It was late afternoon, and Jessica had yet to make an appearance on deck.
Alistair restrained himself from pacing by dint of will alone. If she decided to avoid him on the ship, it would make wooing her more difficult, but he was not a man who accepted defeat gracefully. He intended to build a rapport with her during the journey, and he would find a way to do it. There had to be means of establishing at least the beginnings of a deeper association. He simply had to puzzle out the key to unlocking her. Last night, he’d thought forthrightness might be the avenue of least resistance, but perhaps he had misread her.
Gripping the gunwale, he stared down at the water. It did not escape his notice that the sea was presently the same gray hue as Jessica’s eyes.
By God, she was breathtaking.
He remembered her entering the great cabin for supper. She’d altered the very air around her, allowing him to feel her come in. The weight and heat of her regard had flowed over his spine like a physical caress. He’d arranged to be standing as he was, coatless and occupied, at the time of her arrival. He wanted her to see him as the man he was now—cultured and learned. Polished. His presentation was meant to be the first salvo in what was intended to be a slow, careful seduction.
In actuality, however, she’d struck him a blow that carried equal fierceness. She had stood there before him with guinea-blond hair piled high, her pale skin as flawless as the finest porcelain, her once slender body matured into that of a woman … Full, high breasts. Delicate waist. Long legs he desired to feel wrapped around his hips. There was something inherently vulnerable about her that called to every base and primitive instinct inside him.
He wanted to ravish her. Possess her.
For a taut moment, her features had betrayed her response to the realization of who he was. Seven years ago and now, she’d been drawn to him. He could use that against her, if he tread very carefully.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Caulfield.”
Bloody hell. Even the sound of her voice could send lewd imaginings through his mind. It was as precise and restrained as her deportment. He wanted to turn that clipped intonation into something throatier. Softer. He wanted to hear her say his name while hoarse from pleasured cries.
With a deep breath, he faced her. “Lady Tarley. You look rested. I trust you slept well?”
“I did, thank you.”
She looked more than rested; she looked stunningly beautiful. Dressed in a deep blue gown and carrying a delicate parasol, she was a vision on the deck of his ship. He did not look away from her, but knew every man within eyesight had to be equally mesmerized. She was impossibly perfect in every way.
Joining him at the gunwale, Jessica set one gloved hand atop the wood and looked out at the endless ocean around them. “I have loved sailing from the very first,” she offered in a rush of words. “There is something so freeing yet calming about the lack of visual obstruction. Although I would not wish to be so isolated while alone, on a ship as fine as this, and with such a large crew, there is nothing to mar the joy. Lord and Lady Masterson must be very proud of your successes.”
The sound of his father’s title had the customary effect of making his hackles rise. He shook off the tension by rolling his shoulders back. “Pride is, perhaps, not the word I would use. But they are certainly aware of my endeavors.”
Jessica glanced at him. The nervousness revealed by her quick speech was also evident in the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth. Though neither of them had yet to acknowledge the memory of that long-ago night in the Pennington woods, the recollection was wedged between them, more pervasive because they avoided addressing it. He wished to. God, how he wished to. There were so many questions he wanted to ask her.
Instead, he redirected her back to a topic they could both be comfortable with. “I agree the wide ocean is like a blank slate. The possibilities and mysteries of it are endless.”
Her smile was lovely. “Yes.”
“How is your family?”
“Very well. My brother is at Oxford now. Hadley is quite pleased, of course. And my sister has become a hostess of some renown. She will be most helpful to you once you return to England.”
“She wed the Earl of Regmont, did she not?”
“Yes. I introduced them on the eve of my wedding, and the meeting led to a love match, as horribly unfashionable as that is.”
He couldn’t resist. “A night to remember.”
“And your family?” A soft blush tinged her cheeks. “How do they fare?”
“As expected. My brother Albert—Lord Baybury now—has yet to produce an heir, a fact that disturbs Masterson greatly. He fears I may one day inherit the dukedom, which would be his worst nightmare realized.”
She shot him a castigating look. “Nonsense. It is difficult for everyone when there is a failure to conceive. Certainly, it is distressing for Lady Baybury as well.”
The sympathy in her tone clearly sprang from a deeply rooted place, which reminded Alistair that six years of marriage had not produced a child for Jessica, either.
He swiftly changed the course of discussion. “I cannot recall the time of year Tarley took you to Calypso, but the weather now is tolerably hot. On occasion, there are brief spates of afternoon rain, but sunshine swiftly follows. Most find it quite delightful, and I trust you will as well.”
Her mouth curved in a way not meant to be seductive, but he found it so. “You navigate through difficult conversations with remarkable aplomb.”
“A necessity in many business transactions.” He glanced at her. “Are you surprised? Impressed?”
“Would you like me to be?”
“Absolutely.”
One perfectly arched brow rose. “Why?”
“You exemplify the epitome of social grace. One can only think highly of those who receive your approval.”
Her expression was wry. “You grant me more credit than I deserve.”
Turning slightly, he faced her and leaned casually into the gunwale. “Then allow me to say that I would be most pleased to earn your esteem.”
Jessica tipped her parasol in a way that shielded her face from him. “You are doing a fine job so far.”
“Thank you. However, do not fault me for trying harder.”
“You are trying quite hard enough.”
Her prim tone caused his smile to turn into a grin.
This time, she was the one to change the subject. “Is the water around the island as clear as I remember?”
“Clear as glass. From the shore, one can watch the fish swim. And there are places along the coast where the depth is shallow for a great distance, far enough that one can wade out to the reefs.”
“I will have to find one of those places.”
“I’ll take you.”
The parasol lifted then. “Surely your obligation to Michael does not extend that far.”
“I would enjoy nothing more.” The moment the words were out, he knew he’d revealed too much in the huskiness of his voice. It couldn’t be helped. Not with the image of her wet and playful in the water, with her skirts lifted high enough to bare slender ankles. Perhaps shapely calves …
“I believe I’ve had enough sun today,” Jessica pronounced, stepping back. “It was lovely speaking with you, Mr. Caulfield.”
Alistair straightened. “I will be here for the next several weeks,” he teased, “if you should like to share the sun again.”
As she glided away, she spoke over her shoulder. “I will keep that in mind.”
The soft note of flirtation in her tone sent a surge of satisfaction through him. It was a small victory, but he’d long ago learned to take whatever he could.