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Her fingers tightened about the mantle, holding it firmly over her head.
One stubborn strand broke free, whipping defiantly about her face.
Only the moon witnessed its crimson glow.
“We have to discuss it.”
Ariana’s face was pale, her eyes red from a long, sleepless night. How many times had she confronted Trenton, pleaded with him to talk to her? But to no avail.
The yacht sails whipped in the stiff breeze, the Isle of Wight fading as they neared the English shore. “Trenton … please.”
He hadn’t spoken since their encounter on the beach, nor had he moved since their ship had left Wight this morning. He stood at the yacht’s railing, his gaze fixed on some distant point.
Ariana took a deep breath, attempting a more direct approach. “Did I resemble Vanessa more than usual last night, or was she just on your mind?”
Slowly, Trenton turned. “You don’t resemble Vanessa … not in any way.”
Grateful that her husband was finally responding, Ariana rose, going to stand beside him. “Then why did you call me by her name?”
“I can’t explain it. For a split second, I saw her.”
“Why? Was it something I did? Said?”
“Stop it, Ariana.” He averted his head, staring broodingly over the Solent. “I’m not ready to discuss this. … I don’t even understand it.” His mouth thinned into a grim line. “I find myself in the untenable position of actually wondering what’s real and what’s fabricated.”
“Were you in love with my sister?” Ariana blurted out the unrelated question without thinking. Astonished by her own brazenness, she wished she could retract her words. In this case, it wasn’t Trenton’s anger she feared, but his honesty.
“No.” His response was instant and absolute. “Not then. Not ever.”
Ariana’s relief was so acute it hurt. “I’m glad,” she whispered. She leaned against the railing, gazing out over the water. “I wonder where Odysseus is by now.”
Trenton’s head snapped around, amazement registering in his eyes. “That’s it? You’re not worried about my possible insanity or my propensity to violence? You only want to know my feelings for Vanessa?”
“For the time being, yes. I know you didn’t kill her. Now I know you didn’t love her. The rest you’ll tell me when you’re ready. The only reason I hope it will be soon is that it hurts me to see you suffer so.”
A muscle worked convulsively in Trenton’s jaw, and he drew Ariana roughly into his arms. “You humble me.”
“I love you.”
“Then I pity you, misty angel.” He buried his lips in her hair. “But, Lord help me, I need you. And I’m too selfish to convince you not to care.”
“You couldn’t convince me if you tried. Besides”—she tilted her head back and smiled—“did you or did you not ask me for time?”
“Time cannot cure all things. Have you ever considered that I might be beyond cure?”
“I’ve considered it. I’ve also dismissed it.”
He stared soberly down at her. “There is a great deal I need to resolve.”
“Then I suggest you begin at Broddington. We’ll be there in an hour.”
“An hour.” He repeated the words hollowly.
“Trenton,” Ariana said softly, “the ghosts of your past have waited six years. They can wait a bit longer … until you’re ready to confront them.”
“It’s time I made myself ready, don’t you think?” Trenton’s expression hardened. “I hope to God you know what you’re letting yourself in for, Ariana.”
She touched his cheek. “The pain is yours. Let the risk be mine.”
