by Jina Bacarr
It was too late.
She stared at Treyton Brady standing there with a big bouquet of roses in his hand and an even bigger smile on his face.
‘What are you gawking at, Mr Brady?’ she demanded. ‘Ain’t you never seen a lady taking a bath before?’
‘Not one as beautiful as you, Ava.’
‘Don’t you give me none of your fancy talk, Mr Brady, I’ll not listen.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Trey said, treading lightly, the wariness in his eyes telling her he was about to make a grand speech. And right she was, for the next words tripping off his tongue faster than a leprechaun’s dancing feet were the biggest lie she’d heard in a month of Sundays.
‘I brought you a bouquet of roses,’ he said, pulling off red silken petals and scattering them in the bath water. ‘Now you can bathe like a queen.’
‘Oh, is that so, Mr Brady?’ Ava said, her hands on her hips. ‘And what else do you want?’
He folded his arms, wrinkling his mouth in a boyish grin. ‘I could scrub your back for you.’
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you,’ she said, taking a step back. ‘But I’ve finished my bath. Now if you would be so genteel as to remove yourself from the countess’s stateroom, I would like to dress without the likes of you staring at me.’
Her brashness startled him. What did he expect? That she’d squeal and feign false modesty at his unexpected arrival? Barging in as he did without so much as a ‘good day.’
She tried to keep from laughing. He looked so funny standing there in his blue serge suit and tight white collar nearly choking him. Even his pencil-thin mustache wiggled above his upper lip, so unnerved he was at seeing her wearing nothing but a dressing gown with her bare, wet feet making puddles on the linoleum tiles.
Their eyes met, but it wasn’t the same as when Captain Lord Blackthorn saw her in her chemise. He made her heart beat faster, her legs go wobbly. Mr Brady reminded her of a schoolboy peeking at the girls bathing in the river in their underwear.
‘I shall go, Ava,’ Trey said, his eyes moving downward to her bare legs peeking through her dressing gown. ‘But only if you come to my cabin later and dine with me.’ Ava ignored his invitation. After all, he was an American, forward and indiscreet.
‘How did you get in here, sir?’ she asked. She refused to let him take advantage of her.
‘The stewardess was kind enough to let me in. When I heard the splashing coming from the bathroom—’
‘Since the countess isn’t here, I must insist you leave. Now.’ She pulled the dressing gown around her tighter. ‘Or I’ll show you how the Irish make duck soup out of American blarney.’
Trey was not about to walk away when he had the advantage. ‘I’m a man of wealth and affluence, Ava. I can secure a good position for you in America.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘If you play the game by my rules.’
Watch yourself, Ava O’Reilly. Him and his fine promises will cut into your soul and make it bleed.
No, she’d be hurting the countess. And that, she wouldn’t do.
‘I may be a lady’s maid, Mr Brady, but I’m my own woman. I’ll not be needing the likes of you thinking you can buy me like a box of bonbons.’
‘My mother, Mrs Benn-Brady, has connections with all the best families in New York.’ He snuggled up close to her, his hand reaching around her waist, making her stiffen. ‘A word from me and you’ll find yourself settled in a ten-room brownstone on Manhattan’s Park Avenue with a comfortable job as a governess or nanny.’
‘Don’t believe a word he says, Ava.’
She froze. Captain Lord Blackthorn.
Her mouth quivered. By the saints of all mercy preserve her, it was his lordship himself standing at the door. She’d never seen him so angry. His dark brows crossed as if a tempest whirled around in his black eyes, ready to explode into fiery lights.
‘Why shouldn’t I believe him?’ she wanted to know.
‘I know Trey better than you do,’ Buck said.
‘Perhaps you do, Captain Lord Blackthorn, but are you offering me a job in New York?’ Ava said with the color on her cheeks raised and her head thrown back.
She waited for his answer, but he said nothing. Her heart sank. Then so be it. The gentleman gave her no choice but to take her chances when the ship docked in America. She wasn’t giving up the idea of finding good, decent work on her own.
‘If not, sir, then I can take care of myself, thank you.’
‘Listen to the little lady, Buck,’ Trey said, squeezing her waist. She winced. ‘She’s as smart as she is beautiful.’
‘I was wrong about you, Ava,’ Buck said and turned to leave. ‘You don’t need a protector after all.’
Ava’s voice caught in her throat, wishing he would say something, anything, so she could undo her foolish words.
Her eyes misted when, before he left, Buck looked at her with a chilling glare that made her shiver. ‘Be careful, Ava, there are rough seas ahead.’
‘Buck has it all wrong, Ava,’ Trey said, unabashedly in a good mood, believing he’d won the unspoken bet between them and got the girl. ‘He told me himself this is going to be a smooth crossing.’
Ava couldn’t move, her heart beating so fast in her chest she felt faint.
What a fool she was, saying those things to him.
And now he was gone.
‘I never thought I’d see the day Buck would walk away from a beautiful woman,’ Trey said, a tone of astonishment in his voice as if he couldn’t believe it. Something changed in him then, but she wasn’t sure what it was. Still, his words snapped her back to reality. No time to cry over her foolish deed, though it still hurt like she’d been run through with the stab of a hayfork.
Ava turned to him. ‘Will you help me find employment, Mr Brady?’ she asked, looking for assurance. She wondered if the countess could help her find work, but she was also a stranger in America and would have to rely on her new husband for any help she could provide.
Once they landed in New York, she’d have an impossible time getting through immigration with no inspection card. As a servant of the Countess of Marbury, no one would ask questions.
‘My dear, you’ll never rue the day you put yourself in the hands of Treyton Brady.’
Won’t you, girl? Look at him, smiling and humming and kissing your hand before bidding you good night.
But Ava couldn’t shut out the voice in her head that came upon at her at the oddest times. The holy priest said it was her conscience when she brought it up at confession. And though at times, she shuffled the meddlesome voice into a corner of her mind, today she couldn’t.
Promising you won’t be sorry for choosing him over Captain Lord Blackthorn, giving you the blarney about how he’ll act the perfect gentleman for the remainder of the crossing.
Clever he is, leaving you in peace without so much as another peek at the swell of your breasts or a glimpse of your bare legs.
I’m telling you, you’re wrong… she fought back, but the voice wouldn’t be stilled and so she had to take it all in, holding her hands to her head.
Don’t be fooled. It’s untying the ribbon on your camisole he’ll want once he has you in his clutches. Did you see the look in his eye? Heated and wanting. A hunger for the flesh that would send any girl running from him.
You can’t run, lassie.
You made your bargain with the devil. There’s no way out. No way at all.
Only a miracle can save you now, girl, and the Almighty has run out of miracles for the likes of you.
13
‘By the grim look on your face, Buck, I’d say you didn’t get the answer you expected.’
Glittering dark eyes stared at him, filled with curiosity.
The countess.
Would the woman ever let him forget he’d admitted he stayed away from her cabin because of his attraction to Ava? Only to race over there like a fool?
‘You don’t seem surprised,’ he said.
‘I�
��m not.’ She adjusted her black cloche hat, with wisps of damp hair curling around the nape of her neck.
She’d set a brisk pace to catch up to him when she saw him come out of the first-class lift. She had something on her mind and she intended to say it.
‘Ava is a lovely girl, Buck, but I imagine any man would find her hard to handle.’ She grinned. ‘I knew she could take care of herself.’
‘Testing me, Fiona? Or Ava?’
She smiled wide. ‘Both.’
Buck took her arm in his as they walked on the Promenade Deck toward the Verandah Café. Two first-class passengers enjoying a late afternoon stroll before dressing for dinner.
It was the furthest thing from the truth.
Besides keeping the countess amused, Buck was doing his best to keep her from returning to her stateroom until he was sure Trey had left and Ava was back in her role as a lady’s maid.
And not in Trey’s arms, he moaned inwardly, with her swooning and succumbing to his friend’s lies.
Why did that disturb him so?
Damn the woman. Standing there half-naked, her long red hair wet and shiny like a mermaid’s, her skin glistening like stardust. Being so close to her had driven him mad, especially when Trey had squeezed her waist and she had done nothing to stop him.
Other women relished playing one man against the other. Ava was different. She looked as frightened as a hare caught between two hungry foxes. He wanted to carry her off and make her his woman.
But no, he left her, his pride intact. He convinced himself it was the proper thing to do. What other choice did he have?
He didn’t trust himself around her.
So engrossed was he in speculating everything he’d done wrong, Buck could hardly concentrate on what Fiona was saying.
He’d said nothing about Trey bringing the roses to her cabin. He kept mum because he didn’t want to see her hurt.
And he wanted to keep Ava safe.
Try as she may to make his life insufferable, turning every thought he’d ever had about females into a one-upmanship like no man ever could, Buck couldn’t abandon her. Yes, he’d spoken in haste like a madman, but what he’d said was true.
He couldn’t guarantee her a job.
As a governess or nanny and especially as the countess’s lady’s maid. If she’d take a job in service. With Mrs Benn-Brady sticking her nose into Fiona’s background, she would also have her maid investigated. When it came out Ava was a fugitive from the law, she’d not only turn her over to the local authorities but make certain the countess was sent packing back to Scotland.
Buck made his decision. He intended to set the Irish girl up in an apartment when they arrived in New York. No strings attached. Anything to keep her from ruining her life by falling for Trey’s promises. God help her if his old friend found out who she was. He’d want nothing more to do with her.
Today was Friday. He had tonight’s game, then Saturday to pile up his winnings. No gambling on Sunday, though several gentlemen had entreated the chief steward to relax the White Star Line rules for the maiden crossing.
‘I’m the luckiest man on the Titanic today.’
Both Buck and Fiona turned around in surprise to see Trey.
Trey continued, ‘I’m dining this evening with the most charming woman aboard ship.’
‘What’s your game, Trey?’ Buck asked.
‘No game, Buck.’ He turned to the countess. ‘I’d be honored if you’ll dine with me tonight, Fiona. I’ve planned a special menu for us to be served in my cabin.’ He winked at her. ‘We have much to discuss about our upcoming marriage.’
‘I’d be happy to, Trey,’ said the countess, beaming.
‘If you’ll excuse me, Fiona,’ Buck said, ‘I hear a pair of aces calling me.’
Buck strode off, leaving them whispering and hovering like two young lovers. Was this the same couple who had hardly spoken to each other the past few days?
What pushed up his dander more was the smirk on Trey’s face. If he laid a hand on Ava, he’d—
Do what? She wanted nothing to do with him. That wouldn’t stop him from coming up with a plan to get her away from Trey. For that, he needed to replenish his bank account.
Buck pushed through the revolving doors of the smoking room and joined a card game already in play. Whatever the odds, he’d need a hell of a lot more than a pair of aces to win Ava back.
14
Ava wound the brush through the countess’s long hair.
Guilt washed over her, knowing her ladyship would have a fit if she knew the stakes wagered and won by her own fiancé with her lady’s maid as the prize. Her breath caught when she thought about the insanity of it all, her talk about finding employment, when what Ava really wanted was for Buck to take her in his arms.
There, she’d admitted it.
Now get on with it, girl.
Her knees felt unsteady as Ava counted the brushstrokes.
‘Eighty-seven, eighty-eight…’
How long could she keep her alliance with Mr Brady a secret from the countess?
Or better yet, could she wiggle out of it when the ship docked in New York?
She’d run away before, why not again? So what if it wasn’t practical? Neither was finding herself alone in a big city with no money, no friends. What other choice did she have?
As if Ava didn’t know.
She’d end up a wealthy man’s mistress.
Ava O’Reilly, you should be ashamed, she could hear her mum’s voice bursting into her thoughts with such passion her head hurt, using such an excuse to cover up your wantonness.
Her ears burned as if she’d been slapped. Her mother was right. She’d have to find another way out of this mess. If only the countess could help her.
‘Ninety-nine, a hundred,’ Ava finished, then put down the brush. ‘You have such beautiful hair, your ladyship.’
‘Thank you, Ava,’ said the countess, tilting her head forward and pinning up her hair with the bobby pins she took from the sterling silver box. A box engraved with her initials and family crest. ‘It’s lovely to have you brush my hair. I always do it myself.’
‘You shouldn’t hide your hair under a hat and veil, milady,’ Ava said, trying to build the woman’s confidence.
‘It’s too late for me to change,’ the countess added with a note of sadness in her voice.
‘I don’t believe that, your ladyship,’ Ava said. ‘Everything is different in America.’
‘Is it?’ said the countess with a smirk. ‘American, British, it doesn’t matter. We’re all chattel traded for the benefit of the family. We have little say over what we can hope to achieve with our lives.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Countess, it makes me glad to be born poor Irish,’ Ava said lightly, not understanding why this creature with the porcelain skin wasn’t in control of her own life. ‘The only thing for me to worry about is my next meal.’
‘You and I should trade places for a day,’ the countess said, laughing and getting into the spirit of Ava’s game. ‘I can tidy up a room very well, thank you, and I imagine you’d make a lovely countess.’ She let out a wistful sigh that put Ava on guard.
Ava flushed scarlet and turned her face away so the countess couldn’t see her guilt.
There’d be no saving her soul from the flames of hell if the countess found out her fiancé had promised to help her. And held her tight around the waist with her decked out in her ladyship’s dressing gown.
The countess must never know or Ava would be sacked before they landed in New York.
‘Which dress will you need tonight, milady?’ Ava asked, changing the subject.
‘My violet silk with the lace sleeves,’ she said without hesitation. Then she turned to Ava, her eyes pleading. ‘We’re dining in Mr Brady’s cabin. Would you mind serving, Ava? I’d feel uncomfortable with a ship’s stewardess prattling about with the dishes and tea.’
‘Is Captain Lord Blackthorn joining you?’ Ava asked, know
ing it was none of her business. A girl had a right to know if she was going to be under the scrutiny of a man who believed she’d pull down her garters for any gent who offered her a job.
She had to change his mind about her, but how?
‘No, Trey was insistent we dine alone,’ the countess said, opening her jewel case lined with blue velvet. She took out a pair of Burmese ruby and diamond drop earrings. ‘He was in an especially good mood earlier. Laughing and making jokes…’
Why shouldn’t he be? Ava thought, opening the tall wardrobe and pulling out the silk frock with long lace sleeves and six tiny buttons at each wrist. Treyton Brady had found himself the benefactor of two women – one who would warm his pockets, the other his bed.
The Irish girl held the violet silk dress up to her as she looked into the full-length, standing mirror. She could see herself and the countess in the glass.
Two women, both slender and fair. Both wearing upswept dos.
Were they really that different?
One born to the manor, the other to serve?
Something raged inside Ava, catching her by the throat and refusing to let go. She could be a lady, if she had been gentle born and given the chance to learn how to walk, speak and dress.
Was that what she wanted?
‘Aren’t the roses Trey sent beautiful?’ The countess grabbed a flower and inhaled its exquisite scent.
‘Like you, Countess,’ Ava said, fastening the screw-back earrings in the countess’s lobes. The effect was stunning.
‘The earrings belonged to my mother,’ she said, her softness and usual reticence taking on an emotional fervor that surprised Ava. ‘Before he died, I promised my father, the earl, I would wear them at my wedding. Since that day will soon be upon me, I can’t let him down.’
So elegant she looked with the jewels sparkling as the drop earrings swayed against her neck. Mr Brady would be a fool not to fall in love with her, while she, Ava O’Reilly, was nothing but a dalliance to him. A privilege granted to the gentlemen of his class.
Try as she might, Ava couldn’t change that.
