“He is not my father.”
“For his sake, I wish you would not say that.” He massaged his bandaged hand. “At least not to his face.”
What was she supposed to say?
“As for this captain you are so fond of, suppose you answer a few questions for me.”
“I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because I am true to him, despite the things you tell me.”
“Very noble of you, Miss Gillingham, but terribly naive. Have you ever considered he might be the one who …” The words trailed off.
A dull ring of alarm went off inside her chest. “Who what?”
“How much do you know of your mother?”
“Only that she died shortly after Captain returned from sea. There was no work for him after the clipper went down. Not after his own crew deserted him and the cargo of spices from Northeastern India was lost.”
“So he took you to the forest.”
“Yes.”
“To live alone.”
“Yes.”
“You were lonely?”
Lonely? Yes, she’d been lonely. She’d lain awake at night, dreaming of faces, and she’d sat by the stream wishing it could talk back to her. How many times had she devoured the books Captain brought home for her? Or pored over a new edition ofLa Belle Assembléeand imagined herself among the illustrations? Or wandered away into the forest, pretended the trees were friends, and told herself she was entering a ballroom instead of more woods?
But she’d been happy in the forest.
Restless sometimes. Maybe even a bit curious and sad some days—but always happy, because Captain was everything she needed and they had no fear of the cruel world without.
The stranger’s eyes were upon her, studying her.
Heat crept along her cheeks. She didn’t look away, though. Not this time. Instead, she kept her head up and stared back into the deep green eyes.
He looked nothing like the rogues from Captain’s stories. Not with his wind-tousled blond hair. His cleft chin. His strong face, strong jaw. Why did he seem almost approachable? Half boy, somehow, even though he was very much a man?
“You look at me very strangely, Miss Gillingham.”
She looked away.
“Remember me now?”
No, she didn’t. She’d never remember him, and she didn’t want to. All she needed was to find a way to escape, to make it back to Balfour Forest and the cottage and Captain and Merrylad and—
“Someone’s coming.” He snatched her arm before she had a chance to react. “Say one word or make one wrong move, and I shall see you regret it.”
“I cannot see that I have anything to lose.”
“How about your captain’s life?”
Her heartbeat sped faster as he pulled her closer to the center of the road—just seconds before a six-horse mail coach came in sight.
