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Shaking, tears pooling and falling, I shove him, trying to push my anger through him. I’m stopped by strong arms holding me close, a hand pulling my head back to his chest, keeping me safe, away from danger.
He doesn’t speak. He’s breathing deeply, the rise and fall of his chest calming us both. I can’t stop trembling. His hold tightens.
Head lowering, he whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
The words lull me past the reality that I am no safer than he, trapped on this vessel with two dangers; a man easily recognised by three festering scratches and another, far more elusive threat.
An adversary hidden in plain sight.
Chapter Eleven
Fears All Around
Montague is seated beside me at dinner. The steward announced our places. Bentwood’s surprise passes quickly, but he’s not pleased. Something happened between us this afternoon. A bridge of sorts, fragile enough that it may not survive my machinations. I arranged the seating. Ruthless of me, to use Montague so poorly, but Lady E. wants more answers, and I am going to get them.
It’s just the four of us this evening. There is another place set, but we’ve yet to see the elusive passenger from cabin four. Servants come and go, but she never ventures out. Word is, she’s one of those foreign women who drapes themselves from head to toe, revealing only their eyes through slits in the fabric. My mind whirls with questions.
Jenny, Steves, and Montague’s man are not included. They dine in the forequarters. Steves promised to watch over Jenny, and the girl trusts him do just that. She was absolutely cheery about it.
My husband doesn’t challenge the seating. He could, quite easily. No one ignores an Earl’s request. But he takes his seat, and leaves me to mine. I wish it was trust that kept him from objecting, because he could see the love in my eyes, but that love has been there since childhood and he’s yet to see it.
Not that I fault him. I was a horrible brat when I joined Charlie and CeCe in the nursery, shoving dishes to the floor, ripping up books other children would yearn for. Such a terror, CeCe wouldn’t come near me.
Bentwood did. My Charlie.
The nursery maid had the unfortunate job of brushing and braiding my hair. I refused. Hanging free, it provided a wall to hide behind. The harder she tried, the wilder my tantrum.
“Leave her,” Charlie had ordered. Six years old and already sounding like an Earl. “I would miss my Mama too.”
“I don’t miss her!” I threw his kindness back at him, racing to the fire because I was always cold back then, and curled into a ball, arms protecting my wild mane.
Wide-eyed, CeCe crept closer to peek up into my face.
“Were you really there when your mama drowned?” she asked.
“Cees!”
Charlie bounded over, wrapping his arm around me, scowling at his twin, but I didn’t mind. I was there, saw them pull my mama from the surf when the tide brought her in, no longer beautiful but cold, so cold, with eyes aimed at me. She didn’t see me, no matter how much I cried for her to look.
I had been cold ever since.
No one talked to me about that day, ever. Not Papa, not my nursemaid, no one. Only about how naughty I was, acting up as my home, full to the brim with my mother’s warmth and laughter, turned silent and bitter.
“Yes,” I said, “I was there.”
I couldn’t stop talking, the three of us huddled together. CeCe wanted the full horror of it; she was like that. Charlie didn’t say a word, quietly listening, the weight of his arm around my shoulders, his thumb brushing back and forth, soothing, comforting. Both strong and calm.
No one else had wanted me. Papa was too important to deal with a little girl. Charlie warmed me, when all I felt was the cold of the sea that had taken my mama. He made me safe, and I’ve loved him ever since.
Which is precisely why I push him away. As Papa says, I am an absolute failure as a proper lady and unfit to marry a gentleman. I’m a hoyden, forever speaking when I should be quiet, saying what shouldn’t be said. I’m also known to smoke a cheroot now and again. Might have one tonight. Montague would be amused.
If I staunched the flow of misbehaviour, Papa would never, ever notice me. And I have corrected him. Unfit to marry a gentleman? Hah! Wealth covers all manner of sins in matrimony.
Unfortunately, Bentwood was never in need.
So I surround myself with briars and shards of glass and pray he will weather the wounds and draw near. CeCe thinks he will, but it’s an impossible dream.
The stewards are bringing in the covered plates when Lady Eleanor bustles in, shockingly late for a punctual woman. Even more shocking: she is holding an enormous cat in her arms.
