The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)(29)

“Miss Song, please go back to your room.” The zephyrs toyed with his hair and scattered the white mist of his breath. “You’re humiliating me.”

I pursed my lips, but another gust actually made the hammock sway. I clambered out, holding the blankets tight, and followed him down the ladder. But at the door of my old room, he wished me good night. I turned back to him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to bunk with Mr. Firas. If he’ll have me.”

I made a face. “Your nineteenth century is showing.”

“Is it?” He raised an eyebrow. “Well, considering we’re in the seventeenth, I’m ahead of the times.”

“We’ll share the room,” I said firmly, and he made a small bow.

“Lady’s choice. Never let it be said I’m not a modern man.”

In spite of the new furnishings, the cabin felt bigger now my things were gone. It was bare except for the bed and the neat sea chest tucked into the corner. And it was so warm. I sank gratefully to the floor beside the mattress, my blankets still wrapped around me, and Blake barked a laugh. “For god’s sake, Miss Song, take the bed!”

I only turned toward the wall, shoving a wad of quilt under my head. “I always used to sleep on the floor, when I slept in this room.”

“Stubborn.” He sighed and sat on the edge of the mattress; it creaked. “To be honest, I was surprised to find you in your hammock.”

“Where else did you expect to find me?” The answering silence was delicate. I looked back over my shoulder to find a blush on his pale cheeks. “You’re lucky I’m too cold to get up and punch you.”

“Did something happen between you and Mr. Firas?”

All the possible answers to that question crowded into my head—yes, no, something, everything. “Nothing,” I said at last. Nothing, nothing. I drew the blanket up closer to my chin.

“All right,” he said evenly. For a while, there was only the soft sound of our breathing. In the lamp, the sky herring swam, making the light flicker. Slowly my toes began to thaw. I reached down and slipped my boots off my feet. Then he spoke again. “Did you ever really care for me, or was it only a ruse?”

I froze all over again—but in the back of my mind, I’d been wondering if he would ask. Back in Honolulu, there had been . . . something between us, though I’d thought we’d left it behind us in Nu’uanu Valley, along with a bag of stolen gold and the rest of the regrettable past. “What do you mean, a ruse?”

“To throw off my questions, of course. So you could rob the treasury.”

My cheeks burned; I was glad I was facing the wall. “No. I . . . Blake. It wasn’t a ruse.”

“Then why do you feel responsible for me?”

“You’re here because of what I did.”

“But I asked to come aboard the ship, as you so kindly reminded me.”

I sighed. “You couldn’t stay in Hawaii after what happened.”

“It certainly would have been very difficult,” Blake said softly. “But perhaps not for the reasons you think.”

The sadness in his voice gave me pause. “What reasons, then?”

There was another long silence, and I’d begun to think he would not answer when he did. “Hawaii is a small island, Miss Song. My father’s debts, my mother’s proclivities—they were no secret.” The mattress settled as he shifted. “The day you and I met . . . it was the first conversation I’d had in years without anyone sneering at me. There were no implications. No knowing looks. Just you and me and a day in paradise. I might venture to say, Miss Song, that you were my first friend.”

I stared steadily at the grain of the wood on the wall. I was his friend, and I had betrayed him. “And what am I now?”

“I’m not certain,” he admitted. “But I’m glad we have time to find out. May I give you a gift?”

“I don’t need any presents, Blake.”

“I feel compelled. I want you to have it.” I heard him sit up in bed; finally I turned toward him. He slid his sketchbook from under his pillow and tore out a page: a bold version of New York. Strong, clean lines, from the Narrows to the Harlem River. The southern neat line was made of silhouettes of buildings and water towers, bridges and trees, and the compass rose was the outline of Liberty’s torch.

“This is beautiful.”

“I did it the day we walked over the bridge,” he said. “You gave me the city. Only fair I give it back.”

I tucked the map into the pocket of my cloak and tried to smile. I’d taken paradise from him—but if Crowhurst was telling the truth, if the past could really be changed . . . could I return it?

Blake threw a cloth over the lamp and lay back down. Time passed, and his breathing grew even and deep. I might have dozed, but not deeply enough that the rumble of the gates didn’t wake me as they slid shut. The ship rocked a little on the eddies. Moments later, my eyes sprang open at the sound of footsteps crossing the deck above.

My first thought was a thief. My second was Crowhurst—though perhaps it was fair to say they were one and the same. But whoever it was, was leaving. I sat up, the quilt slipping from my shoulders. Frost rimmed the small port window; I wiped it clear and peered outside. There was someone walking down the pier. I recognized his form easily, even in the sharp silver moonlight: my father, his shoulders hunched against the cold.