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“Forgive me,” she apologises, breathy and dishevelled, “I’ve been trying to catch Betsy.”
Montague pulls a lace-edged kerchief from his sleeve and bats it at the cat.
“You can’t bring that beast in here!”
He detests felines.
“Yes, I may.” There’s steel in Lady E.’s spine, relieving my worry. She is not one to be late or look dishevelled. If Lady E. were losing her pucker, things really would have turned sour.
But a pet?
“Will it be living in the cabin?”
This is important, as I am now back in with the ladies. Bentwood believes it is safer. It wouldn’t be if I had to share the space with one more living, breathing anything.
“No.” She lets Betsy down, brushing fur from her skirts as she stands. “My goodness but she’s heavy.”
“Why the cat?” Bentwood finally asks the obvious.
“To taste your food, of course,” Lady E. says, as if a simpleton should have figured that out. “We don’t want to risk you, Bentwood. This—” She gestures toward Betsy, whom Montague is trying to kick away. Apparently, felines care more for him than the reverse. “This is the best solution I could come up with outside of capturing a rat. Which I refused to do, even for you.”
Two people already murdered and here we are, having dinner as we would any evening. I should have thought of the cat, but the idea hadn’t crossed my mind.
“Thank you.”
My gratitude is lost to Montague’s tsking.
“Poor cat.”
“No doubt you’d prefer me poisoned?” Bentwood asks, one eyebrow raised.
Instead of chuckling and sizing Bentwood up for a coffin, Montague stiffens.
“Not funny, Bentwood. I’ve no interest in seeing you dead. If you remember, we have an agreement.” No one speaks as a lovely oyster bisque is served. Until Montague addresses my husband again. “As I said earlier, Lord Bentwood, I have no desire to see you hurt or injured or any such thing.”
“No,” Lady E. surprises me by answering, “I wouldn’t think so. He is worth more to you alive.”
“True,” my husband agrees, “but one must ask, how did you find yourself aboard this ship, of all ships?”
That was one of the questions I had meant to ask this evening.
“Transport. Someone gave me a ticket promising I wouldn’t have to ride in steerage.”
A surprising admission, that he was reduced to the lesser passage.
“All you were worth.” Bentwood grumbles and I realise that he had purchased Montague’s lesser passage on an entirely different ship.
Oh, dear, we are heading for an argument.
Montague shifts, uncomfortable, but continues, “I don’t know why everyone is so determined to lower me.”
“You do that well enough on your own,” Bentwood murmurs.
“I’m offended. There are some who consider my charms worth a great deal.” He grabs my hand. “You are fond of me!” he declares, and I laugh, but my laughter holds no humour.
“Fond of you?” I yank my hand away. “So fond of you that I would have seen you ruined if you hadn’t chased me into that maze. And I meant what I said this afternoon.”
He laughs.
