Stephen stared hard at the deck; regretting having spilled the last of the whisky. This sort of conversation was difficult no matter what sort of state of sobriety he was in. Being drunk, however, would have made it a little easier.
I just wish I wasn’t feeling anything.
“You think I am wasting the opportunity that having Bridget in my life presents. Monsale has said much the same, though not in such polite terms.”
Gus chuckled. The Duke of Monsale was well known for his foul-mouthed, but still eloquent speeches. He was not one for mincing his words.
“I could tell you that how you live your life is none of my business. But then again, what sort of friend would I be if I did that? An important part of our long friendship has always been that we speak plainly with one another.”
“So, you are going to add to the chorus of opinion?” replied Stephen.
“No. I am going to ask you one question. I don’t want you to give me your answer—I just want you think. When we get back to London, you should go and talk to Bridget. She is the one who needs to hear your considered response, not me.”
Well-meaning friends were the worst. They were also exactly what Stephen needed. He had been stubbornly pushing people away, refusing their counsel.
And look where that has got you.
Stephen sighed, there was no point in delaying. “Alright, so what is the question?”
“You and Bridget have a connection. When the two of you were engaged in your affair, you were walking around like a love-struck fool. You didn’t see it, but we did. So, now that you have this woman as your wife and she is carrying your child, why on earth are you finding reasons to avoid her?”
Gus got to his feet and headed farther along the deck. He stopped to talk to the yacht’s captain, leaving Stephen alone with his thoughts.
Because I am in love with her, and I haven’t the foggiest notion as to how I am supposed to live that life. Or even if I am worthy.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stephen woke alone and cold on deck a little after dawn the following morning. Someone had thrown a blanket over him during the night, but it had done little to keep the chill wind of the English Channel out. The scant sleep he had managed to get did nothing to improve his mood from the previous night. He had been a fool in walking away from Bridget on their wedding day.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, he struggled to his feet.
The mouth of the river Gouët loomed into view. Soon enough they would be at Château-de-La-Roche and meeting up with Armand and Evangeline to secure the shipment of brandy. By nightfall, theNight Windwould be on its way back to England.
But every hour that Stephen was away from his wife, now seemed like a year.
“I should never have got on board this bloody boat,” he grumbled.
He turned as Gus, resplendent in his usual smugglers disguise of tricorne hat, long black wig, and greatcoat, made his way up from below deck. The sight of two coffee cups in his hands was most welcome. “I came to check on you a few hours ago, but you were swearing in your sleep, so I left you to it.”
Stephen accepted the offered hot drink and took a sip.Heaven.A strong mug of coffee was the only thing which stood a chance of making him feel more human this morning.
“How are you feeling? Did your time up here give you the opportunity to contemplate the error of your ways?” asked Gus.
Stephen stared at his cup. “Yes, it did. My only regret is that I am here and not waking beside my wife. I should have stood my ground when she insisted on me going with you.”
Gus gave him a hard but friendly slap on the arm. “Good to hear. Now go and throw some fresh water on your face. I want to be in and away from the jetty below the château as quickly as possible. I would like very much for us to avoid any encounters with Marec and the Lamballe crew today.”
By the time Stephen had finished his coffee, theNight Windhad sailed into the mouth of the Gouët river, passing under the watchful eye of the medieval Tower of Cesson. The tower, which was now in ruins, had stood for over four hundred years, guarding the entrance to the waterway that led to the town of Saint-Brieuc on the coast of Brittany.
Gus’s smuggling associates, the Le Roche family, owned Château-de-La-Roche, which was situated not far up the river and well away from the port authorities.
Stephen normally enjoyed this part of the trip. The sight and smell of France always brought back fond memories of the time he had spent here in his youth. Today, however, he just wanted to reach the château, help with the crates of brandy, and then leave.
The ship’s crew were gathered on the weather deck, while Gus and Captain Grey finalized their instructions.
“If you don’t need to leave the ship, then stay at the dock. Unfortunately, we will not have time for any of you to visit the town, or the taverns,” said the Captain.
Groans of disappointment arose from several members of the crew.
