"Lyon, you look as awful as my pet cat who ate the wrong rat and died. Poor bounder, his name was LeBeau. Pity, I was really quite fond of him." Rafael had had a cat whose name was LeBeau, but he'd died of old age and in splendid comfort in his box at the foot of eight-year-old Rafael's bed. He stared at Lyon. The earl looked ghastly.
"Same to you, Rafael," Lyon said at last.
"You need to shave and change your clothes. You look like you've slept in them."
"I have."
"Trouble in paradise? I had the distinct feeling last night thatWell, no matter. Anything I can do? I still have that bottle of brandy."
"She's a bitch and has about as much moral fiber as the rat your cat died of."
Rafael whistled.
"Hell, you'd best stay away from her, Rafael, else she'll probably try to get your pants off you." He realized suddenly that it was grossly inappropriate to speak of a ladyLady, ha! "Oh, just forget it."
Lyon stalked away, his hands shoved in his pockets, his head bowed. There couldn't be a more miserable bastard alive anywhere. He waited to return to the cabin until he was certain Diana wouldn't be there.
He avoided her successfully for the rest of the day.
Over dinner that evening, Rafael found himself looking from Diana to Lyon and back again. Neither of them spoke to the other. What the devil had happened?
The captain sipped at his wine. "What did you do all day, Diana?"
"Nothing important," she said, not looking up from her still-full plate.
The ship heaved gently to port and her fork slid to the floor. Lyon and Diana leaned over at the same time and bumped heads. They both jerked back as if scalded. They both rubbed their heads.
Rollo retrieved the fork for her. Diana thanked him in a stifled voice.
"I trust you are feeling just the thing, Diana," Rafael said.
"Of course. Why do you ask, Rafael?"
Rafael just shook his head, but he was aware that Lyon was looking at him, alarm in his eyes for a brief moment.
Diana excused herself a few minutes later and fled to the cabin. As for Lyon, he remained at the captain's table until Rollo and Blick had bid their good nights.
"Why did you ask her that?" Lyon asked without preamble.
Rafael sat back in his chair and regarded the Earl of Saint Leven. "No reason, really," he said finally, as if bored. "She ate scarcely a bite and after what Neddie had told me, well" He stopped and began fiddling with a piece of bread.
"What did Neddie tell you?"
"Oh, just that he heard her crying in your cabin. He was worried, but didn't have the nerve to disturb her. Even though he was raised by a gin-swilling mother, he still is very sensitive to the female of the species."
"Damn her! That conniving little bitch hasn't a thing to cry about!"
Rafael arched a black brow, but said nothing.
Lyon cursed quite floridly. Rafael turned away to hide his unholy grin. He said finally when Lyon had completed a particularly colorful curse, "It is none of my business what goes on between the two of you. We will, however, be arriving in St. Thomas in a matter of days. I would estimate that Lucien Savarol will be reunited with his daughter within three days after that. Not a very long time to get things accomplished, I should say."
"There is nothing at all to be accomplished," Lyon said in the coldest voice Rafael had heard from him. "Not now."
Lord, Rafael thought, the earl's voice could freeze the wine in its glass. He rose and said in his most bored drawl, "Well, no matter. It is probably just as well that you've discovered the two of you won't suit. What if you were married before you found out you detest each other? As for Diana Savarol, I shouldn't imagine her father will kick her off his plantation or his island, for that matter."
Lyon didn't say a word.
Rafael rose from his chair and walked toward his cabin door. He said over his shoulder in a regretful voice, "'Tis a pity that I am not a marrying man. She is a lovely girl. Who knows? I still have several days. Since you are no longer interested, indeed, seem to hold her in the greatest aversion, perhaps I ---"