Free This Perfect Kiss by Melody Thomas

back . . .” Unlike limbs, she had started to say and had stopped herself, realizing at once that the thought had also been his. Just as quickly, she regretted the implication that her silence implied pity for him.
    â€œYou needn’t fear speaking the truth around me, Miss Douglas. I am not made of eggshells.”
    â€œBut neither are you forged from iron.”
    â€œNor are you, Christel.”
    Dropping the blanket in her hands, she turned and placed her hands on her hips. “Is it to be Christel or Miss Douglas?” she queried. “Clearly, you cannot seem to decide.”
    â€œWhich would you prefer?”
    â€œThat depends. Perhaps we should clarify our relationship to each of our satisfactions so that we can stop skipping about the other as if we are total strangers. For Anna’s sake, we can certainly find a way to be friends. Can we not?” She smiled, aware that she was nervous, even more aware that he could sense it.
    After everything that he had told her, she remained unsure of her place and of how much leeway he would give her. “Which means that I give you leave to call me Christel,” she said decidedly. “I am family, after all. Indirectly, of course.”
    Folding his arms, he leaned a shoulder against the berth. She waited for him to invite her to call him by his Christian name. He didn’t. He was still studying her, clearly unsure what to make of her.
    â€œThough even if you gave me leave to call you Camden or St. Giles, I would not feel comfortable reciprocating,” she prattled on. “To that point, I should speak my mind on another matter.”
    â€œBy all means. Do. To remain silent or docile in the face of adversity only leaves the problem to confront another day.”
    â€œWell spoken,” she agreed, even though she sensed amusement in his tone. “You shared a lot with me last night. Words are not adequate to state—”
    â€œThen do not try. Some things are best left unsaid.”
    She nodded.
    He remained silent. She drew in breath. “I also know that you have a certain noblesse oblige ingrained in you. You were born with it in your blood and you will feel obligated to protect me once we are in Ayr no matter what has happened in the past that might color your—”
    â€œAre you trying to irritate me, Christel?”
    â€œWho would dare, my lord?”
    â€œCertainly not you.”
    Despite herself, she felt the corners of her mouth lift. “I only wanted to stress that I am quite capable of taking care of myself. I do not want you to think that you have to worry about me or think that you need to take care of me. When we get to Scotland, I do not expect charity from you. I do not expect, nor do I want, anything.”
    He returned to the porthole and stared outside, his seeming lack of attention to her allowing her to observe him unhindered.
    The shadow of a beard marked the angular plains of his handsome face. He’d stepped from the persona once owned by the blue and white uniform of his naval rank into something inherently more predatory, always on guard, like a hawk that had suffered a broken wing, never to recover well enough to soar again. He wore his past like an unyielding mantle of iron. It weighed against him, and written deep into his posture was an inherent distrust of the world. Such men were dangerous and unpredictable, if only because they lived on the fringes of life and would defend their territory to the death. She thought of his daughter and wondered what it would be like to own that kind of love.
    She had wanted it once. Not anymore.
    Lifting her gaze, she realized too late that while she’d been assessing him, he’d also been assessing her, but far less subtly.
    She looked into eyes the shade of the pewter sky churning behind him. Yet there was something else in his gaze.
    Something that was not cold at all. She had thought the attraction between them gone.
    She turned