Ryan's Bride (12 page)

One of them had been bolder than the rest. Leticia Wainscot had confided that she had actually let a boy feel her breasts, and she described in detail how it had felt to have his fingertips tweak her nipples. They had swollen tight as cherry pits, she’d said, beneath his touch. And Angele had gasped along with the others when Leticia further admitted he had put his mouth on her, suckling like a babe, and how she had experienced a tingling
down there
…

Would Ryan do the same? Angele wondered, then told herself the only thing she should be concerned about was that he didn’t hurt her. After all, Miss Appleton had said the purpose of a man having his way with a woman was only supposed to be for the purpose of creating life.

When each girl began to have her monthly time, Miss Appleton would call them into her office for a private talk. Angele well remembered her meeting. Miss Appleton hadn’t looked at her, staring down instead at her hands, which were folded in her lap. She had whispered as though the words were too shameful to be spoken, and Angele had trouble hearing her. But the message had been clear—mating with a man was painful and dirty, something to be done in the dark quickly, and only to make babies. A wife should also never let her husband see her without her clothes, because it would arouse him and make him want to do the
nasty thing
.

The other girls had cornered Angele and made her repeat everything Miss Appleton had said, word for word, to make sure she’d given the same lecture. Then they had laughed and ridiculed the woman and agreed it was no wonder she was an old maid.

Angele had giggled along with them, not understanding but wanting the camaraderie. However, after her uncle’s attack, she was glad she’d not had to be around the girls again, for she’d have told them Miss Appleton was quite right. It had been everything she’d said it was, and Angele prayed she would never again know such pain and degradation.

But now she was only hours away from perhaps reliving the nightmare, and she was terrified.

For a few moments, Angele had been lost in thought, oblivious to the present. She was quickly yanked back, however, when she realized her hand was moving…moving because—to her horror—what she had been touching was
growing
.

With a soft gasp, she withdrew and twisted away. Fearing her touch had awakened him, she expected him to berate her for being so unladylike. After a few seconds, however, she realized by his even breathing that he was still asleep.

Slowly, she turned back toward him to peek from beneath lowered lashes. She swallowed a great, shuddering gasp to see the bulge in his trousers and was grateful he didn’t know that she had touched him. He might think—God forbid—that she was depraved, and that would never do.

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, determined not to open them again until they reached Le Havre.

Ryan also peeked from beneath lowered lashes. He saw how her brow was furrowed, and the way she was squeezing her hands against her bosom so tight her knuckles were white.

She had touched him by accident. He had not been sleeping and knew when she moved. His erection had been by accident, however. It had been a long time since he’d had a woman. Trying to keep from bursting out laughing, though, had taken a lot of effort.

She was such an enigma. One moment, he thought she was all innocence and without guile. The next, he sensed a hardness, a shell about her that was impenetrable.

He frowned to think of Corbett’s recounting of her actions when she had snuck away from him. Who was the man she had met? Had she actually been living two lives—one as a boy thief and the other as a whore? But if that were true, why, after he had turned her into the true beauty she was, had she gone off with a man? Certainly not for money. She didn’t want for anything now. In fact, he had been surprised to find she was not extravagant and had opted to buy cheaper luggage than he had suggested. He hadn’t asked her to return the money she had saved, so she was certainly not without funds. She could also have taken the jewelry he had given her and run away alone, or with the man she had met, if she had wanted.

Ryan scoffed at such a thought. Angele Benet was not stupid. She wanted everything he had to offer. But one thing he would not tolerate was an unfaithful wife.

Corbett had not wanted to tell what he had seen but was finally coaxed into it. Ryan was impressed at his reluctance. Evidently, Corbett had accepted his decision to marry Angele, having realized nothing would change for him and his family. Clarice might be upset for a while, because she had hoped her cousin would also become her sister-in-law, but everything would work out for the best.

At least, that’s how Ryan hoped it would be.

Angele awoke when Corbett let out a loud yawn and said, “Well, thank God we’re here. If I don’t soon have a whiskey to wash this dust from my throat, I think I’ll choke.”

She turned toward Corbett, not Ryan, unable to look at him just yet for fear she might blush. The memory was still quite vivid.

She had never been to Le Havre and was disappointed to find the port city dirty and depressing. The streets were dark and dingy crowded by people more wretched and destitute than any she had ever seen in the catacombs. Women with babies suckling at their breasts sat on slimy street corners, each with a hand outstretched, begging for money. Drunken men stumbled in alleyways or passed out in doorways. Ragged, dirty children roamed about, begging for food more than money.

The harbor, however, was completely different. Sea gulls darted and sang in their endless search for food, and a sharp yet sweet wind blew in from the water. There were boats bobbing in the distance, others at anchor close to shore.

Rounding a bend in the road, she marveled at the sight of a huge ship.

“So that’s the
James Munroe
. It doesn’t look any bigger than the
Victory
.” Corbett said, unimpressed.

“It’s adequate,” Ryan all but snapped.

When they reached the pier, Ryan made to get out of the carriage but paused to remind Corbett, “You know you could have sailed a week ago on the
Victory
.”

Angele was startled to hear how irritably he spoke.

“And we both know why I didn’t.” Corbett matched his cousin’s coldness as he alighted on the other side. He held out his hand to Angele, since Ryan was ignoring her.

She sensed the tension between them, but it passed quickly in the preparations to board.

The dock was crowded, and she was aware of the admiring stares of the men and envious glances from the women. Ryan had chosen her traveling ensemble—a fitted coat of blue taffeta with a white flounced skirt. He also selected her hat, which she didn’t care for. It was called a poke bonnet and had plumes and ribbon bows. She thought it a bit frivolous, but Ryan said it was the latest style, and he wanted her to learn to dress fashionably. How she wished she could tell him that such things were taught at her finishing school, and she didn’t need him or anyone else to tell her how she should dress.

But one day, she promised herself, she would let him know he had not married out of his class, after all. In fact, he might have married
above
it, for she’d not seen his home or the measure of his wealth and social prestige. For the time being, however, it was important for him to believe her helpless and vulnerable, ignorant of all social graces until she was comfortably established in her new life. And no doubt it made Ryan feel magnanimous to raise her from the dredges of her previous existence.

But despite how he was behaving—pouting, almost—Angele was tingling with excitement over the voyage and the future—albeit uncertain—that awaited.

Stiffly, woodenly, Ryan escorted her up the gangplank. She was anxious to explore her surroundings, but he turned her over to a polite steward with instructions to take her to their cabin. “I have to see the captain about performing the ceremony,” he said without enthusiasm.

Corbett came up behind them and set his valise down with a deliberate thud. “Why the hell won’t anyone carry this damn bag for me?” he demanded of the steward.

Ryan had walked away, and though Angele knew he could hear Corbett complaining, he kept on going.

The steward held out his hand. “May I see your papers, sir?”

Corbett fished in his coat pocket. “What kind of ship are you people running that you make your passengers carry their own luggage on board? I almost didn’t get my trunks loaded, and if my cousin hadn’t intervened they’d still be sitting on the goddamn pier.”

The steward admonished him with a sweeping glance. “
Monsieur
, please. The ladies.”

“Just have someone take this bag to wherever I’m supposed to be.” Corbett gave him the papers.

The steward looked at them and frowned. “You do not have a cabin,
monsieur
. You are in steerage. And steerage carries their own bags.”

“
Steerage
? Are you out of your mind? I know all the cabins are taken, but surely you have something between them and
steerage
, for God’s sake. A dormitory on the same deck as the cabins. Anything.”

Ignoring him, the steward continued. “You should not even be boarding at this gangplank. I must ask you to go back to the pier and find your way to where cargo is being loaded. Steerage goes on board there. It’s the bottom deck.”

“I…I’ll do no such damn thing,” Corbett stammered, rage choking him.

Angele was embarrassed for him, because everyone around was staring. Instinctively, she backed away a few steps. The steward saw her discomfort and warned Corbett, “
Monsieur
, I must ask you to leave or you will force me to have you physically removed.”

Corbett was fast losing control. “I’d like to see you try, you pompous son of a bitch. Now, you listen to me. My cousin booked our passage, and I know he got the last available cabin. And if you think I’m going to be treated like scum just because there’s no more room in the upper-class sections, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Angele was afraid of what might happen next and breathed a sigh of relief that Ryan had finally turned around and was walking briskly toward them. She could see he was quite angry.

But it wasn’t the steward who was the target of Ryan’s wrath. Instead, he caught Corbett by his arm and said something in his ear that no one else could hear. Corbett nodded, tight-lipped, but continued to glower at the steward.

Then Ryan murmured something to the steward, who immediately smiled, then signaled to one of the deckhands to take Corbett’s luggage.

Ryan gave Corbett a pat on the back. “You might have to sleep in steerage, but you’ll have access to everything else up here. If you have any more problems, let me know. It’s going to be all right.”

Angele saw that Corbett seemed appeased as he followed the deckhand carrying his luggage.

The steward turned to her. “This way,
mademoiselle
.”

She followed him down a short corridor. There were four thick wood doors on either side. At the very end, he opened one and stood back for her to enter.

Her eyes went to the bed. It seemed to dominate the room, folding out from the wall like a giant tray, secured by chains. It hardly looked big enough for one person, much less two, and thoughts of sharing it with Ryan made her cringe.

There was a small table and two chairs. An oil lamp hung from the ceiling. A chamber pot sat in one corner, and she was relieved to see a privacy screen. She would not have to undress in front of Ryan.

The steward gestured toward a ceiling-to-floor cabinet. “That’s where you can put your clothes. The dining room is all the way forward. Breakfast is at seven, lunch at twelve, and dinner is served at six.”

She thanked him and walked to the porthole. It was the ocean side, and all she could see was dark blue water fading into the horizon. “It will take us several weeks to reach America, won’t it?”

“Yes,
mademoiselle
, and the ladies gather to sew during the day, or they read. You shouldn’t be bored.”

Angele didn’t intend to join them. Ladies asked questions, and she didn’t want to be evading answers continuously. Skirting Ryan’s subtle queries was difficult enough.

He left her, saying her luggage would be along shortly. Alone, Angele stared at the bed. It seemed to be growing…filling the room. She could almost feel it start to press against her, backing her against the wall, and suddenly she couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to get away from it and the horror of thinking about what was going to happen when night came.

Bolting for the door, she yanked it open and slammed right into Ryan as he was about to knock.

He saw that her face was flushed and her eyes were wild. “Angele, for God’s sake, what’s wrong?”

She reeled slightly and put a hand on the doorframe to steady herself. “Nothing,” she murmured. “I was just going out on deck to get some air. It’s stuffy in here. I think I’m getting seasick.” If he thought that, it might give her a reprieve for a few nights, anyway.

“I doubt that. The ship hasn’t left port yet. We aren’t moving.”

“Then maybe it’s something I ate.”

“You ate the same food Corbett did, and he’s not sick. You’re just nervous. Let’s go.”

She drew back as he held out his hand to her. “Go where?”