Scoundrel - The Blades Of The Rose Part 21

"Think you did a rather good job of it last night-freeing your pa.s.sions."

The heat of his voice made her tremble. "I did, didn't I?" She felt proud of herself, proud of what she and Bennett had done, how little she cared what anyone else thought.

At last, Athena and Kallas joined them on deck, the witch looking considerably improved, though a bit vexed with the captain, a sentiment he shared.

Bennett uncovered the mirror. It gleamed even more brightly than it had when it was first removed from the stream.

"Such brilliance in its surface," Athena marveled, then asked London, "Are you sure of its age?"

"Quite," said London, and felt certain of herself. Where language was concerned, she needed no other a.s.surances besides her own. "The dialect died out millennia ago. Only a few fragments remain, but there are perhaps only a half dozen people familiar with it, maybe even less."

"Including you," added Bennett. His smile warmed her deeply.

"And me," she said, pride and modesty b.u.t.ting up against each other. She was used to comments about her appearance or her clothing or other inconsequential things, but Bennett was the first man, the first person, to value her skill with languages.

"And the writings?" Kallas asked, scattering her thoughts. "What do they say?"

London held the mirror, tilting it this way and that to better read the words encircling its rim. She cleared her throat, then began: "My eye is golden and lost.The rocks tumble, seven three nine, on the east;Then the precarious narrow path that must be taken,Else find yourself stranded, walk upon the water.Onward, and reflect toward the dawn.Find me then, if you can, to seeWhat I see."

Finished, she looked to Bennett to see what he could make of such a riddle. "I wish, sometimes, that these ancients spoke plainly."

"Then there'd be no fun in it." He stared at the mirror as if it could reflect back an answer. London watched the light bounce off the mirror's surface to bathe Bennett in a golden halo, but he was far more devil than angel. She had proof of that in the wonderful soreness throughout her body.

"You sure that's some magic something?" Kallas asked. "Because it sounds like a sailor giving directions."

Athena frowned, but did not scoff. "What do you mean?"

"There's a stretch of the sea to the northeast of here, a few days' sail," Kallas explained. "A chain of islands, more rocks in the sea than islands, in groups. The first of seven, then three, and then nine. Once past those, there are two islands that face each other with a narrow strait between them-maybe three times the width of this boat. A difficult sail. No one has ever dared it. Around the islands are wide shoals, too shallow to sail, but it's said a man could walk on them and the water would only come to his ankles. Then, toward the dawn toward the dawn would mean go east from there." would mean go east from there."

"Then this mirror is a map," said London.

"A map of words," the captain said. He drew on his pipe as punctuation, but could not quite hide some deserved masculine preening when Athena gaped in admiration and amazement.

"The men in your family must all be incredible sailors," said Bennett, approving.

"Always. It's said one of my ancestors taught Jason how to sail, and another sailed with Odysseus. Will they sing of me, the Muses?"

"Without a doubt," said London.

"You, too, will be in their song, Lady Oracle, who reads the words of the past."

"An extraordinary little boat we've got here," said Bennett. He rubbed his hands together. "Now, let's have ourselves some breakfast. I'm so hungry, I could eat a halyard."

London looked around the deck of the caique, at Kallas attending to the sails of his beloved boat, at Athena still shaking her head in wonderment, at Bennett heading off toward the galley below. He was the man whose bed she shared. For a few hours. For a few days. And then...and then she did not know, but she would not let herself dwell on uncertainties. For now, she was here, in the middle of the ocean, on this swift-sailing boat, with these people.

Sea captain. n.o.ble witch. Life-loving scoundrel. And her. An odd group, but one in which she was discovering her most truthful self.

London adjusted the tension on the jib's halyard, keeping its leading edge straight as the wind shifted. She didn't need Kallas's guidance anymore. She knew what the boat needed.

Certain moments in one's life would always be returned to, even years, decades, later. Some of them were painful-heartbreak, mortification, loss-but there were others that held the clarity and perfection of cut gems, to sparkle against the velvet drape of memory. And, as the years progressed and unfolded in their relentless march, again and again would the mind revisit those moments. Eating a plum, the juices running down your hand, as you walked an esplanade along the sh.o.r.e. The day that the weather cleared and the ground was finally firm enough to be ridden upon, and the leap of your heart as your horse took the first fence. A new old book being delivered and unwrapped from its brown paper, sitting upon your desk, full of possibility, and the musty, rich smell of its pages as you opened it.

You returned to these moments, sometimes to ease a current suffering, and sometimes for the simple pleasure of revisiting a past joy, but they were there, and held and treasured in the cupped palms of your mind.

London knew that, no matter what the years brought her, or even the next few weeks, she would always cherish her days spent on the caique, as they sailed toward the mirror's destination. Though she hadn't much experience with the larger world, she understood enough to see these days as miniature miracles painted in azure, cobalt, turquoise. Perhaps they were all the more precious because they could not last.

Squinting in the sun, she checked the jibsheets, both port and starboard, feeling the power in the lines, taking their power into herself.

Knowing the transience of her happiness, she reveled in each and every heartbeat, each breath. Daytime was filled with light and sky and sea, the glitter of gold upon the waves, the snap of the sails as she learned the wind, pa.s.sing other brightly painted boats in the timeless rhythm of seafaring life. She felt softness leave her arms, her body, in the joy of movement. Her hair smelled of salt.w.a.ter and sun. She laughed often. Stories were told, many outrageous, some entirely fabricated. She drank dark wine and ate briny olives. She became a sailor.

And the nights. She felt like Psyche, visited each night by the embodiment of sensuality. In truth, it was she she who visited who visited him him, since London and Athena shared a cabin, but the general idea was much the same. Though she prized her days, London could not wait for night, after dinner, when Kallas took the wheel for a few hours, leaving Bennett and her free to do unspeakably wonderful and wicked things to one another in dark, intimate seclusion.

She explored every inch of Bennett's magnificent body and, in so doing, came to know her own completely. How, when he bit the tender juncture of her neck and shoulder, she shuddered with pleasure. The insides of her arms, she discovered, were sensitive, and she ran them over his back, across his broad chest, feeling the textures of his skin, his hair. Her breath on the inside of his thigh caused him to growl. His tongue, lapping at the folds of her p.u.s.s.y, made her whimper and writhe. She loved to clutch at the tight muscles of his b.u.t.tocks as he drove into her, pulling him closer until they were almost one creature.

He taught her things. She guided him. They tangled together.

The heat that now suffused her cheeks was not caused by the sun, but by exquisite memory of what she and Bennett had done the night before.

London was sure that every morning, she emerged on deck with the sleepy, satisfied look of a woman who had been thoroughly pleasured. G.o.d knew that Kallas and Athena had to hear her moans each night. She could not bring herself to care. Shameless. She was without shame. And it was wonderful.

It wasn't only the physical aspects of their lovemaking that had London smiling to herself. Once they had temporarily sated themselves with each other's bodies, she and Bennett would lay together in the narrow bunk and talk of everything-weighty matters, trifles. She learned about his life in England as the second son of a noted barrister, his restlessness at the idea of settling down, practicing law himself, and how, when he was recruited for the Blades, life finally made sense. He could at last make good use of his skill with codes, his ease in the darkness. A man like him, of excellent breeding and solid English values, clever of mind and strong of body, could have been an Heir. To her utter astonishment, she learned that he had, in fact, been approached by an agent of the Heirs of Albion while in his second year at Cambridge. Bennett rejected their advances, their appeals to his vanity, his cupidity. Soon after that, a man by the name of Catullus Graves sent him a letter, inviting him to Southampton to decode some ancient Scandinavian ciphers. That's when he learned about the Blades, and that's when he vowed to make their cause his own.

At his prompting, she told him about her own life, but it was far less interesting, in her opinion, than his. Unlike him, she'd never been to Lapland, Tangiers, Bucharest. She hadn't scrambled up the sides of snow-covered mountains, seeking shelter before a blizzard hit. She never shared a Berber's hookah while watching kohl-eyed, veiled dancers in firelight. But, oh, she wanted to, and he described his adventures with such vivid detail that she felt as if she'd lived a whole other life, one outside of books. He asked about the numerous languages she studied, her joy in them, and took his pleasure in hers. She had never spoken to anyone about her linguistic scholarship, always afraid of their response. Bennett was different. She knew she could trust him; he wouldn't turn on her or decry what was so important to her.

She thought about them following the mirror's direction. It would be a difficult voyage-the mirror guarded its secrets well. London hoped Kallas had the skill of generations to navigate treacherous waters.

Satisfied that the jib's rigging was in order, London drifted from the bow of the boat toward the quarterdeck. There, she found Athena and Kallas pa.s.sionately arguing about whether Jason should have abandoned Medea. Naturally, the witch defended the sorceress. Kallas insisted that Jason rightly found a new woman, as Medea was of a less-than-sane disposition.

"But she killed her own brother to help him escape Colchis," Athena protested.

"Exactly," said Kallas. "She was several sails short of a clipper."

Athena made a noise of outrage.

London smothered her laugh, then asked, "Where is Bennett?"

With the stem of his pipe, Kallas pointed toward the stern of the boat.

Leaving the witch and the sailor locked in their dispute, London picked her way toward the back of the caique. As she neared, she glanced around with a frown. Bennett wasn't there.

But he was. London got closer and saw him. Sprawled on his back along the decking, his head propped on a coil of rope, Bennett lay across the stern. His chest rose and fell in gentle swells. He was asleep.

For a few moments, she watched him. He'd had the opportunity to watch her sleep back on Delos, and she seized her chance for reversal.

His long legs stretched out, the fabric of his trousers outlining the clean shapes of his muscles. An athlete at rest, the subject for sculpture. His fingers interlaced over the breadth of his chest-she shivered, remembering how, last night, those deft fingers felt as they trailed along her spine, over the curve of her behind, and down her legs in a whisper caress. In sleep, his face was as beautiful as a night full of stars over the sea. Long, dark eyelashes that trembled slightly with dreams. His mouth, delectable, full, turned in a half smile, for even asleep there was lightness in his heart. A surge of tenderness swept through her.

London realized that they never actually slept together. She always had to return to her cabin, so that, when Kallas's shift at the helm was over, he had a bed to himself. She and Bennett might doze, briefly, but then it was time for her to struggle into her clothing and stagger across the pa.s.sageway, and for him to go above. To wake beside him in the glow of morning, both of them warm and naked, talking of half-remembered dreams as they surfaced into wakefulness, it was a pleasure she might never experience.

A pain tightened within her, but she struggled to banish it. No demands No demands, she reminded herself. Nothing but now. Nothing but now.

She could watch him all day. Yet she didn't want to wake him. Perhaps she would join Kallas and Athena's disputation, even though she felt as though her presence was not necessary. The two Greeks always had some variety of argument brewing.

London turned to go back, but at the faint sound of her skirts, Bennett opened his eyes. He saw her and smiled, stretching like a cat.

"Don't go," he rumbled.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," she said.

"I'm already disturbed." He reached out a hand toward her. "Sit with me."

She came forward and took his hand, reveling in the feel of his skin against hers. When he drew her down, she readily acquiesced, sitting cross-legged and cradling his head in her lap.

"Mm," he murmured, nuzzling her thigh. "Much better."

Even this turned her blood tropic. Her hands ran through his dark hair. Here was another of those moments, she realized, that she would return to many times over in the course of her life. "Poor beast," she said, soft, "have I been wearing you out these past few nights?"

"Worn down to the bone." He took one of her hands and rubbed it against his cheek. Slight bristles p.r.i.c.kled against her palm, and she adored the masculinity of it, of him.

"Perhaps I should let you sleep at night instead of demanding ravishment."

His bright aqua eyes held hers, sharp and intense. "I'm not giving you up. Not even for a night. Either you come to my cabin or I go to yours."

"Athena might not appreciate that," she said placidly, yet inside, she rioted, knowing that he needed her as much as she needed him.

"She's a grown woman," he said with a shrug. "G.o.d knows she's seen me doing worse."

London raised a brow. "So, you and she were were lovers." Try as she did, it was impossible to keep the edge from her voice. lovers." Try as she did, it was impossible to keep the edge from her voice.

"A long time ago. Briefly." He gripped London's hand tighter. "But that means nothing. We're friends now. Only friends."

London said, "I'm not quite as...sophisticated as you. I wonder how you'd feel if one of my former amours was on this boat. Not that I had any, but if I did."

"I'd tie raw steaks to him and throw him overboard. But not before beating him into a paste."

"Very bloodthirsty."

He flashed a vicious grin. "Love, where you're concerned, you have no idea."

She bent forward and kissed him, mouths upside down. Then, for some time, they were quiet. She continued to stroke his hair, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch, almost purring.

"What kind of name is London?" he asked suddenly. "I've never met anybody with that name before."

Who knew what directions his clever mind would take? "My full name is Victoria Regina Gloriana London Edgeworth Harcourt."

"Great G.o.d, how c.u.mbersome to embroider."

London chuckled. "Yes, well, my father is possessed of a rather overdeveloped patriotic fervor. When I was very small, everyone called me Victoria, but as soon as I learned to read-"

"At the age of two."

"Four, Clever Britches," she said, tugging hard on his hair. He grimaced comically. "When I was four," she continued, loosening her hold, "I saw that everywhere we went in the city, my middle name kept popping up. On everything. Signs. Newspapers. Painted on the sides of wagons. And I thought that, if my name was everywhere, then everything belonged to me."

"A greedy little imp."

"Not greedy," she defended. "I thought that our Queen could rule the country, and I would rule the city."

"Power mad," he said sagely. "I knew it. Not so meek and mild, after all."

She shook her head at him, torn between amus.e.m.e.nt and exasperation. "So I insisted on being called 'London.' Miraculously, even my father agreed. And that is what I have gone by ever since." Even speaking of her father cast a pall over what had been a lovely afternoon. She tried to turn the conversation to more pleasant topics. "And what about you? I've never met anyone named Bennett."

"My mother was, is, a great admirer of the novels of Miss Austen. Pride and Prejudice Pride and Prejudice is one of her favorites." is one of her favorites."

"Lucky that you weren't named Fitzwilliam."

"Tell that to my brother."

"No!"

"Yes. Fitzwilliam Darcy Day. Couldn't even take refuge in his middle name. I believe it shaped him into the venal man he is today." He sighed mournfully. "A barrister."

"My condolences," she murmured, but a smile curved her mouth.

They were smiling together in the Aegean sunlight when Kallas's shout had them both leaping to their feet and running to the helm, hand in hand.

"What's wrong?" Bennett demanded, awake and alert.

"Nothing's wrong," Kallas answered. "But I thought you should know, we have been guided properly by your mirror. And me. Look."

He pointed off the portside bow, and London squeezed Bennett's hand tightly. There, lined up in groups of seven, then three, and then nine, were tiny islands, more like the jagged peaks of a dragon's teeth above water than true islands, but they were there just the same, as the mirror had directed. Her heart pounded. They were getting closer to the Source.

London thought she saw something else. She darted into the quarterdeck house and returned with the spygla.s.s, which she trained closer to the horizon. She observed dim, low shapes of two more islands, a narrow strait between them. It was precisely what Kallas and the mirror said they would find.

"Are we going to have to sail through that?" London asked, pointing at the strait. The spygla.s.s was pa.s.sed around, each of them taking a turn to peer through it. "It seems hardly wide enough to fit a stout man, let alone a boat."

Everyone fell silent, considering this.

"Now is the time for worrying," Athena said.

The caucus was brief and didn't soothe anybody's nerves. Bennett paced as they debated their options. As they neared the strait, it showed itself to be lined with spiked rocks, a tight squeeze for even the most adept seaman. Surely Scylla presented less of a threat.

"What about sailing around it?" asked London.