Page 53 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor's Destiny
"A fascinating man, certainly."
I turned—and immediately wished I hadn't. The woman approaching was stunning in a way I could never be. She had rich blonde curls, pale skin untouched by the sun, and a smile that hinted at knowledge beyond polite conversation. Her gown, finer than any I had seen since England, hugged her curves with just the right amount of elegance and invitation.
The young widow.
I noticed her when we boarded. She was traveling with servants, and I heard them talk about her dead husband. Now, she looked between me and the captain, but her attention lingered where Vardor was still high above the deck.
"My apologies for intruding," she said in such a sweet voice it made my teeth hurt. "But I couldn't help but notice your husband's... impressive display."
"He is not one for staying idle," I replied, plastering a fake smile on my lips. She never once looked at me, her eyes were fixed on Vardor, and it was beginning to grate on me. She looked as if she wanted to eat him. There was a different kind of hunger in her expression. One I shouldn’t have understood, but yet I did. Fully. She wanted him. Carnally.
"Clearly," she said, her gaze still fixed on him. "He's quite the specimen, isn't he?"
A sharp, unpleasant feeling twisted in my chest.
I had no right to feel it.
But I did.
The woman extended a delicate hand to me. "Cassandra Fenton, widow of the late Mr. Robert Fenton. I find myself in need of good company for the remainder of this voyage—would you be so kind as to introduce me to your husband?"
I hesitated for a fraction too long.
The captain chuckled. "I would say you may have competition, Mistress Lancelot."
"I would say she doesn't," came Vardor's voice.
I startled—he had come up soundlessly on the deck behind us and was now towering over us. His hair was unruly from the wind, and his dark eyes were unreadable.
The widow lit up at the sight of him.
"Ah, the elusive husband," she said, stepping forward. "That was quite the display, Mr. Lancelot. I do hope you intend to dine with the captain tonight. It would be a shame to waste such charming company."
I bristled.
The captain, clearly entertained, clapped a hand on Vardor's shoulder. "Indeed. Mistress Lancelot, Mr. Lancelot—I expect you both at my table tonight."
With that he turned and strode away. Cassandra Fenton gave me one last lingering glance before sauntering off, her skirts swaying just enough to ensure Vardor saw them.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my irritation into a tight, controlled smile.
Vardor watched her go, then turned to me, his expression unreadable. "You look displeased, wife."
Wife.
The word burned as he said it.
I lifted my chin, determined to ignore the uncomfortable heat curling inside me.
"It would seem I must suffer through dinner," I said, forcing down my building anger and willing my voice to sound bored. "Though I suspect you will enjoy it."
Vardor tilted his head, studying me as if he could see right through the pretense. It wasn't jealousy, was it? It couldn't be.
"Perhaps," he murmured.
The ship's galley was more lavish than I expected for a vessel at sea. Polished mahogany tables were set with fine silverware and porcelain dishes. Shiny brass lanterns attached to the wall illuminated the place enough not to need candles on the tables. Deep blue curtains were pulled back, exposing an open window that allowed a warm breeze in. The faint scent of roasted meats mingled with the ever-present brine of the sea. Various crew members were scattered about the room, acting as servants. Officers were in attendance, along with Roweena, myself, and a few other passengers deemed worthy of the captain's table.
Roweena looked beautiful in a peach-colored dress that emphasized her black hair and blue eyes. Her breasts swelled over the neckline, tempting me, luring me, hardening my cock, making me miserable and aching for her. She was both my torment and my salvation, a temptation I could neither indulge in—yet—nor resist much longer.
