The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series) by Christine Dorsey

mind to return to the sea.” Her father gestured at the captain’s clothing as he lumbered down the coach steps.
    “No, sir. I merely thought I might show Miss Murphy... and ye, too, sir, the India Queen . Miss Murphy mentioned the other day that it has been years since she toured a clipper.”
    “Excellent idea. Excellent. Don’t you agree, Cinnamon?”
    `Yes.” For some reason she was having difficulty speaking. She delicately cleared her throat deciding she needed to forget all this nonsense about Captain McGregger. Her father was incapable of devising any plot to throw the two of them together, even if he desired it. He knew she was pledged to marry another as did Captain McGregger. So that was the end of it.
    Except that after the three of them spent over an hour walking through the warehouse, inspecting shipments of jute from India, and after Cinnamon assured them that she would enjoy a tour of the clipper, her father pleaded fatigue and insisted they go without him.
    “Papa, I really don’t think I should leave you here alone.”
    “Alone?” His laugh didn’t sound fatigued. “I’ve all my workers about me. Oh, the years I’ve spent on these docks. No, Cinnamon, I’ll not be alone.”
    But she would be. Alone with Captain McGregger. That was nothing new, of course. They’d been working together in her father’s library off and on for nearly a fortnight. They’d talked and laughed, and she’d discovered that contrary to his lacking a formal education he was extremely knowledgeable about many things. His awareness of geography and history amazed her.
    But that didn’t mean she wished to walk with him steadying her arm as they crossed the gangplank.
    They inspected the quarterdeck and cathead where the anchor was stored when not in use. He explained the importance of storing the sails correctly and of his fear that the days of sailing ships were limited. Cinnamon knew her father already had steamers traveling to the Orient. They were faster, could use the Suez Canal, and didn’t have to depend upon the fickle wind. All in all superior vessels, though not nearly as romantic as the clippers, they both agreed.
    It wasn’t until they were belowdecks, in the captain’s quarters, that their talk grew more personal.
    “I see ye wore it. The hat,” he added when Cinnamon glanced up from one of the charts spread out on his desk.
    “Well, of course.” She tried to keep her tone neutral. “I had to wear a hat.”
    “But ye didn’t have to wear that one, I’ll wager.”
    “I happen to like this hat.”
    “So do I. As ye well know.”
    Her fingers fluttered to the brim, caressing the felt, before she looked away. “It’s just a hat.”
    “That’s like saying the India Queen is just a boat, I’m thinking.”
    “Well, no one could say that,” she countered, smiling. Their eyes met, held, before she forced herself to turn away. She picked up a brass telescope, put it down, then picked it up again.
    “Don’t you think Lucretia is lovely?” she asked after a moment of tension-filled silence, which she couldn’t explain.
    “Lucretia? Yer sister?”
    “Yes. She’s very pretty, don’t you think?” She was watching him now, noting his shrug of indifference.
    “Aye, I suppose she is.”
    “Suppose? Why? What’s wrong with her?”
    “Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with her.”
    “Then I don’t understand why—”
    “Why I don’t find her appealing?”
    She sighed deeply. “Yes.”
    “Perhaps ’tis just that I’m not a man to appreciate dark curls. Maybe I’m fonder of hair the color of cinnamon,” he said, taking a lock of her hair and twirling it around his finger.
    “You mustn’t do that.”
    “What? Touch yer hair?”
    “Yes... I mean no.” She could feel the whisper of his warm breath on the back of her neck. His nearness sent gooseflesh racing along her skin. “We aren’t talking about my hair.”
    “I am.” His fingers curved down to her chin, applying just enough