Garrett waited until she lifted her slimly cut skirts before he stepped forward. The delay allowed him a glimpse of her delicately turned ankles and high-heeled satin slippers.
He doubted there was another woman aboard to match her for beauty and grace.
She noticed him just as the ship dipped slightly, gently tipping the deck upon which they stood. Ever-alert to opportunity, Garrett took advantage of the situation.
“Good evening, Miss Abbot,” he murmured, slipping his hand beneath her elbow to steady her. The scent of her perfume teased his senses, a mixture of rose water that hinted of vanilla and clove. Its effect on him was erotic, titillating. And yet when she looked up at him, her very expression was one of innocence. “It is Miss Abbot, not Mrs.?” he pressed.
She didn’t pull away from him but paused, as if considering whether to accept his escort or not. Rather than answer his question, she posed one of her own. “And it is Baron Blackhawk, rather than Mr., is it not, my lord?”
Garrett grimaced wryly. Obviously he had been too wicked in the past to merit a respite from fate now. “Found me out already?” he asked as the deck righted once more.
Winona seemed little aware of the ship’s movement. “You needn’t feel flattered,” she said lightly, and proceeded down the staircase. “I did not go seeking the information, sir.”
Far from appalled at whatever rumors she had heard about him, she appeared to be far more miffed that he hadn’t told her of them himself. Garrett grinned to himself, pleased she cared that he hadn’t. “I am crushed,” he murmured.
“Yes, I can see you are,” she answered dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were titled, my lord?”
“Actually, it was to avoid having you call me my lord in just that tone of voice. I’d much rather hear you use my first name, which, if you recall, is Garrett,” he said.
She stepped away from the touch of his hand as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. The glow of the setting sun reached them through the glass of a nearby porthole, casting a pink glow around her, coloring her cheeks a warm, blushing peach.
She turned slightly to face him, her chin lifting in resolution. “I think not. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression of me earlier on deck,” she said. “I really am not interested in a shipboard romance, or a brief flirtation. You would do much better to set your sights on another lady if dallying is your goal, my lord.”
“And if it isn’t?” he asked.
“Forgive me if I doubt your word, but what other reason might you have for lying in wait for me?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she smiled knowingly. “Believe me, sir, where men are concerned, I am far from an innocent as to their intent when they seek me out”
“You would convict me without a trial? My dear Miss Abbot, surely that goes as much against an American’s grain as it does an Englishman’s,” Garrett insisted. “Do you not believe that I enjoyed your company this afternoon and wished to continue our conversation?”
She shook her head slightly. He was pleased to note the corners of her mouth still curved upward in amusement. “What I believe is that you don’t enjoy taking no for an answer, my lord.”
The hatchway to the outer deck swung open. “Ah, my dear!” a voice greeted loudly, interrupting her. Although Garrett had only met the man once upon boarding, captain Kittrick’s gravelly baritone was quite distinctive. “Thought I’d come along to see you safe to our grand galley. I see someone else’s had the same idea, though, eh, Baron?”
Garrett held back a snarl of frustration. “Quite,” he agreed, allowing his voice to drop into the sarcastic drawl he had perfected in London a lifetime ago. “We shan’t have to duel over who wins the honor of escorting the lovely Miss Abbot, shall we?”
Winona’s eyes widened in surprise then clouded with a hint of confusion at his metamorphosis from determined flirt to bored aristocrat. Garrett couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t even been conscious that he was doing it. Donning the role on cue had become so natural over the years.
Kittrick chuckled as if he’d heard a great joke. “A duel? By George! You’ll find me quite game—ha-ha. What shall we use? Shuffleboard cues? Ha-ha.”
Before Garrett could respond, Winona slipped her gloved hand onto Kittrick’s proffered arm. “Nonsense, Captain,” she insisted lightly. “Lord Blackhawk was merely asking for directions to the dining room. I’m sure he won’t mind tagging along behind us.”
She glanced back at him over one shoulder, issuing him a steady green-eyed challenge. “Will you, my lord?” she purred.
Although Hildy and, no doubt, the captain believed Blackhawk was wealthy, Wyn maintained her belief that he was nothing more than a fortune hunter and thus a cad. She had surmised it earlier, and had seen no evidence that he was anything else yet. But he was an awfully attractive one. She only hoped that Hildy would see past his hand-some exterior to the true man beneath. That she would realize he was not the man she had hoped he would be.
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