Isabella looked between Collins and Russell, her fingers flexing on Strathmore’s arm. A cloud obscured the setting sun, casting a sudden chill on deck. But Strathmore wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her just a little closer.
Their intimate moments continued to grow, expand beyond their time in the bedroom. She needed to put distance between them. Instead, she marginally relaxed against him, strangely secure in his protective embrace. Her limbs still felt heavy and languid and her body continued to hum with Strathmore’s remembered touch.
Frankly, Isabella didn’t want to examine the closeness between them.
They were lovers, new lovers at that. Their intimacy in the bedroom was one thing — Isabella knew what aroused Strathmore better than she ever had Manning. But outside the bedroom, this affection carried over.
She didn’t know why. Didn’t understand it. And certainly didn’t want to scrutinize too closely. Or at all.
“What do you mean a thief?” she demanded, pushing all thoughts of Strathmore, and what they did or did not share, away. “What’s been taken?”
“Your Grace.” Collins bowed again. “I set down my snuffbox for a few moments, only to turn around to find it missing! And Mrs. Russell removed her silk shawl; it was as if it sprung legs and walked off!”
Intrigued, Isabella looked to Strathmore, who watched the men with a hard gaze. He offered no platitudes but simply watched.
“We have a horrible snake thief amongst us,” Collins reiterated. “So take care, Your Graces. Who knows where he might roam around this vessel.”
“We shall,” Strathmore said evenly, with a small nod of acknowledgement. “And keep an eye out.”
“Yes,” Collins said. “It’ll be a great thrill to see this thief apprehended. If you’ll pardon me, Your Graces, I must check on my wife.”
Russell bowed and followed his friend, apparently to check on his wife as well.
Isabella watched them go. “It seems this will not be a dull voyage.” She smiled up at him and watched his features somewhat relax. “By the time we arrive in Dublin, the thief will have grown ten feet tall, with claws for hands and the devil’s eyes.”
“You forget.” He leaned closer, his eyes bright with amusement now. “He’ll have the ability to vanish before our very own eyes.”
She laughed, and they moved toward Mr. and Mrs. Keyes, just emerged from below deck. The earlier cloud moved on and with it that strange sense of cold foreboding. While Isabella enjoyed the scent of the sea, the way the wind blew across her skin, poor Mrs. Keyes looked terrible.
“Oh, Mrs. Keyes,” Isabella said as they drew even with her. “How are you feeling?”
The other woman looked a darker shade of green than she had even earlier. This voyage had not been kind to her.
“Oh, Your Grace,” Mrs. Keyes began and waved as if her illness was nothing. The reality was that she’d spent nearly the entire trip sick. “I’m so sorry, but we’ve come to beg off our drinks for this eve. I don’t believe I can tolerate anything but bed, what with the waves so violent.”
The ship sailed on smooth, calm waters. Still, Isabella nodded in sympathy.
“Of course,” she assured Mrs. Keyes. “Don’t give it another thought.”
“Thank you, Your Graces,” Mrs. Keyes said and looked even worse for the conversation. “I hope to hold a full conversation with you before the voyage is over.”
Isabella nodded and watched her newly formed acquaintance turn back over the railing. “Or at least once on dry land,” she said kindly.
“Come my dear,” Mr. Keyes said and rubbed his wife’s back as she took deep breaths in a vain attempt no to be ill.
Isabella watched the couple and didn’t miss the look that passed between Mr. Keyes and Strathmore — that protective look that had so surprised her earlier. Mr. Keyes was very protective of his wife and that warmed a part of Isabella — the part she chose not to examine too closely.
Shaking it off, Isabella rested her head on Strathmore’s arm as they moved further along the railing and glanced back at the land, far behind them now.
“At least we can be certain the Keyes’ aren’t involved with the thief,” she said quietly.
She didn’t want to stay with the emotions swirling around her and did her best to steer the conversation back to solid, unemotional, ground. Safer ground. Sounder topics.
“No,” Strathmore said with a sympathetic wince. “I can’t imagine either one of them would be such a talented actor as to use the illness to mask their crimes.”
He turned around and leaned back against the railing. Isabella looked up at him and watched his gaze flicker over the people behind her — the crew, the captain, the other passengers.
“But there is someone who masks their true intent, their crimes,” he added.
“You’re right. Most people don’t see what’s right before them.” She turned into him and chose not to think about the intimacy of the move. “I wonder if we can pick him out of the crowd.”
The humor lighting his gaze turned to full-blown interest. Laughter, she’d have said. Over the last weeks, she learned a lot about her new husband, learned many of the various ticks and movements that made him up.
Yes, the look he gave her now was amused interest. “That might be an entertaining pastime. Would you care to try it?”
“Would you?” she returned, raising her eyebrow. In challenge maybe, but the familiarity would not be ignored. More and more they teased each other, tested the limits of their relationship.
Thus far, Isabella had not discovered the boundaries.
His gaze turned curious now, and he looked around. She had the sense he hid what he thought from her, something just beneath the surface, and Isabella suddenly wondered how well she did know him.
“Do we dare?” he leaned closer, the words a gentle puff of breath along her jaw.
“Why not?” Isabella smiled but lowered her voice as well. “We know how to conduct ourselves discreetly.”
“There aren’t many opportunities for games of chance on this voyage,” he said, though she had a feeling he meant more than a game of piquet between them. Isabella didn’t understand his tone and tried to brush it off. “This will be a unique diversion,” Strathmore added.
A diversion. Yes, that was exactly what she needed. A way to deflect Strathmore’s interest from solely her onto other things. Yes, that was relief she felt at the knowledge they’d have this occupation to engage in, to direct their — his — attention onto another pastime.
It wasn’t that she minded his attentions; no Isabella relished them these past weeks. And therein lay the problem. She needed to find a way to enjoy his attentions without losing herself in them. Perhaps this diversion was what she wanted — give her the time she needed to find that balance.
That elusive balance between wanting him and wanting more.
Strathmore nodded, and they continued their walk round the deck. After days aboard ship, they were quite good at deftly avoiding both rigging and the sailors. It’d become a dance around the deck, and they waltzed rather well. The first mate walked by them and gave a cordial nod, his attention on his crew.
They proceeded in silence for a bit, and Isabella mentally reviewed those she traveled with. “I’ll ask Raffella if she’s seen anything amiss,” she said quietly to Strathmore.
He nodded. “Good, yes. She’ll be privy to information from the other servants.”
Servants, yes. They passed Mrs. Keyes feebly gripping the starboard railing, her solicitous husband by her side. Apparently they had not been fortunate enough to return below deck before the illness gripped Mrs. Keyes again. Isabella nodded to the couple, in commiseration; their search was not limited simply to servants and crew.
The thief could, quite literally, be anyone.
Grimacing in sympathy, Isabella once more thanked her constitution. Neither she nor Strathmore had been ill. Raffella had done poorly their first two days; however, she soon recovered.
Many of the passengers currently milled on deck, some doing their best to stay out of the sailors’ way. Others, well, Isabella didn’t see that they cared. There were several she didn’t see, no doubt below in their cabins.
She felt like Wellington as he gathered information on Napoleon’s next troop movement. But her task wasn’t quite as lofty. She and Strathmore simply searched for the fellow who had, thus far, snatched a shawl and snuffbox.
“Do we seek crew? Or mayhap one of those unfortunate souls trapped below decks?”
His voice caused her to shiver, despite the nature of their conversation. Clearing her throat, and doing her best to push this near-constant arousal for the man away, Isabella looked around the deck.
“I’d suspect the crew over those below decks,” she admitted. “The crew rarely releases those lower-deck passengers for fresh air.”
“It’s possible,” he said, “that one or two of those passengers mix among us.”
“It’s possible,” she agreed and looked more sharply at those she passed. “But unlikely,” she added. Strathmore already nodded in agreement. “We’ve all become quite well acquainted up here. A new face would easily stand out.”
Strathmore’s hungry look shot straight through her. Isabella shivered and swallowed hard, fingers bunching the fabric of her skirts.
“True,” he said, voice low and gravely. His fingers brushed along her temple, down her jaw. “And very perceptive.”
Mouth dry, she struggled to think of what to say. Anything other than enticing him back to their cabin. Isabella struggled with the hot need pulsing through her and the way Strathmore’s hungry gaze sparked her own hunger.
She licked her lips and tore her gaze from his. It was so easy to fall into him, into the passion between them. Too easy.
“We need to ask a few passengers some questions,” she managed. “Gauge their reactions, see if they have a weakness.”
She stopped and looked up at him with a coy glance, her lips curving in the beginnings of a wicked smile she seemed wholly unable to stop. “A reaction such as one would glean when playing cards.”
Strathmore laughed, a bold agreement that had others looking at them. Isabella didn’t care, and when they resumed walking, his hand came up to cover hers. She leaned closer into him, his body warm and hard against her.
She and Strathmore spent the rest of the day observing the other passengers far more closely than Isabella had bothered to since boarding. She tried to direct his attention to them and away from her. However, Strathmore had clearly been more interested in returning to the cabin than in their task.
Then again, she’d been rather indulgent since leaving port. Indulgent and decidedly wanton with Strathmore. She enjoyed him and could not deny that. But he unsettled her, had done so since they first met.
Isabella had expected one thing — a predator. Yes, she’d caged him since besting him at cards, but she still expected Strathmore to be the predator. Not the man who currently accompanied her on this new quest. Not this man, who, she believed, had been honest with her in all things.
She scrambled for the right footing. The one she needed to maintain her own balance between want of her husband and need to protect herself. When it came to Strathmore, however, she just wanted him. And decided not to deny herself that pleasure.
It was a rather unusual feeling for her to want another man. But what harm could there be in wanting one’s husband?
What harm indeed.
“The day has grown long,” Strathmore said as the last fingers of sunlight danced along the deck. “I don’t think we’ll ferret out the criminal tonight.” He gazed down at her, that hunger barely banked, and offered his arm. “Shall we retire?”
“Not yet,” she said, the words slipping out. But she smiled up at him and titled her head. “I want a little more time to observe.”
What she wanted was a little more time to gather her jangling nerves and cool her passion. Isabella breathed in of the cool night air, the ocean a crisp sent of salt and openness. Forcing her focus onto the crime, she tugged Strathmore’s arm and they took a last turn about deck.
The crew was polite enough, or as polite as could be with so many wandering the decks and getting in the way of their work. It was constant motion there, with various shifts of sails according to the wind and shouts about rigging and other nautical terms Isabella didn’t understand.
Some were a bit friendlier than Isabella expected, but then she didn’t exactly know what to expect. She tried to think back to her first trip by ship, but it was a blur of movement and Manning. And she did not wish to think on him any longer.
Their quick trip below decks showed them only sickness. They were sickly pale and lethargic; their clothing would quite obviously stand out amongst the more well-heeled passengers.
Still, Raffella had agreed to ask around below decks to see if anyone had possessions missing or knew any gossip.
Now, with the sun setting in a brilliant display of reds and pinks and the breeze colder, she and Strathmore had discovered little. Oh, they’d found out that the majority of their fellow travelers had experienced seasickness at least once since leaving Genoa and that everyone roundly detested the food, but little more.
She and Strathmore stood along the port side of the ship, away from where the rest of the passengers congregated at the stern. They looked behind them, back to where they’d come from. The past, Isabella thought with a surprising lack of nostalgia. Turning so her back leaned against the railing, she ignored the view in favor of looking at Strathmore, and hugged her wrap closer around her.
In the fading light, Strathmore stood in front of her, his body blocking the worst of the wind. Sighing contentedly, she went to lean into him but stopped herself. Suddenly she felt the bite of the bracelet on her wrist and all that bracelet represented. Swallowing hard, Isabella pulled back just enough to keep a polite space between them.
But then he shifted, his hand coming to rest on her shoulders, and the wind caught her hair. The brisk sea breeze tugged the already-loose style free of her combs. Before she had a chance to move, Strathmore’s hand snapped out and caught them, rescuing the mother-of-pearl combs from the waters below.
Isabella blinked up at him, not only for his lightning-quick reflexes, but because he’d noticed. He watched her on a deeper level than she had previously realized. Watched her movements so particularly.
She’d never had anyone do so like he did, not with such...attention to detail, she supposed. As if he didn’t just see her, but remembered all he saw. Noticed her in ways Isabella didn’t know how to take.
“Thank you,” she managed, but wondered if the wind caught her words. She heard naught over the roar of her blood pounding in her ears.
Strathmore carefully threaded the combs back through her hair, keeping the wind-blown strands out of her face as best he could. She licked her lips and looked up at him, caught in his dark, shadowed gaze.
She cleared her throat and deftly moved the conversation back to their quest. “This is proving more difficult than I anticipated,” she said, but the words sounded softer than she meant them.
“Each of them,” she continued in a somewhat stronger voice, “seemed appropriately outraged. “
“They do,” he agreed, his own voice soft as he leaned in. “Especially now since the crew has swept through the cabins.”
Isabella fell back on the easy humor between them and pushed the strange heaviness of moments before to the back of her mind. “It was good of you to give them permission to allow them to go through our cabin in the morning,” she told him, her voice holding just a hint of laughter.
“As always,” he said in that heavy ducal voice, “we must be above their suspicions.”
She stifled a laugh. The wind picked up again, and before she truly lost her combs, Isabella reached for them. Strathmore moved faster, plucking them from her hair and slipping them into the pockets of his dark tan leather coat.
With a simple move, a thoughtful gesture, he had the ability to take her breath away.
Before she recovered, a crewman jostled by them, knocking into Strathmore, who caught himself just before he crushed her against the railing.
“Pardon, Yer Graces,” the man mumbled before rushing off.
Straightening, Strathmore offered his arm and they left the modicum of privacy they shared for the rest of the passengers. They came up behind them, silent and careful not to disturb the conversation. Strathmore held her back in the shadows for a bit, and they listened.
The crew had placed lanterns around the deck and the lights swayed with every movement of the ship.
“They shall turn it upside down, I say,” one of the ladies, Mrs. Greenwood, said hotly. “I’m sure I’ll have to have my maid setting it to rights all day. I’m afraid something else will go missing.”
Several of the ladies around her nodded sagely.
Isabella was curious as to what would turn up in the morning. It was distinctly possible the thief even now searched for the most discreet place to hide his stolen plunder. But it wasn’t about the thief, not really, her desire to remain on deck a bit longer.
She hoped Strathmore would simply drift to sleep once they reached their cabin. But no. looking at him Isabella knew that was an impossibility.
This delay had only added to his anticipation.
“We should retire,” one of the older ladies, Mrs. Chapman, added. “‘Tis late now.”
With Mrs. Chapman’s words, Strathmore nudged her forward, into the swinging lantern light. From the others’ sudden bows and curtseys, Isabella knew they had noticed her and Strathmore.
Opposite her, Russell shrugged his coat off and set it round his wife’s shoulders. He whispered into her ear, but Isabella couldn’t catch what the man said. Mrs. Russell smiled up at him, however, and nodded.
Was Mrs. Russell the woman missing her shawl? Yes, Isabella remembered. And the gesture was sweet, gallant even.
Looking up at Strathmore, Isabella nearly missed as the other couple turned back to the group, their faces oddly devoid of emotion. Jerking her gaze back to the Russells, Isabella narrowed her eyes slightly, scrutinizing the couple.
Did they not wish for others to witness a tender moment? Or was it more than that?
Behind her, Strathmore’s hard body tempted her. Without looking at him or him saying the words, Isabella knew he wished to dispense with these pleasantries and retire below to their cabin. His hand settled on her shoulder, fingers brushing the bare skin at the nape of her neck.
Barely suppressing a shiver, she kept her attention on the group before her. Her body leaned back just enough to contradict her wishes and Isabella jerked upright.
She scanned the group again, simply to center her attention away from Strathmore and the passion that never banked between them.
Mrs. Greenwood set her reticule on one of the chairs. Isabella idly wondered why the woman felt the need to carry a reticule with her on board the ship when there was no need for it. Were the missing items in there? Not the shawl, of course, but the snuffbox perhaps. Then she saw Mrs. Russell move closer to the chair.
If Isabella hadn’t watched the group interact with such scrutiny, she’d have thought naught of it. However, they’d come to suspect all on board.
She pressed her fingers into Strathmore’s arm, hoping he’d understand her signal. An agreement rumbled in his chest, and his other hand came to once more rest on Isabella’s fingers. He’d seen it as well; the odd change over the Russell’s faces, the way Mrs. Russell stared hard at the reticule.
There was such intent there, such focus, Isabella couldn’t believe the other woman had such a telling giveaway. If she were playing cards with Mrs. Russell, Isabella knew she’d best her each and every time. Even now Mrs. Russell sat casually next to the chair where Mrs. Greenwood’s purse lay.
Suddenly Russell’s eyes met hers. It was too dark to truly see his expression, but the corners of his mouth twisted in a grimace.
Though the Russells remained quietly conversing, several others quickly followed Mrs. Chapman and the Collins’. Though Strathmore was considerably taller than her, he leaned against the railing as if relaxed, giving her a better opportunity to speak to him privately.
“Is it possible we found the culprits?” she asked, her face turned toward his. “They look to me as if they hide their cards beneath the table.”
“Yes,” Strathmore said, a rumble of agreement, and his hand stroked down her arm to her fingers. They were hard and warm against her gloved ones, reminding Isabella of the chilled night air. She stepped closer to him, his warmth, and shivered. “Let’s see what tomorrow’s search brings.” He turned her to him and offered his arm.
“For now, let’s retire.”
“Yes,” she murmured. “Let’s.”
They started for the stairs, but Strathmore stopped her before they reached them. She looked up at him, curious, mind racing with what the Russell’s might be up to. He looked expectantly down at her and Isabella finally realized how highly he prized her mind — her observation skills and her intuition.
That knowledge sent a rush of warmth through her. She licked her lips and watched him in the swaying lantern light, but the look on his face was inscrutable.
“They won’t expect us to linger,” Strathmore said and she nodded.
“Perhaps you’ll catch them by surprise,” she said softly, “and see something untoward.”
Strathmore nodded in agreement and squeezed her hand. In the swaying shadows, Isabella watched him circle round the deck, slowly and steadily making his way back to where several passengers still lingered.
Isabella took a deep breath of the cold night air — salt and sea and unwashed bodies. She turned for the railing and looked out at the expanse of shimmering, undulating blackness, the half-moon casting just enough light on the ocean to make it sparkle.
The creak of the deck startled her and she turned, expecting Strathmore and eager to hear what he learned. It wasn’t him.
It was Mr. Russell moving across the deck. Not simply walking, but stalking the deck. For an instant Isabella froze. Not because Russell stalked her with a menacing intent, with a look of pure hatred and anger evident even in the lantern’s dim light.
Lifting her chin, she met Russell’s gaze directly and dared him, with a glare, her shoulders squared and back straight, with the knowledge that this wasn’t the first time she’d been threatened in a dark, shadowed area because others thought her weak.
Russell hesitated, a slight falter in his step. Isabella narrowed her gaze at him. Behind her she heard footsteps, but still startled when Strathmore’s hand rested on the small of her back. It amazed her how she’d grown so accustomed to his touch in so short a time, recognizing his touch from any others.
“Isabella?” Strathmore’s voice sounded sharply in the wind. Like the snap of a whip.
“Is Her Grace all right?” Russell asked from where he’d stopped several feet from her.
“Perfectly,” she said coldly.
“I’m pleased to hear it,” Russell continued.
Isabella thought she heard a frustrated thread in his words, overlapped with the slightest hint of discovery, mayhap fear. She dearly hoped so.
“When I saw you alone here on deck with this unsavory crew, I knew I needed to check on you,” Russell added and bowed. “Your Graces.”
No further words were spoken between Strathmore and Russell as Russell retreated into the shadows.