Page 15 of Lovers' Dance

Matt was silent for a moment, then said tartly as he dropped the bottle of lotion and stood up, “I find your comments quite offensive.” He glanced at Paul. “Both of you should be ashamed of yourselves. You don’t personally know any of those people in port, yet you’ve arrived at the conclusion that they’re undesirable simply because they’re not white? That’s ignorant and clearly racist. If you’ll excuse me, I must speak to the captain concerning our departure tomorrow.”

Louisa grabbed his forearm. “Heavens, darling. What’s gotten into you?”

He stared at her hand on his arm until she removed it. Matt affected a bored, yet haughty, demeanour. “Nothing’s gotten into me, Louisa. I’m simply enlightened enough to know judging someone on their skin tone is not only wrong, but also illegal.”

With that, he turned on his heels and left his friends gaping at his retreating back. Fucking hell. He was fuming. Not at them, but at himself. Before two months ago, he probably wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with Paul and Louisa making those comments. In fact, he most likely would’ve verbally agreed and added to the conversation. Two months ago he’d met her, and he still couldn’t get her out of his mind. Bloody Madison DuMont. She’d done something to him, changed him in some way that he couldn’t change back. And it was fucking with his perfect life. He ached for her, which he found laughable considering the entirety of their time together was less than twenty-four hours. He didn’t know anything about this woman, yet it was her face he imagined when making love to other women, her body he wished he could touch as long as he wanted, her dark skin lying next to his pale skin in bed. She was black magic, literally. She had somehow managed to get under his skin. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t try to find her. What was the point? It would never—

“Matt, wait up.” Nathan’s footsteps behind him stopped his train of thoughts.

“What, Nathan?” he asked coldly.

Nathan eyed him speculatively, an unsure grin on his face. “What happened back there? If I didn’t know better, I’d asked if you’re the newest member of a disenfranchised minority support group.”

“That’s not in the least bit amusing.” Matt turned, resuming his quick pace.

“You’re out of sorts, mate. Why?” Nathan kept up Matt’s furious stride. They were the same height and usually worked out together.

“Is that how I sound? As ignorant and foolish as them? Am I equally as racist as everyone on this floating can?”

“Whoa.” Nathan grabbed his friend’s arm. “Don’t tar me with the same brush, Matt. Bella and I are the most liberal out of the lot of you.”

Matt scowled at his friend. “Liberal, my arse. You’re just as bad.”

“No,” Nathan said emphatically. “We’re not, but that’s irrelevant. What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been out of sorts for months. The simplest thing is winding you up these days. You fired one of your executives for making a joke.”

“It was sexist,” Matt shot back defensively. “And he was taking the piss.”

“Bollocks,” Nathan said dryly. “You’re angry over something and taking it out on anyone who makes a mistake. And I know what’s causing this.”

Matt jerked to a stop, turning slowly to face his friend. “Don’t even start.”

“It’s that woman you told me about. The one you helped that night. What did you say her name was again?”

“I’m not talking about this,” Matt gritted out and strode away, leaving a puzzled Nathan behind. He had mentioned it in passing to Nathan a week after the incident. If Matt was honest with himself, he would admit it had been deliberate. He wanted to tell someone about her. Nathan was his best friend since their Eton days. Rocky at the start, but building into a solid friendship that he had come to depend on through university life at Cambridge, and now. Nathan knew something about what had transpired that night, but not how close Matt had come to sleeping with Madi and, certainly, not her race.

“I absolutely refuse to look for her,” he muttered under his breath. As he spotted his captain sorting out the rigging, Matt plastered a relaxed smile on his face as he approached. He’d had enough of France. It was time to go home.

Nathan pondered his friend’s hasty escape. He knew Matt, and he knew this mystery woman was the underlying reason for Matt’s malcontent these past weeks. Women. Matt always had women eating out of his hands. He never cared for any of them. Nathan was secretly worried about the not so subtle pressure being applied on Matt by his parents over his relationship with Louisa. Nathan stared out at the water glistening under the bright sunshine. Louisa was fine, in small doses. If Matt married her, Nathan was under no illusions of the strain that would put on their friendship. His sweet Bella, who wouldn’t hurt a fly, privately detested Louisa Gilliford. Found her to be nauseatingly insincere and elitist. Bella wasn’t like them; she had money, of course, but not handed down from previous generations. Her parents had both made their fortunes in the London financial markets. Bella had seen her parents work hard for everything they had. It gave her a different perspective, one Nathan himself didn’t have. His background was the same as the others on the yacht: old money. Sometimes he felt ashamed of his arrogant assumption of his place in their society. Bella had shown him a different world. He was thankful for the day he met her.

Madison DuMont. The name popped into his head. Nathan smiled to himself. He would find this mystery lady. Then Matt could get over this secret obsession of her once he realized she was another woman undeserving of the pedestal he’d placed her on.

“Nate,” his sweetheart’s voice called behind him. Nathan spun around with the widest grin on his face. “Is Matt okay?”

“Of course. Did I mention how much I love you today?”

Bella pulled off her shades, light brown eyes twinkling. “Several times. Now what do you want? You’re only this sweet when you’re up to no good.”

Nathan pulled her into a tight embrace. “Just you, sweetheart. I only want you.”

A week after their return to England, a soaked Nathan stood outside his front door with a thick file in one hand and an unopened bottle of Scotch in the other.

“We need to talk,” his friend said, and pushed past him without waiting for Matt to step back. It was Sunday afternoon, the rain had been falling all day. Lovely British weather at its best. Matt closed the door, faintly amused at Nathan’s abrupt behaviour.

“Hello, Matthew,” he mocked, following his soggy friend. “How are you? This weather is horrendous, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you—”

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