Exhausted, he must have finally slept as the sound of a tray being placed on the table woke him.
“Sorry, sir.” A young woman with café au lait–colored skin glanced at him in fear. “I was tryin’ to be quiet.”
Why did all the servants and slaves here have either English or Dutch accents? Then it came to him. How utterly simple. Because they couldn’t speak French or the native patois, it would be almost impossible for them to escape a French island.
“I was already awake,” he lied.
“Is there anything else ye’d be wanting?”
Nathan rubbed a hand over his bristly chin. “Please have some warm water brought. I’d like to shave.”
The woman glanced away. “Is that all?”
What the devil was she getting at?Holy Jesus. Someone sent her to see if he wanted to bed her?
“Yes,” Nathan said in a firm tone, hoping not to have the offer repeated.
She backed out of the bedchamber, nodding as she went. “I’ll tell the housekeeper.”
Nathan removed the lids from the dishes. At least to-day’s meal was more substantial. Meat, eggs, and bread. They weren’t trying to starve him. He’d eaten half of it when a young man carrying a large pitcher of water arrived. After filling the washbasin, he reached out eagerly to take the tray, then stopped.
Didn’t their master even feed them enough? Though God knew, growing boys needed a lot of food. “Go ahead. I’ve had enough. You may eat it here if you wish.”
“It’s all right.” The lad shook his head. “I’ll do the rest on the way back to the kitchen.” He gathered up the plates. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not takin’ Sukey when you could have.”
“I would never—” Nathan closed his eyes for a moment. “You’re welcome.”
Despair, rage, and sadness warred for supremacy. He hated slavery in all its forms and fashions. He’d once known a man who’d been a slave himself in Egypt, had been freed, and now owned slaves on St. Thomas. Nathan didn’t understand it at all and didn’t want to.
He was drying his face when a bit of white on the floor caught his eye. A many-times-folded piece of paper. He listened for any sounds outside in the corridor before stepping quietly over to the note, picking it up, then opening it.
After dinner.
Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. Soon he’d be free.
Chapter 15
Eugénie caught her breath as Wivenly’s warm lips brushed across her knuckles. His touch was different this time, soothing, not ravenous as if he had to possess her. Since the attack, her stomach had been a tight ball. It loosened now. She took a sip of the chilled white wine Cicely had handed her. Would she ever feel safe going out alone again? “I wonder if they will find the thug.”
“If he is still on the island”—Cicely’s hand made a tight fist—“they will find him. Our police are very good.”
Andrew wrapped his fingers around Cicely’s. “Anyone that large and Portuguese will be hard to miss.”
Eugénie raised her brow. She had recognized his accent, but had not realized anyone else had.
Cicely opened her hand, twining it with Andrew’s. “I heard him speak.”
They always seemed to take comfort in each other that way, much as Eugénie’s parents had done. If only she had not got herself into a mess where she must marry a man who did not love her, and for whom she had little regard. Though to-day, Wivenly had come to her rescue and brought her flowers, and now he held her hand. An awareness pricked the side of her neck, and she glanced at Wivenly. He was staring at her with his good eye.
“You’ve had quite a scare.” His blue gaze was warm with concern. “How are you?”
Terrified. For herself, and her family, that the Portuguese might try again and this time would either succeed or harm someone who was trying to defend her. “I am fine.”
Wivenly raised a skeptical brow.
