If their situation had been less precarious, he would have enjoyed correcting her view of their predicament with his usual terrifying means.
“The situation requires it.” Diana employed the same commandeering tone she used aboard theEver Hart, which bore a striking resemblance to the way she addressed volunteers at a charity fete. “We’ll signal when we’re clear of Costa.”
Her shift back to that cool, contained society heiress was remarkable. With the detached way her glance shifted between Ian and the harbor, no one would suspect that she’d been wild in his arms merely moments before.
Diana was too intelligent to deny the signs that the Stag traitor had penetrated her own crew and could have arranged for Costa’s lookouts to nab them. And yet, remarkably, she maintained her perfect mask of composure.
If only he could tell her to surrender it. He’d draw her onto his lap, close enough that he could match his breaths with hers again. She’d look at him the way she did at the brothel.
Like she needed him.
Tonight, she’d saved his life. Again.
With a hairpin.
Tomorrow, he would tell her why he chased her on this journey. And why she needed to let him leave with the necklace. Alone.
As Birdie rowed, Ian registered they were heading north. But he’d never been more adrift in his life.
Chapter Sixteen
Thenextlegoftheir travels was decidedly less comfortable than the first.
Ian asked where they were going once, nicely. When neither Birdie nor Diana responded, he asked two more times with less charm. Eventually, Diana murmured, “France.”
He finally stopped pushing for more details when Birdie flashed her pistol at him.
The crew hand arranged for them, along with two of her lieutenants, to travel with tramp cargo as far as Biarritz, where they caught the train to Toulouse. Their first-class carriage afforded them some privacy. One of the sparrows handed Ian a paper to hide behind while he sat watch over the compartment. They knew he wouldn’t leave Diana’s side, and he appreciated this unspoken understanding of their situation.
As Diana sat across from him, with her eyes pointed out the window, he perseverated over how much of their interlude at the brothel consumed her thoughts. Even in his panic to flee San Sebastian and determine their next move, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
The way she’d trembled. The softness of her skin, at odds with the edge of pain he’d felt when she’d bitten his lip.
He’d said filthy things, things he’d only imagined telling her, and never in those fantasies had she responded with such fervor.
The unmarried society women of Diana’s acquaintance might be ashamed of such a transgression. That was the mores she’d been raised to follow. While her secret life with the Stags empowered her freedom, such moral judgments were hard to shake.
It took a fair amount of his strength to resist reaching across and tipping her chin so he could meet her gaze, so he could assure her she shouldn’t possess an ounce of shame about what had happened between them.
At sunset, they reached Toulouse and caught another train to Béziers. Birdie directed them out of the station and set off across the street, where a wagon waited.
Ian raised a brow at Diana.
She gave him the ghost of a smile. “It’s a short drive.”
The forced lightness in her voice betrayed the lie.
They ended up at a port south of Marseille hours later. Birdie led them through the narrow wharves to a well-fitted yacht. The sparrows boarded the vessel while Birdie hailed the port attendant. The man sneered at her, and Diana intervened, firing off in rapid French about an immediate need to reach Monaco. When Ian reached for his pistol, Diana held up her palm in warning before settling the bureaucratic matter with a less than subtle exchange of notes from Birdie’s pocket.
Diana turned to board, but Ian stopped her with a gentle pull on her arm. “I thought I was a part of this now.”
“You are.” She wriggled. “Ian, we don’t have time. We must make sail.”
“To Monte Carlo?” He kept his hold firm so he could spool her in closer, while he gently stroked her other arm.
“What do you want from me?” she asked hoarsely.
“No more secrets, Di. It’s foolish.”