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She let her gaze fall to the floor.
He waited.
She reluctantly lifted her lashes to look at him. He was handsome in this flickering lamplight, dressed in simple breeches, linen shirt and the tall boots of a working man, perhaps even more handsome than in his frock coat and top hat.
“I’d like to have dinner on the deck…preferably without you,” she added quickly.
“Not an option. We dine together topside or we dine together here.” Walking to the bed, he opened his arms and waited.
Sapphire hesitated and then slowly scooted toward him, taking care with her ankle. A truce. At least for tonight.
Much later, after a meal of fresh fish, rice with Caribbean spices just the way Sapphire liked it, and a bowl of fresh fruit, she and Blake stood at the ship’s rail, looking out onto the dark ocean.
They talked about nothing in particular; he had been curious about Martinique and she found herself telling him things about the island, about Armand and her mother—things that she had never discussed with anyone aside from her immediate family. She asked him about Boston and America and he painted a picture that she found most intriguing. She discovered that Blake was not only a businessman but also a bit of a philanthropist, though he tried hard to hide it. He spoke excitedly of the changes taking place in the shipping and manufacturing industries due to the steam engine, and also of his concern over the treatment of the laborers. He was an interesting man. Indeed, she was learning she had to peel away the layers to find what was inside.
As they stood at the rail, she balanced on her good leg while he rested his hand on her waist to steady her. She watched the dark ocean that was outlined by white-caps, the cool, salty breeze tugging at her hair and loosening it from the ribbon that tied it back off her face.
“My mother’s God…” she said quietly.
“Pardon?” He looked at her.
“You said earlier that you swore by your mother’s God.” She turned to look at him. “Why is He your mother’s God?”
“It’s just a phrase.”
He shrugged as if it meant nothing, but the tone of his voice told her differently.
“Your mother is a religious woman?”
“Was. I didn’t know her. She died when I was a child and I was raised by a stepmother. But those who knew her…” Again, he shrugged. “They say she was a good woman whose faith ran very deep.”
“And your faith does not?”
He laughed.
“You don’t believe in God?”
He thought about this. “I believe in hard work. In convictions. In honesty.”
“But not God?” she mused. “But how can you look at this ocean—” she gazed up into the dark sky “—these stars and not believe in a Creator? How can you see an old woman and an old man, walking arm in arm, or see a baby in a carriage and not believe in a God?”
The oil lamp on the table behind them cast a faint light on the profile of his face.
Blake took his time to answer her. “Sapphire, from the things you’ve told me tonight, you grew up in a house where children were treasured. Your stepfather cared deeply for your mother. My life growing up was not so…idyllic.”
She didn’t know about his childhood or what kind of life he’d had, so instead of speaking the first thoughts that ran through her head as she usually did, she stayed quiet. Something in Blake’s voice made her sad for him. Every child deserves to feel loved, and while she sensed that much had been provided for him, love might not have been one of them.
“Do you think that love changes things?” she asked, breaking the silence.
He tightened his arm around her waist. “I think that making love can change things.” He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissed it and then drew it along his cheek.
Sapphire could feel her face growing warm, her breasts beginning to tingle. As much as she would have liked to deny her desire for Blake, she could not. She felt as if she were teetering on a precipice. “So are you saying you’ve loved many women?”
“You could say that.”
“But isn’t that hard? To love and let them move on, back to their husbands, to other men?” she asked, truly wanting to understand.
“Not really.” He kissed her hand again, then pushed up the sleeve of her shirt and began to plant light, fleeting kisses across the delicate skin of her forearm. “If you expect nothing from anyone, it’s easy to walk away. No one gets hurt that way.”
