Steam Me Up, Rawley

by Angela Quarles

  After what she’d blurted? “He might not make it after all,” she said in as nonchalant a voice as possible.

  Her great-aunt’s eyes held a smidgeon of speculation. “Whyever not?”

  “We had a, er, falling out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. A minor lover’s quarrel adds spice, I always say.”

  Good grief. “We’re not lovers.” The lie landed fat and squat on the rug between them. Good Lord, couldn’t her great-aunt tell?

  “Hmm. Well, maybe not yet, but I have high hopes for you two.”

  “Don’t. Aunt Linny, I don’t wish to marry. I want to be a reporter, and he, like everyone else, expects me to give that up.”

  Her great-aunt’s eyes grew serious for a change. She looked at a spot over Adele’s shoulder and then returned her intent gaze. “I’d hoped not to tell you this, but under the circumstances, I feel I must. Adele, more than likely, when you return, you won’t have a job as a reporter.”

  Anxiousness about what else could be happening to her tightened her throat so her voice came out like a flat, frayed ribbon. “What do you mean?”

  “Your father confided he means to pressure Mr. Tonti to let you go.”

  “But why?”

  “It’s not done, Adele. Ladies shouldn’t work. He thought you’d have quit by now, so at first he didn’t mind indulging what he saw as your youthful fantasies. But when you weren’t content with the more genteel role as society reporter and pursued this investigative position, that proved too much. Mr. Tonti also complained to your father about this angling of yours for a man’s position. If you haven’t quit or gotten engaged to Rawley by the time you return, your father will pressure Mr. Tonti. Your boss has held back only because of your father’s position.”

  The wallop to Adele’s gut nearly sent her back a step. Everyone expected her to quit? The sense of betrayal threatened to overwhelm her—first Rawley, then Father and Mr. Tonti. And did her great-aunt expect it too? Did no one have faith in her? Believe in her?

  A sharp knock on the door startled them both. Adele looked to the ceiling and inhaled deeply, grateful to have escaped the emotional repercussions of what she’d just learned. Her great-aunt hustled over and opened it.

  “Good morning, Dr. Rawley. My, don’t you look handsome this morning. But then you always do.”

  When had her great-aunt become such a flirt? A dollop of dread settled in Adele’s belly at hearing his name, though. Hands shaking, she adjusted the curls that fell against her shoulder. By all the saints, how to clear the oh-so-awkward air? And should she? He was just like all the others.

  He gave her a stiff bow. “Morning, Miss de la Pointe.” His eyes were flinty and unreadable. Oh, she’d made a muddle of things. Yes. She owed him an explanation. She needed to face the consequences of her actions. Until they were alone again and she could explain things—and she had no doubt her great-aunt would continue being lax—she’d have to bear with the icy-cold version of him.

  “Rawley.” She curtsied, though it was a trifle difficult to pull off gracefully with her sore ankle.

  Her great-aunt raised a brow and studied them. She opened her mouth and shut it. She shook her head. “Well, I don’t know about y’all, but I’m famished. I had quite a late night last night. I wonder if Mr. Cassidy will be downstairs taking breakfast at the same time.”

  Adele stole a glance at Rawley and felt a sense of loss—normally, they’d have shared a look at that comment. She gave herself a mental shake. So be it. “Let’s not waste time dilly-dallying then. I’m ready if you are, Aunt Linny.”

  Rawley escorted them in silence to the dining room on their level. She could practically feel him seething behind her. Great-Aunt Linette must have felt it too, for she remained quiet and directed occasional questioning glances her way, which she ignored.

  Luckily, they were joined at the table by her great-aunt’s new friends, as well as Mrs. Tuttle, which saved both her and Rawley from having to make conversation. Though at one point Mrs. Tuttle asked how her story on the voyage progressed and studied her and Rawley with much too curious an eye.

  Adele suppressed a yawn. Between the exhilarating day, the fantastic night in Rawley’s arms, and the plummet directly afterward, she hadn’t exactly been chummy with Morpheus. Instead, she’d run through different ways she could have responded, as well as ideas for how to handle Rawley when she saw him today.

  And like other important aspects of her life, the choices had overwhelmed her.

  But now she felt like a prize racehorse, pinned in the starting gate, unable to perform what she most desired to do. And wondering if she were on the right course altogether. But she had to choose and go forward.

  Breakfast consumed, they lingered over coffee and beignets, when her great-aunt’s friends mentioned they wished to experience the pool and invited them.

  Adele folded her napkin and tucked it under her plate rim. “I promised Dr. Rawley we’d take a stroll around the main promenade.”

  Rawley opened his mouth, no doubt with a rebuttal, but snapped it closed, good manners preventing him from contradicting a lady.

  Her great-aunt’s eyes danced with mischief. “By all means, do not let us interrupt your engagement.”

  Adele winced at her great-aunt’s choice of words.

  Her great-aunt left with her group, and Adele was left alone with Rawley. She stood, and he held out an arm. “You know I have no wish to interrupt our engagement,” he said, voice hard near her ear. “To the promenade, Miss de la Pointe?”

  Criminy. He was going to make this difficult, though she knew it was her own fault.

  They descended in silence and strolled among others taking their morning constitutional. At the iron bench they’d occupied last night, he slowed, but quickened his steps and left it behind.

  Adele took a deep breath. “Rawley, I’d like to apologize for what I said last night. My mouth, well, it has a tendency to spout its own opinions.”

  “Indeed? The words came from your mouth. I believe you need to take ownership of them. If they are not your opinions, then I rather think you have a problem.”

  Damnation. She pushed out a breath. “It was more strongly worded than I would have chosen if I’d thought.”

  “The result is the same. You have no wish to marry me. I think that’s quite clear, and there’s no need to discuss it further.”

  “Actually, there is. It’s not you I have no wish to marry. I have no wish to marry anyone.”

  His steps slowed, and he pivoted on a slow turn, pinning her with eyes still flat, unreadable. “Why not? I thought all ladies wished to marry and raise a family.”

  “Many do, but that scares me.”

  He crossed his arms. “I’ll likely regret asking, but why?”

  “It seems so limiting. There are things I want to do. Places I want to see. I want to experience life, not be tied down. I do not wish to stop being a reporter. It’s not something I’m doing on a whim to pass the time until I settle down. You require a society wife, not someone like me.”

  “I should think I’d be the best judge of what I need.” He stepped to the side to avoid a couple promenading in their own little world.

  “Admit it, though, Rawley. You arrived already determined to marry me, based on my father’s report. I was the path of least resistance. You could do a minimal amount of courting, formally receive my father’s permission, marry me, and go on about your busy life as a doctor. You don’t love me. You don’t know me.”

  A little sliver of fear knifed through her, a suspicion that if he did, he would definitely not love her. “I want someone who sweeps me off my feet,” she blurted, grabbing at the first thing to pop into her head that explained why he didn’t suit, but realizing too late how insulting and contradictory it was. Sweep her off her feet? She didn’t want that.

  His face darkened, and he balled his fists.

  She crossed her arms. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  He blew a bre
ath. “In the beginning, yes. What you say is true—”

  “Well, then, it appears all I’ve done is upset your smooth path. You should be able to find another to court without much trouble when you return. In fact, I have someone already in mind.” Saying out loud what she’d decided in the early morning hours felt dry on her tongue. Felt wrong. She wouldn’t suit anyone; she knew that. But the thought of anyone else suiting him...well, it...it curdled something inside.

  He banged a fist against the bulkhead. “Hell’s teeth. You didn’t let me finish.” He stopped and looked to the side, jaw clenched.

  Her heart jumped at the aggressive display, the passion he kept so tightly controlled bursting forth. She willed her voice calm. “Well?”

  He returned his gaze to hers, eyes hard, an energy snapping between them. “Does it matter? I’ll say no more on the subject.”

  “But...” She stared at him, not sure what to say. What did she want him to say anyway? This was for the better. Better he know where she stood.

  He stepped forward, jaw flexing. “Actually, I will say one more thing. Have you given any thought to pregnancy? You could be carrying my babe right now.”

  She gasped.

  “I thought not.”

  That rankled.

  “I have no wish for my child to be fatherless,” he continued. “Think on that.”

  She spun around and resumed their promenade, her chest tight, the air thicker. Pregnant? Yes. That worry also had contributed to her sleeplessness. She shuddered and shoved the notion aside. She’d deal with it if it became necessary to do so, not before; she had enough immediate troubles.

  “And think on this, Adele.” His deep voice pulled her from her thoughts as he kept pace alongside. “Have you ever examined why you are so busy? Why you apparently jump from one enthusiasm to another?”

  She caught her breath and held it, not sure she wanted to hear anymore.

  “I think it’s because you’re too afraid.” He laughed an odd laugh, like he’d made a joke with himself. “Too afraid to feel, too afraid to open up, too afraid to commit. Which is ironic, because when I first met you, I believed you the most fearless creature I’d ever met.”

  She’d been walking, keeping pace with him, but as his words flowed over her, suddenly she wasn’t. One minute her feet were step-step-stepping, and then one foot stayed glued to the decking, and her body swayed forward as her chest tightened.

  He saw her. He truly saw her. And the knowledge knifed through her, along with the simple clarity of a truth she hadn’t yet admitted to herself: fear drove her; fear held her back.

  How ironic. She’d held herself back from him, from Pascal, from marriage precisely so no one would learn this about her and be disillusioned.

  And now that he did know? What now?

  After Mass let out later that afternoon, Adele sat with Loki on the settee in their cabin’s sitting room. She’d begged out of any further engagements, claiming she needed to rest her ankle. Which was true, but not the real reason.

  No. She needed to sit. Be still. And contemplate. Analyze.

  Ugh—deal with her emotions.

  And the passing sea life beyond the picture window seemed the best method to relax and allow herself to be in the moment and understand what was happening. Loki sensed her mood and lay with his head in her lap, picking at his fingers.

  She felt wrung out.

  But one thing she had figured out so far was that Rawley could be right, and her neglect to fully understand what she wanted created this mess. Her neglect to allow herself to be in the moment and experience life and its emotions as they came.

  Was fear holding her back? Not fully—she did want to work as a reporter. She examined herself, trying to be honest, and she didn’t think she was using the pursuit of a career as an excuse to avoid responsibilities. Though, all right, maybe she had in the beginning. It had seemed like a good compromise between the freedom she’d enjoyed as a child and adulthood’s responsibilities and expectations.

  She fidgeted, tempted to call her self-examination session over, but forced herself to keep looking at fish, keep being honest with herself.

  She hadn’t gotten anywhere in the past by avoiding emotions. Avoiding making the tough decisions. She owed it to herself to dig into the moment, into herself, and decide—not to continue floating and skipping along life’s surface.

  Did she truly wish to be a reporter, or had that been an excuse to run away? How did it make her feel when she chased a story?

  She loved it; she truly did. Being a reporter allowed her to exercise many of her interests: photography, satisfying her curiosity about the world, writing, going on adventures... Yes. It was never the same thing and kept her interested.

  All right, she did want to be a reporter, so what was she to do about Mr. Tonti? Easy enough—continue with her current plan to write the story, but have it be so great, he’d have no choice but to keep her on as the society reporter. Then she’d have more time to prove herself.

  A trickle of satisfaction seeped into her, buoying her: she’d already made a good decision before her epiphany. Perhaps she wasn’t hopeless.

  That left Rawley.

  Rawley. She smoothed a hand along the fabric of the settee, images of their intimate encounter coursing over her, making her shiver. She could almost taste him. Smell him.

  What could she do about him? The dilemma he represented?

  He expected her to quit. And that wasn’t acceptable.

  Plus her foolish nature had turned him against her. He truly saw her now.

  But the thought of him being with someone else, much less Molly.

  No.

  Unacceptable. Adele couldn’t have him, but she’d not actively push him into the arms of another.

  And she missed his friendship.

  She stood, resolved. She’d messed things up, sure. But she knew what she wanted now, and she’d do her best to go forward now as she should. Hopefully, she could at least regain their former camaraderie.

  At the first opportunity to be alone with him, she’d try to be more in the moment and not let fear of experiencing overwhelming emotions get in her way.

  How he was able to act so calm amazed Phillip right now as he strolled with Miss de la Pointe along the hallway to the pool area. At first, a rage and hurt he’d never known it was possible to feel had stormed inside him after her rejection. He’d wanted to pound something into a pulp. He’d been appalled at his reaction.

  He never felt this way; he was not his parents. That thought had sobered him. His whole childhood had been one histrionic scene after another. He’d taken to retreating into his own world, traipsing around on the moors of Devon near his home.

  He could not change Miss de la Pointe’s feelings, but he owed her one thing, although it shamed him to do so.

  He’d been trying to find a chance all morning to get her alone and finally had suggested a visit to the pool. Surprisingly, she’d agreed.

  On the same level as the ballroom, but on the opposite end, they found the pool. An Observation Lounge occupied one side, accessible through arched and columned doorways. Lush foliage and squat palm trees surrounded the pool. Shaped like a half-circle, it butted against the large picture window dominating the far wall of the space. Lights reflected off the surface and cast shifting, pale blue shadows against the glass wall and the ceiling.

  He motioned to a pair of wooden chairs and seated himself after Miss de...oh, who was he kidding? She would always now be Adele to him. Phillip cleared his throat and levered himself up on an elbow. “I feel like I owe you an explanation.” He looked up, then dropped his gaze to hers. “You were right to accuse me of hastiness. I did come here in the hopes of marriage—”

  “I knew it.” Adele sat forward.

  Phillip held up a hand. “But you were wrong about the motivation. I...” He blew a breath and fixed his attention on his clenched fist. “I made a deal with your father.”

  “A deal? What kind of deal
?”

  “This is so hard to say aloud, but it is what it is. My youngest sister—Charlotte—she had an accident nearly ten years ago. My mother, who is prone to hysterics, had been in one of her moods while she and my sisters were making soap. The result was she accidentally splashed Charlotte with lye, disfiguring her for life. She almost died, but she pulled through, though with a badly mangled face and a missing eye.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes filled with horror. “Can’t she get an operation?”

  “Yes. Although my parents refuse to do so.”

  Adele gasped. “Whyever not? Her quality of life is important.”

  “Yes, but my mother would rather not, although she’d never admit it. It feeds her drama and allows her to be pitied by the other women in her sphere.”

  “How awful. What about your father?”

  “My father has long ago ceased to have any involvement with the rest of the family.”

  “Poor Charlotte.”

  “Yes. And my heart constantly breaks for her. She was already a sensitive soul, but this has plunged her into a semi-permanent melancholy. She’s of an age where she’d be out and married, but with her disfigurement, well...”

  “So your deal with my father?”

  He gazed off to the side as shame swept him. He’d been so calculating, so cold. Which had never bothered him before. “I went into this field to help her, but I’m not skilled enough. I started a correspondence with your father to further my knowledge, but it was becoming apparent it would take practical experience over a period of time before I had the requisite ability. Your father, however, well...he has the skill, but I lack the funds to pay him.” He flushed. “I agreed to an internship and marrying you in exchange for the operation.”

  “I was part of a business agreement between yourself and my father?” Hurt laced her voice, along with an odd touch of resignation which he didn’t like.

  “Yes. And I’m heartily ashamed.” He took a deep breath. “But this is my affair, not yours.” He straightened in his chair. “Miss de la Pointe, I’m truly sorry for my part in this and for any hurt this causes you.”