quick strokes turned the dory and sent it skimming through the foam-flecked water. The eddies were tricky, and if she did not judge the drift just right, she wouldn’t get another chance.
“Hold on, tabby,” she muttered, maneuvering the oars to bring her in at just the right angle. The choppy water made the going hard work, and her hands were fast rubbing raw. Ignoring the pain, she fought against the racing current.
Steady, steady.
With a quick lunge, Kate grabbed the waterlogged feline just as it was about to be swept under by a cresting wave.
Plopping the bedraggled ball of fur into her lap, she let out a relieved laugh. “I daresay you’ve just used up eight of your nine lives.”
The cat arched and let out an angry meow.
“Aye, let’s get you back to dry land,” she murmured, regripping the oars and turning for shore.
As the dory nosed up against the barnacled pilings, Kate scrambled out onto the landing, awkwardly cradling the still-dripping animal.
“Do you always go out of your way to save mangy strays?”
Kate stumbled at the sound of the slurred voice, and then quickly ducked to hide her face. The sudden jerk spooked the cat, and with a spitting hiss, it clawed free of her arms and darted off into the nearby maze of darkened alleyways.
“As you see, the ungrateful beast didn’t bother to thank you for your efforts.”
Of all the cursed luck. But as the Conte of Como sounded cupshot, perhaps he would move on if she remained silent.
Hunching low, she merely shrugged in answer and made a show of knotting the dory’s hawser through the iron ring.
“Cat got your tongue, laddie?” continued Marco in a sardonic drawl. “Or should I say lady.” He stepped out from beneath the brink archway. “The baggy shirt and threadbare trousers don’t do your lovely body justice, Miss Woodbridge.”
For a man four sheets to the wind, his gaze was still awfully sharp.
Deciding to ignore his last comment, Kate set a hand on her hip and fixed him with a defiant look. “One doesn’t always require thanks for doing the right thing. Would you have just sat there and let the poor animal drown?”
Marco quirked a mirthless smile. “Perhaps it would have preferred to sink and be put out of its misery.”
Kate was taken aback by the bleakness undercutting his sarcasm. “Life can seem awfully grim at times, but it’s still worth fighting for,” she replied slowly.
“Sometimes I wonder.”
It was said so softly that Kate wasn’t sure whether it was merely a whisper of wind rasping against the weathered stone. Uncertain of how to respond, she turned and grabbed up her jacket from the dory. “I have to be going,” she said, scrabbling up the slippery steps.
Marco remained firmly planted between her and the narrow archway. “Which begs the question of what you are doing here in the first place?” he said.
To refuse an answer might only raise other unsettling questions. “I am used to more vigorous exercise than a sedate walk along Rotten Row,” she replied grudgingly. “So I occasionally come here to visit an old crewman from my father’s ship, who allows me the use of his dory.” Seeking to distract him from further thoughts on her actions, Kate was quick to add, “I don’t need to inquire how you have been whiling away the day.”
His clothing was rumpled and his hair uncombed, the tangle of black locks accentuating the dark stubbling of whiskers on his unshaven jaw. Drawing in a breath, Kate caught the reek of cigar smoke and sex through the pungent smells of the river.
“Or night,” she finished.
“Si,” he answered with a laugh. “I’ve been engaged in all sorts of evil activities.” He paused. “As were you.”
“I was rowing,” she protested. “As opposed to pumping my limbs between the sheets.”
“There is also a simple verb for what I was doing,” he said softly. “Shall I tell you what it is?” His mouth slid into a silky smile. “Would you like to enlarge your vocabulary on physical… arousal, Miss Woodbridge?”
“No, keep your depraved thoughts to yourself,” she muttered. And yet his rumbled chuckle stirred a tingle of heat deep inside her. To her dismay, she felt it spreading…. In another instant her flesh would be afire.
“Both disciplines require a great deal of physical exertion,” went on Marco. “And both work up a sheen of sweat. Ladies, of course, aren’t supposed to sweat, but I daresay you are moist all over, aren’t you?”