A Most Unconventional Courtship

‘Why, yes, whatever your lordship requires. But I am not certain if I can find a crew, not today at such short notice.’

‘I do not need a crew.’ Chance stood up and squinted against the sun at the half-dozen boats drawn up on the sand. ‘I can sail one of those myself.’

‘You sail?’It was Count Kurateni, indolently opening one eye as he lay sprawled in a reclining chair in the shade.

‘Nothing that small before, but, yes, I can sail.’

‘I should have brought my ship around.’ The Count pulled himself into a sitting position. ‘It is what you would call a sloop, I believe; we could have some fun sailing her.’

‘Would you care to come with me in something smaller?’ Chance was beginning to enjoy Zagrede’s indolent good humour.

‘No, no, my friend. I would be seasick in such a cockle-shell. And besides, I lie here in the hope of one of the charming young ladies coming out and allowing me to admire her. You go and get covered in fish scales and leave me the field.’

The butler appeared faintly scandalised at the banter. Chance grinned. It was partly to escape being cajoled into rides, picnics, walks on the seashore or the opportunity to read poetry in the shade of the pine trees that he thought of taking out a boat.

‘Can you see what you can arrange? If it will help, I will take the boat for the duration of our stay here.’

‘I will do my utmost, my lord.’ The butler bowed stiffly and left.

‘On his dignity,’ Chance observed, making himself comfortable on the balustrade and watching as the butler, one of the Greek footmen at his heels to interpret, stalked off down the dusty road to the nearest huddle of huts.

‘Old fool.’ Zagrede curled a lip. ‘I would stand no nonsense of that sort from my servants—you English are too lenient with your butlers and your valets. You treat them like family.’

‘How do you treat yours?’

‘As part of my—’ the Count waved a hand in the air as he searched for the English word ‘—my clan. They serve me, they fight at my back, they would die for me.’

‘I do not believe English upper servants expect that to be in their conditions of employment. You would make the young ladies squeak with terror if they heard such blood-curdling things.’

‘They enjoy it.’ The Albanian grinned. ‘They think I am exotic and romantic and they would be disappointed if I did not curdle their blood just a little. Do you think I should grow a moustache? A thin one?’

‘I could not possibly advise you.’ The butler was returning, a local fisherman at his heels, deep in apparent negotiations with the footman. ‘It seems I have got my boat.’

‘And can escape from the ladies? I wonder why that is, my friend. You are not attracted to boys, I think…’

‘Certainly not!’

‘You northerners, so fierce on that subject,’ he said mildly. ‘No, I watch you when you talk to the ladies; you like women, but you do not want any of these—and they are pretty girls, well bred, amusing. So.’He twirled his imaginary moustache. ‘You have the wife to whom you are devoted? No. You have the broken heart? Ah, yes, tell me all about her.’

Chance glared at him, then found his lips twitching with amusement. The man was a rogue, and completely without shame, but he was disarmingly friendly.

‘There is someone,’ he admitted, as much to himself as to the Albanian. ‘Whatever there was between us had hardly begun. I did something stupid. And then she vanished before I could try and put it right.’

‘Here? On the island?’ Zagrede shrugged before Chance could reply. ‘No, I see you are going to be all English and gentlemanly and not say more. Never mind. Off you go in your smelly little boat. I will tell the young ladies that you have gone to write love poetry and then you will have t

o read it to them tonight.’

‘If you do any such thing, I will tell them that you will sing beautiful Albanian love songs,’ Chance retorted, getting to his feet as the butler reappeared, flushed and slightly dusty.

‘But of course. I will do so, with pleasure.’ The Count lay back in his chair and closed his eyes. ‘I sing magnificently.’

Chapter Eight

The fishing boat skimmed over the water with surprising speed considering its single sail. Chance wrestled with unfamiliar ropes and knots, then settled back, enjoying the sensation of controlling something this small and agile.

The breeze was fresh, but nothing to challenge the sailor in unfamiliar waters, and he set off across the wide bay to the south. There would be a village somewhere over there where he could buy cheese, bread and olives. A flask of rough local wine perhaps.

The thought of the wine made him think of the shock of the resinated wine Alessa had given him and he lost concentration for a moment; the sail flapped and the little boat lost way. As he cursed his carelessness, and sorted out sheets and tiller, he let himself think about her properly for the first time since he had packed his bags and let himself be swept off on this trip.