Page 19 of The Lord's Compass
“I am not gloating.”
“You are.”
“Fine, maybe I am gloating a slight bit.”
She sighed and turned around, causing Eric’s smirk to quickly fade when presented with her bare back. Yes, part of it was covered with her chemise and clumsily tied stays, but her pale skin above the undergarments was still calling to him, all soft, silky cream.
“Eric?” she said, looking behind her, and he swallowed his desire and stepped toward her.
“Would you like me to retie your stays?” he asked, hearing the huskiness in his voice.
“Proficient in that, are you?” she said, but even through her biting remark, he could hear the breathiness of her voice and knew that she was as affected as he was.
“It is your choice,” was all he said instead, and she nodded her head stiffly.
He reached out, sliding the silk ties from the bow she had – admirably if he was being honest – created behind her back, before carefully slightly tightening and then retying it.
He moved upward then, sliding each button through its hole, not preventing his fingers from brushing against her skin, and he caught her slight tremble with each touch. He stepped closer, tilting his head next to her neck, his mouth but an inch away as he longed to lean in and place his lips upon her. Her breathing quickened, and her fingers laced together in front of her. She wanted him as badly as he did her.
The only difference was that he knew, deep within, that she wasn’t yet ready to admit it.
So he stepped back and away from her, clearing his throat, and she whirled around, the flush in her cheeks evident.
“Th-thank you,” she said, and he nodded.
“Shall we go eat?”
“Why not?” she said, and they continued together out the door to the common area where the long table was set with food. They took a seat with the other passengers who had similarly purchased cabins.
“Good morning,” Eric said, adding a slight touch of a Spanish accent to his English. They wanted everyone to believe they were Spanish, did they not? Still, he didn’t miss Faith’s sharp look, and he realized he should have explained more to her. He leaned in, not missing the opportunity to nuzzle his nose into her hair. “We are a married Spanish couple, do not forget.”
She nodded slightly, a forced smile coming to her face as she sat next to him on the long bench, struggling to climb over it with her long skirts. Eric reached out and helped her lift them over.
Two men sat across from them, a couple around their age beside them next to Faith.
“It is lovely to see another woman aboard,” the woman said, and Faith nodded, her gaze down on the food in front of her. “I am Patricia. Where are you from?”
“San—” Faith began, but Eric cut her words off.
“Barcelona.”
“I see,” the woman said, blinking in confusion. “You are Spanish, then.”
“We are from Barcelona but visiting San Sebastian,” he continued. “My wife was confused as she does not speak English well.”
“My apologies,” the woman said, although instead of slowing her speech as would likely help someone who struggled with a language, instead she simply raised her voice. “I wish I could speak Spanish to you in turn. I tried to learn, but never had the time.”
“No matter,” Faith said, and Eric nearly choked when she spoke, for her attempted Spanish accent was so far from what a true Spanish accent should be that it was near comical, but it didn’t seem that the woman had any idea what it should sound like. “My English is not as bad as my husband believes.”
“Good for you,” the woman said. “We are going to visit my sister, who married an officer and then decided to stay in Spain. Haven’t seen her since the wars finished.”
“That will be lovely.”
“And you?”
Faith looked over at Eric now, raising a brow in question, and he leaned in as a bowl of gruel was placed in front of him. He didn’t look directly at Faith, for he knew that if he did, he would be unable to stop himself from laughing at her expression. From what he could see from the corner of his eye, she was not a fan of the dish.
“I am a merchant,” he said. “I sell textiles. We are going to San Sebastian to trade.”
