CHAPTER SEVEN
“Hello, Miss Barnes.”
“Hello, Nine Lives.”
Helen smiled a smile Hayden felt clear down to his toes. She was sitting in the shade in front of his tent, hemming one of the dresses he’d given her from his pirate booty.
“You’re staying busy,” he said.
“I don’t know how to be idle. I’ve always managed my father’s rectories for him, so I’m used to having many tasks to occupy me.”
“You can sew. Can you cook too? Are you a woman of many talents?”
“Absolutely.”
Her sister was seated with her too, and at the notion of Helen cooking, she scoffed. “Don’t listen to her, Nine Lives. If she ever offers to cook for you, you should run far and fast in the other direction. She can’t even boil water and make it come out right.”
“Don’t be so honest about me, Becky,” Helen said. “I’m hoping to impress him.”
“That’s all well and good,” her sister retorted, “but it’s a sin to tell a lie.”
“So you can’t cook?” he asked Helen.
“Not really.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I’m ever hungry around you.” He extended his hand. “Walk with me.”
“To where?”
“Just down the beach. We have to talk.”
She studied him. “From your grim expression, it must be bad news.”
“It’s not bad news.”
“Then why are you scowling?”
“I’m not scowling. This is how I always look.”
“I suppose you won’t stop pestering me until I obey.”
“I suppose you’re correct.”
She set her mending aside, and he pulled her up.
“Where are you taking her?” her sister asked.
“I told you. Down the beach.”
“I have to put my foot down about any long strolls. Or any swimming. You wrecked her dress.”
“I’ll try to behave myself,” he sarcastically replied.
“And you can’t abscond with her for hours and hours as you did the other afternoon. I have to insist that you don’t.”
He might have rudely suggested she stuff it, but Helen saved him.
“Becky, you are not my mother or my chaperone. You needn’t worry about me, and I most especially won’t tolerate you lecturing Nine Lives about how he should act.”
“Won’t you?”
“No, I won’t.” Helen grinned up at him. “Ignore her. She’s pouting.”
“I am not,” Becky claimed, but they’d already departed, so if she expounded he didn’t hear her.
“Why is she pouting?” he inquired once they were out of the camp.
“She’s been flirting with Mr. Stone’s son, Will.”
“I can certainly understand it. He’s a handsome boy.”
“When we were on our ride the other day, she was off in the dark with him.”
“That doesn’t sound good. I remember being that age. It’s probably not wise for them to be alone.”
“I agree, and I’m punishing her.”
“How?”
“She has to constantly remain by my side. She can’t wander off.”
“I bet she doesn’t like that.”
“No, she doesn’t, and I believe Mr. Stone had a chat with Will too. He’s hardly glanced at her since they were together.”
“She blames you?”
“Yes. I’m the wicked older sister, and I never let her have any fun.”
Hayden snorted at that. “You’re many things, but I would never describe you as wicked.”
“You might if I was your sister.”
“I’m glad you’re not. If you were, I could never do this.”
He dipped in and stole a kiss as he’d been dying to do since their beach escapade. He’d been rattled by their jaunt, so he’d been avoiding her, but their attraction was so tangible he could practically see it floating in the air between them.
As he drew away, she sighed with pleasure. “I was wondering if you’d ever kiss me again. You’ve been deliberately hiding from me.”
“Yes, I have. I admit it.”
“Why? It was brazen of me to swim with you, and I would hate to learn you deemed me overly loose.”
He frowned. “Me? Think you were loose?”
“I’ve been fretting about it.”
He shook his head. “I like loose women, the looser the better.”
“You would.”
“Don’t forget that I was the one who carried you into the water. If I recall correctly, you were vehemently opposed.”
“Yes, I was.”
“So any misconduct was all my fault.”
“I’ll tell myself that’s the truth.”
He slipped his hand into hers, linking their fingers as if they were adolescent sweethearts. He shouldn’t have. Nor should he have kissed her again, but he simply couldn’t resist. He couldn’t be so close to her and not touch her.
“I’ve never been friends like this with a man,” she said.
“And I haven’t ever been friends with a woman.”
“Are we friends though? We are, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“Actually, I’ve never had many extended relationships at all,” Helen said. “Not with a man or a woman. We moved a lot.”
“Because of your father?”
“Yes. He’d stir trouble with someone’s wife or daughter, and he’d be reassigned.”
“It must have been horrid for you.”
“It was. Usually, we’d sneak out of town in the middle of the night, having been completely disgraced and our name dragged through the mud.”
“With that sort of history, I’m surprised you’re still so happy and optimistic.”
“I’m faking it.” She laughed a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m stunned to have revealed all that to you. I’m not normally so chatty about my situation.”
“I’m a man who encourages confessions.”
“You are not.”
“I am! You can confide in me, and I’d never judge you.”
“I should hope not. I wasn’t responsible for any of it. I was merely standing in the corner, watching all with my mouth agape.”
“When did you first realize your father’s proclivities?”
“Shortly after my mother passed away.”
“When was that?”
“A decade ago. I was about to turn fifteen.”
“You’re twenty-five now?”
“Yes.”
“You decrepit old spinster, you,” he teased.
She grimaced. “I’m not a spinster by choice, so you can’t use the term to bludgeon me.”
“Would you like to marry someday?”
“Yes. Wouldn’t every woman?”
“I guess, although I’ve spent years around trollops in port towns, and they generally seem delighted to not have husbands ordering them about.”
“I hadn’t ever thought about marriage being awful.”
“Even with your father as a prime example of bad matrimonial behavior?”
“Well, he can be terrible, but he’s merry and fun too. If he wasn’t a philanderer, he’d be an excellent spouse.”
He scoffed. “You are a very loyal daughter.”
“I’ve had to be. If I hadn’t been there to tend him, I can’t predict how he’d have managed.”
“Do you suppose he was unfaithful to your mother?”
“I’m sure he was.”
“You’re painting the most intriguing picture of him. I can’t decide if I’d like to meet him or if I should pray I don’t.”
“You’d like him. He’s pleasant company.”
“Is that where you acquired your agreeable attributes?” he asked. “You inherited all his charm?”
She peeked up at him. “You think I’m charming?”
“Definitely.”
“There’s no doubt about it then. I’m getting a big head. With all your pretty compliments, I can’t keep it from swelling.”
They neared a small stream that bubbled out of the ferns and spilled into the ocean. It was the spot where he bathed after a hot day. He escorted her over to the foliage, and she dug in her heels.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Into the ferns.”
“That sounds positively scandalous.”
“It’s cooler there, and there’s a pool with a waterfall. We can sit in the shade and enjoy the scenery.”
“How do I know you don’t have wicked designs on my person?”
“I do have wicked designs. I admit it, but I’ll try to control myself.”
“You’ll try?” She snorted with disgust. “You haven’t given me much incentive to join you.”
“All right. I will control myself. I promise.”
She scowled, her skepticism obvious. “I’ll force myself to believe you, but if you make one suggestive move, I’ll stomp off and return to camp.”
“You will not.”
“I might.”
“You won’t. You like me more than you should. You’ll relish having me all to yourself.”
“You’re so humble,” she facetiously said.
“I don’t have a humble bone in my body.”
“No, you don’t.”
They were in the scorching sun, and he was tired of debating with her. It wasn’t in his nature to be denied. They would loaf by the pond, and if illicit conduct occurred, she’d get over it, and he wouldn’t feel guilty.
He guided her onto the path and wound them through the ferns that lined the stream. Soon, they came to the pool and the waterfall behind it. With its tropical flowers, crystal clear water, and swaying palm trees, it was the type of place where a fellow might stumble on a mermaid.
She grinned. “How lovely. I’m glad you insisted I accompany you.”
“I knew you would be.” He led her to a boulder and balanced her on it, then he patted his thigh. “Give me your foot.”
“Why?”
“We’ll take off our shoes and stockings and soak our feet.”
“We most certainly will not.”
“Don’t argue with me, Helen. I’ve already seen your feet. I won’t faint if I see them again.”
She studied him, the pond, him. “It is dreadfully hot.”
“And I hate it when you act like a prude.”
“I am a prude,” she said.
He patted his thigh again, and she relented, permitting him to pluck off her shoes.
He cocked a brow. “Would you like me to unroll your stockings for you?”
“No, I would not.”
“The world won’t end if I catch a glimpse of your ankles.”
“Turn around.”
“You won’t let me watch?”
“No. Turn around!”
He obeyed her command, but he could hear her lifting her skirt, untying a garter, tugging off her stocking. Then she worked loose the other one. It was torture to stand so close and not pitch in, but he restrained himself.
“Are you finished?” he asked, knowing she was.
“Yes.”
He spun, and she was sitting in a very prim way, as if seated on a pew in church. He sat beside her and nudged her with his elbow. “Get up, woman, and attend me.”
“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
She jumped up and saluted him as if she were a lowly private in the army, yanking off one boot, then the other. Then he went to the water’s edge and plopped down on the grassy bank. She walked over and eased down too, and she raised the hem of her skirt and dunked her legs up to her knees.
“Ha!” he teased. “I saw your toes.”
“And I didn’t die of shame.”
“You’re built of sterner stuff than that.”
“I’m made of very stern stuff.”
“I’ve noticed that about you.”
He linked their fingers again, and they were quiet for a bit, listening to the birds chirping and cawing.
“You have something to tell me,” she eventually said. “What is it? Cease your torment.”
“Let’s not talk about it yet.”
“So it is bad news.”
“No. I just want to relax for a few minutes.”
“Well, I can hardly relax with you. You’ve elevated my anxiety to a preposterous level.”
“We don’t have to converse every single second.”
As he shifted toward her, he was quite overcome with affection. She wasn’t wearing a bonnet, and her brunette hair was hanging down, tied with a ribbon. The sun shone through the leaves in the trees, dappling her with light so she seemed to shimmer.
He couldn’t help himself, couldn’t resist. Not when she was so pretty and he was so completely captivated. He leaned in and kissed her. She participated with a great deal of relish, and she was growing bolder, her breasts pressed to his chest, her hands caressing his shoulders and back.
He pulled her onto his lap, her bottom on his thigh. For a moment, they were off balance, and he nearly lost his grip and dropped her in the water.
She shrieked and laughed, then he began his assault again, his lips capturing hers in a torrid embrace that went on and on. He couldn’t imagine why he’d ever stop, but of course he had to. Kissing led to all sorts of behaviors he shouldn’t ever consider with regard to her, and he was sending exactly the wrong message.
Why was he being such a cad? Why couldn’t he act as was proper? Why couldn’t he treat her as she deserved to be treated?
If he kept dallying with her, she would expect that a marriage proposal was just around the corner—she probably already expected it—but it would never arrive. He was being horrid, was delighted to trifle with her but with there being no sentiment driving his infatuation.
When he was with her, he felt so much better, fantastic, extraordinary, and wonderfully lucky. But so what?
He wanted her so desperately, but in this instance, he couldn’t have what he wanted. He slowed and drew away, yet she’d so thoroughly aroused him that he was thinking he would ride to Santa Cruz after he was finished with her.
It was a port town after all, and there were many harlots who could soothe a man’s worst urges. After such a passionate interlude with Helen Barnes, he definitely needed to be soothed or he might explode.
“I’ve been scolding myself over you,” she said.
“Why?”
“You must be a sorcerer, because you push me into conduct I shouldn’t attempt.”
“You’re crazy about me.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, and he grinned.
“It’s just kissing, Helen.”
“It’s just kissing if I remember to control myself.”
“Are you out of control? How fortunate for me if you are.”
“Could we talk now? We’ve gotten our amour out of the way. Could you please tell me what you’re so eager to impart?”
“I could, but I’m terribly hot. Give me a minute.”
He slid her off his lap and onto the bank. Then he tugged off his shirt and waded in, clad in his trousers. He sank down and floated over to the waterfall, and he dipped under it, dousing his head and hair.
When he stood again, he asked, “Will you join me?”
“No.”
“Spoilsport.”
“I guess I am. Or perhaps—with me being in the shade—I’m not as warm as you.”
He trudged over to her, and as she watched him approach, she scowled, and he inquired, “What is it? Aren’t you impressed with my masculine physique? I’ve been told I look quite dashing.”
“I’m extremely impressed with it. As you know.”
“You should be,” he joked. “I’m an incredible male specimen.”
“I’ve previously mentioned how humble you are.”
He nestled next to her, and she laid a palm on his thigh, which thrilled him. Her touch was electrifying, and it made him keen to engage in naughty activity.
“I’ve seen the scars on your back,” she said, “but I didn’t realize you’d been maimed in the front too.”
He glanced down at the old signs of repeated injury. He’d survived so many battles, had been wounded so many times, that he forgot the marks were present.
“It’s nothing,” he claimed.
She pointed to an ugly laceration on his side. “How did you get this one?”
“Saber slash.”
To a puckered gash on his other side. “And this one?”
“Knife fight.”
The same on the other side. “This?”
“Knife fight again.”
A cut near his neck. “And this?”
“Whacked with an axe.”
The most deadly one of all was a rough and ragged hole in the center of his chest.
“And this?”
“Pistol shot in a duel.”
“A duel! Over what?”
“A loose trollop with whom I shouldn’t have trifled.”
She scoffed. “You didn’t duel over a woman. I refuse to believe it.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t always the most well-behaved fellow.”
“I don’t think you’re well behaved now.”
He chuckled. “You could be right.”
“From the mutilated state of your body, I have to assume you’ve spent your whole life in combat.”
“Only the past decade or so.”
“Tell me the truth. Are you a pirate? Is that why you’re in this condition? Have you been boarding ships, murdering passengers, and seizing their possessions?”
He hemmed and hawed, then admitted, “I’ve sailed with pirates and other notorious characters.”
“Why would you?”
“I didn’t have a choice. I was conscripted against my will, and it’s dangerous to hook up with ruthless brigands. I ended up in all sorts of lethal situations. Often, it’s kill or be killed. It’s why my name is Nine Lives. I was indentured and sold and—”
She gasped with astonishment. “You were bartered over as if you were a slave?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “Don’t look so shocked. There are huge swaths of the globe that aren’t very developed. Slavery is common.”
“But you’re British!”
“In the places where I was trapped, it didn’t matter.”
“Did you ever try to escape?”
“Constantly. It’s why my back is so wretched. I was always caught, and the punishment was swift and brutal.”
“I had no idea,” she murmured.
He waved away her sympathy. “It’s over.”
“How did you wind up owning your ship?”
“I stole it.”
“You stole it?” She tsked with exasperation. “I can’t ever decide when you’re being serious and when you’re jesting.”
“I didn’t technically steal it, but it wasn’t mine.”
“Whose was it?”
“It belonged to a pair of coldblooded bandits who were terrorizing the coast of South America.”
“You were part of their crew?”
“For two years.”
“What happened to them?”
“A plague swept through our camp. Nearly everybody perished but for Robert and myself. I simply mustered the sailors who were left, loaded all the pilfered items in the hold, and sailed away.”
She gaped at him as if it was the strangest story ever, and he supposed it would sound that way to someone who hadn’t endured it. As to himself, it was his history, his reality. To him, it didn’t sound odd at all.
“What is your plan these days?” she asked.
“I don’t have a plan. I’m merely glad to be free and on my own.”
“You won’t…won’t…begin pirating again, will you? I’d hate to think you’d continue with your life of crime.”
“I won’t continue pirating. You don’t need to fret about that. I’ve had more than enough excitement.”
She brightened. “Why don’t you return to England? You’d be safe there, and you could recuperate and start over.”
“I’ve considered it,” he lied, for of course he was headed to England—as soon as the repairs were completed.
“I’m sure your sisters would be ecstatic to see you,” she said. “And what about your parents? Are they still alive? I don’t believe you ever told me.”
“They’ve been dead for years.”
“You should go home,” she firmly declared. “It’s been perilous for you out in the bigger world.”
“It definitely has been.”
“I’ll worry about you if you keep sailing the oceans.”
“Would you worry? Really?”
“Yes, you dolt. Now that we’re friends, I have a vested interest in your survival.”
She rested her palm on the center of his chest, directly over the spot where Alex Wallace had shot him. The scar was the prime evidence of how their quarrel had ignited all the disasters that had followed. It was the major proof that he could and had made very stupid choices in the past.
He couldn’t remember anyone touching the scar before. Not since his Moorish doctor in Italy used to poke and prod at his infection. Her caress rattled open an unlocked place inside him where he’d stuffed all his misery and woe. He never pulled it out and looked at any of it. He never contemplated that dark era. What was the point?
It had been such a pathetic, grueling period. As an aristocrat’s son, he’d assumed he was immortal, that nothing bad could ever befall him, but Alex Wallace had established that he was very, very human. On the trip to Italy, he’d almost died a dozen times over.
He’d scarcely been acquainted with Eugenia Wallace, the woman who’d caused all the trouble. She had been married. She had committed adultery, yet her husband had blamed Hayden and tried to murder him. All of it had seemed so ridiculously unfair.
He’d grown up as an immature, spoiled boy, whom people had cosseted and loved. Initially, he’d taken out his anger on his parents, but as he’d healed, he’d calmed his mind and his attitude. He’d worked hard to show them he was sorry for his juvenile rages and posturing.
Then…they’d drowned in that storm, and he would always curse himself for those months in Italy. He’d been so ill and knocking on death’s door, but so awful to them.
He wished he’d never gamboled in London or crossed paths with Eugenia Wallace. He wished he’d listened to his friends who’d warned him about her and her dangerous husband, but he hadn’t listened, and his stubbornness had set in motion every appalling event that had occurred.
He rarely wondered about Eugenia Wallace, but he often obsessed about her husband. What had become of him after the duel? Hayden had been an earl’s son, a viscount with his own separate title. A commoner couldn’t try to kill a viscount. It simply wasn’t allowed.
Had Wallace suffered any penalty for his homicidal attempt? Or was he—to this day—blithely strutting about England and proud of what he’d perpetrated?
If they ever bumped into each other, how would he, Hayden, react? Would he pretend no acquaintance? Would he ignore the man and walk on by? Or would he draw his pistol and shoot Alex Wallace right between the eyes?
He had no idea.
Usually, he thought he was over the entire episode, but in a convoluted manner, he felt that Alex Wallace had slain his parents. If Wallace had understood his wife was a trollop, if Wallace had never lost his temper, there would have been no reason for Hayden’s parents to sneak him out of England, to waste a year in Italy, to sail the hazardous seas and sink in a storm.
Did Alex Wallace deserve to pay for the catastrophe he’d engineered? Was he liable for any of the harm? Should he have to atone for his role in the debacle?
The questions were vexing. Depending on Hayden’s mood, he had different answers. He wasn’t the naïve child he’d been. He was tough and violent, and he’d learned to fight and win, was capable of any type of brutal response.
He gazed at Helen, and a thousand emotions bubbled up. He yearned to confess his identity, yearned to explain about the duel and the aftermath. But if he started to talk, he might never stop, so he removed her hand from his chest where it was so tenderly covering his wounded heart.
He sat next to her on the bank and lifted her onto his lap again.
“You’re all wet,” she scolded, “so I’ll be wet too.”
“At least I didn’t drop you in the pool, dress and all.”
“Thank heavens for small favors.”
“Are you sure you won’t swim?”
“I’m sure.”
“Your loss, Helen Barnes. I’m much better now that I’m cooler.”
“I’m quite grand too.”
She riffled her fingers through his hair and pushed it off his forehead. It was a possessive gesture, a wifely gesture, and it was blatant evidence of how he needed to be cautious with her, but how he wasn’t being cautious at all.
“All right, you bounder,” she said, “we’ve loafed and chatted and gotten more comfortable. I’ve been very patient, and I demand you tell me why you dragged me out here.”
“Are you annoyed?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps I should seek a boon for sharing my information.”
“I’m not giving you a boon, you greedy cur, for I’m certain it would entail my providing you with something I never should.”
“You know me so well.”
“Yes, I do.”
It was the worst comment she could have uttered. Their connection was binding them tighter and tighter. How would he ever cut the cord in a gentle way?
“I’ve been riding to Santa Cruz every afternoon,” he told her.
“Yes, you have. I’m completely and absurdly focused on you, so I’m aware of where you are every second.”
“I’m vain enough to say I’m glad to hear it.”
“Isn’t vanity one of the Seven Deadly Sins?”
“It might be, but if it is, I hardly care. Another black mark on my soul won’t matter.”
“Don’t brag about your failings or I’ll have to spend the rest of my life in church, on my knees and praying for you.”
He chuckled. “Quit distracting me.”
“How am I distracting you?”
“You’ve planted an image in my brain of you on your knees.”
“How is that distracting?”
He always forgot she was a maiden and a spinster. He scowled. “Never mind. I’m being risqué, when I shouldn’t have been.”
“You were risqué? How?”
“Never mind!” he groused more sternly. “Just listen.”
“I’m listening, I’m listening.”
“I’ve had men searching for your father.”
“You have? That’s so kind of you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“You’ve embarrassed me too. You’ve been in town, tending to my business, and I’ve been lounging in the shade at your camp and letting you do all my work for me.”
“It was no bother.”
“It was an enormous bother,” she countered. “What have you discovered? Is there news? There must be if you’re so determined to discuss it.”
He hated to apprise her, but he had no choice. “It appears your father landed on Tenerife, then he sailed away a few days later.”
“What? No! It’s not possible. He wouldn’t be that negligent. Becky and I journeyed so far to be with him. He was expecting us.”
“I realize that.”
Her shoulders slumped with defeat. “What have you learned that makes you think he left?”
“For all of Santa Cruz being out in the middle of nowhere, the harbormaster keeps excellent records. Vicar Barnes arrived—his name was on a passenger manifest—and he stayed in a hotel by the harbor for two nights. Then he fled.”
“Why? Do you know?”
“No one had an explanation as to why. He simply packed his bags and went.”
“To England?”
“The ticket he booked was on a ship to Spain.”
“Spain!”
“It seems he was in a hurry to leave, and he took the first berth he could purchase.”
“Oh, my goodness,” she murmured.
“Might he have written to you not to travel after all? Maybe you missed his letter. Once he invited you to join him, how quickly did you depart for Tenerife?”
“Immediately—as soon as we received the money.”
“There’s another pastor at the mission church.”
“Yes, I’ve spoken to him,” she said, “and he was totally uncooperative.”
“Could there have been a mix-up in the posting? Might your father have been recalled or reassigned?”
“I suppose.” She was silent for an eternity, then she sighed. “I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have trusted him. I knew better, but he had a cottage for us, and he painted such a pretty picture of how it would be. After what we’d been through, it sounded like a slice of Heaven.”
“Would he have lied about the job and all the rest? Is he that despicable?”
“Not despicable precisely. He might have simply wanted to make me happy and keep me from worrying.”
If that was true, then Vicar Barnes was a cruel idiot. Why would he encourage his daughters to trek to the foreign island if he didn’t intend to remain to greet them? It was bizarre conduct that was so infuriating. Hayden was seriously thinking, if he ever had the misfortune to meet the defrocked preacher, he’d beat him to a pulp.
She peered up at him, her green eyes poignant and mesmerizing. “What should I do? I don’t have the funds to tarry on Tenerife, and I don’t have the funds to sail home. What should my solution be?”
“Have you other family in England? Could someone help you there?”
“Yes, I have a cousin. She and her husband have a huge house, and she offered me a position as her housekeeper. I nearly agreed, then the letter from my father arrived.”
He almost inquired as to who her cousin was, where her house was located. If he garnered a few details, he’d be able to check on her occasionally, to pop in and say hello. But that was the road to madness. When she boarded her ship, he would never see her again.
He refused to pry as to where she’d be living, for then he’d know where she was, and he’d never sever the tie that bound them.
“Would the position still be available?” he asked.
“It might be. Or I have an old friend from school when I was a girl. She’s had some financial luck recently, and she owns the facility now. I could contact her about hiring me as a teacher.”
Again, it was on the tip of his tongue to pester her over the name of the school and its location, but he bit down on the questions. Any facts would lock him in a connection to her when he didn’t wish to be connected.
“You have some options,” he said.
“Yes, but how will I get to England?” She was very close to tears.
“I’m going to pay your fare. For you and your sister, and I won’t argue about it.”
“I can’t let you,” she protested.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re practically strangers, you have no relation or duty to me, and I could never pay you back. Not in a thousand years.”
“You needn’t worry about paying me back. I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes. If I can’t use it to aid you, what’s the point of having it?”
She stared at him forever, waiting for him to add an additional comment, and he was very clear on what it was.
This was the spot where a normal man would have declared himself and proposed. A normal man would have gallantly escorted her home, would have wed her before they left or maybe had the ship’s captain perform the ceremony once they were underway.
But he wasn’t a normal man, and he wasn’t about to propose.
The tormented interval played out, and she released the heavy breath she’d been holding. “I guess you can buy our tickets, but are you sure that’s what should happen?”
He wasn’t stupid. He understood it was a query about more than his buying her a ticket on a ship. It was about the possibility of their having a future together. It was about a link that would permanently attach them. At the notion, a wave of joy swept through him.
He allowed it to race on by, then he tamped it down. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve booked your passage.”
“Oh.” She nodded with resignation, completely deflated by the news. “When do we sail?”
“Tuesday.”
“Two days. It’s very soon.” Sooner than she’d planned obviously.
“Can you be ready?”
“Certainly. I’m happy to go whenever you tell me I should.”
“I’m sorry for the short notice, but there wasn’t another vessel heading in that direction for several weeks. It was either Tuesday or you might be trapped here for months—or even longer than that.”
“I see.” She stared at him again, and when he was maddeningly mute, she forced a smile. “I should probably return to camp and inform Becky. She’ll be relieved. She was never anxious to leave London in the first place.”
She rose and went over to the boulder where she’d removed her shoes and stockings. She sat and tugged them on. He watched her, taking furtive glances as he donned his own boots.
Finally, they were attired for the walk back, and suddenly, he realized he was incredibly bereft.
He nearly grabbed her and insisted he hadn’t meant it. He nearly fell to his knees and begged her to stay with him, but a saner part of his brain warned him to remain silent. And he managed to listen.
“This is for the best, Helen,” he said.
“Of course it is,” she agreed, “and you’ve been so kind. Both in permitting us to dawdle at your camp and with you paying our fare. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
“I don’t need your thanks. I just have to guarantee you get to England safe and sound.”
“We will. I have no doubt.” She was very glum, but struggling to conceal her low emotions. “Will you confide your real name before I depart? In my memories of you, I’d like to know who you were exactly. In the stories I tell about you, I shouldn’t have to refer to you as Nine Lives.”
“It’s Barrington,” he fibbed, with Barrington being his mother’s maiden name.
“Barrington? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t fit you in the least. Did your chums call you Barry when you were a boy?”
“Yes,” he fibbed again.
“I can’t ever decide when you’re lying to me and when you’re not.”
She marched off, and he followed after her, feeling like the loneliest man in the world.