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Bentwood’s smile is full now.
“No choice. He’s worse than Pip!”
The late, great stable dog Pip had an infamous flatulence problem. We always encouraged him to attend the Countess’ garden parties.
My laughter is loud and unladylike.
“You are in trouble. Why haven’t I seen him?”
“I believe he’s intimidated by me, Lord knows why. I’ve barely said a word.”
“Hah! Silence is haughty.”
“I’m not haughty.” His eyes cross and I buckle, laughing so hard I have to hold on to the ladder’s rope even though I’ve made it to the sturdy deck. I love it when Bentwood is playful, have seen far too little of it since we were children. He continues, climbing down to stand beside me. “Apparently Goddard is quite fascinated with the workings of a ship’s kitchens, fool that he is. I’m told one trip could put you off ocean dining for life. But he likes his food, our Mr. Goddard.”
“You sound like old Betsy with your ‘our’ Mr. Goddard,” I tease. “Is that why we had cabbage at dinner?”
“I didn’t eat mine,” Bentwood confides. “What about you?”
“As you know,” — I narrow my eyes and lean toward him — “I thrive on danger.”
Bentwood’s full-bore laughter is as honest as the sky. I draw nearer, but he steps back, staying me with a hand.
“Stay downwind!”
“Never.”
Like a naughty schoolboy, my toot upends his laughter.
“Did you?” he asks.
All wide-eyed innocence, I shake my head.
His eyes narrow and he leans in close, sniffing.
“You did!”
I swat him.
“You couldn’t tell out here.”
I turn away with all the haughtiness I accused him of.
That’s when I see movement on the other side of the deck, deep in shadow. A raised arm drawing back then flinging forward, a snap of the wrist. Something glints, pitching through the air straight for Bentwood.
Are we in danger? We couldn’t be, but instinct pushes me. I lunge, toppling us both. A whoosh brushes my cheek. Pain sears my shoulder, followed by a clunk. Something, besides us, hits the deck. Sprawled atop Bentwood, I lift my head as a knife slides with the roll of the ship, slipping over the side.
In an instant, my world flips. Bentwood is atop me, his body pressing into mine.
“Kat?”
I think he’s asking if I am alright, but before I can answer, he dips his head and kisses me. This is no chaste press of closed lips but a raw mess of emotion. Everything I’ve dreamt of but all wrong. It threatens to pull me away from what just happened.
I buck, shove. Release is immediate. He’s lifting even as I scramble from beneath him, fighting to get my bearings.
“I’m sorry.” He shoves unruly locks back from his eyes, leaning on an elbow, unable to meet my eyes. “Unforgiveable…” He steals a guilty glance. There’s no time. He’s safe so I turn, put my body between him and any threat. “Kat?”
“Shush,” I admonish, straining to see into the shifting shadows. There’s a quiet scuffle, bending and twisting of a dark shadow, near where the knife was thrown.
