"I have never bitten your hand, to the best of my recollection," she said finally, and Lyon was certain he heard suppressed laughter in her voice. She was back on an even keel. And he was still beset with the same problem.
"Do you trust me, Diana?"
"I might perhaps learn to if you were to scratch my elbows."
"Would your tail wag with pleasure?"
Her pillow struck his face. "Now, now," he chided her, "a nest is not complete without its pillow. Here." He tossed it back. "Where was I?"
"Lyon, you did not find me starving in a ditch. I am not a bitch to be tamed."
"Most women are."
"You are showing classic symptoms of your Charlotte's Disease again."
"Am I? Perhaps you have a point. Well, I will consider it. Now, can you go to sleep without falling into tears again?"
"You are a wretched clod, Lyonel Ashton!"
"Ah, more compliments. I fear to expire from your verbal bounty."
As for Diana, she decided she was safe from his assault for four more days and nights. Her brain was fertile. She would come up with something. It was odd, but it gave her little pleasure to thwart him, not really.
The damned arrogant beast. A bitch to be tamed, was she?
The weather held fair, the wind steady. The Seawitch glided toward St. Thomas in record time.
"Not long at all now," Rafael said to Diana, who had taken a turn at the giant wheel. "A bit higher in the wind," he added.
"She responds so beautifully," Diana said, raising her face higher to see the sails swell more fully. "Not at all like my little sloop."
"You are an excellent sailor, for a female."
She frowned at that and saw his wicked grin. "You and Lyon," she said.
"A compliment, I take it. Blick tells me that you have ravished his poor brain of all knowledge. You appear to be a woman of many talents, Diana."
She smiled at him, abstracted, for the Seawitch heeled sharply at that moment. She straightened the wheel, realizing that her muscles were sore from controlling the ship's course.
"I am certain your husband must agree," he added deliberately.
Her brows lowered. "Lyon is, well, he is mostAh, look, Rafael, a frigate bird! Look at that long forked tail. We are nearing home."
"A pity."
"A pity what?"
"Th
at you didn't finish that undoubtedly fascinating thought about your husband."
He knows, she realized. He knows. But how? Had Lyon told him the truth? Was that his new ploy? Her monthly flow had ended several days before, but Lyon had made no attempt to seduce her. She wished she knew what he was up to, but she refused to let Rafael draw her into showing her feelings. Or perhaps Lyon had simply decided she wasn't worth his trouble or his continued blandishments. Perhaps he no longer sought the honorable path. She was being a nodcock, she thought, shaking her head. After all, his honorable path wasn't hers.
"I should love to wash my hair," she said. "Do you think you could produce some rain for us?"
"Likely. Look yon, toward the east. I should say we'll have enough rain fall to fill an extra barrel for your hair."
"By evening?"