Seven Years to Sin(51)

The walls of the great cabin closed in on him. His breath shortened and he grew overwarm. He slipped a finger between his cravat and his neck, attempting to alleviate the feeling of constriction.

Supper seemed to last an eternity. He refused the customary glass of port and excused himself as soon as he could politely do so. He offered a brief smile to Jessica, then fled. Reaching the main deck, Alistair sucked in a deep breath of crisp sea air and gripped the gunwale, waiting for the restoration of his equilibrium.

“Mr. Caulfield.”

His eyes closed at the sound of Jess’s voice. As vivid images from the afternoon raced through his mind, he realized his mistake. She was there in his head; there was no escape. “Yes, Jessica?”

“Are you—Is everything all right?”

He looked out across the sea and nodded.

She drew abreast of him. Together, they stared at the moon’s elongated reflection on the water. “You were so quiet over supper.”

“I apologize,” he said automatically and absently.

“I would prefer to know what has you so thoroughly occupied.”

“Thoughts of you.”

“Oh?” She canted her body toward him. “Not quite so flattering when you look so grim.”

“Contemplative,” he corrected, although he conceded to himself that he felt grim. Which was extremely out of character. His livelihood—past and present—was often benefited by his ability to keep his face carefully schooled. “We did not finish our conversation about your altercation on the deck this morning.”

Her chin lifted, and she sucked in a deep breath. “I am not refusing to answer,” she began, “but I have to ask: Do you truly want to delve into the unsavory aspects of my past? I confess, I would rather you think of me as a romantic figure than one who is flawed and damaged.”

“Is that all you want of me in return?” he asked tightly, inwardly raging against any distance between them. “To see only the surface and nothing of depth?”

“No.” Her hand came to rest gently on his forearm.

Alistair swiftly caught her by covering her hand with his own.

She met his gaze. “There is a great deal I would like to know about you. Everything, actually.”

“Why?”

A slight frown marred the space between her brows. She was lovely in moonlight, her gilded hair made silver, her skin as luminous as a pearl. There was a new softness to her he’d failed to notice before. He wondered if it had been there throughout supper or if it was making itself apparent only now because they were alone. The anxious part of him seized on the latter possibility, which soured his mood further. Damned if he would be needy.

“Because you fascinate me,” she said softly. “Just when I assume I might know you, you show me another side of yourself that is completely unexpected.”

“Such as … ?”

Her lids lowered. Her thick lashes shadowed her eyes. “Such as when you took the helm. And when you arranged the picnic on the deck. And when you left my cabin that night.”

He nodded.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth, then swiftly released it, as if she’d noted her nervous gesture and rejected it. “I don’t understand your mood. Have I displeased you in some way?”

“If I was any more pleased with you, I would lose what little remains of my sanity.” He linked their fingers together.

Jessica inhaled a long, slow, deep breath before speaking. “My pater believed sparing the rod spoiled the child.”

Alistair tensed. “Oh?”

“Suffice it to say I was not spared nor spoiled.” Her grip on his hand tightened. “That is why I’m disturbed by bullies, especially those who grant no immunity to childhood.”

Rage heated his blood. “That’s the consequence you spoke of the other day? You were beaten if you were not well behaved? By Hadley?”

“In retrospect, I was an unruly child, I suppose.”

“That’s cause for patience, not abuse! You know this.”

“What’s done is done,” she dismissed, although her voice was unsteady.

“But not forgotten.” He stepped closer. “You were distraught today. The unpleasantness festers in your mind.”

“In a fashion.” Jessica offered him a sweet, tentative smile that served as another nail in his coffin. “But I realized today that I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for. For all of Hadley’s strenuous efforts, I am still capable of admiring your novel approach to life and the problems presented to you. I’m still capable of enjoying you without reserve.”

A tightening afflicted Alistair’s chest. “You gave yourself to me in rebellion because Hadley would not have approved.”

“No; I took you in celebration, because Hadley’s thoughts on the matter are of no concern to me. Not any longer. I don’t think you collect how profound the realization was, to learn that the control he exerted over me is not absolute after all. I managed to retain some of my individuality, and as an individual, I wanted you.”

“Does this tie into your discovery that taking me as your lover will act as a balm for your grief over Tarley’s passing?” He hated the bitterness that seeped into his tone, but the painful knotting of his gut wouldn’t allow him to be nonchalant. Not about this. He seemed to suit her every purpose except the one most important to him—to be entrusted with her heart. He wished he could be content with being the means through which she overcame her sorrows, but helping her past Tarley and Hadley wasn’t enough. Not when he was so fundamentally altered that the life he’d once known was forever lost to him.