Ship of Dreams (11 page)

"It's amazing what a bit of trim, a shawl, and a scarf or two can accomplish," she declared. "And I daresay you'll be able to buy another frock or two in Panama City or, if not there, then certainly in Havana."

Della had done her best not to think that far ahead, but now she had to wonder what her situation might be by then. Would she still be fighting her attraction to Kent, or might things have changed substantially between them? A delicious shiver of anticipation coursed through her at the thought. But Virginia claimed her attention again, and she had no further chance to dwell on such possibilities before the dinner bell rang.

"I see my remarks weren't enough to induce you to abandon your sunshades," Kent said teasingly as he joined her at the table a short time later.

Though her heightened awareness of him after her thoughts earlier was distracting, Della managed to reply lightly enough. "You have no idea what this southern sun can do to a complexion as fair as mine. While you might find my freckles appealing, I rather doubt scarlet, peeling skin would be equally so."

"No, I wouldn't want you to burn," he agreed. "I'm sure that would be quite painful."

She nodded. "It is—and I speak from experience. I learned years ago that even the misty northern California sun can wreak havoc with my complexion in summertime, if I'm not careful. And have you noticed? Some of the other passengers are no doubt wishing by now that they'd been more careful."

Addie Easton leaned forward from across the table. "Yes, did you see poor Mrs. Paddington? She's nearly as red as a lobster! She had a lotion of some traveling peddler that claimed to protect her from the sun, and so she relied upon that rather than more substantial shade."

"Not that she'll ever see the fellow again to demand her money back," commented Mr. Easton. He shook his head. "There should be laws to prevent those fellows from making their outrageous, unsubstantiated claims."

Della knew her smile had become fixed. Not for the world would she glance Kent's way just now. "Perhaps there will be one day," she said, surprised to hear how normal her voice sounded. "I'm sure those selling more legitimate remedies would welcome anything that reined in the charlatans who make a bad name for them all."

The others agreed with so sensible a comment, and then the conversation moved on to other topics, to Della's relief. Kent had remained silent during the exchange, and after a moment she gathered courage enough to look his way. He met her glance with an enigmatic smile.

"Very well said," he murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement—and something warmer?

Again she felt herself drawn into that gaze, finding depths there she had never noticed before. His smile faded slowly, making her aware of the shape of his lips, the lines of his face. With an effort, she pulled her eyes away and focused on the plate of beef and barley stew that had just been set before her.

As the voyage progressed, the quality of the food had deteriorated a bit, though it was still far better than what she'd been used to for much of her life. While still sustaining and reasonably tasty, it could no longer command her complete attention—particularly with Kent sitting so close beside her on the bench.

He was speaking with a Mr. Gibson now, seated on his other side—one of the investors he'd lined up since boarding the ship, she recalled. With his attention elsewhere, she had a chance to examine him again, appreciating anew the strong lines of his body, his clean, masculine scent. He must have gone back to the cabin at some point today to bathe himself with water from the basin, just as she had done yesterday. What if she had walked in upon him, or he upon her?

She swallowed convulsively at the image conjured up. Just then he turned his head, and she had to look away quickly, lest he see the longing she had no doubt was reflected in them. She was finally forced to admit her feelings—she wanted him. It had taken her so long to realize it simply because she'd never felt that way about any man before.

But did he want her?

She would simply have to find out, she decided impulsively. Of course, she couldn't ask him outright—even she wasn't bold enough for that. But she could give him hints, and watch to see how he responded. If he were interested, surely he would let her know.

Lifting her head, she sent him her most charming smile and allowed her thigh to brush his under the table, where no one else could see. Not that it should matter if they did, she reminded herself, as they were supposed to be married.

His golden-brown eyes widened. He fixed them on her, a new question in his expression. She faltered for a moment, glancing down, unsure what her next move should be.

Courage
, she told herself. How else could she know what her chances with him might be?

Boldly, she again lifted her gaze to his. A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth, and she was almost certain something smouldered deep in his eyes—

"Billy! Billy!" A sudden shout, quickly taken up by a dozen people, broke the moment abruptly. "The song! The song!"

Billy Birch stood with a smile and bowed before beginning his new masterpiece. It was hilarious, but Della sighed, her chance delayed and her courage fled. Would she be able to muster the nerve later to pick up where she had just left off?

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CHAPTER 8

It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek

Like a meadow-gale of spring—

It mingled strangely with my fears,

Yet it felt like a welcoming.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

By the second stanza of Billy's song, Kenton realized he had reason to be grateful for the interruption. Something had begun to kindle between Della and himself, something exciting, something he had very much wanted to pursue. But it was madness. He respected her too much now to consider her for a brief fling—but what else was possible?

Nothing, he realized. Odd that the knowledge should depress him so. He'd known from the start that she wasn't the type of woman who would make a man in his position a good wife. He understood her better now and, yes, liked her better—much better—than he had a week ago, but nothing had really changed.

Had it?

He slid a sideways glance at her. She sat watching Billy's antics, her full lips curved softly upward with amusement, her eyes animated, her cheeks flushed with a healthy glow. He had been quite honest when he'd admired even her freckles. They gave her face yet more character, and added to her illusion of innocence.

And in the most important way, he knew, she really was innocent. Her modesty and blushes made it perfectly obvious she had never taken a lover and he suspected, now that he knew her life story, that she'd never even been seriously courted. Amazing, considering her loveliness and the shortage of women in California, but she had moved around a lot, and could certainly be prickly at times. He had no doubt she could discourage any man who didn't interest her.

Or encourage any man who did.

As though feeling his eyes upon her, Della turned her head. Though sorely tempted to plumb the green depths of her eyes again—eyes that reminded him of the very Pacific on which they sailed—he had enough wisdom left to avert his gaze, focusing on the conclusion of Billy's performance before she could catch him watching her.

Though he laughed and applauded with the others as Billy finished his ditty, his attention was on the periphery of his vision, where he was able to observe Della with the tail of his eye. The moment she turned to chat about the performance with Addie Easton, he allowed himself to examine her again.

She was wearing the green dress today, the one that set off her coloring so well. Her curls, cascading down her back, seemed redder than ever, reminding him of dancing flames, alight with life, with passion.

No!
He could not afford to think of her in that way. Deliberately, he turned away to discuss finances with Mr. Gibson again, determined to pull his wayward emotions rigidly under control before facing the most dangerous hours of the twenty-four. The hours that would begin once he entered their stateroom.

As he approached their cabin three hours later, he could claim to have been only partially successful. Even though the other gentlemen had been more interested in cards and ribald jests, he had turned the talk to business repeatedly, in an effort to settle his mind. He had given Della a full hour alone in the stateroom. Surely by now she would be soundly asleep, removing the last vestige of temptation for the evening.

Silently he closed the cabin door behind him. The damask drapes before the berths were tightly closed, which he took as a good sign. As quietly as possible, he removed his boots, but the second one thunked softly against the trunk as he set it down.

"Kent?" came Della's voice drowsily from behind the curtain. He wasn't sure she'd ever used the nickname before when they were alone. The single syllable affected him profoundly, making him face quickly away from the berths.

"Yes, it's just me. Go back to sleep." He spoke in a near whisper. Surely, that was why his voice sounded so odd to his own ears.

A soft rustling sounded behind the drapes. "Mmmm," Della sighed as she shifted and settled herself to resume her slumbers. The sound was incredibly erotic.

He shook his head sharply. No, it was no different than other sounds she'd made—and he'd made, too—since sharing this room. His perspective was all that had changed. He had to find some way to change it back. That was all there was to it.

But telling himself what to do and doing it were two entirely different things. He splashed cold water on his face in an effort to cool his thoughts, but to little avail. His body remained rigidly—all too rigidly!—attentive to even the tiniest murmur from behind the curtain. Embarrassed, he doused the light before removing his trousers, then quickly climbed up to the privacy of his own berth. It was a long time before he fell asleep.

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When Della awoke, the sun shone bright through the porthole. Had she slept through the breakfast call? Sitting up, she parted the curtains and saw that Kent's clothes and boots were gone. Dimly, she recalled him coming in last night, late. She'd intended to talk with him then, but she hadn't awakened sufficiently, and instead had drifted back to sleep.

Today was a new day, however, and she would make the most of it. She would confess her one remaining deception—her name—and would at least hint at her feelings. She dressed quickly, then ventured out while her courage was still high.

The morning bell must have awakened her, for quite a few passengers were still finishing their breakfasts when she emerged into the dining saloon. Too eager to eat much, she only paused for a roll and some coffee before heading for the promenade deck to find Kent.

She spotted him almost at once, but he was deep in conversation with five or six other gentlemen. Any declaration would have to wait—not that she was exactly sure what she intended to declare anyway. Still, she regretted the delay, afraid that if she took too much time to consider, she might well think better of her plan to put her feelings into words.

Her best speeches had always been the ones she prepared the least, so she resisted the urge to rehearse what she intended to say. Instead, she went to join Addie, Mary and Virginia near the bow of the ship, where they were leaning as far forward as the railing would allow.

"Are we looking at something in particular?" Della asked, leaning out herself to watch the water as they did.

"Dolphins!" exclaimed Mary, gesturing. "See? There—and there!"

Della watched the sleek gray bodies with delight as they leaped from the water again and again, keeping pace with the ship. What incredible grace, what freedom! "They're so fast! I had no idea."

Now their excitement had attracted the attention of several other passengers, particularly the children. Parents lifted the smaller ones up to see the dolphins, squealing at the sight as loudly as their offspring. It reminded Della that she was by no means the only one experiencing her first sea voyage.

"Dolphins?" asked Kent in her ear, sending a delicious shiver down the back of her neck. "I remember seeing them on my trip to California last spring. Amazing, aren't they?"

Distracted by his nearness—he was almost but not quite touching her as he stretched his own length over the rail—Della could only nod at first. Then she found her tongue. "I've seen whales at a distance, out in the San Francisco Bay, but never dolphins. Why do you suppose they're not afraid of the ship?"

She felt rather than saw his shrug. "I suppose they've learned that it won't hurt them. What surprises me is how sociable they are, and how playful. They seem to have no worries at all." She caught a wistful note in his words.