain the interests of those who attacked this ship last night, and whether it is likely we will encounter more of their ilk on this voyage.”

Having already decided what to reveal, Gareth smoothly explained the basis of the Black Cobra cult, and the cultists’ interest in Emily as the one who had bravely brought critical evidence to the authorities.

Ayabad was suitably impressed and intrigued. He exclaimed at the tale of Emily’s ride from Poona and asked various questions, which Emily answered with just the right degree of feminine self-effacement.

By the simple expedient of not mentioning the copy of the letter he was carrying, Gareth’s tale, supported by Emily, left Ayabad with the impression that Gareth was acting as Emily’s escort on her journey home to England, because the Black Cobra was expected to seek revenge through attacks such as the one the previous night.

After that, it took little to convince Ayabad that he should support them by continuing to ferry them north to Suez, beating off any cult attacks along the way. Gareth was a shrewd judge of men like the captain; Ayabad and his sailors were only too ready to enliven their lives by joining in a good fight. There was, of course, a fee to be paid. He and Ayabad haggled over the additional sum.

A glance at Emily showed she was horrified-whether by the amount or simply the fact of the extra sum, he couldn’t tell-but to his relief she remained silent, although he, certainly, felt her disapproval.

Emily was indeed incensed, but as Gareth seemed to think nothing of either the captain’s demand, or of the-to her quite horrendous-sums being bandied about, she felt she had to hold her tongue.

Which left her time to note that, given said sums, Gareth Hamilton was no pauper. She hadn’t thought of the expenses he’d been meeting, but the briefest of considerations confirmed he must command resources well beyond that of the average army major. Then again, she’d heard plenty of tales of the wealth accummulated by those in the employ of the East India Company, and Gareth had told her that he and his fellow officers had been, in his words, “Hastings’s own.”

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.