Page 73 of Counting on a Countess
“Indeed,” Kit added with enthusiasm. “Excellent seamanship. Or is it seawomanship? We should invent a new word for women on the water.”
“Oh, we’ve always been sailors,” she said brightly. She added with a wink, “Don’t tell the British Navy.”
They sailed on for several minutes before Tamsyn announced, “It’s bad form to take command of another man’s vessel. I return the tiller to you, Mr. Singh.” She ceded the wooden bar.
“All this nautical hubbub has given me a considerable appetite,” Kit declared.
“I’m also famished,” she admitted. “Didn’t have much breakfast.”
A pang of remorse hit him. He didn’t want to cause her any distress. “I didn’t mean to alarm you with my skulduggery.” Yet he wondered, what precisely had she been afraid of?
Tamsyn opened the lid on the basket. “Let’s see what Mrs. Singh has packed for us.” She pulled out a loaf of bread, slices of cold meat and cheese, apples, and a flagon. “Will you join us, Mr. Singh?”
The captain politely waved off her offer. “It is custom for my wife and I to sup together. I shall wait.”
Kit pressed a hand to his rumbling stomach. “Well, I, for one, cannot.”
They ate their luncheon with gusto. The brush of their fingers as they passed the flagon of ale back and forth sent heat and awareness pulsing through him. As he drank, he realized he had his mouth where hers had been moments earlier.
He hadn’t kissed her last night, even though he’d desired it. But their companionship had been so easy during and after dinner he had wanted to preserve their harmony. Now, seeing her come alive on the water, full of vivid energy, the need to touch her and feel her close rose up like a tide—powerful and immutable.
He tried to concentrate on their unassuming meal, to enjoy simply being out with her on the river, but all the while, a box in his coat pocket kept demanding attention. He’d been so confident when he’d acquired it, but now that the moment approached, uncertainty took hold.
Once the food had been consumed and the remainders packed away, he decided that the time had finally arrived. His hand slipped into his pocket.
“I, ah, have something for you.” The nervousness in his voice was strange and unwelcome, but he couldn’t stop it. Not when he wanted so much to please her. “Put out your hand.”
With a faintly puzzled frown, she did so. He placed the hinged box on her palm.
“It’s not a pony,” he said with forced brightness.
“Or a steam engine,” she added.
He held his breath. Carefully, she lifted the lid to reveal its contents. She made a soft sound, pressing the fingers of her free hand to her lips.
“Oh, Kit.” From the box, she pulled out a length of gold chain. A pearl and diamond pendant swayed as she held up the necklace. Her gaze didn’t move from the bauble, yet she didn’t speak.
Disappointment came hard and cutting.
“It’s too plain,” he said, his words flat. “There were other necklaces. I should have gotten one of those. A cameo or a whole strand of pearls, or—”
“I love it.”
He went quiet. Then, “Truly?”
Her wide hazel eyes met his. “Truly. Thank you.”
Kit felt as though he could melt with relief.Praise God.He couldn’t tell her that he’d followed her to Clerkenwell yesterday, or that he’d noticed she had not returned with any purchases. Not even a simple strand of coral beads.
Between the necklace and this boat ride, most of his allowance was gone. But, damn, it had been worth it just to see her face light with happiness. That was all he wanted.
She turned, presenting him with her back. “Help me put it on?”
He took the necklace from her and looped it around her neck. The tender sweep of her nape was so sweet, he felt his throat grow tight. He wanted to lean close and inhale her scent, drawing her deeply into himself. His fingers grew clumsy as he fussed with the clasp.
“Almost have it,” he said through clenched teeth. “There.”
She spun around to face him. “How does it look?” She tilted her head from side to side, modeling the jewelry. Sunlight caught on the diamonds encircling the pearl, but nothing shone quite as brightly as she did.
