Sam shook his head. Not for him. Not at the core. No amount of money could buy away the tension simmering from one end of the room to the other. The Lusitania would enter the war zone in the morning, and Sam wondered if the whispers aboard were true. Submarine warnings? Slower speeds?
During Sam’s morning walk, crewmen were uncovering lifeboats and swinging them out to the readied position. A simple precaution? He hoped so.
The cravat around his neck nearly choked him and he pulled to loosen it. Either he was letting the ship gossips get to him, or something was wrong – and tension didn’t only stem from the war. He’d resorted to near begging to get Ashleigh to attend the famed Seaman’s Charity Concert on their last night aboard. She’d tried hiding away for the two days since their argument.
Had she felt the spark between them too? Like lightning. It nudged a curiosity only time with her could answer. And he wanted an answer.
He stepped aside to allow an older couple into the Lounge and glanced back toward the stairway in time to catch Ashleigh in his line of vision. But this was no Ashleigh he’d ever seen. Her dark hair, typically twisted into a knot at the back of her head, piled in elegant ringlets. Some spilled over and framed her face, matching her eyes. The simple dresses she usually wore were replaced by a gown of black lace covering cloth the color of dawning blue. The material moved with the curves of her body as she descended the grand staircase.
Sam stood in shocked stillness. Heat swelled in his throat with each move she made toward him. His body responded to her as a man would to a beautiful woman, drawing his attention down the length of her body again. As their gazes met, warmth flooded his chest to match the heat pulsing through his arms and legs. He swallowed the gathering tension in his throat and forced his feet into motion until he stood in front of her.
“You look beautiful.”
Her cheeks blushed darker. “I thought I would make wise use of my trousseau, but it’s much too glamorous for me.” She glanced down at her dress. “It’s more suited for Catherine, I’m afraid.”
“I only wish I’d brought my camera tonight so I could capture you.” He couldn’t help but stare and try to place this woman before him with the little girl he’d always known. Maybe he was the captured one. If he could get his brain out of whatever fog her presence cast on him, then he’d be fine. Maybe. And just maybe, he kind of liked her spell.
Her eyes had never been as fascinating as they were tonight. And her lips? His pulse hammered beneath his Adam’s apple. He was clearly losing his mind.
An impish grin molded onto those glossy lips. It’d been cute a few days or months ago, but now it was attractive. He gave his cravat another tug.
“You’re enjoying this too much, little girl.”
“I promise not to get used to it.” Her smile lost its glow. “We’re both pretending tonight, aren’t we?” She swept him an appraising look. “You’re in a tuxedo, and clearly as dapper as any gentleman here.”
“But tonight, I’m a furniture maker’s son puffed up as a millionaire.” He offered his arm.
“And I’m a bankrupt Lord and Lady’s daughter who is playacting as an heiress.”
She bit her lip and hesitated before slipping her arm through his. Did she feel the difference between them too? The newness? The caution and fragility? Like catching the first rays of sunlight over the mountains through his camera lens. Too long, and the shot is lost. He placed his hand over hers on his arm, determined not to lose the memory.
“Well, let’s put on our best act and see how we fare among the elite. What do you say?”
In response, she lifted her head a bit higher and donned a very regal profile.
Laughter came from within the Lounge, mingling with the tinkling of silver and the scent of cigars. A men’s ensemble sang at the front of the room. Sam’s shoes sank into the lush carpet as he navigated around the tightly placed chairs to a half-empty table. The upper crust at the table welcomed Sam and Ashleigh with nods and a few handshakes.
He leaned close to Ashleigh’s ear to quip about how misplaced he felt, but her violet scent distracted his senses and drew him closer. She looked up, expectantly – her face so close to his, the caramel swirls in her eyes danced in the candlelight.
He chuckled through his embarrassment and allowed his gaze to travel to her lips a little too long. He cleared his throat. “I was going to make a joke about being a fish out of water, but…um…I got distracted.”
Her gaze flickered unfocused for an instant and then her eyes grew wide and she snapped her attention to the stage. Sam sat back in his chair, attraction doused by her obvious discomfort. What was he doing? A few days ago she thought he was engaged to her sister and now he was flirting with Ashleigh? No wonder she turned away. That type of apparent inconsistency had his mother’s name written all over it.
His emotions cooled. He was nothing like her.
Ashleigh leaned close, keeping her face forward. “I doubt I can perform the part of an heiress as well as you play the part of a charming millionaire. I almost thought you were flirting with me.”
He forced a grin and played along with her mistake. In fact, he needed to believe it too.
“I imagined myself to be one of those extravagant Vanderbilts from back home.” He took a hold of his lapel, relaxed in his chair, and lifted his nose high. “Be sure to return to Millington soon, Miss Dougall. I would greatly enjoy your company at my small estate at Biltmore for one of my house parties. Nothing much. Only a few hundred people—”
“Shh.” Ashleigh laughed and covered his mouth with her hand. “One of the Vanderbilts is at the next table. Besides, you were a better actor when you were flirting.”
Because I wasn’t acting.
She pulled her hand from his mouth and folded it in her lap.
“One of the Vanderbilts is on this ship?”
He followed Ashleigh’s gaze to where a man held the nearby table captive. His suit, dark hair, and especially his eloquent gestures spoke of refinement – but there was genuine kindness in his ready smile. If Sam had to imitate a rich man, maybe this one wouldn’t be so bad.
Ashleigh’s voice remained low. “I believe he’s a first cousin to Mr. George Vanderbilt of Asheville. Gwyn or Alfred. Something like that.”
Sam looked down at her. The gentleness returned, deep and sweet, and brought with it a question. What would it be like to fall in love with his beautiful friend? He’d been enamored with Catherine ever since they were children. Never Ashleigh, but was it such an odd thought? The six year age difference mattered when they were children, but now? The realization produced an unsettling result, with an even more shocking reaction. Uncertainty. He curbed the urge to brush his fingers down her cheek.
“So, Miss Dougall, how would a young aristocrat, like Vanderbilt let’s say, impress a lovely heiress such as yourself?”
His gaze held hers, and even with the dim lighting her cheeks blushed rose. Maybe she wasn’t immune to what was happening between them.
She looked over his head and the impish glow returned. “He could accept one of those delicious desserts from the waiter.”
“Ah, saved from my expert acting by another distraction.”
She wrinkled her nose with her grin. “I’m an enormous fan of perfect timing.”
He thanked the waiter and turned back to her. “And I’m an enormous fan of dessert.” He pointed his fork at her, which was probably against some kind of social rule. “Even though all the food aboard has been excellent, none of it can compare to Grace’s cooking. I told Father we should steal her from your grandma so she could feed two poor, unfortunate bachelors.”
“Unfortunate indeed?” She tsked and took up her fork. “Steal Grandmama’s cook, not to mention best friend?” Her sweet smile held him captive again. Would her lips taste as sweet as this trifle? “Hardly heroic just to feed your unending appetite?”
“We need her. Do you remember what happened the last time I tried to cook?”
Ashleigh’s nose curled like the little girl he was still trying to envision– but no, he failed.
“I still can’t understand how one turns blueberry muffins into something the consistency of chalk.”
Sam raised his loaded fork to his grin and winked. “Talent.”
Her gaze softened and held, longer this time. But not long enough. Attraction. He was attracted to Ashleigh Dougall, and…the feeling settled into place like the perfect fit.
Ashleigh stiffened and looked back to the stage, her fist pressed to the base of her neck. The rapid flow of her breathing confirmed she felt it too. And it terrified her.
How had he gotten into such a mess? Two sisters? One didn’t want him anymore. He caught Ashleigh’s profile from his periphery. But what of the other? And how had his heart turned in such a direction?
Ashleigh had been with him since Catherine left. Had she replaced Catherine in his heart? No, certainly not. He couldn’t just toss away ten years of friendship and two years of courting to…to…
He focused on the Scot on the stage, telling jokes. This world was a crazy place, and Sam’s heart bore witness to it. Silence built the tension between them as a pianist performed classics, followed by an amazing Welsh choir. After a burst of applause, a sudden hush fell over the room as a man in uniform, expression serious, approached the concert area, cap in hand.
“Is that the captain?” Ashleigh asked.
“I believe so. Captain Turner. From what some of the passengers said, it’s customary for the captain to give a farewell speech on the last night of the voyage.”
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” The captain began in a gravely tone, his square face held a firm countenance. The very reflection of seaman. “I have no talent to share with you tonight.”
The crowd’s laughter eased the tension a bit as he continued.
“I hope you have enjoyed the journey thus far.” He shifted his white cap to the other hand his brow hinged in wrinkles. “We’ve received word that German U-boats have been reported off the coast of Ireland, particularly Fastnet.”
Murmurs broke out through the crowd, but the captain stayed his hand against their questions. “There’s no need for concern. Readying the lifeboats, as many of you witnessed this morning, is a simple precaution under such times as these. And we’ve doubled our lookouts as an added safeguard. You can feel confident that upon entering the War Zone in the morning, we shall be securely in the care of the Royal Navy.”
A man’s voice called from the back of the room. “Are we still to keep from lighting our cigars on deck?”
“Yes, sir. Again, this is merely a precaution. We shall keep the ship darkened until we are out of danger. No doubt many of you felt the ship slow earlier this evening. We hope to clear Fastnet protected by the cover of darkness. In the morning, a cruiser should arrive to escort us into Liverpool.”
A few more questions filtered through the guests and then the captain excused himself from the room. His reassurance of protection doused anxiety like a dry cloth on a wild flame. Few people, rich or poor, would sleep tonight.
Sam escorted Ashleigh from the lush Lounge to the chilled air off the Boat Deck. A light fog cloaked the ship in misted darkness, and beyond the railing hung a black void of ocean. The lights and chatter from within posed a contrast to this quiet, dark world.
They walked in silence, Ashleigh’s arm tucked tight in the crook of his elbow and her body warmed his side. Another overwhelming sense of her rightness had him tugging her arm a little closer.
“Do you make anything of the captain’s words?”
He shrugged away his concern and rubbed a hand over the one she had nestled on his arm. “The Lusitania carries passengers, not soldiers. Not even Germany would want the bloodstain of innocent people on their hands, no matter how big a bully they are.”
Her raised brow challenged his declaration.
“Besides, we’re on one of the fastest ships on the Atlantic. No U-boat can outrun her.” Perhaps if he repeated what he kept telling himself it would help take away the nervous edge.
A frown crinkled her brow. “Unfortunately, speed and wisdom do not always dine at the same table. At least there have been some life boat drills I’ve noticed during my morning walks.”
From what Sam had seen, it didn’t boost his confidence in the sailors’ abilities to rescue people from a sinking ship. He guided them to the railing where fog whispered through the darkness. The breeze brought the full impact of Ashleigh’s violet scent back to him and he closed his eyes to drink it in. His body warmed and his thoughts followed less chaste imaginations than usual.
Perhaps distraction was a good option.
“This Dr. Ross you’re going to work with – is he any relation to your friend, Jessica?”
“Yes, her older brother. David Ross. It seems they have a family tradition of medical professionals. Their grandfather is the doctor with whom I worked in rural Warm Springs. Their father, a surgeon, recently joined a medical team near the Front. And then, of course, there is David.”
That was the first time he’d noticed her using Dr. Ross’ first name. A nerve twitched in his jaw.
“David and I share a common goal -- providing support for the orphans and widows of the war.” She pushed away a loose strand of her hair, but the wind wisped it back across her cheek.
She gazed out over the water. The silence brought the lost look back to her face. He’d caught glimpses of it since Michael’s disappearance when she thought no one was watching, but it had become more frequent since Monday. Whatever Michael had said or done, it had stolen something from her.
“What can I do to help you heal? Ever since Michael…”
“Please, Sam, let’s not discuss Michael.” She pulled her arm from his and pinched the collar of her cape close around her neck. “The only way to fix it is to place it in the past.”
“Ash.” He coaxed her to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I agree with that. I’ve tried to keep my past in the past, but it’s still right here.” He placed his hand over his chest and shook his head, the ache below his palm swelling into a pain. “Just below the surface, and as painful as the day Mother left. I’m beginning to wonder if there comes a time when we need to face our wounds for what they are.”
She remained silent, but her fingers twisted the edge of her gloves, wrinkling the material at the hem. Her eyes lifted to his, as dark as the night around them. He moved a breath closer, close enough to touch the stray curl resting against her cheek. An invisible tie surged between them.
She raised her hand, as if to touch his cheek, but stopped and stepped back. The wind chilled the space between them like unspoken words. He craved a touch from her, something to answer the unspoken question bouncing between them in the darkness.
“Perhaps we should go inside.” She took a few steps toward the companionway, then half turned to him. “Sometimes the past is the safest place for pain. Time helps dull our senses to it.”
“But I’m beginning to wonder if it’s like one of those tumors you’ve talked about in nursing. If you leave it inside of a person instead of remove it, then it can eat away at the person, right?”
Her brows drew close, gaze studying the deck. “Some are so large, and so deep, that they are inoperable.”
“What does the patient do then?”
She lifted her face, china doll impassive. “They die.” She blinked and moved further away from him, shadows falling over her face. Her cryptic words clung to the fog-soaked air.
He wouldn’t leave the moment in darkness, not matter what she wanted. “Or God sends a miracle?”
Her lips tipped into a sad smile. “Miracles?” She sighed, a slight hint of longing in her voice. “Some things can’t be fixed. And many times, God never sends a miracle. Good night, Sam.”
The nip in the air penetrated Sam’s jacket and settled around his heart. Something much bigger than Michael’s deception hid behind Ashleigh’s words, more menacing than the unseen
enemy lurking through those dark waters – and it was eating away at her soul. She tugged against the bond between them, but he’d do everything in his power to keep his hold. And maybe even … create a miracle?
Ashleigh stifled a yawn. The ship’s foghorn just after dawn had roused her from a restless sleep and the gentle lull of the ship’s afternoon movements weren’t helping her muddled mind. Perhaps within the next half hour she’d retire to her cabin for a short nap before her promised chess match with Sam. The last thing she needed with his competitive streak was syrupy thoughts.
She’d kept their conversations as safe and superficial as possible all morning. After the tremulous close to last night’s events and the draw Sam’s ‘pretend’ flirting had on her will, serious topics stayed clearly out of the question. She wanted to be genuine and honest with him. Everything about the easiness of their friendship urged her to be authentic, which was the very reason why she had to keep a close rein on her behavior. Her faith in Sam made her weak. His friendship softened her defenses in ways nothing else ever had. She trusted him – a dangerous commodity when the truth would alienate him forever. Better he care for the person he thought she was than discover her secret and despise her.
He was a difficult man to keep at arms’ length, though. She knew every curl of his hair, every expression of his face, every golden flake in his eyes. He seemed to work through her defenses with the ease of a master surgeon – and there was nowhere to escape him apart from jumping ship.
She glanced at the choppy sea and pondered the thought for half a second. She wasn’t that desperate yet. If he ran his fingers across her cheek or focused on her lips again, she might be. Heaven help her, she’d almost puddled to the floor at his touch.
Sam stood a few feet away, hovering over his Brownie box camera with the care of a mother with her newborn. His hobby had grown into a little business back in Millington, even finding some of his photographs of Appalachia in a few magazines, but Ashleigh had never become adept with the tiny device.
The Thorn Bearer Page 7
