by Cate Masters
Destiny. Mr. Whitman believed in his verse, sent it sailing across the country far and wide. Livvie had sent out her own writing, but to what effect? Had the publisher received it? Had Mr. Randall responded yet? Perhaps a letter of acceptance awaited her at her brother’s home. The desire to hold her own novel in her hands burned through her, every bit as deeply as Sam’s touch.
That he’d entrust to her a book of such deep prose also touched her. Finding a man who respected her intellect was rare. Rarer still was finding a man who engaged her in lively conversation. Embarrassed that her first impression had fallen so far from the mark, she wished she had sufficient time to learn more about Mr. Langhorne. But how much was sufficient? The more she shared his company, the more she learned, and the more she wanted to know.
At Mrs. Crowell’s urging, Livvie continued the reading. Midway through ‘Song of Myself,’ she faltered. Whitman dared to include crotch after love-root, following with light kisses. Livvie faltered at Urge and urge and urge, and again at always sex.
Mrs. Locke gasped and fanned herself using her handkerchief. “Outrageous.”
Bemused, Mrs. Crowell simply said, “Oh dear.”
Livvie closed the book. “Perhaps we should read something else. Some other time.”
Martha blinked rapidly. “I should say so. I need a glass of water.”
Sighing, Mrs. Crowell went back to her embroidery. “I suppose something else would be more suitable.”
Livvie cradled Leaves of Grass to her bosom. “If you’ll excuse me. I have a bit of a headache.” She turned and climbed the stairs.
Livvie noticed she carried herself differently. More freely. Sam’s touch had awakened something inside her, a powerful force that had slept while she grew under the protective eye of her father. A force she’d known existed, yet never suspected it held such utter dominance over her. Was she a hussy? Surely other women must enjoy their husbands—and lovers—with as much enthusiasm. None would admit it, though she’d seen hints of it in the way a woman hung on a man’s arm, stroked his hair, even a certain look exchanged between them. No, she would not believe herself to be the lone female outside of prostitution who welcomed intimacy with a man.
She would not suffer their judgment, nor indulge them in shame. Her life was no business of theirs. Nor anyone’s.
* * * *
The following evening, Sam hurriedly changed his shirt. His hopes to see Livvie earlier were dashed when his work took an unexpected turn. Captain Howe had convinced the captain of the damaged ship to halt salvage of the cargo and attempt to pull the ship from the reef. None had been more surprised than Captain Howe when the attempt succeeded, and they towed the ship to shore for repairs.
An agreeable solution for all, despite keeping Sam from Livvie.
A knock at the door startled him. When he opened it, Livvie stood before him. The sight of her caused a hitch in his chest.
“I’ve come to return your book.”
“You finished already?”
She handed it to him. “I’m afraid Mr. Whitman caused quite a stir in Key West, also.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have no idea?” Though her tone sounded more playful than accusatory, it hinted at some guilt. Probably his.
“I told you, I haven’t read it.”
The door of a neighboring cabin opened. Sam tugged her arm. “You better come in. Now, tell me.”
After a backward glance, she entered. “The author describes several…encounters, and the ecstasy of two people…together.”
“Are you joking?” Sam felt his face blanch.
“I believe the encounters were two men.” Although she did not smile, her eye held a definite twinkle.
“And this caused further offense.” He hated to think of putting Livvie in such a position, and was surprised she showed no trace of embarrassment.
“Mrs. Locke nearly fainted and asked for water.”
Had the content not offended Livvie? Or had she looked beyond the surface and recognized the writer’s talent? “What was your impression of the prose?”
“It was rather astounding, and stimulating. Mr. Whitman is quite clearly taken with himself, yet he writes with such conviction, one cannot help but be taken as well. He uses everyday language to describe ordinary events, yet challenging their very ordinariness. Challenging the reader to make more of each moment.” She spoke rapidly, caught up in her own description, and then seemed lost in her thoughts.
“I can’t wait to read it.” He regarded her in even more surprise. He’d never suspected her to be so open to new ideas. “You weren’t offended by the…encounters he described?”
“No. When two people fall in love, I believe it’s beyond their control. They give themselves freely to one another.”
Liam’s words. But Liam’s definition didn’t include love, only the giving part. On Livvie’s lips, the words were akin to a probe. A searching out of the boundaries, something to grasp hold of.
Sam was more accustomed to keeping out of reach. “I see.”
If she expected a declaration of love, he wasn’t ready to give it. Not even if he wanted to and had practiced different ways of saying it. “Please convey my sincerest apology to Mrs. Locke. I would not have lent the book to you had I known its contents.” Damned Edward—probably sent it in jest. A taunt.
“No? Even if I thoroughly enjoyed it?”
He set the book on the shelf. “In that case, I would have merely warned you against reading it to Mrs. Locke.”
“She has very little tolerance for anything out of the ordinary.”
“So she must not appreciate her stay at Key West.” He sat at the foot of the bed, leaving plenty of room for her beside him.
She did not join him. Instead, she curled an arm around the bedpost.
“She’s hardly seen any of Key West. She admonishes me for walking unescorted while there are so many ruffians about.”
“Most are harmless. Like Mr. Whitman, they devise other arrangements to fulfill their needs.” He ran a finger from her wrist along her arm. Not enough of a distraction to halt the conversation and cause her to throw herself into his arms.
“What other arrangements?”
“Encounters. Or living arrangements. To satisfy their needs because there are too few women on the island.” In his mind, he unbuttoned her dress and let it fall to the floor. Her nearness unleashed his desire. He pulled her hand to his lips.
Her lips parted. “You mean….”
He arched an eyebrow in answer.
Some spark caught her eye. “Have you? Ever?” Curiosity tinged her voice, not disgust.
“Me? No. I’ve no inclination to.” If she would lay with him, he would show her his inclinations. Again and again.
“Aren’t you lonely?”
Her words pierced him. He hadn’t realized how lonely until yesterday.
“Sometimes.” He shifted, uncomfortable about speaking of his personal needs.
“So you seduce shipwrecked ladies?”
He searched her face. “Livvie, if you’re implying I seduced you, I seem to remember it the other way around.” If she turned this thing around on him, he would never forgive her. Or himself.
Although her face tinged a warm red, her laugh sounded haughty. “Yes, certainly. It was entirely my idea. You wanted no part of it.”
“I didn’t say that. Of course I—”
“Don’t say another word.” She stepped toward the door. “I know I shouldn’t have…come to you.” Her gaze fluttered around the room, refusing to land on him.
He held himself back from going to her, easing her distress. He wanted honesty from her, untainted by his touch. “Do you regret it?”
She set her jaw. “Yes. I always regret acting foolishly.”
A cannon ball shot through his stomach could not have made him feel more hollow. “What we did was not foolish, Livvie.” Much as he forced an even tone, he could not hide his passion.
She turned away
. “Stop calling me that.”
His eyebrows twitched together in confusion. “It’s your name.”
“Olivia.” She met his gaze, a hardness in her eye. “My name is Olivia.”
He stood. “Oh. Pardon me. Perhaps you would prefer Miss Collins.”
She lifted her chin, her nostrils flared. “Perhaps it’s best, yes.”
He stepped nearer. Had he misjudged her? Had she used him? The irony would be too great to bear. “Did yesterday mean nothing to you?”
She folded her arms across her chest and turned to the window. “Oh, what a question.”
“That’s no answer.”
She whirled to face him, her eyes bright with anger and unshed tears. “How can you even ask me such a thing? When I know perfectly well not to ask you.”
He fumbled for words. Was this some sort of trickery?
“It’s you who insists on keeping the distance between us, Sam.” She reached for the door knob. “I have to go.”
If she left now, it might be too difficult–too awkward–to speak to her again. She would leave regretting yesterday. “I wish we had more time.”
She paused. “For what?”
Even if the span between them seemed an unbridgeable gulf, he spoke his mind without reserve. “We’ve only known each other a short time.”
“We know one another as intimately as two people can.” Her shoulders relaxed, and she half-turned, still averting her gaze.
“Knowing someone intimately doesn’t tell enough about them to truly know them.” Her youth would not have allowed enough experience for her to learn this, a truth sometimes eluding couples married decades.
She turned quickly, her soft voice full of passion. “You’re wrong. I learned much about you from our encounter.”
He had not expected such candor. “Such as?”
She searched his face. “I learned you are tender and giving, but you hold yourself back, hold too much inside. Why? Are you afraid of showing your true feelings, Sam?”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Her intense scrutiny made him uneasy.
“Did someone hurt you? So much that you distrust every other who shares her gender?”
Her face, illuminated by the setting sun, appeared so innocent, so youthful. She could not possibly know of the terrible danger inherent in offering oneself to another. The intricacies of a relationship.
“Yes.” The lone word revealed more than he had ever shared with anyone else. He stood rigid, unwilling to display himself further through any action or language.
“Then I am truly sorry, Sam. To close yourself off in such a way that you can never know happiness again. It makes me sad for you.”
He laughed, a hollow sound. “You needn’t pity me.”
Her face hardened, her beautiful lips retreating to a thin, disapproving line. “No. You’re right. To choose such a life willingly is your own doing. You deserve no pity.”
This was the kind of woman he was used to. Whose tender caresses turned to merciless clawing, so deep his very heart was at peril. “Such harsh words from one who would have me believe—”
“I will not be so pathetic as to cling to false hope. To wait for you to sort out your feelings could take years.” She bowed her head. “I hold you to nothing, Sam. Forget yesterday, if you must.” She lifted her head to hold his gaze for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to open himself to her. In resignation, she turned and walked out.
Stunned, Sam stood there, staring at the closed door.
She knew him. She knew him completely, her sweet touch had divined his true self, had breathed into his mouth and captured the essence of his soul. Her openness, her honesty, entranced him more than her beauty.
Yet he still could not move, could not will himself to go after her, to confess his feelings.
The sensation of being in Livvie’s arms could not be more opposite to his time with Helen. When Livvie looked at him, she exposed herself completely. Nothing else existed in the world. Her giving nature resulted from her feelings, and what she did not feel, she would not give. He knew it to be true.
If Livvie left Key West, he would likely never meet another having near her qualities. Her inquisitive nature inspired him to share his thoughts, his world. He trusted her reaction to be true, not a response designed to please him. Her skills of comprehension and analysis exceeded those of many educated men. Were it not for the constraints of society, Livvie could have risen to great power, if she’d aspired to.
He had never encountered another girl like her. That was perhaps what frightened him most. Yet he still felt rooted where he stood, even as he saw, in his mind’s eye, her figure grow smaller and disappear altogether. One thought repeated in his head: I will never forget.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Key West buzzed with the news: The Brilliant’s Captain Bethel had planned a grand party. Everywhere Sam went, he could not escape it.
Ignoring the commotion proved difficult, especially when Liam took considerable pleasure in reminding him. “Cap’n Bethel’s invited all the townsfolk to his house. Oh, and all the passengers from Elizabeth Rose. Bit of a going-away party, I’d say.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “How generous of Captain Bethel.”
“Oh, not generous at all. Bethel likes to stay on the good side of everyone, judges and wreckers alike.” Liam’s tilted head hovered close to Sam’s. “Ye haven’t made mention of the invitation.”
“Mm.” Indeed, he hadn’t. Not out of coyness. He simply couldn’t make up his mind. To attend the party—where he’d see Livvie, possibly for the last time—might be too ridiculous a pretense to undertake. Too awkward—all those other people nearby. She likely had no desire to see him ever again.
Liam leaned an elbow on Sam’s shoulder. “Meself, I think I’ll go to the grogery. I’m not one for fancy affairs. Clean clothes. Polite conversation. Ecch.”
“Yes, it’s a waste because we could be celebrating in a manner more consistent with our lifestyle.” Sam held his tongue after realizing his language had taken an upturn from the usual. In his mind, he’d rehearsed speaking in a more casual manner so as not to reveal his background, especially his legal education.
“Eh?” Liam pulled back his chin, his brows knit.
Sam shrugged from beneath Liam’s elbow. “The grogery’s where I’d rather be too.” He might spend more time there than usual in the coming weeks. Or months. He hoped it would take no longer to wash Livvie from his thoughts.
* * * *
Sam and Liam had a table to themselves. The bar held fewer patrons tonight, though not by much. Schooner captains tended not to fraternize amongst their crew. Most were married and returned to their families at night. Many crewmen had wives, also, and busied themselves at home. Like Liam, Sam had refused any ties to person or place. In the past year, Liam’s notion of working a farm had gained Sam’s favor, and Sam had squirreled away money like never before. He now had more than enough for years to come. When the time was right, he and Liam would buy equal shares of land on another key, and settle down, each in his own way.
Jahner rushed in, his glassy eyes testament to earlier celebration. “Have you heard?”
Exchanging confused glances, Sam and Liam had no chance to answer.
Slapping Liam’s back, Jahner said, “Judge Martin ruled for The Florida. Tomorrow, we’re back to work.” His raucous laugh stirred attention, and he moved to the bar to repeat the news.
“Ah, just the news we’ve been waitin’ fer.” Liam downed his drink. “Bartender, another round.” Frowning at Sam’s mug, he clucked his tongue. “Ye haven’t even finished yer first.”
“Give me one moment.” Drinking his ale, Sam tried to steer his thoughts away from the party, where Livvie would surely be dancing, maybe drinking more camperou. His stomach clenched; despite her experience at the last dance, she might indulge again. And perhaps another man might try to woo her. Or worse still–succeed.
“Sam.” Liam looked
at him with a mixture of wonder and disgust. “Ye’re as much fun as an addle-brained fool.”
“What?” Sam gulped his ale, wiped a hand across his mouth, and stood. “Ready for another refill?”
Liam leaned back. “I’m not stayin’ any longer. Ye’ll put me to sleep.”
“You’re leaving? Already?”
“Don’t sound so wounded. I’ve better things to do than coddle ye.” He drew some coins from his pocket and carried them to the counter. “Good night.”
Sam followed him out the door. “Hold on. I might as well leave too.”
Whistling, Liam meandered in the opposite direction he should be headed.
Sam halted. “Where are you going?”
“For a stroll.” Liam held his arms wide. “It’s a lovely evening, don’t ye think?”
“A stroll? Since when are you inclined to stroll?” His friend must be up to something. Sam had no clue what. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to miss it.
Liam held up a professorial finger. “A man must follow his instincts, Sam.”
Sam guessed more than instinct led him. Still, he’d go along. Following Greene Street to where Whitehead Street intersected, Sam understood. Every window of Captain Bethel’s house glowed, and music drifted merrily from inside.
Liam halted outside the yard and smiled.
Sam stopped beside him, irritated by Liam’s smugness. “And what instincts drew you here, my old friend?”
“The oldest instinct of all.”
“Mmm.” Although Sam had no care to participate in this conversation, it wouldn’t stop his friend from continuing it.
Liam lifted his arms toward the house. “Music. Who can resist its siren call?”
Through the tall windows, bodies shifted in rhythm to the lilting melody. Livvie’s long gold hair stood out among the rest as she swirled past in the arms of an older gentleman.
Sam wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “Apparently, no one.”
Liam stood shoulder to shoulder beside him. “She’s a lovely girl.”
