Exhaling, Pedro dropped back onto the pillow. "I thought your type was warm and willing."
The shadows reached the bed, and Pedro bunched the sheets in his hands, his breathing coming in short bursts.
His brother's heavy footsteps receded as he left the cabin. "Sleep, brother."
Pedro wished he could.
Chapter 16
Annecouldnotstaystill. At this rate, the plush carpet would be threadbare when she had news. She took deep breaths, but the beeswax scent of her cabin could not calm her. The soft rocking of the boat had long lulled James into sleep, and she envied his oblivion.
Pedro's gray pallor flashed inside her mind, his face contorted in pain. The count would be all right. He had to be. Anne traced the hatch with her fingertips. Drops of water reflected the vineyards outside and painted the cream wood paneling with tiny rainbows. Barca D'Alva had stayed behind, with its shops and riverside restaurants. They floated along a rural countryside like the land around Vesuvio.
How was her family? Griffin would fret. At least he had Julia to comfort him.
She was lucky. She hadn't realized how much until her conversation with Cris. What kind of man would shun his own son? And worse, what had he done to Pedro? Sometimes, in the quiet of her bedroom, she blamed her father for being selfish and abandoning her family. In truth, she would carry his poignant memories her entire life. Even after he left, her brother had been there, growing up before his time to take care of her.
A soft knock on the door brought Beatriz. "May I come in?"
"Have you news?"
"I just left His Excellency's cabin. He was up and about, Miss, so don't you fret." The maid exuded a quiet demeanor, her hands folded on her front, her feet tucked under her gray skirts. Only her mouth, too large for her round face, exuded activity. During the explanation, the maid's lips pouted and grimaced and finally revealed a lovely smile.
"Thank God." Anne exhaled and dropped onto the bed.
Beatriz pointed to James. "Can I hold him?" Anne nodded, and the maid clasped the pug to her chest, cooing. "There is a deck behind the galley where I can take him to relieve himself, Miss. The crew is nice. Mr. Oliveira, the captain, is my uncle. Mario and Dario, the twins, are my cousins. And there's the Italian."
"You don't like Dante?" Anne had seen him speaking with Cris. A stout man in his mid-thirties, he had more drawings on his arms than words on his lips.
Beatriz scooted closer, wringing her apron. "They say he was a war hero, a condottiere in the Revolutionary Army, and fought with Garibaldi. He came to Portugal with the Italian queen, but he had to leave her court because of a duel."
"Do you think he fought for love?"
Her cheeks turned pink. "The twins told me he threatens to club anyone who asks. Anyway, all are curious to meet you. No one knew the count had female relatives."
Anne whirled away. "It is as His Excellency said." She hated to lie but was glad Pedro had come up with an acceptable excuse for her presence.
"Have you seen the clothes, Miss? His Excellency ordered me to go to the village for some. It was rushed, but I did my best. Picked them myself." Beatriz propped James on the bed and crouched near the chest. "All ready-made, but I can adjust them for you if need be."
There were shirts, pelisses, undergarments, dresses, and skirts. Their cloth was more serviceable than Anne was used to, and the designs were simple but fetching. "How thoughtful."
The maid flushed in pleasure. "I can help you with your hair. I haven’t seen color such as yours. But I need to go. I promised my uncle to take him his tea." She bobbed a curtsy and left.
Alone in the cabin, Anne drifted to the hatch and was surprised by Oporto's lights twinkling outside. So soon? She hadn’t expected to leave her city yet. Her lungs became constricted, as if she traveled under water, dragged like an anchor.
Anne raced to the main deck. Leaning over the railing, she inhaled the scent of cooking fires, lit oil lamps, and the sweet smell of the river. This stretch of the Douro was home. Atop Oporto's high cliffs, the houses stacked one atop the other like toy blocks—their colors reflected in the mirror-like water, blurry yellows, reds, and whites blending with the amber shade of sunset.
How many times had she strolled among those narrow streets? Griffin had grumbled that few were level, and fewer were at right angles with each other. Still, each held a secret to be tasted, touched, treasured forever.
Before she had time to say goodbye, the yacht had crossed the bar to the Atlantic. The boat's sway changed, and she felt it in the pit of her stomach. The smell changed, too, only salt spray on her lips. When the sun abandoned her to dip in the waves, the sky closed into deep indigo. The city lights twinkled far away, and soon they, too, disappeared. Only the ocean now. From south, north, west, and east—vast, mysterious, and immensely lonely.
The infinite blue made her nose burn, and Anne descended the stairs leading to the cabins, the anchor in the place of her heart dragging her steps.
A throaty moan made her pause.
Pedro. He must be in pain.
Brittle legs carried her to his door, and she knocked softly.
