“Mr. Runington, I am not a child that can be scared out of my home!”
“No, listen to me!” he said, grabbing her upper arms.
“Let go of me! Let go this instance!” She wriggled a bit, but it was startling how firm his grip was. In fact, now that she really lookedat him, his build was not that of a rich son of a merchant who spent his time accounting and doing the books. No, it was the build of a sailor, used to lifting sails and heaving cargo. And she could not break free.
“Let go of her while I’m still playing nice.”
They both turned to the new voice. Mr. Wilson stood, tall, his face dark and ominous, his arms crossed. His build was even bigger than that of the trees he worked with, and Mr. Runington slowly obeyed.
“I am not trying anything strange,” he started.
“No? Then why did I hear her screaming?”
Mr. Wilson reached out a package to her; she recognized it as the bread. “I was trying to catch up to give you this. I did not think he would try to accost you so soon.” His eyes truly threatened murder to the man. “How dare you, sir? What kind of gentleman lays hands on a woman?”
“No, no, there must be a misunderstanding.”
She glared at him; how often did he claim that? He must be the most misunderstood man on the earth.
“I was merely saying this to protect her,” Mr. Runington continued.
“As if I’d believe that from a man who already threatened her.”
Mr. Runington looked at her as if he was both hurt and bewildered she would tell such a thing. “No, listen to me, the both of you. It’s not just me. Ask the fishers. There’s a ghost about, and it’s coming for her. She can’t go back to the lighthouse.”
“How do we know it’s coming for me now,” she said, “when I haven’t even seen it?”
“Who else could it be coming for? It lingers near the lighthouse. It’s come ever since you let those men drown—”
“I did notletanyone drown!”
“—so what else could it want but your blood?”
“That’s a big leap,” Mr. Wilson said.
“And ghosts aren’t real,” she finished. Everything from Mr. Wilson’s tone to his expression to his brow said the same.
“Threats didn’t work so now you think you’ll try ghost stories?” Mr. Wilson sneered. “That’s cute. What’s next? Monsters?”
It would be hilarious if it were not so tense: the man who wanted to believe in mermaids taunting the one who believed in ghosts.
“It is not. There is no scheme here,” Mr. Runington said. Then looking to her, he added, “Though the offer still stands of course, and I imploreyou, Miss Wains—”
“Enough!” Mr. Wilson barked and even she flinched. She hadn’t known he had such a tone in him. “What do you even mean to do?”
“She must come with me to the city.” He said it so simply, like there was no other possibility in all the world.
Mr. Wilson gave a biting laugh of shock. “You would ask aladyto go withyouto the city? To be what? Your mistress?”
“No, you fool,” Mr. Runington spat. “My wife!”
But Mr. Wilson’s eyes practically glowed. “And what if she’s already spoken for?”
CHAPTER 70
There was dead silence for a moment, and it was only then that she noticed people were peeking from windows and that those walking were lingering close—hovering and pretending not to watch. They leaned to each other and whispered in the pause; their words were too quiet though to break the piercing silence.
And in it, her breaths felt harder still. To step in and say she was not spoken for would only encourage Mr. Runington. To not would fan the flames of gossip all the higher, and considering she had no intention of marrying either of them, that hardly seemed appealing either. What was one to do?
