He just sat there. Utterly silent. Until she could stand it no longer. She had to say something. For heaven’s sake, she’d decided she would apologize to him and so she would.
She started by taking a deep inhalation. And then she said, “I’m sorry it took me as long as it did for me to put Timothy behind me.” Needing closeness, she placed one hand on his thigh and continued. “I knew you wouldn’t like learning about the vow, and I’m sorry it made you angry, but I’ve been speaking those words every night since the day he died and I just…” She swallowed. “I needed time to change the habit, to move on and accept that my loyalties have shifted.” She bit her lip and quietly added, “My heart has shifted too. I didn’t expect it to happen, and I’m not sure when it did precisely, but I—”
“Don’t.”
She blinked. Her heart began to tremble. “What?”
“I can’t bear for you to end that sentence. Not now. Not when you don’t know who you’re really married to.” He sounded both angry and pained. Tormented in a way she’d never experienced him before.
“You’re not making any sense, Dev.”
He laughed, but it was with bleakness rather than joy. “No. I don’t suppose I am.”
They were so close, touching even, and yet she’d never felt further from him. And then he stood, pushing her hand aside as he did so. His posture was tense, slightly hunched as if he carried some dreadful weight.
“I ruined your life.”
The words were so soft she scarcely heard them. Except she did and she didn’t understand. And because she didn’t, she tried to smile in order to offer reassurance. “I married you because I wanted to,” she said, settling on the only concern he could possibly have, the only thing that could have, in her estimation, resulted from him overthinking the vow and what it might mean in terms of her feelings. “Yes, it seemed like the best course of action but since then so much has changed. My regard for you and—”
“You don’t understand,” he interrupted gruffly. “Ludlow would still be alive if it weren’t for me.”
“What?” She couldn’t have heard him right. It wasn’t possible. Her ears simply had to be playing tricks on her. She tried to breathe, but her lungs felt frozen. Every part of her body was suddenly cold, and she realized she’d started trembling.
“Timothy,” Devlin said as if to confirm who he was talking about. “He’s dead because of me, Cass. How’s that for a cruel twist of fate?”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, no, no. No, that can’t be true, it just can’t.” Her legs went numb and she slid sideways from her crouched position until she was sitting on her bottom. “It was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. The witnesses said so. He…” She swallowed hard. “Timothy stepped out into the street without looking just as the carriage rounded the corner. You can’t be to blame.” She shook her head frantically, as if the action would somehow erase the possibility. And then she looked at him hard. The next words she spoke were filled with resolve. “You weren’t even there!”
“No. I wasn’t.” His face contorted, banishing any relief she might have felt in response to his words. “But I hired the carriage. I ordered the driver to hurry – to return as swiftly as he possibly could. Me!” He pressed one hand to his chest and stared down at her with wild despair, then added more softly, “I even said I’d reward him with another five pounds if he came back within twenty minutes.”
Cassandra couldn’t respond. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t act. Dear God.
This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. It was just a nightmare from which she would soon awaken. It
had to be, because if it wasn’t – if this was real…
An unbearable ache filled her chest. Her heart seemed to struggle with each painful beat. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision. It wasn’t possible. She couldn’t be married to the man whose actions had led to Timothy’s death.
She refused to believe it.
“I’m sorry, Cass. I know an apology isn’t enough. I know you can’t possibly forgive me, but—”
“I want to go home.” The words left her before she could think, but once she heard them, she knew they made sense. Her world was spinning and she was falling. The only thing she believed might help her feel slightly better was Clearview.
“We can’t turn around. I’ve a cargo to deliver. There are people counting on me to do so.”
“Fine.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and clambered to her feet. “I’ll get the next ship back to London from Cape Town then.” Anything to escape him right now.
“Cass.” His tormented voice tore her soul to shreds. “I didn’t know. I didn’t realize until today.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice cracked as it pushed its way past the lump in her throat. “It doesn’t change the fact that I married you.” The awfulness of it all overwhelmed her. He’d stolen the life she ought to have had, denied Penelope the right to grow up with a father. And worst of all, she’d imagined she might one day love him. “I need to go. I need to…to do something.”
He made no attempt to stop her.
She wasn’t sure where she was headed when she left the cabin. Her feet just carried her forward, away from Devlin, until she eventually found herself in the galley. “I’d like to help,” she told Mr. Talbot. “I want to keep myself busy.”
He didn’t argue. He just glanced at her and gave a quick nod.
Five minutes later she was sitting at a table, peeling carrots. Her hands moved of their own accord while her mind worked through the problem she faced. Devlin was connected to Timothy’s death in the worst way possible. She was now tied to him for the rest of her life. He owned her. And nothing could have made her angrier.
Chapter 15
If there was one thing Devlin knew he would never forget, it was the stricken look on Cassandra’s face right after he’d made his confession. In that moment, he’d known he’d lost her forever. Hell, she wanted to leave him!
He stared at the door through which she’d vanished with a desperate desire to bring her back, to turn back time and undo all the damage he’d caused. Emotionally exhausted, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Raw skin stretched across his knuckles, causing him to wince. There was work to be done, a ship to sail, and a crew to manage. He was the captain, for Christ sake. He could not afford to take any more time to himself. Lord knew he’d taken enough already.
Grabbing his tricorn, he forced himself to ignore the sharp stabbing sensation behind his ribs as he quit the cabin. After a quick meeting to compare notes on the weather with Bronswick, he returned to the deck. Penelope was there, attempting to fly the kite he’d helped her make the day before. Devlin’s eyes stung, not from the blinding sun but from his attempt to fight back tears. He’d killed her father. The only reason he’d been able to reach for the happiness he’d always longed for – the love he’d so desperately craved – was because of the part he’d played in Ludlow’s death. And that piece of knowledge was enough to cripple him forever.
“I can’t get it to stay in the air,” Penelope called. “Will you please help me, Dev?”
He reached back, steadying himself against the bulkhead dividing the main deck from the quarterdeck. His chest squeezed until he was sure his ribs would crack. And yet, somehow, from sheer force of will, his stubborn nature enabled him to straighten himself and move forward.
“You’ve unwound too much string,” he told Penelope. “If you shorten it, we can make another attempt.”
She followed his directions while he collected the kite. It was fluttering from side to side as if attempting to leap up into the air. “Ready?” he asked once the string was taut. She nodded and he took a second to assess the wind’s direction. “Move a little to your left. That’s it. Now here we go.” He released the kite and watched it rise above his head. “Unwind the spool slowly. That’s it. There you go.”
Penelope laughed with delight and for a brief moment, Devlin allowed himself to savor he
r exuberance. Until he heard a voice at his shoulder quietly murmur, “A pity her father’s not able to see her like this. He loved flying kites.”
Cassandra.
If she’d sliced him open with a knife, he reckoned it would have hurt less than the words she’d just spoken. Not that he didn’t deserve them.
Dropping his gaze toward her, he half expected to see her face wracked by painful emotion. Instead, she looked shockingly composed. And he was stunned to realize how much he hated her ability to do so when he was coming apart at the seams. If she’d only rail at him or dissolve into tears, he’d understand her response. But this cool expression she’d donned wasn’t something he knew how to deal with.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, because it was all he could think to say.
“Why?” She tilted her head up and stared him straight in the eye. Devlin’s heart immediately crumpled, because he’d never seen anyone look so hollow. And then she whispered, “You have everything you wanted.”
He drew a sharp breath.
Not everything. Not even close.
But he kept the words to himself. Held himself utterly still so she wouldn’t see the precision with which her comment had struck its mark. And then, when he finally felt able to move without breaking, he turned away and marched up onto the quarterdeck.
“Mind if I take over for a bit?” he asked Monty.
“You look like hell,” Monty said as he stepped aside to give Devlin the wheel. “Dare I ask why your hands look like they’ve been flogged?”
Devlin stared straight ahead. “Remember Ludlow?”
There was a very distinct pause – a hesitation suggesting Monty was wondering where this was going. “How could I not?”
“Apparently, the woman he was about to marry that day when the carriage hit him was Cassandra. My wife,” he added for clarification.
“Dear, merciful God,” Monty muttered. “And she knows this?”
“I had to tell her.”
“Of course you did.” Silence followed and Devlin lost himself in his own thoughts. He almost forgot Monty was there until the man said, “It wasn’t your fault, Dev.”
“Of course it was. I ordered the bloody carriage. I told the driver to hurry. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t have been on that street at that hour, nor would he have driven as recklessly as he did.”
“Perhaps not. But it’s also not nearly as clear cut as you wish to make it.” Devlin’s head jerked sideways, his eyes snapping onto Monty’s. “You weren’t there, but I was. I remember precisely what happened.”
“I know.” Devlin gnashed his teeth and tightened his grip on the wheel’s handles. “You gave me a detailed account.”
“And yet you still choose to forget Ludlow’s part in the accident.”
“The man died.” Devlin practically spat the words with all the contempt he felt for himself.
“Yes. He did. But only because he failed to check for oncoming traffic.” Monty’s voice was quiet, deliberate, and full of regret. “Had he done so, he would have seen the carriage coming, for it rounded the corner before Ludlow stepped out into the street. And that’s a fact, Dev.”
“Nevertheless.”
“Nevertheless what?” Devlin had turned his gaze away from Monty, but he could hear the exasperation in his friend’s voice. “Christ, man, you have to stop blaming yourself for this. There were too many actions at play that day for it to have been your fault. You only did what you had to, what any other captain in your position would have done.”
“Maybe,” he allowed, “but she’ll never understand that.” Not after he’d made sure she thought he was solely responsible for what had happened. It was what he’d been telling himself for thirteen years – what he’d always believed. But what if that wasn’t true? What if it wasn’t his fault?
“You know, even the driver’s role in all this was bigger than yours, and I think, if you explain it to her properly, your wife will see that.”
Devlin sighed. “I don’t know.” The last thing he felt like right now was another discussion on the subject. And besides… “Ludlow was everything to her. My involvement—”
“Hang your involvement, Dev. Have we not just established that it wasn’t as profound as you keep insisting?”
“I don’t know,” Devlin repeated, because frankly, he’d never been more confused or uncertain about anything before in his life. “I simply don’t know.”
“Right. Well. I suggest you figure it out then.” Monty jutted his chin in Cassandra’s direction. She’d stepped away from Penelope and was now standing alone, staring out across the water. “Because having her think you ruined her life is no way to start a marriage.”
One week later, Devlin was of the opinion that time did not heal all wounds. Occasionally, it just allowed the wound to deepen. He’d given a great deal of thought to what Monty had told him and had to acknowledge there was a chance of his being right. About everything.
Even so, approaching Cassandra with the purpose of explaining it was something else entirely. Mostly because he wasn’t sure how to find the right words. So he’d put it off for a day and then for another and now he was here with an awkward wedge between them. It was the most uncomfortable experience. Because he’d returned to his cabin to sleep in order to diminish potential gossip among his crew. Which meant they saw each other, spoke to each other—though not extensively, he had to admit—shared their meals in the dining room with Monty, Bronswick, and Penelope, and even engaged in the occasional pastime activity with each other.
In many ways, it was as if things were normal between them. Cassandra showed no hint of animosity toward him. Indeed, she was always polite. But she was also reserved and horribly distant. And while it might not have been obvious to anyone else, the twisted state of Devlin’s insides served as a constant reminder to him that things were not right between them. Far from it.
“How long until we reach Cape Town?” Cassandra asked when he met her later that day on the deck. She’d been sitting on a crate, conversing with Penelope until she’d noticed his presence and come to join him.
“Lessons?” he inquired, deliberately putting off her question.
“French,” Cassandra told him with a nod. “She struggles with some of the verbs.”
“I don’t blame her,” Devlin muttered. “It’s a beastly language to learn. Hated it myself.”
She pursed her lips. “I can’t say I’m especially fond of it either, but educated people are expected to speak it. Considering her…situation…it seemed doubly important that she should be as accomplished as other ladies.”
“Her situation,” Devlin bit out with a sudden flash of anger, “is that she’s my daughter. I’ve given her my name and acknowledged her as my own.”
“Yes. She is fortunate to have you. I am not disputing the fact.” Her voice was tighter now, more strained. She also, Devlin could not help but note, had not said we are fortunate to have you. “However, the circumstances of her birth are no secret, and that means there will always be someone looking to find fault with her, ready to criticize and exclude her for being a bastard.”
She spoke the last part so softly there was no chance of Penelope hearing. Still, Devlin instinctively glanced over his shoulder, then grabbed Cassandra by her arm and steered her further away. “For the love of God, Cass, you’re her mother!”
“And what?” Something dangerous flashed in her eyes. “My love for her will never change what she is, and I would be either naïve or stupid to pretend otherwise.”
Devlin drew a deep breath and expelled it. “Of course.” He let go of her arm. “Forgive me. Few things infuriate me more than the asinine rules of society. And knowing Penelope as I do, the idea of anyone treating her cruelly for any reason makes me want to do bloody murder.”
Cassandra’s face, which had begun to relax at the mention of asinine rules of society, immediately hardened, and Devlin belatedly recognized his poor choice of words.
“I’m sorry.
I did not mean to—”
“How long until we reach Cape Town?” she repeated.
A shuddering sigh clawed its way through his body, leaving his chest feeling raw. “A month, I expect.”
“Right. Well then.” Her mouth had flattened into a grim line. “I’m sure you have a great many things to attend to.”
He wanted to ask her to stay, but she was already walking away. Her contempt for him was strikingly clear. Hell, she couldn’t wait to exchange this ship for another just so she could be rid of his company. The notion grated. Worst of all, it distracted him from his duties.
With a growl, he returned below deck. It was time to inspect the ship’s cleanliness and once that was done, the cargo would need checking. If he was lucky, the rest of the day would pass with greater speed than the previous one and, God willing, bring him closer to figuring out what to do.
She’d been close. Half a second away from telling him she didn’t blame him for what had happened – from assuring him she understood – when he’d brought reality crashing down over her head with his words.
Timothy’s death had been an accident. A horribly tragic one, to be sure, but an accident nonetheless. And although Devlin had chosen to take the blame, he hadn’t even been at the scene. All he’d done was hire the carriage and ask the driver to make haste. For her to hold that over his head, for her to allow him to hold it over his own, would be wrong.
And yet she could not rid herself of the pain his revelation had stirred in her breast. She felt as if she were falling apart all over again. Because of the connection, she suspected. It had to be. The irony of marrying someone so irrevocably tied to Timothy’s death was simply too much.
Which was why every instinct told her to run. Because if she didn’t; if she faced the feelings Devlin awoke within her…
She almost choked on the sherry she’d brought with her onto the deck. It was late evening. They’d eaten supper by rote after which Penelope and Devlin had both retired, allowing her the solitude she so desperately craved.
Her Seafaring Scoundrel Page 18
