I lifted a shoulder, not wanting to confess that Mr Marston was a far better dancer than he was. “It was a relief to do something other than be sick and wish to die.”
A low chuckle came out of him. Again, the sound ensnared my attention and held it prisoner. I blamed the fresh air and the starry sky for my silly feelings.
“You can tell me the truth. I know I’m a terrible dancer.” He scrubbed the back of his neck, like an embarrassed boy. “Many ladies have complained. There is nothing you can tell me that I haven’t heard before. Two left feet, dancing bear, ugly ogre.” A grin stretched his lips. He had quite full lips now that I noticed them. Sculpted and nicely curved.
“Ugly ogre? That’s rude and not true.” I cleared my throat, realising how inappropriate my comment was. “I mean, I wouldn’t say you’re ugly.”
“But you wouldn’t say I’m handsome either,” he said in a flat tone.
“Actually, I would.” Confound it. I should stop talking.
“Thank you.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “I’m not light or elegant, though.”
“Well.” I focused on the stars. “Let’s just say there’s room for improvement.”
“You are too kind.”
No, not always.
Only the sound of our footsteps echoed on the deck. Up here, the noise of the engine couldn’t be heard, replaced by the rhythmic slosh of the water against the hull. Funny, but until a few hours ago, the sound had driven me mad. Now it was soothing.
“What did Mr Marston tell you?” he asked. The note of frustration I’d heard before was ringing more clearly now.
I slanted him a glare. “Why do you ask?”
“You chatted for a while with him.”
“I see.” I stopped, balling a fist on my hip. “That’s why you followed me and joined me on this walk. You wanted to interrogate me about Edward.”
“Edward? Not Mr Marston?” He worked his jaw.
“None of your business.”
“I didn’t follow you. I happened to be here at the same time as you. And I’m not interrogating you.” Shadows played over his harsh face, adding an ounce of severity to his features. It was amazing how he could look like a boy one moment and a hard man the next. “I’m simply curious to know what he told you.”
“I don’t believe you. Why should I when you lied to me?” A flare of anger heated my words.
A muscle in his neck stood out in sharp relief under his skin. “I have never lied to you. I told you there are things I can’t tell you.”
“Then there are things I can’t tell you, either.” I strode past him and headed towards my cabin.
His footfalls pounded behind me. “Monia, try to understand.”
“Understand what?” I didn’t bother slowing my pace or turning towards him. Or telling him he was being inappropriate again.
His strong fingers curled around my arm with surprising gentleness. “It’s not my place.” His heat reached my back as he stood inches from me. “To tell things.”
I faced him. Somehow, the contact with him calmed my burst of anger. “What do you mean?”
“Your parents decide what you should know. Not me.” For the first time, there were worry lines on his forehead. “I have to listen to them.”
“But you know why they sent me away, don’t you? You know everything.”
We were so close that, when he inhaled, his chest brushed against mine, sending a curious jolt through my body.
“Monia.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “Yes, I do, but please don’t ask me any more questions.”
“I see. It’s fine if you ask me questions, though.” The space—the very narrow space—between us was charged with angry energy.
