‘No, you won’t.’ He slid off the daybed, knelt beside it, bent and lifted her foot. ‘Pretty toes, too.’
‘You can’t see my toes,’ she said in a brisk, matter-of-fact tone, which became a muffled shriek when he began to suck them through her stocking. ‘Stop it! ‘
In answer his hand slid up her leg to her knee, tweaked the garter and began to pull down her stocking.
‘Alistair, stop that this minute… . Oh …’ Her stocking was off, her toes were in his mouth and he was sucking and licking each one with intense concentration. It was wonderful. It was outrageous and she should stop him. But she couldn’t, Dita thought as she flopped back inelegantly on to the pile of bolsters, not without creating the most dreadful scene by struggling.
Why having her toes sucked should be so inflammatory, she could not imagine. And Alistair must enjoy doing it, although she could not see his face, only his dark head bent over her foot as he sucked her big toe fully into his mouth. ‘Aah …’
He released her and went back to stroking her instep and ankle. ‘Tell me the story.’
‘How can I concentrate when you are—?’
‘Do you want me to stop?’ He glanced sideways, his eyes full of wicked mischief.
‘Yes! No … no.’
‘Go on then.’ He closed his lips around her toes again, but did nothing more than nibble.
‘Um …’ She forced herself to concentrate. ‘I think we need a sword fight. De Blancheville has been freed by—oh, that is wonderful, don’t stop … Freed by Tom the cabin boy, who is really the lovely Maria in disguise. She has stowed away to follow Trueheart, whom she loves from afar, and thinks that if de Blancheville removes Angelina then Trueheart will stop wanting her and … ah, oh, please … be Maria’s.’
‘Please?’ He lifted his head again, put down her foot and shifted up the daybed. ‘Please what, Dita?’
‘I don’t know!’ He was sitting on the edge now, his hip against hers. Her voice shook as he leaned in. ‘That was my toes. Toes aren’t—’
‘Erotic? Oh, but they are. Every inch of your body, inside and out, is erotic, Dita. Think what fun we could have finding out about eyebrows, or earlobes or the back of your knees.’ His hand slid up her leg as he leaned closer. ‘And all the places my tongue wants to explore.’
‘After Christmas Eve, I don’t think it is wise,’ she managed to say. Eight years ago his lovemaking had not been so sophisticated. He had been practising, of course.
‘Don’t think.’ His breath was on her lips now; his hand cupped her intimately. She closed her eyes on a shuddering sigh as something, distant, banged.
Alistair moved so fast that he was on his feet, tucking her stocking under her skirts, pulling them down round her feet, before she realised that it was the door of the cuddy banging to.
Dita sat up, pulled her feet under her and fanned her flushed face with both hands. Alistair, apparently engrossed in her notebook, was sitting on one of the chairs at the mouth of the canvas shelter as the approaching voices resolved themselves into the Chattertons and Averil.
‘Oh, here you are, Dita,’ Averil said, peeping into the shelter. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Plotting,’ Alistair said easily. ‘We have just decided that the novel needs a duel.’
The others clustered round with exclamations of agreement. Dita made an effort. ‘This swashbuckling is all very well, but someone will have to write the duel for me because I have never seen a sword fight.’
‘We will choreograph it on the poop deck tomorrow,’ Callum declared. ‘And you can take notes. I’ve got my foils. Dan?’
His brother groaned. ‘You know I’m useless with a rapier.’
‘I’ll fight you,’ Alistair said. ‘No reason why we can’t do it after breakfast, is there? The chaperons aren’t going to object to a harmless bout of fencing.’
‘I would love to try it,’ Dita said wistfully. Any kind of violent exercise appealed just at the moment. ‘Would you show me, Mr Chatterton?’
‘Of course!’ Callum had loosened up considerably over the course of the voyage. He was not the only one, she thought, fanning herself. ‘No reason why a lady cannot try a few of the moves with perfect propriety.’
‘No.’ Alistair still lounged in his chair, but his voice was definite. ‘I will show you, if you insist.’
‘Lady Perdita asked me,’ Callum stated. The atmosphere became subtly charged.
‘I will fight you for the privilege,’ Alistair said.
Callum narrowed his eyes, his whole body tense, but Averil clapped her hands and laughed. ‘How exciting! Shall we lay wagers? I will venture ten rupees on Lord Lyndon.’