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Bridget grabbed Cal’s arm, steadying him. “Time to go,” she said, her voice pleasant as though they’d just completed a shopping excursion.
“What just happened?” he asked, his voice faint over the persistent noise in his ears. Bastard must have hit him right behind the ear.
“I saved you. Again. Now we had better get on the ship before your friend recovers and looks for us. You didn’t say where we were going, did you?”
“He’s not me friend.”
“That was obvious. I rather doubted you had any friends and was suspicious from the start.”
“I have friends,” Cal muttered, thinking of Danny. Although Danny might not appreciate Cal having stolen his evening clothing. So perhaps they weren’t friends any longer. “Galloway and I are friends.”
“For the moment.” She steered him to a slip and waved at someone. “Ho, there! We are passengers on Lady of Eire. I have the tickets right here.”
She lifted her clipboard and left Cal to stand on his own. His head was clearing now, but he’d have a hell of a headache later. He felt the back of his head and the tender knot already swelling there. His hand came away dry, so at least he wasn’t bleeding.
“Darling, we’re boarding,” Bridget said.
Cal almost looked over his shoulder to see who she was talking to. But when he looked at her face, she gave him a piercing glare. “Oh, right. Darlin’.” He helped her onto the long boat then climbed on after her, facing the shore so he could be certain Lucas didn’t see which ship they’d started for. But he didn’t see Lucas at all, and when they reached Lady of Eire, he didn’t argue when Bridget steered him to a tiny cabin underneath. If his head hadn’t been hurting so much, he might have asked what it had cost or why they had need of it when the voyage was only a few hours in good weather like this, but as it was, he lay down in the berth, careful to turn his head toward the good side, and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the ship was rocking back and forth, and he thought he might lose the two buns Bridget had given him to eat. He lay very still, willing his stomach to settle. He hadn’t been on a ship since he was a lad, and he didn’t remember feeling ill then. He also hadn’t been hit on the head hard enough to scramble his brainbox the last time he’d sailed. His damn head still hurt.
Seeing Lucas was a good reminder that he’d best be careful in Dublin. He’d better avoid anyone he’d known in London because no one who knew him there would believe he had married and was living a reputable life. And the fastest way for this mission to fail was for someone to look a little too closely at what he was doing and who Bridget was.
Bridget. He shot halfway up then lay back with a groan at the stabbing pain in his head. Little good he would be to Bridget even if he knew where she was at the moment. Gradually, the pain subsided to a tolerable level, and Cal became aware of a warmth at his feet. Slowly this time, he lifted his head. When the knives in his head didn’t stab his eyes, he peered at the foot of the berth. A single porthole illuminated the cabin and, as it was now late in the day, the shadows were thick, but he could make out the small form lying at his feet.
Bridget still wore her coat, and in her hands, she clutched the umbrella. She was curled in a ball, her back against his feet, facing the wall. She took up remarkably little space in the already small berth. Cal realized he lay on the blanket, and he hadn’t been cold even uncovered because he’d been sharing her body heat.
She had removed her hat, and her hair—still coiled neatly at her nape—glowed golden red in the thin shafts of light. He angled his head and saw she was sleeping. Her eyes were closed, her pale red lashes a dusting on her snowy cheeks. Cal’s hand itched to loose her hair. He could see the pins tucked into the thick strands. He wanted to smooth it over the blanket and follow the waves with his fingers. He imagined she had soft, clean hair that smelled of something sweet. Too good for the likes of his soiled hands to touch.
He hadn’t thought of the kiss they’d shared—hadn’t allowed himself to think of it because he’d known it would never be repeated. But now he couldn’t help but look at her lips and wonder if he’d feel that same rush of sensation if he kissed her again. They would be living together for the duration of the mission—a mission that might last a week or twelve. How was he to resist touching her or kissing her for weeks on end?
Galloway would think of the mission and act the gentleman, but Cal was no gentleman, and he’d never been good at telling himself no. Why else had he gone back to the gaming tables again and again, even when he’d lost everything? Why else had he continued to drink, though he recognized the danger signs when his first thought upon waking had been how he could get a bottle of gin?
But he’d conquered those weaknesses. He no longer woke thinking of gin. His fingers no longer itched for the feel of cards between them. Not that he could let his guard down. When the other men played whist or piquet, he’d walked away. He didn’t even trust himself with dice games. Better not to test his fortitude. When Galloway or Arundel offered him brandy or sherry—no gin for those gentlemen—Cal had claimed he had an early morning or didn’t care for the taste. Slorach had looked at him as though he was mad for refusing expensive brandy, but Cal had smiled and drank his tea.
He could resist Bridget Mary Murray. Best not to test his fortitude by even sampling her charms. If one kiss was enough, he wouldn’t still be thinking about that kiss.
He moved his legs, gingerly swinging them over the side of the berth then hanging his head until he could be certain the knives wouldn’t slash him for his efforts. His stomach seemed to have stopped roiling with every pitch of the ship, but it clenched when the mattress he sat on moved.
“Callahan?”
He clenched his hands into fists. Her voice was raw from sleep, low and seductive. She hadn’t meant it to be. No, he knew Bridget Murray well enough to know she hadn’t ever seduced a man and wasn’t starting now. Her hand, small and warm, rested on his back. He felt as though he was being burned through his coat. “I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “You should go back to sleep.”
How quickly they had gone from formal nods when they passed each other to lying together, her hand on him as though touching him was as natural as breathing.
If he allowed things to continue in this vein, he would never be able to resist her.
Cal stood, moving out of reach. And missing the warmth of her immediately. “Me head feels better. How long have we been sailing?” He looked down at her. She’d rolled to face him, and her skirts had pulled up to show one small ankle. He tried not to think about pushing her skirts up further. He ordered his feet to stay firmly planted on the floor and not move to return to the berth with her.
“I’m not certain.” She rose on her elbow and pulled out her pocket watch. “I came back down a few minutes after the sailors raised the anchor. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I don’t even remember lying down.” She pressed a hand to her temple.
“Sure and you must be exhausted. If you’d have roused me, you could have had the berth.”
“You seemed to need it more than I. You were pale as the sails, but your color is back now.” She squinted at the pocket watch. “It’s been about two hours since we set sail.”
“A few more left then.” Cal wondered how he would fill another few hours. He couldn’t stay in the cabin with her. She was worse than a new pack of cards. “I should take a walk about the ship, meet our fellow passengers.”
“After what happened in Heysham, I think it might be better if you stay below. Baron thought it best if we weren’t seen much before we arrived in Dublin. People will ask questions, and we won’t know the answers until we meet our contact.” She was sitting up now, her knees and those trim ankles tucked under her skirts. The ship pitched, and Cal caught himself on the wall before he stumbled forward.
