pallet last night and made annulment impossible. This is my thanks for caring for you all these long days? I should have let the captain toss you overboard. You endangered everyone on board just to follow your obsession with Helena!”
She stormed out into the saloon, her shoulders and back stiff as the deck she’d been sleeping on. Still wrapped in the blanket, the neckline of her pretty silk shift peeking out, she was mortified to bump into the ever-present cabin boy. But she raised her chin and stomped by him, refusing to show her embarrassment.
“Have my trunk sent to me,” she told the boy over her shoulder as she stalked across the wide, elegantly appointed companionway and saloon. “I’ll stay in my cabinunder quarantine for the rest of the voyage, if I must, but I will not spend one more day in there. With him. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered, staring at her as if she were mad.
Perhaps she was.
Because she was afraid she’d fallen in love with that…that obnoxious person whose miserable life she’d probably saved.
Then her tears welled up again as she remembered all he’d revealed during his illness. He was a good man, worthy of her love even though he didn’t want it. It had been the scars of his youth speaking just now. She knew that, but she hardened her heart. She’d never wanted to care. To love.
And she wouldn’t.
She just wouldn’t!
Chapter Five
J amie’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. He sank to the bed. His mind was less foggy; still, he was not completely sure of a good part of what had happened, in particular why he’d been standing naked, arguing with Amber. He winced when the door slammed behind her.
He sighed. Pixie was Amber. That much he was sure of. Their meeting on deck was engraved in his mind clearly, in sharp contrast to the murky uncertainty of the present.
He closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumble of images swimming to the surface. And now, God, now even snatches of the past days started to come into focus.
Too late.
He groaned. He remembered the burning fever. The pain of being touched. He would have died without her selfless care. Amber had agreed to marry him for Meara’s sake when he’d been so sure he would die. She’d tried to give him hope, but she’d finally agreedto the marriage. Only after warning him she’d be unsuitable as his countess, however.
That meant she’d been willing to protect his child. As far as he was concerned, that proved she would make a wonderful countess because she’d make Meara a wonderful mother.
And he wasn’t being in any way selfless, resigning himself to marriage to her because he suddenly recalled another of his lost memories—their lovemaking last the night. Memories of her skin, her hair, her scent.
As he went over those moments on her pallet, he knew he’d made an even more egregious error than he’d feared. Rising in his mind like a condemning specter was the look on her face—in her eyes—as he’d made her his. Her uncertainty of the unknown had all been written there. Then her expression changed to the one she’d worn as she scrambled to her feet and faced him this morning.
What had he done? What had he destroyed?
Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. The answer to that was as simple and as complicated as human nature. He’d allowed his past to color the present. He’d painted Amber with the motives of his late wife, Iris, a social-climbing whore, and of his cruel, manipulative guardian.
A knock at the door drew him back to the present and his eyes flew open. Hope that Amber had decided to return surged through him. Refusing to greet her naked as the day he was born, he made his way to his trunk and hurriedly located his dressing gown. After shrugging into it and knotting the tie at his waist, he hurried to the door on wobbly limbs. “I’m relieved you’ve reconsid—” he said as he pulled the heavy door open.
And his heart fell.
The drunken doctor
She stormed out into the saloon, her shoulders and back stiff as the deck she’d been sleeping on. Still wrapped in the blanket, the neckline of her pretty silk shift peeking out, she was mortified to bump into the ever-present cabin boy. But she raised her chin and stomped by him, refusing to show her embarrassment.
“Have my trunk sent to me,” she told the boy over her shoulder as she stalked across the wide, elegantly appointed companionway and saloon. “I’ll stay in my cabinunder quarantine for the rest of the voyage, if I must, but I will not spend one more day in there. With him. ”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy answered, staring at her as if she were mad.
Perhaps she was.
Because she was afraid she’d fallen in love with that…that obnoxious person whose miserable life she’d probably saved.
Then her tears welled up again as she remembered all he’d revealed during his illness. He was a good man, worthy of her love even though he didn’t want it. It had been the scars of his youth speaking just now. She knew that, but she hardened her heart. She’d never wanted to care. To love.
And she wouldn’t.
She just wouldn’t!
Chapter Five
J amie’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. He sank to the bed. His mind was less foggy; still, he was not completely sure of a good part of what had happened, in particular why he’d been standing naked, arguing with Amber. He winced when the door slammed behind her.
He sighed. Pixie was Amber. That much he was sure of. Their meeting on deck was engraved in his mind clearly, in sharp contrast to the murky uncertainty of the present.
He closed his eyes, trying to sort the jumble of images swimming to the surface. And now, God, now even snatches of the past days started to come into focus.
Too late.
He groaned. He remembered the burning fever. The pain of being touched. He would have died without her selfless care. Amber had agreed to marry him for Meara’s sake when he’d been so sure he would die. She’d tried to give him hope, but she’d finally agreedto the marriage. Only after warning him she’d be unsuitable as his countess, however.
That meant she’d been willing to protect his child. As far as he was concerned, that proved she would make a wonderful countess because she’d make Meara a wonderful mother.
And he wasn’t being in any way selfless, resigning himself to marriage to her because he suddenly recalled another of his lost memories—their lovemaking last the night. Memories of her skin, her hair, her scent.
As he went over those moments on her pallet, he knew he’d made an even more egregious error than he’d feared. Rising in his mind like a condemning specter was the look on her face—in her eyes—as he’d made her his. Her uncertainty of the unknown had all been written there. Then her expression changed to the one she’d worn as she scrambled to her feet and faced him this morning.
What had he done? What had he destroyed?
Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. The answer to that was as simple and as complicated as human nature. He’d allowed his past to color the present. He’d painted Amber with the motives of his late wife, Iris, a social-climbing whore, and of his cruel, manipulative guardian.
A knock at the door drew him back to the present and his eyes flew open. Hope that Amber had decided to return surged through him. Refusing to greet her naked as the day he was born, he made his way to his trunk and hurriedly located his dressing gown. After shrugging into it and knotting the tie at his waist, he hurried to the door on wobbly limbs. “I’m relieved you’ve reconsid—” he said as he pulled the heavy door open.
And his heart fell.
The drunken doctor
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