“What are some of the countries you’ve seen, Mr. Stockton?” Lady Kitson asked when silence between them stretched.
“Turkey, India, the Americas. Too many to mention.”
“According to the maps I’ve seen, all of them look to be very far away.”
Garrett remembered the seemingly endless days and nights he’d spent at sea before land would appear as if it were rising out of the waters. “They are.”
“And what cargos do your ships carry?”
“Silks for clothing, porcelains for tables, and jade for jewelry. Teas, and spices. Horses from Arabia. The East India Shipping Company can’t ship everything the English, the Europeans, and the Americans are hungry for. Smaller companies like mine are needed to help them.”
“I suppose I should be more thankful there are those who make the journeys.” Lady Kitson looked over at him with curiosity gleaming her eyes and curving the corners of her beautifully shaped lips. “You must enjoy your life as a sojourner, Mr. Stockton.”
Garrett chuckled under his breath. Sojourner was the ton’s favorite word for him. That gave the impression he was simply a traveler and hadn’t participated in the work of building his shipping company. Nothing could be further from the truth.
On his last voyage, Garrett had realized the reason he never stayed in London very long was that he didn’t have a home. He intended to change that. He was going to purchase a house in London. Not just any house, but the one where he had grown up. The one that his father had said could never be theirs. Garrett wanted that house. And he didn’t care what it cost him to get it.
“It’s rumored your ships have brought secret artifacts into the country for the Prince to display in his lavish homes.”
Lady’s Kitson’s interest in him seemed genuine, but he gave her a wry grin of doubt. “If it was a secret, it obviously wasn’t a well-guarded one.”
“So, then it’s true,” she said with a breath of astonishment. “You don’t deny that you have sailed for the Prince.”
Garrett sensed disapproval by her tone, but he wasn’t about to make apologies. He couldn’t deny her accusation. His company had brought shipments of the Prince’s plunders to England. Garrett had never met the Regent and had no idea what he did with his bounty. Garrett always worked through an emissary.
He kept a steady gaze on her face as they walked. The side of his mouth twitched with a slight smile. “Do I hear a note of scorn in your voice, my lady?”
Their exchange of looks lasted long enough for him to believe her attraction to him was real, no matter that it was clear she didn’t support some of the things he’d done.
She answered with a feminine shrug, and then, as if to give herself time to collect her thoughts, she scanned the horizon and then to her right and left again. He wondered what made her so skittish concerning what the duke thought about her.
“It’s well-known how carelessly and lavishly the King’s son spends on his homes, for trinkets, gambling debts, and probably other things that only a few are privy to,” Lady Kitson said.
Most everyone knew the Prince had a flamboyant lifestyle. He’d never bothered to hide it. He had an insatiable appetite for many things; food, wine, women, and gambling. He also had a keenness for beautiful and rare paintings and extraordinary art objects. Garrett wouldn’t call the artifacts he brought into England trinkets. The King’s son appreciated his share of oddities, for sure, but he also coveted other countries’ priceless treasures.
The Prince was often vilified in articles and illustrations for his proclivities and his expenditures for furniture, renowned paintings, delicate china tureens, plates, and vases. And more porcelain than even a prince’s house could hold. That was just the start of the plunder he had garnered for his extravagant collections. However, Garrett wasn’t one to judge the way someone else lived his life.
“I have no firsthand knowledge of the Regent’s gambling, but one thing is sure, Lady Kitson: the Prince will not take any of the treasures he’s bought or otherwise collected to the grave with him when he dies. So, in the end, England will be the bountiful beneficiary of a great number of priceless artifacts one day.”
“You know you are saying the end justifies his questionable acts, don’t you? I probably can’t even imagine half the things you have done.”
She stopped walking, looked at him, and laughed softly. The merriment in her eyes and the whispery sound echoing from her tempting lips made Garrett’s heartbeat trip. She was heavenly tempting when she looked at him like that. His desire to catch her up in his embrace and kiss her was strong but also impossible. He probably could have held her spellbound with tales of storms so fierce he wasn’t sure he’d live to take another breath, but he didn’t want to talk about himself or the Prince’s lifestyle. He wanted to know more about her—a widow confident enough to start a charitable school for girls, brave enough to climb a tree, and kindhearted enough to save a butterfly.
“You were telling me about your son earlier.”
“I delight in talking about Chatwyn, but don’t think I don’t know you asking about him is your way of changing the subject.”
He affirmed her statement with a nod. “I would never expect I could fool you about anything, Lady Kitson, and I’m sure having a four-year-old son in the house would be just as adventuresome as sailing the seas.”
“You are probably right about that. Chatwyn surprises me every day. He’s old enough we can now have conversations—on simple subjects, of course, like birds and butterflies. But only for a short time. He doesn’t like to tarry with anything. Especially with his dinner.”
Garrett noticed the way her eyes brightened and her features relaxed contentedly when she talked about her son. “I don’t know much about children, but I would think most boys are that way.”
Lady Kitson looked away from him again and brushed her mussed hair, securing an errant strand behind her ear. The innocent gesture stirred his lower body again. The hunger inside him was as real as the early twilight and humid air. And it was more than just the long absence of a willing woman in his bed. He and Lady Kitson sensed the mutual attraction and the possibilities it would bring. He kept wanting to feel the warmth of her in his arms and the taste of her kisses lingering on his lips.
Garrett had enjoyed the companionship and pleasure of beautiful, desirable women on his travels, but his time with them was always brief. It never included leisurely strolls, inquisitive questions, or long-lingering looks. Certainly not the kind he and Lady Kitson were exchanging. In each country he visited, his main focus was always to secure cargo. He scoured markets, streets, and shops where everything from ordinary clay cups to exotic orchids were on display and could be bought, sold, or bartered. From the time he dropped anchor until he set sail again he was making agreements to fill his ships with things people wanted.
Now it was time to have something he wanted—the house on Poppinbrook Street. And to see Lady Kitson again.
“Perhaps I could—”
“Lady Kitson!”
At the sound of a feminine voice, Garrett turned and saw a petite young woman in a dark gray dress waving frantically at them.
“Thank heavens Miss Periwinkle remembered to bring my bonnet.” Lady Kitson acknowledged her and then turned to Garrett.