Page 36 of The Governess and the Rogue

“I would.” His mouth quirked. “I do.”

She arranged her cards. “It’s been but a few days.”

Three days, more precisely, since their engagement had been announced.

Jack and Bea had been in company with each other for nearly every waking moment of them. Every day. Every hour. At mealtimes, during leisurely airings above deck, and smoke-filled evenings spent over cards in the gaming saloon.

They were never alone. The Rawsons, Dimsdales, Farradays, and other first-class passengers were forever circling them like sharks. Yet, through it all, Bea remained steadfast in her position. She sat primly beside Jack while he read, scribbling in her journal or attending to her sewing. She was his silent companion while he talked with any ladies and gentlemen who approached. And she was his protector, her very presence as his fiancée acting as a deterrent to those would otherwise have attempted to wheedle their way into his company, his affections, his life.

“Your point?” he asked.

“You’ll feel differently by the time we’re through.”

“I might,” he allowed. “But I doubt it.”

They had but five days remaining until they arrived in England. Jack couldn’t imagine growing dissatisfied with their arrangement in so short a time.

Bea didn’t appear convinced. “If I were you, I’d be pining for time to myself.”

“I never pine.” Jack laid down a card. A troublesome thought occurred to him. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Pining for time to yourself?”

She perused her hand, only half listening to him. “I take time for myself.”

“In your stateroom?” he asked.

“Above deck,” she said absently. “After dark. Just as I always have.”

Jack’s gaze jerked to hers with a startled frown. “You’re still wandering the deck of the ship at night?”

“I don’t wander.”

That meant yes.

His frown turned into a scowl. “What the devil for?”

“Fresh air,” she said as if it were the most reasonable answer in the world.

To Jack, it was anything but. “You get plenty of air. We both do. We’re above deck half the day.”

“Moonlight, then.”

He scoffed. “Vastly overrated.”

She laid down a card. “And starlight.”

“For cosmic beauty, is that it?” he asked. “To ponder the mystery of the stars? Is that what I’m to believe?”

“I’ve told you as much,” she said. “But I suppose you find it hard to believe that a mere drudge would appreciate such refined things.”

Jack’s brows snapped together. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.”

“You presume to tell me what I mean when—” He broke off, belatedly registering the interested looks of some of the other guests in the gaming saloon.