Passenger (Passenger, #1)(104)

He released her hand, his mind already at work scraping up some sort of weak segue to a safer conversation. She was too clever by half, and Nicholas knew that she would see through his deceit too clearly when he took the astrolabe out of her hands. It was obvious to him now that Etta had no plans of giving it back to Ironwood; he had a feeling the plan she was keeping to herself was as as dangerous as it was daring—that she would try to use it to return to her time, and save her mother herself. And while he could admire her courage, and lament her recklessness, Nicholas needed her to see how foolish it was to believe she could ever escape Ironwood. As it stood, the old man would know that his leaving without permission was hewing to the spirit of their agreement—following her at any cost—so long as he returned with the astrolabe. But how could Etta be so certain of his forgiveness for this act of defiance?

She would hate him for double-crossing her, and he could live with that. But he could not live with knowing she was in constant jeopardy. That Ironwood had stamped out her bloom and buried her. This was the only way he could save her, her mother, and his future that didn’t end with one or all of them dead.

Etta would see that. In time.

Perhaps.

“Why do you think they went?” she asked, her eyes a soft, sleepy blue.

If the question had come from any other person, he might have dismissed it with a wave and carried on with his business; but it mattered to him that she sincerely desired his opinion, even knowing who he was. He recognized the want, as it mirrored his own.

Want. His exhaustion had boiled him down to his basest instincts. He wanted her lips, her touch, her esteem, her mind.

Inside her. Beside her. With her. Impossible, he reminded himself.

Perhaps it was a blessing that he couldn’t cross paths with himself, lest he be tempted to shoot himself before making the deal with Ironwood.

“What man can resist the temptation of riches waiting to be found?” he said, running his thumb along the carved edge of a dark wooden desk. “Or woman, for that matter?” he added, thinking of Sophia.

“Maybe,” Etta said slowly, turning to sort through the papers on the desk.

“You disagree?”

“No, not really,” she said. “I’m sure that was motivation for most of them, especially the ones who came later on. But the first travelers didn’t know what they would find, did they? That takes a lot of courage, to charge into the unknown.”

“Or blackmail and fear,” he said pointedly.

She laughed. “I don’t think that was it…at least, I hope it wasn’t. These were people who overcame the impossible; they figured out a way to break every law of science. They opened up whole worlds within their own. Maybe they saw themselves as explorers, or scholars. Or maybe they saw it as a kind of calling to find out what lay ahead and make adjustments.” The force behind her words increased as she spoke, driving her point forward. “Maybe Alice was right—they made too many changes, and everything got out of hand.”

“A calling?” He couldn’t keep the sardonic note out of his voice.

“Sure,” she said. “You don’t believe in that?”

“I believe in choosing your purpose and a direction to head—not that there is a path out there just waiting for me to stumble onto it.”

“So you wouldn’t consider sailing your calling?” Etta asked.

“No. It was the only opportunity that was presented to me, and I saw how I could make something of myself with hard work.”

Nicholas couldn’t quite believe that he’d managed to distill that cloudy feeling into simple truth.

“I enjoy it,” he continued, shifting under her scrutiny. “I love the challenge that the sea presents at every turn. It’s allowed me to see more of the world than I ever dared to imagine, and it feeds my desire to see more. And I happen to be damned good at it. But it does not change the fact that the occupation was chosen for me by another. And it was not a divine hand.”

Had Hall been of a more business-minded nature, he might have placed Nicholas with a tradesman as an apprentice, and reaped the rewards of his skills until Nicholas had saved enough to purchase his own freedom. Instead, his freedom had been a fact, not an agonizing question; not something that needed to be contemplated. The Halls loathed the institution of slavery not only for what it did to the slaves themselves, but for the way it seemed to pollute the souls of those who participated in it.

As a captain, Nicholas would have the means to support himself, plus the ability to prove his own merit in the eyes of the world. As the owner of a company, with wealth beyond imagination, he could make his mark on the world.

Tell her, he thought, fists squeezing at his side. Tell her the truth, you sodding bastard.

“I always thought having a natural talent for something was a sign that it was what you were meant to be doing,” Etta said. “That’s what got me into trouble in the first place.”

“Do you consider the violin to be your calling?” he asked. “Will you see it through after all, then?”

Etta’s hand froze over a small, glossy wooden box she’d dug out from beneath a pile of ledgers. “I think…I’m not even sure it’s possible at this point. My life is so different now. I don’t think I could ever go back to the way it was. But…maybe there’s also something else for me—something I couldn’t even imagine before.”