This story copyright © 2004 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed looks for the true cross
Emma paints a swath
Chapter 8
"Here you are," Sir Hamilton came up beside Emma, who had made her way to the rail on the aft deck. As dinner had progressed she had sensed his renewed interests so that by the time they were through with the cheeses she was struggling with a desperate desire to flee to her cabin, or to Steed's. "A breath of fresh air is pleasant after such a satisfying meal," he said.
"Yes. I needed some air," she agreed.
"And a touch of privacy is pleasant too," he added, his blue eyes sparkling at her.
"Ham please. I was sincere this afternoon," she said in as kindly a tone as she could. He shut his eyes and bent his head for a moment as if absorbing some heartbreaking news.
"I'm not sure why I had hoped Ö" he said, trailing off as he opened his eyes again. She smiled.
"It's very flattering," she said. "And if we'd met at a different time in our lives, perhaps Ö"
He sighed, returning her smile, although his was much more wistful.
"Well, now that I've made a fool of myself twice in one day," he said with a self deprecating chuckle, "I shall leave you to your fresh air."
He made a little bow and turned toward the door. Emma forced herself not to watch him go, turning instead to look back out across the yacht's shimmering wake.
Sir Hamilton exhaled a deep breath as he stepped into the lounge. He stopped short and looked into a pair of cold, grey eyes. Steed looked back, his face unreadable.
"You are a very lucky man, Mr. Steed," Sir Hamilton said, then averted his face and walked toward the drinks trolley where a few other guests had gathered.
Steed walked slowly across the deck, every step a battle between his will to do the right thing and his adoration of the woman he was approaching. Emma wrapped her arms around herself, for a moment looking like she was being held by someone. Steed stopped and took off his jacket. He closed the rest of the distance between them and placed it on her shoulders.
Without comment she took the lapels in hand and pulled it around herself, pressing her nose for a moment against the collar then looking back out across the water sparkling with reflected moonlight.
Steed moved up to the rail to stand beside her, but did not touch her.
"All right Mrs. Peel?" he asked, looking out across the water too.
"Yes, fine Steed," she replied, her voice thick. He struggled not to look, knowing that if he did he'd want to hold her. He feared that she did not want him to.
"Tricky case ñ I was convinced Mrs. Biggs was finally living out one of her plots," he said, silently chastising himself for making small talk when what was needed was honesty.
"I wasn't. But her plot made it seem more plausible that the real villain was among us."
Steed nodded and half turned, leaning on the railing with one arm. Studying her profile in the dim light he thought he saw sadness and it cut him to the quick. She's sent him away and she regrets it. I would hate to lose her, but seeing her sad is even worse. I won't hold her if she has doubts. It's unfair to us both.
"He would make you happy, I think," he said softly. "I would understand if he is what you want."
She stood silent for so long he thought she had not heard, or understood.
"Emma?"
"And that's it? A friendly handshake and a quick exit, and you telephone the ministry to ask for a new partner?"
Her tone was so icy he shivered. When she turned her head to look at him the anguish in her eyes was unbearable. He was astonished at the magnitude of his blunder. How could I misread her so completely! He took a deep breath and turned to look back out at the sea. He gripped the railing so tightly he knew his knuckles were white. As always with Emma, honesty was the only solution now.
"I would be devastated," he said, swallowing hard. "But I would respect your decision. I would not wish to make it difficult for you. I want you to be happy, Emma."
"And you think your wishes are superior to mine?" she asked quietly. He frowned. As was often the case, he couldn't quite keep up with her agile mind, particularly when it was flitting across emotional whitecaps.
Emma shot him a sidelong glance and realized he had not understood. "Am I not allowed to consider your happiness in my decisions?" she explained. "Although I tend to think of it as ëour' happiness."
"I --."
"No, you want to reserve the grand gesture for yourself," she exhaled a mocking chuckle. "But Steed, you have always treated me as an equal. You must allow me to be equal in these matters too. I would not dissolve our partnership now because we are both very happy with it ñ we are, aren't we?"
"Very Emma," he replied softly. She nodded and looked back out across the water.
"Sir Hamilton has considerable charms, but for some inexplicable reason I am simply unable to appreciate them."
Steed let himself inch a little closer to her, but made no move to touch her. The tension between them was so palpable he though he might receive a shock if he did. They stood like that, side by side, for several minutes. And then Emma raised one hand from the railing and placed it over his. He looked down at her strong, fine fingers resting along the backs of his thicker ones and felt himself inhale a deep breath. He turned his hand over to clasp hers and she squeezed back.
"You can't compete with that, Ham," Dame Agnes said, swirling the brandy in her snifter as she looked out from the lounge at the two people standing in the moonlight near the rail on the aft deck.
Sir Hamilton finished pouring his own brandy and turned to follow her gaze. Outside, Steed released Emma's hand and slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against himself. Her arms went around his waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. Sir Hamilton sipped his brandy and dragged his gaze away from the lovers to regard Dame Agnes.
"Nor can you," he said. She shook her head and sighed, then looked up at her old friend.
"Let's give that billiards table you had installed up forward a bit of exercise, shall we?" she suggested, pointedly turning away from the aft deck. Sir Hamilton studied her for a moment, wondering whether he'd guessed correctly about her interest in Mrs. Peel. But the actress's face was enigmatic.
"Let's," he said, gesturing for her to precede him out of the lounge. At the door he paused to allow himself one last look out at the deck beyond the glass doors.
"We'll be at Newport in a couple hours," Steed said, his face pressed into Emma's hair. Her arms around him felt like velvet bindings, securing him to her in such a way that he never wanted to sever the connection. He tipped his head back to look into her eyes, bringing his hand up to caress her cheek. Her eyes sparkled with a smile. When she didn't respond he let his hand drift around to the back of her neck and took her lips with his. Her eager kiss was response enough, and suddenly he wanted nothing more.
After a long while they stopped to breathe.
"Can we just do this for two hours?" she asked, her voice husky.
"Less a little time to pack our things, I should think," he replied, equally huskily before feathering light kisses all over her face. She tilted her head back and he kissed her throat too, and then returned to her sensual mouth.
"The ministry team will take us back to London," he said after a while. "Unless you --."
"I'll drive you to the marina to pick up the Bentley tomorrow," she interrupted before he could suggest she might want to stay with the yacht. He nodded, feeling chastised for starting to suggest it.
"Thank you for your help, Sir Hamilton," Steed said, shaking the man's hand.
"I was glad to be of assistance, Mr. Steed. Glad such an evil man has been apprehended. I am sorry about Moore, though."
"As are we all, I think," Steed replied, then turned to cross the narrow gangway to the dock. He waited at the bottom for Emma.
"Thank you for everything, Ham," Emma said, leaning close to kiss him on the cheek.
"It has been an adventure, Emma," he replied, squeezing both of her hands as he looked into her eyes. "You're sure you --. No, nevermind," he smiled ruefully. "Get home safely. I'll contact the gallery about that commission."
Emma's eyes widened in surprise as he released her hands. She turned and hurried down the gangway toward Steed.
They sat side by side in the back seat of the sedan. Emma peered out the window at the dark countryside. Her lips were sore, her senses still flooded with the smell and taste of Steed. They had parted when the lights of the English coast were very near, hurrying to their cabins to pack, and then making arrangements with the crew for Moore and an Sionnach to be readied for departure. Now the prisoners were each in their own car with agents guarding them. A third pair of agents had stayed behind to gather statements from Sir Hamilton's guests in the morning.
Emma was experiencing the familiar post-case exhaustion, and the long car ride home was not helping. She wished that she might have stayed in her comfortable bed on the yacht for the night, but she could not have let Steed return to London without her, and he could not stay and send his prisoners back with the other agents.
A warm pressure on her hand, which was on the seat beside her, woke her from a drowsy state. She glanced down at Steed's hand covering hers and smiled. She looked up into his serene grey eyes, the edges crinkled by his most intimate smile. She felt her heart flutter at the deep affection it conveyed. She had never seriously considered leaving him for Sir Hamilton. But that he'd become so agitated at the possibility reassured her of the state of his heart, even though he would never speak of it directly.
"Try to get some sleep," he suggested quietly. "We'll drop you off first. I'll have to go to the ministry with them."
She nodded. She'd known he would ñ that this journey would not conclude with them finally resting together. That saddened her, for she wanted very much to wake up in his arms. But she accepted it as a condition of their relationship. His work was of paramount importance.
"I'll call you tomorrow, Mrs. Peel," Steed said, leaning out the car window as she took her bag from the other agent.
"Good night Steed," she replied, waving as he pulled his head in and rolled up the window against the night chill. It was two o'clock in the morning. Emma hurried into her building.
An hour later she had unpacked and brewed herself some chamomile tea, and was standing in her negligee and dressing gown looking out the window as she sipped it. Tired as she'd been, she could not find her way to sleep now.
The sound of the doorbell at so late an hour was unnaturally loud. Grimacing at the tea slopped into her saucer, she set the cup down and went to the door. If it wasn't a prank, then there was only one person it could possibly be. Activating the Cyclops, she saw that it was.
She opened the door and Steed stood there, case in one hand, umbrella in the other, his expression unusually dower beneath his bowler.
"Steed?" she asked, gesturing him in. He came, setting his case and umbrella down and removing his hat.
"I was afraid I'd wake you," he said, although she noted that he made no apology for the possibility. She knew that if she hadn't answered he'd have come in using the secret catch on the door.
"I think I'm over tired. I can't get to sleep."
"I know just the remedy for that," he said, his face brightening for a moment before he wandered on into the sitting room and plopped down.
Although she couldn't get to sleep, Emma was not enthusiastic about sitting up for the rest of the night either.
"What happened to Moore and an Sionnach?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be dealing with them?"
The muscles in Steed's jaw worked as he ground his teeth. He was far more agitated than she'd thought.
"Five took Moore the moment we got to Whitehall. Claimed he's their responsibility. It seems that when I reported from the yacht they went to search his home and office. Found all sorts of troubling things."
"Should I not drink the water?" Emma quipped coming to stand near him. She refused to sit down, although he didn't seem to notice.
"Boil it," he replied quite seriously.
"And the Fox?"
"Six." Steed grumbled, looking up at her. "They moved in on the interrogation as soon as we got him into the room."
"How could they?" she frowned. He shrugged, evidently disgusted with the bureaucracy. "Patrick's from six, so they're using that to lay claim to the arrest."
"That's hardly fair --."
"Oh, internally everyone knows who caught him, Mrs. Peel. And after all, what we do is supposed to be invisible." He exhaled a long sigh and Emma realized that his irritation was dissipating now that he'd expressed it to the only person who would understand. Impulsively, she settled herself on his lap. His hands automatically moved to her waist as he looked up into her eyes in surprise.
She flashed him an enigmatic smile as she unknotted his tie.
"Sunday morning," Steed muttered into Emma's ear as he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
"Ummm," she yawned, wondering if it was indeed still morning or they had slept it away.
"You stay here," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck before moving away from her. "I'll be back."
She rolled onto her back to watch him dress himself in twill trousers and a casual shirt form his suitcase, then he disappeared from the bedroom. She let herself drift, replaying the highpoints of the early morning hours. Steed had been right, he had known just the thing to help her get to sleep. A while later she heard sounds coming from the kitchen. She reluctantly climbed out of bed and wrapped herself in her dressing gown.
As she'd expected, Steed had returned with croissants and the morning paper. He was adding a tray of coffee things to the table in the sitting room when she came in. She smiled in happy anticipation of a rare quiet Sunday afternoon. She might just get out a fresh canvas and start a new painting.
fin