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Charlie stood up, anger mingling with desperation. “My job…well, it’s not exactly the kind of thing you brag about to nice people, is it, la?” His Scouse accent was coming out too strong. “I’ve done things, mate, things neither one of you could condone or even fooking understand. Even this afternoon—”
Sylvia rose, her eyes narrowed. “Alicia. What did you do to her?”
Charlie clamped his lips closed before he could utter the first word that came to his mind.
Unspeakable.
He’d done unspeakable things to her former mentor, her beloved teacher.
“You said she’s still alive,” Sylvia said, seeking confirmation that hadn’t been a lie. He could hardly blame her for questioning every fucking word that came out of his mouth. It wasn’t like he had a great track record here.
“She is,” he said, not adding barely to the statement.
Sylvia’s gaze was steady, unrelenting. “But you hurt her?”
He nodded.
“Badly?”
Again, he nodded.
She considered that for a moment, then shocked him. “Good. I’m glad. She deserved it for dumping me overboard.”
Charlie blinked, wondering if he’d heard her correctly.
Hugo unwittingly confirmed he had when his attention turned to their woman. “Sylvia?!”
Rather than respond to Hugo’s shocked outcry, Sylvia continued to address him. “So…Charlie,” she said.
Jesus. Something had clearly broken inside him. It was his God-given name on her lips and he hated it.
“I’m not going to ask you if that’s it—the last of the secrets. Honestly, I don’t care anymore.”
Her words went through him like a dagger. He’d known he had reached the end, gone too far. Knew this last secret would push her away forever.
“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” he said. “Sorrier than you can know.”
“Sylvie,” she corrected.
He frowned. “What?”
“When you’re in trouble, you call me Sylvie.”
He didn’t expect to see the smile that accompanied her comment. He’d expected anger, not…humor.
“Dieu nous sauve tous,” Hugo muttered, dropping back down in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his head bent as if he were indeed praying for God to save them all.
“It’s okay, Hugo,” Sylvia said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I think Charlie doesn’t realize yet how much of Lancelot he has in him. But we have a chance—and time—to show him. I’m going to travel to Europe with you. We’ll help your fleet admiral find this mastermind, and then, we’ll start over again. At the beginning. Eric said he read and enjoyed my poetry, so that means he’s a closet romantic. We’ll appeal to that part of him, ask him for time to get to know one another.”
“He means for us to marry,” Hugo said. “Not date. That’s not how the Masters’ Admiralty works. We told you. Marriages are arranged by the admirals. Love and choice do not play a part in it.”
Sylvia crossed her arms. “I’m not a member.”
Charlie stepped closer to her. “Yet.”
She laughed, lightly slapping his cheek. “There’s my arrogant, cocky man. Over your guilt already?”
He shook his head, helpless to hold back his smile. He’d come into this room prepared to lose everything. The past few days with Sylvia should have proven to him that he was facing a lifetime of constant pleasant surprises.
