Mathew raised his brows, impressed by the ingenuity of the wreckers. He didn’t have to ask, because he knew that he and his partners would have to wait until the Lucky Clipper was here in Key West for the shipping agents and insurance adjusters to determine if she would sail again.
“Mr. Weston,” a familiar voice called out.
Mathew turned to tip his hat at Richard Chambers, the man who owned the warehouse where they were storing their goods until the sale. Even if they were able to repair the Lucky Clipper, it would take months, and the perishables would spoil. Additionally, since the wrecking fee needed to be paid, Pembroke & Kirkwood Trading would have to unload everything to cover the cost.
He extended a hand as the tall man joined them. “Mr. Chambers. Good to see you.”
“I wasn’t sure if you were coming,” Chambers said, the silver at his temples giving his dark hair a regal look.
Mathew nodded toward his unasked-for feminine attendants. “Yes, well I had some delays, but I’m here now.”
With an amused chuckle, Chambers turned his attention to the Josephine, floating low in the water. “Looks like you’re carrying full, Captain.”
“Yup, Capt’n Lawson thinks he’ll salvage ninety percent,” English said.
Mathew’s heart skipped at the mention of Rief’s brother. Though he wanted to inquire after Rief, he kept his mind on business. “You really believe we will have a ninety percent recovery?”
“I’ve told ya before, Mr. Weston, the Mirabella crew is more than competent,” Chambers reminded him.
English laughed. “You would say that about yer own wrecker, Richard.”
“Your wrecker?” Mathew repeated, taken aback. “How are you connected to Lawson Salvage?”
Chambers smiled, hazel eyes twinkling. “The wreck master is my sister’s son. We’re business partners in the Mirabella.”
Being part owner of the wrecking sloop with his nephews was an important detail the man had conveniently left out in their previous dealings. Chambers would not only collect a fee for storing their goods in his warehouse and the profits from the auction, but as ship owner he’d also get a large portion of the salvage award.
As much as Mathew wanted to give these people the benefit of the doubt—and his very nature did not want to side with Father—it seemed everyone in this town was in on the wrecking.
Profiting from the misfortune of others.
Annoyed that he hadn’t noticed Chambers’s hazel eyes, Mathew said, “I should have picked up on the familial resemblance. Rief has your eyes.”
English’s head snapped toward Mathew. “W-what?”
Chambers fidgeted with his hands and seemed to weigh his words carefully. “You talked with my other nephew? Rief?”
Hot fear burned in Mathew’s stomach. Feigning confidence, he stood straighter. “Of course I spoke with him,” he said with authority. “The man saved my life.”
“He did?”
“Yes. When our ship hit the reef, she completely rolled onto her port side and I was knocked overboard. Your nephew pulled me out of the ocean. I am in his debt.”
“Oh well, yes, I didn’t know that,” Chambers muttered, sharing a look with the equally uncomfortable ship captain.
Why were these two men behaving so strange?
“Yes,” Mathew said in a clipped voice, nerves replaced by irritation. “He risked his own life to save mine. He’s a rather pleasant chap and a very accomplished artist.”
Hazel eyed he adored on Rief widened on the uncle. “You saw his art?”
“Yes, why does that surprise you?”
English paled as if he’d seen a ghost, and Chambers blustered, unable to find his voice.
Mathew pursed his lips, recalling the fear in Rief’s eyes as he’d waited for Mathew to pass judgment on his art, that flash of insecurity. He had not understood Rief’s reaction, and the obvious embarrassment of his uncle did not clarify it either. What did they dislike so much about Rief, and why did it vex him so?
He gave the two men a superior arch of his brows, wanting to set their opinion straight. “I was thinking of hiring him to do a portrait of my fiancée. He is extremely talented. The best I’ve seen in some time.”
Chambers bounced from foot to foot, looking itchy. “Mr. Weston, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You should stay away from him.”
Mathew shook his head, taken aback by the warning. “Why would you say that?”
A high-pitched sound cut off any reply.
The three men turned.
“You are going to have my portrait done?” Maggie squealed again. She stood where Mathew had told her not to, the old woman in tow. “Oh, Matty, I am so excited! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Because I just made it up!
What the bloody hell was he thinking? Why had he allowed his feathers to be so ruffled in Rief’s defense that he would proclaim something so rash? He needed to avoid the man, not make plans to hire him to paint Maggie.
“It was to be a surprise,” he lied.
Maggie grabbed Mrs. Cohen’s arm and linked her other in his, practically jumping out of her skin. “Oh, Pansy Swanson will be so jealous when she sees it. She’ll never have her portrait done. No self-respecting artist would ever paint her piggish face.”
“Miss Kirkwood!” Mrs. Cohen cried.
Maggie gave her an annoyed scowl. “What are you scolding me for? You’ve seen her nose. If that’s not piggish, I don’t know what is.”
Ignoring the women, Mathew turned his attention back to Chambers. Unfortunately, the man had taken advantage of Maggie’s inopportune arrival to politely extract himself from further speaking with them. His back to Mathew, he addressed English. “Let’s get some of my loaders to help your crew.”
The two of them hurried away, whispering among themselves and darting nervous glances at Mathew. Most seamen had superstitious ways, but what was going on here?
Mathew knew why he should be avoiding Rief Lawson, but why on earth would the man’s own uncle warn him to stay away?
Chapter Five
“I am here among the wreckers and pirates of Key West.... How abominable it would be, were it alone for charity and humanity, but alas! gain, gain! by the misfortunes of others is the sole impulse and all other feelings are strange to them.”
—F.H. Gerdes; U.S. Coast Survey, 1849
“You can’t be serious, Margaret.”
She stomped her foot. “You know I hate it when you call me that.”
Ignoring her pout, Mathew tried not to laugh at his fiancée. “Really? You intend to write a novel? Do you fancy yourself to be Margaret Bronté?”
She raised her nose in the air. “You cannot stop me.”
“Why would I stop you?” he asked in all seriousness. “You always do as you please.”
“When we are married, you will stop me from doing everything.”
“Have I ever told you no?” How could he justify denying her when he could not love her the way he was supposed to?
She raised a finger. “You will. I know it. As soon as you become my husband, I will be under your thumb. A proper husband can’t allow his wife to write novels and do whatever she pleases. Why, the very marriage vows I’ll be forced to recite that I must obey you!”
“You think marriage will turn me into a tyrant?”
“Don’t all men eventually?” she said with a sigh, linking her arm with his and continuing their walk. “Oh, I fear everything is going to be wrecked far worse than our ship. Pansy Swanson told me all about her wedding night in excruciating detail. Can you imagine how awkward breakfast will be, after you’ve made a sticky mess all over my belly?”
Shocked laughter burst out of him. “Good Lord, Mags!”
“Do not laugh at me, Mathew Weston. I am being serious,” She kept her gaze locked ahead, as if bracing herself for the weight of the world. “I am not foolish like you may think. I listen and pay attention to everything.”
“If I thought you were foolis
h, I wouldn’t be marrying you.”
“Stop interrupting me, this is important,” she scolded, though he had never met a person who interrupted more than his fiancée.
Obediently, but with some annoyance, he remained quiet so she could divulge whatever bees were buzzing around in her bonnet. He never did pretend to understand the mind of a woman, especially this one. When she’d insisted they go on a walk, he’d thought she wanted to distract him from the argument last night with Father, not announce plans to write a silly novel.
Try as he might, he just didn’t have the energy to pay attention to her chatter. He loved the girl, but her mouth was rarely silent, and the only way to not be driven to total madness by it was to let his mind go elsewhere while she prattled on about some new imagined melodrama, nodding and agreeing at the appropriate pauses.
He fought a yawn, which would surely rile her further. Awake most of the night with an upset stomach, he’d tossed and turned, alternating sleep with tears of anger at himself.
Father had been furious when he’d learned about the hurried auction of their goods.
As their cargo filled the warehouse, Chambers had insisted they schedule an auction date. Apparently goods from another wreck were on their way, and the space was needed. Mathew wanted to wait until all of their cargo arrived, and then allow several weeks to advertise, but Chambers had stubbornly said no. He said Key West was known for its many auctions and buyers would show up, regardless of advertisements. Then he had the audacity to suggest that Mathew move the goods to a different warehouse if their current arrangement was no longer suitable. However, that would’ve meant a loss of perishables—as the clever bastard had surely known—so Mathew had been given no choice but to schedule the auction when Chambers wanted.
This entire island was damn clever at bleeding the maximum coin out of victims, all while wearing polite smiles and hiding behind laws written by them and for them.
In Father’s eyes, however, Mathew shouldered all of the blame.
Convinced the Lucky Clipper was a total loss and their goods needed to fetch a premium price—as if Mr. Kirkwood and Mathew wished to give them away—Father had raged for what seemed like an eternity. Mathew had tried to explain that, although backed into a corner, he had gotten Chambers to schedule the auction five days later than originally proposed. Father hadn’t cared. He’d only ceased berating Mathew when he lost his voice and Mr. Kirkwood suggested he retire for the evening. Though he doubted Father or Mr. Kirkwood would’ve fared any differently, the hateful insults that spewed from Father’s mouth ate at his confidence, leaving him guilt-ridden and heavy with self-doubt.
Pathetic. Useless. Incompetent.
He shouldn’t let Father’s ridicule have so much control over his emotions, but those insults hurt as much today as they had when Father had given him that damn horse—an animal the stable hand warned was far too big and unruly for a ten-year-old. Not a very accomplished rider, Mathew had been thrown on his first ride, breaking his arm.
Father had glared down at him with that icy blue stare. “Why the hell are you crying? How am I ever to make a man out of you?”
Oh, but Father had tried his damndest, through criticism and mockery.
While the relentless battle for Father’s approval waged in his mind, it dawned on him that Maggie was still talking and he ought to listen for a moment so he could make a plausible reply to feign his attention.
“... stern and serious. Withdrawn. You are morose all the time. Sometimes you are completely unrecognizable to me.”
“What?” Though surprised to discover she had been talking about him, the truth of her words caused his stomach to hurt again. He could never tell Maggie the real reasons he lost himself inside his head. Or why some days, misery consumed him so much that he’d rather remain in bed than face the world. It was not merely the tumultuous relationship with Father that upset him, but rather, the desolate knowledge that he would always be alone, never allowed to follow his heart.
“Don’t you see? I have lost the boy I once knew.”
He shook his head, attempting to understand. “You have not lost me, Mags. I am still here.”
“In body, but not in spirit,” she said sadly. “All those men you associated with at Cambridge have forever ruined the fun, free-spirited boy you once were. I’ve lost my best friend, and I fear he is gone forever. I always imagined being your wife would be one continuous holiday, like all the summers we’ve spent together, dancing and laughing, and doing as we pleased, just without chaperones. But now, it is as if you are ‘Matty’ only in name. Walking beside me is the heir to the title Lord Pembroke, a man no different than the others. If I marry him, the last remnants of our friendship will be dashed and all of my freedom will be lost forever.”
At those words, suspicion took root. “What are you saying?”
“Once I belong to you, all of my own thoughts and wants will have to align with yours,” she all but cried. “It will be the death of Maggie Kirkwood and the birth of someone else entirely. If I am to be the Lady Pembroke, you will expect me to do your bidding and have your children. Well, I cannot live that way. I won’t. Therefore, I have no choice but to end our engagement.”
He would not have been more shocked than if she’d sprouted a second head. He stopped to gape at her, an unexpected panic rising within him. “What? Why?”
“I just told you why,” she said with an exasperated look. “Haven’t you been listening?”
“This is ridiculous,” he said, thoroughly rattled.
“But it is done.”
“I won’t stand for it, Margaret. This is the most harebrained notion you’ve ever come up with.” He blustered for the right words. “Why, your father has raised you to be a willful, spoilt young woman!”
She gave an unladylike snort. “What you now label willfulness, at one time you called fun. You never would have said something like that to me before you went to Cambridge. Now, I’ve thought long and hard about this. Only if we keep everything exactly as it is, do we have a chance of salvaging our friendship. Marriage will only ruin things further.”
“You cannot do this to me,” he whispered, his chest tightening. The horrid thought of searching for another wife struck him like a blow, and he clutched the lapels on his coat, trying to anchor his emotions. Maggie was his closest friend. How could she do this to him? If he didn’t marry, people might suspect his real inclinations. Then what would become of him?
Looking puzzled, she shook her head. “Why are you getting so upset? You only love me as if I were your sister. It’s always been that way. Why else would you have let Lucy Cogswell kiss you?”
“Oh, not this again!” he cried, throwing his hands out and pacing away then back. Two summers ago, the buxom Lucy had cornered him at a party, and though he’d repeatedly told Maggie the kiss had been unwelcome, she’d refused to believe him. Instead, she’d fabricated his unrequited love for the girl—doubtless as a way to make sense of his lack of passion for her.
“You will never love me like you love Lucy. I know how a man is supposed to look at a woman. You never look at me like you love me.”
Those words stung him like a wasp.
“I love you,” he insisted, throat tight. His hands began to shake, and when he could not stop them, he clenched them behind his back.
She raised her chin in defiance. “You do not love me like you love her. She’s so pretty and glorious. And plump in all the right places. I cannot believe she kissed you. It’s not fair!”
He longed to tell her he’d never loved any woman, plump or skinny, but he opted for humor instead, anything to stop the direction of this conversation. “You sound as if you are more jealous Lucy Cogswell kissed me and not you.”
The joke did not have the desired effect.
“Why you-you...,” she spluttered, her face reddening. “I am trying to be serious, and you are being vulgar and cruel.”
“And you are being childish and impulsive,” he countered. “I
won’t stand for it. You cannot just end our engagement because you have decided to write a silly novel.”
“Why, you haven’t listened to a thing I’ve said!” Her mouth opened and closed several times, and he could see the steam of her temper rising.
“Maggie—”
“You are a rotten boy, Mathew Pembroke,” she shrilled and stomped her foot. “A rotten, rotten boy!”
With that she stormed off.
Confused and irritated, he shouted after her, “I am not a boy. I’m a man, dammit. I’m a man!”
Her answer was another high-pitched growl.
Fuming, Mathew paced in a small circle in the middle of the street. What was the matter with that girl? How could she do this to him?
Embarrassment and shame burned in his gut, and he stopped, reality reining in his anger.
He had changed, more than she knew.
So how could he blame her for wanting to end this passionless romance?
When he kissed Maggie, it never stirred things inside him the way it should, even she knew that. And to share her bed... he shuddered. He’d always imagined on their wedding night she would make one of her absurd comments, his cock wouldn’t work, and they would fall into a fit of laughter and never consummate the union.
But what sort of life would that be for either of them? A life with no ardor and no real intimacy? He didn’t know if he could survive such an empty existence, spending the rest of his days in lonely darkness.
As the morning sun heated his back, he longed to feel the warmth of real happiness. Maggie deserved better than living as his shield. She deserved a man to love her with an unbridled passion like in one of her novels.
Dammit, they both did!
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a light flicker.
The Key West Light loomed in the distance, the irony of its presence almost comical.
Lighthouses were beacons of hope for sailors long at sea, offering a sign of safe waters ahead. He saw no hope in his future, only waters filled with hidden dangers that he would run aground if he stayed this course. While he could sooner halt a ship in a fast current than deny the feelings burning in his breast, everywhere he turned he was faced with disappointment at not being allowed his deepest wants.
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