The Secret Rose (25 page)

He held her in his arms while she struggled with the invisible monsters that haunted her.

“Ethan?”

“Yes, Abby. I’m right here.” He knew she was not awake. Not enough to realize he was holding her. She would have pulled away from him if she had.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I know you didn’t, love.”

“I’m so afraid.”

“Of what, Abby?”

With a shuddering sigh, she nestled closer and fell back asleep.

He held her a little longer, until he was sure she wouldn’t wake again, then laid her down and pulled the covers under her chin. There were still secrets that separated them. Secrets that acted as barriers to keep them apart. There was no hope for them until he knew what they were.

. . .

Abigail opened first one eye then the other as she tried to orient herself to her strange surroundings. It was morning. Bright sunlight shone through the window, indicating she’d slept much later than usual. She looked around the room to make sure she was alone. She was.

She wondered where he’d slept.

She stretched her arms over her head and looked at the makeshift bed on the floor. The blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders lay in a crumpled heap.

She lifted her head off the downy pillow. She glanced about the room. His jacket hung on the back of the chair, his snow-white cravat lay on the desk, and the door to his side of the upright chest where he kept his clothes stood slightly ajar. He’d been here.

She squinted her eyes and held her hand to her forehead. Her head ached just like it did each time she’d had a nightmare. And he’d been here.

As if she was afraid he might return any moment, she thrust the covers back and jumped to her feet. She ran to the basin on the small table behind a screen and washed as quickly as she could, then dressed in her familiar black bombazine. A sudden, frantic need to see Mary Rose overwhelmed her. She didn’t know why, but she needed to make sure the child was all right.

Abigail ran a brush through her hair, giving up trying to control the errant coppery tendrils that framed the sides of her face, then knotted the rest in a bun at the nape of her neck. She couldn’t explain why she was worried. She’d checked on Mary Rose a final time just before she’d gone to bed and she was fine. Besides, Stella was with her.

Abigail grabbed her cloak as she left the cabin. She ran up the six steps to the lower deck, then around the railing that separated the two stairways, and quickly descended the other six stairs to an adjacent hallway. Three doorways exited off the corridor: the door to Mac’s cabin, the door to Palmsworth’s, and the door to the cabin Stella and Mary Rose shared.

She threw open the door and searched the room.

“Where is she?” she asked Stella, searching the room for the babe.

“Oh, the captain came to take her for a walk on deck.”

“The captain…took her?”

“Yes, miss. He said the air would be good for her.” Stella went back to straightening Mary Rose’s empty bed. “You should have seen her. Happy as a little lark, she was. Went to the captain as if she’d known him her whole life.”

Abigail pivoted out of the room and raced back up the stairs. She made her way across the deck, giving each crewman a quick greeting as she passed them, her gaze continuously searching for Ethan’s tall figure. She saw him. He stood at the bow of the ship, holding Mary Rose in his arms.

A knot formed in the pit of her stomach. Mary Rose was wrapped in a warm, thick cover, with only her rosy cheeks exposed to the elements. A snug bonnet covered her head, its satin ribbons tied beneath her chin in such a way that only a few wayward coppery tendrils escaped to frame her face. He held her high, her little cherub face lifted to the sun, one arm reaching out to gather the wind, while the other wound possessively around Ethan’s neck.

He wore no hat, his dark, mahogany hair mussed from the breeze. His face was clean-shaven, and he was as handsome as ever. He wore a long navy coat, the bright white of his buttoned shirt and cravat exploding in contrast against his bronzed skin. The unwelcome sensation swirled in the pit of her stomach, a feeling that came all too often when he was near.

She marched up to where he stood with Mary Rose and faced them. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, glaring at him with a ferocity that had been building in her since the day before.

“And good morning to you, Mrs. Cambridge. I hope you slept well.”

She stared at him, wanting to say she had, when he knew she had not. “Do you want her to catch her death?”

“I doubt you have to worry about that. She’s a healthy babe and has a natural love for the sea she must get from her mother.”

A sudden strong breeze hit Mary Rose in the face, and she let out a squeal of delight.

“See?” he said as if her excitement proved his point.

Abigail was livid. She shouldn’t let him become attached to Mary Rose. She shouldn’t allow Mary Rose to become attached to
him
. “I’ll take her back now,” she said reaching for her.

“I promised her one more turn around the deck. I can hardly disappoint her.”

“I don’t have time to stroll the deck, Ethan.”

“Then do what you have to do, and I’ll bring Mary Rose to you when we’re finished. Besides, Mary Rose and I need to get better acquainted.”

“I don’t want you to become better acquainted.”

He shot her a hard look she couldn’t hold for long.

Mary Rose pressed her tiny fingers against Ethan’s cheek, obviously as fascinated by the smooth yet rugged texture of his face as Abigail had been. That cursed place deep in her belly warmed with the heat of molten lava, oozing slowly into every crevice as it pushed its way even lower.

She remembered touching his face, his cheeks, his mouth. She remembered him holding her, kissing her, wanting her. She shivered.

“Are you sure you don’t wish to walk with us?” He turned down the collar of her cloak the wind had lifted. His fingers hesitated longer than necessary against her throat, burning her flesh where he touched her.

“I…” She wanted to brush his hand away but couldn’t.

“Very well,” he said, bouncing Mary Rose in his arms. “Come, Mary Rose. Let’s see if we can find any more big fish in the water.” He nodded politely, then turned away from his wife.

Abigail fought to stay behind but couldn’t.

He walked slowly enough for her to catch up to him in just a few steps. “I’d like the key to my cabin,” she said when she reached them.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” She came to a halt, then continued when she realized he had no intention of stopping.

“You’ll not lock me out of my own cabin, wife.”

“But you said—”

“What I said, will be. But not because you have locked the door to keep me out. You’ll learn to trust me to keep my word. Someday you’ll even trust me with the rest of your secrets.”

“Like I was foolish enough to trust you when you said the deed to Fallen Oaks was mine, free and clear, then kidnapped me and forced me to marry you?”

“The deed is yours. As to the rest, I didn’t know about Mary Rose when I made that promise. Your secrets are to blame for that.”

He stopped and turned toward the sea. “Look, Mary Rose. See the fish?”

Mary Rose turned to where he pointed and made a loud squeal when she saw a school of large fish leaping out of the water as they swam alongside the
Emerald Gold
.

“Look at them, Abby.” He shifted Mary Rose to the other arm, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

The warmth of his arm around her burned a path to her fingertips. Gooseflesh rose at the back of her neck.
Damn him!
She wouldn’t let him do this to her. She stepped away from him.

He laughed, the sound of it deep and rich and filled with more understanding than she wanted to hear. “Do you know what, Mary Rose? Your mama is going to find sailing with us very uncomfortable for the next several weeks.” He reached up and fingered a curl that fell against Abigail’s face. “We will both have to be very patient with her until we return to London.”

Abigail jerked her head out of his reach, then took Mary Rose from his arms and stepped back. “It’s time for her nap. I’ll not let you spoil her, Ethan.”

“You can’t run away, Abby. There’s nowhere for you to hide aboard a ship. No place far enough to escape me.”

She didn’t dignify his statement with an answer, but held Mary Rose close to her and walked away.

He was right. The
Emerald Gold
was not large enough for her to hide from him.

The whole Atlantic Ocean was not large enough.

Ethan had been right. There was no place she could hide from him.

No matter how early Abigail rose in the morning, Ethan already had Mary Rose up on deck to watch the sun rise. At midday, they strolled the length of the ship to “strengthen her sea legs” and watch the clouds roll by above them or the fish swim beside them. In the evening, he’d take her to the forecastle deck to watch the sun set. Ethan would stand with his long, muscular legs braced wide and Mary Rose in his arms. Her chubby arms would be wrapped securely around his neck, or her rosy cheeks pressed beneath his chin.

Abigail’s chest tightened painfully each time she found them like that.

She tried to keep them apart, making excuses why Mary Rose needed to go below: she needed to take an early nap, she hadn’t eaten enough at her last meal and needed to be fed again, she’d gotten dirty and needed clean clothes, one of the crewmen had made her a new toy and she wanted to play with it, she was getting too much fresh air, she wasn’t getting enough rest, she was getting too much. The list was endless, and by the end of the week, the excuses were so lame even Abigail couldn’t believe them.

“What is it today, Abby?” Ethan said when he saw her coming toward them. “It can’t be too much sunlight. The day’s more cloudy than not. It can’t be too much fresh air. That was the excuse yesterday. Perhaps today the water is too wet?”

She glowered at him. A smile brightened his face, then a laugh. He was teasing her again. How could she stay angry with him if he constantly joked with her and never once got upset over anything she did or said?

“I must say, Captain Cambridge, that your
boat
seems to be taking its sweet time getting to Lisbon,” she groused.

“Ah, you noticed,” he grinned. “It seems our spate of fair weather has given our…
boat
…no reason to make haste.” He played with Mary Rose’s fingers as he spoke. “You don’t mind that, do you, little one?”

Mary Rose gurgled and Abigail huffed.

“I thought you had a ship to captain, Captain Cambridge.”

“I’m a passenger this trip,” he answered, shifting Mary Rose to his other arm. “Mac is doing all the work. That leaves me endless time to get acquainted with Pud.”

“Her name is not—”

He held Mary Rose out in front of him so she was eye level with him. “Have you noticed the black cloud that seems to follow your mama wherever she goes, Pud? If we can’t get her to smile pretty soon, I’m afraid her face is going to freeze like that.”

As if he’d held a baby his whole life, he lifted Mary Rose high above him, then brought her back down, causing her to giggle with glee.

“I don’t have a black cloud following me, and don’t call her Pud.”

“Why not? That’s what she is. A little pud of a thing, but she’s quick. Listen, Abby.”

Ethan sat the babe in the crook of his arm, then pointed a finger back at her. “Who’s this?” he asked her.

“Pud,” she answered, the word a garbled sound that could have passed for anything.

“See,” he said with a grin that lit his face. “She knows her name. Now, who’s this?” He pointed a finger at Abigail. “Who’s this, Pud?”

“Bee!”

Abigail’s heart swelled. “She’s trying to say Abby,” she said past the lump in her throat.

“No, Pud.” Ethan pointed his finger at Abigail. “Mama. This is Mama.”

Mary Rose repeated
Mama
so clearly no one could misunderstand her.

Abigail froze. “Sir, you will not presume to teach her that. She can never call me that.”

Abigail lost the little composure she had. For nearly a week she’d avoided him as much as she could, staying out of his way during the day, then lying awake half the night, afraid he might come to her bed. Afraid she couldn’t turn him away if he did.

She’d watched him steal Mary Rose’s heart, then watched the bond that connected them grow stronger every day.

She had to stop him. The closer she let him get to either one of them, the harder it would be to forget him once they left. If he wanted a family, let him find another one. They could never be his family. Damn him for thinking they could.

“Do not dare to teach her that,” she repeated.

“Mary Rose will know you are her mother. She will not grow up thinking we are ashamed of her.”

“And what have you taught her to call you? Papa?”

The air bristled between them.

“No. I wish she could, but I’m not her father.” He turned Mary Rose in his arms. “Who am I, Pud?” He pointed his finger at himself. “Who am I?”

“Cat,” she answered with another grin on her face. “Cat.”

“She’s trying to say
captain
. She’ll know Stephen is her father and you are her mother. And I am your husband. If she is satisfied calling me Captain, then I am, too.”

Tears of anger and pain swelled in her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. “You think you have everything figured out, don’t you? Well, you don’t.”

“I’ve nothing figured out, Abby. You’ve kept too many secrets for me to know anything for sure. Tell me,” he said, turning to step directly in front of her. “How old is Mary Rose?”

Inwardly, she pulled back. “A little under a year.”

“How much under a year?”

“Three weeks.”

“Then she was born the month your mother died,” he said, the questioning frown on his face chilling the blood flowing through her.

She turned away from him.

“You lost your mother and had a baby. That must have been a very difficult time for you.”

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Is that what your father meant when he wrote he needed to atone for his greatest sin? Was he forcing you to give up Mary Rose?”