The Secret Rose (22 page)

Fenny wrapped his arm around her shoulder again and held her. “Don’t do anything until I return. If you are the least hesitant, hold off until I come back.”

“Oh, Fenny,” she cried, throwing her arms around him and holding tight. “What would I do without you?”

“I only want you to be happy,” he said, keeping her close. “You deserve it. You’ve gone through enough.”

“I’m just being maudlin,” she said, not wanting to let him go. “Don’t pay me any mind. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t worry about me. You just concentrate on having a good voyage and coming back to us safe and sound.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Ethan’s soft, dangerous voice asked from behind them.

Abigail pulled out of Fenny’s arms. “I was just wishing Fenny a safe journey.”

Ethan’s black look shifted to lock with Fenny’s. There was a warning in his glare that was obvious.

“I expect you to bring me one of those beautiful hand-painted fans from China that are all the rage,” she said, trying to break the tense situation.

“It would be my pleasure,” Fenny promised, all the while keeping his gaze locked with Ethan’s and his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

With slow deliberateness, he dropped his arms from around her and faced a man he considered his enemy. “Are you ready to see the records now, Cambridge?”

Ethan didn’t answer, but only nodded. “Would you care to join us?” he asked turning to look at her.

Abigail shook her head. “I think I’d like to stay here.”

“As you wish,” Ethan said. “It shouldn’t take us long.”

She nodded, then walked to the ship’s bow and looked over the edge. The air crackled with an uncomfortable tension as Fenny led the way to the captain’s cabin.

The feeling of apprehension and dread became even stronger. She’d let herself care for Ethan far more than she ever should have. That put her at a disadvantage. She felt more vulnerable now than when she only considered him a threat. How naïve she’d been.

How foolish.

Abigail watched the
Abigail Rose
until it was no longer even a small dot on the horizon. The day was perfect. The sun shone brightly in the sky as a light southeasterly breeze carried the clipper on her maiden voyage out to the Channel that would carry her to the open sea.

She was a magnificent sight riding low in the water with a full cargo, her four towering masts pointed skyward, her sails tucked away, except for the mainsail on the mizzenmast. Fenny wouldn’t fly a full set of sail until they reached the open waters.

“The
Abigail Rose
is a beautiful ship,” Ethan said, when the royal flag high atop the mainmast slid beneath the horizon. “Your father would have been proud. He showed a great deal of foresight in commissioning her to be built.”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

He raised his arm as if he wanted to touch her, perhaps show her he understood, then paused. His arm dropped back to his side and she stood alone.

“I’ve seen enough,” she managed, feeling a loss from which she knew it would take a great deal of time to recover. “I’m ready to go home now.”

“I’ve some papers I need to go over before we leave. Would you mind coming aboard the
Emerald Gold
while I finish them?”

“Is that your ship?”

“Yes.”

At the distant tone in his voice she turned her head to watch him, barely able to ignore the controlled resolve she saw in his eyes. His look was blank, unreadable. What had she expected? He’d discovered one of her secrets—a secret he couldn’t live with. And he knew there were more.

She pushed aside any regret and told herself to be content with the way things had worked out. As soon as they were done here, Fallen Oaks would be hers. Mary Rose would be safe.

“I don’t mind,” she said, putting on a light front. “I’d like to see your ship.”

She turned where he led. Everything would be better soon. By this time tomorrow, she’d have Mary Rose in her arms and could concentrate on forgetting everything she’d given up. Mary Rose would be safe. Nothing could ever threaten either of them again.

“Do you mind walking? The
Emerald Gold
is anchored a little ways from here.”

“No. I’d enjoy the walk.”

They strolled together down the waterfront, the bustle of activity fascinating her as it always did. Small armies of men loaded and unloaded both large and small crates of goods onto every ship they passed. Tall pulleys soared high in the sky, lifting and lowering cargoes too heavy to be loaded by hand.

She felt the touch of his hand against the small of her back as he steered her through the maze of workers, carefully guiding her out of the path of any danger. Her flesh burned where he brushed against her, tingled with excitement, reminded her she must put a sharper rein on her body’s traitorous response.

But resolve be damned, his nearness, plus the cacophony of sound and activity, continued to stir her blood, the commotion going on all around her bringing her to a fever pitch of excitement. She loved being here. She loved everything about the sea.

“Isn’t this thrilling?” she said in awe. “Which ship is yours?”

“There she is,” he said, pointing ahead.

Abigail’s breath caught. “She’s beautiful,” she whispered, unable to hide her admiration. “You must be very proud of her.”

“I am. She’s served me well. She’s not as fast as a clipper, but she can make the trip from the island to England in respectable time.”

He pressed his hand against her back as they walked up the gangplank. The heat of his flesh against her caused a riot of emotions to rage within her. She didn’t want his nearness to be so disturbing, but it was. She tried to walk further ahead as they stepped onto a clean, polished deck, but had to stop to stare at his magnificent ship. It was glorious. As perfect and powerful as its owner.

Mac stood at the top, waiting, as if he’d been expecting them.

“Good day, miss,” he said, greeting her with that same warm smile that made her feel comfortable each time she saw him. “I watched the
Abigail Rose
set sail. She’s a beauty.”

“Thank you, Captain. This is quite a day. One I’m sure I’ll never forget.”

“Right you are, lass,” he said.

Ethan stepped forward. “Abigail and I are going below. I’ve some papers to finish. Is everything in order?”

“Aye, Ethan.”

He nodded, then took her arm and ushered her to a double stairway. He indicated they should take the stairs to the left.

“Where do those stairs lead?” she asked, pointing to the stairway to the right.

“To the crews’ quarters,” he answered. “Mac sleeps there, and any passengers we might carry.”

He turned back to the stairs on her left, and she went down the six steps. At the bottom was a short walkway. She saw only one door at the end and knew it was the captain’s quarters.

“Is the
Emerald Gold
preparing to set sail soon?” she asked when he opened the door and stepped aside for her to enter.

“Yes. We’re loaded with a cargo of grain bound for Lisbon.”

“Will you be going with her?”

“Yes.”

Abigail felt a sense of regret, but she instantly pushed it aside. She should be relieved that he was leaving. It was torture having him so near. So why did the emptiness that gnawed at the hollow place in her heart ache so much?

She stepped inside the cabin and turned in a slow circle to take in her surroundings. The cabin was Ethan’s domain. Every item was his—from the small telescope on the desk to the round globe on a shelf, to the chart-making instruments in a wooden cabinet with wire mesh doors affixed to the wall. This was where Ethan called home.

The room was not overly large. The most prominent piece of furniture was a huge oak desk, cluttered with maps and charts, placed near a large, round opening that let light into the room. Just steps away, his bed was secured to the wall, a bed much larger than most shipboard beds she’d seen before. She could see him lying here at night, the waves gently rocking him while he slept, the warm ocean breeze lulling away his cares, and the stars up above watching over him.

She ran her hand over the quilted spread, then touched the small square shelf that hung beside the bed.

An upright wooden chest stood in the corner. It no doubt contained his clothes. A second chest sat on the floor beside it. The room seemed crowded, yet neat and clean. And inviting.

Abigail envisioned him working late at night on his charts by light of the lamp that hung from chains bolted into the ceiling, and felt a strange tugging deep inside her. She pushed the thought aside. It would do no good to let her imagination run away like this.

She pulled herself back and concentrated on the sounds aboard the ship.

There was a rush of activity above her and the muffled sound of voices issuing orders. The sounds were familiar and brought back vivid memories from the times she sailed with her father. She hadn’t realized how much she missed such excitement.

She watched Ethan work, his head bent over some papers, his rapt attention focused on what he was writing. He’d taken off his dark green jacket when she hadn’t noticed and hung it over the back of the chair, along with his snow-white cravat. He looked at home, relaxed. Handsome beyond belief. That place low in her stomach gnawed uncomfortably.

She turned her face away from him to study the books on the long shelf in the corner.
The New American Practical Navigator
by Nathaniel Bowditch. Matthew Maury’s
Wind and Current Charts
, and his
Sailing Directions
. These were some of the same books her father had cherished, books he said no captain worth his salt would be without.

From there she stepped over to the space on the wall next to the door, which was pinned with at least a half-dozen maps from all over the world. She went from one map to the next, taking note of the many routes Ethan had traced from one destination to the other, the current flows in every part of the ocean, and every port where a ship could dock. They were fascinating in their detail.

“How long will it take the
Emerald Gold
to reach Lisbon?” she asked, trying to locate the city in Portugal.

“Two, three days,” he said, working on the papers in front of him.

“I see.”

There was a loud thud from up above and a slight shift in the rocking of the ship. She looked up, startled. “Is it always this busy while she’s docked?”

“Sometimes,” he answered.

She didn’t remember any of her father’s ships being such a hive of activity until they were just about to set sail.

A shiver raced through her.

“When did you say the
Emerald Gold
was scheduled to set sail?” she asked, listening closer to the noises above her.

“I didn’t.”

The first wave of apprehension washed over her. Her skin prickled at the back of her neck, while tiny goose bumps rose on her arms.

She paced the room, trying to understand why she suddenly felt nervous. Why she was suddenly afraid. “Are you almost finished, Ethan?”

He didn’t look up from his papers. She felt a stronger surge of panic.

She took her first step toward the door. “I believe I’ll wait for you up top.”

The springs of his swiveling chair creaked as he fairly leaped from it. “No. Please stay here.”

He reached the door in two determined strides and inserted a key he’d taken from a nail beside the door. The loud click echoed in the room as the realization of what he’d just done exploded inside her chest.

He moved to the side of the door, his feet braced wide, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. The look in his eyes told her what she didn’t want to know.

Her heart fell to the pit of her stomach. “No,” she cried, her voice a piteous moan.

He took a step nearer, towering over her, the serious expression on his face rigid and inflexible. “Sit down, Abby,” he said, pointing to the bed.

His resolve was impenetrable, the set of his face harsh and unyielding.

Another wave of panic raced through her, just as the ship moved beneath her feet a second time.

“Ethan?” She shook her head in disbelieving horror. “No!”

She raced to the door, tugging on the handle, desperate to escape. His hands clamped around her shoulders to stop her.

“It’s no use, Abigail. You can’t leave.”

She heard the scream that rose from her throat, just as the ship rocked again, rolling with the gentle sway of the waves as it moved through the water.

She twisted out of his arms and ran to the round porthole. She stood on her tiptoes to see out. The
Emerald Gold
was slowly, cautiously making her way through the maze of docked ships in the harbor and would soon be far away from London.

She felt the air leave her body. Her worst nightmare had suddenly become a reality. He was taking her away from England.

Away from Mary Rose.

Abigail fought him with all her might, kicking and pummeling him in her attempt to escape. If she could escape from his cabin, she had a chance to get off the ship. They weren’t that far from shore yet.

“Stop it, Abigail.” He hauled her up against him and held her tight. “Fighting me will do no good.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her sobs nearly choked her as she struggled to get away from him. She was frantic to leave, frantic to get back to Fallen Oaks.

“Please,” she sobbed. “You can’t do this, Ethan. Who will take care of Mary Rose? She’s used to me. She’ll think she’s been abandoned.”

“Stop it, Abigail, and listen to me.”

“No! It’s not too late. Please. Put me in a small boat and let me go. I can make it back by myself. No one needs to go with me.”

She struggled harder, her desperation driving her to fight him. Turning quickly, she twisted out of his arms. He grabbed for her, but missed. She looked around, frantic to find a means to escape, then raced over to the desk and grabbed the first object she saw to protect herself from him. A letter opener.

“Stay away from me,” she threatened, holding the ivory-handled opener in her hand like a knife. “Open the door, Ethan.”