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He needed to be alone. To think clearly. Without memories haunting him or the lustre of Melina’s eyes.
And now his hopes were fixing on Melina. A woman whose face caught the light with intensity. Melina had an allure of another world. He could not let an impossible illusion take over his life again.
He shrugged. ‘I suppose I can feel another storm coming and it gives me unease. I’ve not put her to rest yet. I wanted to bury her memory in the sea. I came home—but then I realised I had brought you, another lovely woman. The child is still here. The scar. Everything is just as I left it, only perhaps bigger.’
He walked to the window, peering through the opening between the draperies.
‘No platitudes?’ he asked. ‘No sympathy?’
‘No.’
‘I left Whitegate when Cass returned after her adventure and did not go back until shortly after the birth. I decided I didn’t want a whole nest of other men’s children popping up around me. I made my view clear—and I delivered my rules if she wished to stay. And she became faithful. Not by choice, I’m sure. A carriage wheel would not turn without my approval. Nor could she sneeze without my being made aware of it.’
He could see nothing but bare shapes in the dark. He pulled the curtains wide, but the moonlight was hidden behind clouds. ‘I tried to go back to where we were. To start over. I tried every day. Every night.’
He breathed in the blackness around him, putting his palms flat on the panes, feeling the coolness, wondering what would happen if he let his strength go and he pushed.
‘It’s not her I hate. It’s myself. I loved her. And I wanted her to have another child. This one mine.’ His heartbeats almost made him unable to hear his words. ‘She was a wanton of the first water, and after the girl was born Cassandra had to have another child for me. It was one of the many conditions I made for her to continue to live in my world. She loved the illusion around us and wanted it to continue.’
He turned. He wanted to leave the memories he’d pulled back into his thoughts. He already felt the shortness of breath and the darkness so thick he had to push himself to move through it. He had to leave the room. ‘I hope you have pleasant dreams, Melina.’
* * *
Melina watched Warrington leave, seemingly unaware of the world around him except for the shapes he needed to avoid to keep moving. If ghosts were real, the spirit of Cassandra would have been walking along with him. She didn’t believe in any kind of supernatural beings, except perhaps goddesses, but that didn’t mean his wife wasn’t still with him, as strongly as ever before.
She just wanted to touch him and comfort him. Putting her arms around him might not truly soothe him, but for that moment, he would know he wasn’t alone with his memories.
Curling herself into a chair, Melina imagined the life he’d lived. She would have thought his wealth made everything simple. But it hadn’t. Even now, as she tried not to think about the things of her past, she couldn’t. And she’d not had Warrington’s heartbreak. The betrayal.
Melina looked at the brown garment she wore and knew Warrington had wanted the frock made in such a fashion. Touching the sleeve, she ran her hand over it. A soft garment, but still a hideous sack.
In Melos, even a grandmother would not make such colourless clothes. If Melina wished to be unseen, all she’d have to do was stand close to a wooden wall. The strangling undergarment the dressmaker had forced on her made no difference because it didn’t matter how much her stomach was pulled to nothingness and her breasts were pushed up, out and over, the brown concealed everything.
She remained in the room, thinking about betrayal, until the darkness surrounded her with the same pressure of the suffocating cabin walls from the ship. Moving to the mermaid room, she began pulling her clothes from her body so she could dress for bed and remembered she was tied into the underthings from the back. Squirming and twisting did her no good.
With her dress left lying on the bed, Melina went back to the sitting room. She opened the desk drawer and found a penknife. Reaching behind her, she hacked the knife upwards under the ties. This garment pinched and should be burned.
When she loosened the strings enough, she wiggled free of the underthing and let it fall to the floor. She smoothed out her chemise and put the knife back into the drawer.
Taking the damaged garment, she walked the hallway to Warrington’s room and knocked.
A groggy ‘Yes?’ came through the wood.
Gathering her courage, she pushed open the door, peering in. Moonlight fell through open curtains, mixing light and shadows. The scent of shaving soap, and something that reminded her of trees with new leaves, lingered in the air. One pillow was on the floor, leaning against the bed. Warrington lay in the middle of the mattress, his fist clenched around tangled coverings. When she stepped into the room, he slowly opened his eyes.
