Now that he’d begun to notice her—really notice her—it seemed too good to be true that someone who fascinated him on an intellectual level would also be someone he found physically stunning. He glanced at her again and shook his head, smiling to himself. His friends would fall all over themselves in laughter to see him stumbling to summon the charm that usually was so effortless. It was probably good for him to be humbled; he’d never doubted his desirability to women, never wondered if he’d attend a ball and not find a soul who would dance with him, or a soiree where he’d be unable to secure pleasant conversation for the evening or a stroll in moonlit gardens.
The Magellan continued its slow approach to the shoreline, and Sam leaned on the railing, his arm next to Hazel’s hand. He considered remarking on the beauty of the overhead blanket of stars, or the pleasant smell of salt air, but the words lodged in his throat, and he was truly at a loss.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he finally managed, and fought the urge to smack his hand to his forehead.
“It is,” she agreed, glancing at him and then at the shoreline, holding the railing and leaning back. She swayed slightly back and forth, releasing the railing but hovering her hands over it to stop her fall when she leaned back too far. “The stars are lovely,” she added, looking up. “They must be quite a welcome sight to you.”
“Very much so.” He was glad she was able to manage the conversation.
Her curls were arranged in knots and braids and twists in a beautiful coiffure, and the strands at her temples lifted in the gentle breeze. She was always polished. She valued her good appearance, and she took care with it, from choices in clothing to hairstyles to hats. He suddenly wanted very much to remove a few of her hairpins and let all those curls spill downward in a golden cascade.
She turned her attention from the stars to him. He was still leaning on the railing, not towering above her as usual. Her eyes were bright, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. “A penny for your thoughts,” she said, repeating a phrase he’d used on her the week before.
He was going to kiss her. It was inevitable.
She swayed infinitely closer, possibly unaware she even did so. He smiled. Or possibly not.
The moment hung suspended in the air, with her hands still on the rail and his arms still braced against it. Once he moved, everything would change. His heartbeat quickened, and he exhaled quietly. He’d never in his life wanted anything more than to kiss this woman, and he’d never in his life worried so much about ruining a friendship. He’d never had a friend like her, and the thought of losing her because of his growing attraction was a calculated risk.
He knew she expected the kiss, saw it in her eyes, and he felt a moment’s pause. She wasn’t one to play the coquette, but did she view him as someone she might spend a lifetime with?
The thought of another man courting her made his stomach churn. He didn’t want to imagine her directing that look of awareness at someone else. He knew her better than anyone, knew what made her laugh, knew what frightened her, knew how hard she worked to prove her own mettle to herself without realizing that, by facing her fears, she was already head and shoulders above the rest of the population.
She was everything he wanted. She was his Hazel.
He straightened slowly and turned to face her directly. She followed his movements, leaving one hand gripping the railing. He placed his hand over hers and registered the taut knuckles, the tight grasp of her fingers on the metal. Her focus on him was direct and anticipatory. The air around them thrummed with possibility, with promise. His thumb brushed across her gold bracelet, which was warm to the touch against her skin. He lifted his other hand to her face and trailed his fingertips along her jaw. She exhaled a quiet sigh, and her long lashes blinked slowly across those expressive eyes.
The door opened behind them with a grating squeal, and a figure stepped into his periphery. He released Hazel quickly, and she sucked in a breath, looking at the new arrival. Eugene stood in the doorway, one brow raised, and the tableau stood frozen for a long moment.
In the future, the interruption would be funny. In the present, it was not.
“Yes, Eugene?” Sam growled.
Eugene lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Even with my superior sensors, I am unable to discern your activity from behind a closed metal door. Perhaps next time you desire intimacy you’ll inform me in advance, although I understand many cultures prefer spontaneity in such liaisons, and—”
Sam held his hand up, palm out. “Stop.”
Eugene shut his cursed cyborg mouth, and Hazel cleared her throat. Sam closed his eyes, feeling a moment of true regret. She would be mortified. When he finally braved a glance in her direction, he was surprised to find her biting her cheeks as though holding back laughter.
She schooled her features into seriousness, which she promptly ruined by pressing her lips together in amusement. She hadn’t been entirely unaffected by the moment; color was high in her cheeks, and she knotted her fingers together. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other before anchoring herself to the spot and allowing the smile to fully appear.
“Eugene,” she said crisply, “what may we do for you?”
Eugene inclined his head in her direction. “I confess, I would have supposed the doctor to be the more cavalier of you both, yet your quick recognition of the humor of this circumstance far exceeds his.” Eugene raised a hand conspiratorially to his mouth and added, “His heart rate is increasing as we speak, and it was already quite high when I opened the door—”
“Eugene!” Sam moved closer to the ’ton. “What do you need?”
Eugene held his hands up as though backing away from an irrational combatant. “I was coming to inform you that I’ve wired the telegraph office ashore through use of the Tesla Room below, and there are no messages awaiting either you or Miss Hughes. I thought to save you the time an excursion to shore would require. The sooner we reach Romania, the better, for Miss Tucker’s sake if nothing else.”
“Are you certain you wired the correct telegraph office?” Sam looked longingly at the shore, weighing the benefit of avoiding the quick excursion against enjoying the luxury of feeling solid ground beneath his feet. “We are close to shore, and the Tesla Room’s reach should cover a wide area, but perhaps we are not close enough.”
“There are three telegraph offices within range. I wired each of them, and each returned a negative response. Shall I run the requests again?”
“Please,” Hazel said to Eugene but looking at Sam. “Nothing is lost by being certain.” All traces of mirth had fled, and her brows drew together.
“I expected word from Oliver,” Sam said to her. “Had you anticipated a message from someone?”
She shrugged, frowning. “I left word for Isla and Lucy, and I gave my mother the itinerary before we left. Emme knew I was going. I thought someone might have a message for me before we reach Romania.”
He felt a stab of pity for her. Her friends were her true family, and he knew they adored her. If they hadn’t sent word to her, it wasn’t because they couldn’t bother to take the time. “Check one more time, Eugene,” he said.
“Very good.” Eugene turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Sam scratched the back of his neck, knowing the intimate moment had passed. “Hazel—” he began.
She held up her hand. “Please, no apologies.”
He quirked a half-smile. “I was not going to apologize.”
“Good.” She blushed and looked down at her hands, which she’d twisted again, probably subconsciously. “And of course, Eugene is correct. There is something to be said for spontaneity.”
“And something very frustrating about ill-timed interruptions.”
Her blush grew, and she nodded with a small laugh.
Hazel’s presence was a tangible thing he was coming to recognize as soothing. We
ll, he amended, among other things. He couldn’t say he’d felt particularly soothed when he’d been about to kiss her. As he looked at her now, with a smile and a quick touch of his thumb to her chin, he felt that if he wrapped her in his arms and held her close to his heart, all would be right with the world.
“There is a book I’d like to retrieve from the library,” she said, with a shrug that looked very much like regret. “Shall we?”
He nodded and opened the door, and contented himself with the luxury of placing his hand on her back as she reentered the huge submarine. As consolations went, it was extremely insufficient, but then she looked over her shoulder at him and gave him a flirtatious wink.
He grinned and followed her down the stairs, back into the depths of the ship.
Hazel’s heart was thumping out of her chest. But for Eugene, she would have just enjoyed a very lovely moment outside with Sam, in the fresh ocean breeze. She was proud of herself for being brave enough to wink at Sam, and alternately amused and irritated with Eugene.
She and Sam walked down the corridor, passing the conservatory with its idle ’tons, and entered the library to see the same automatons as always, dusting the same corners and watching their entry with the same vacant smiles.
“I’ll be glad to be done with this,” she muttered to Sam. Even as she spoke, the Magellan tilted at a gentle angle, signaling their descent.
His jaw tensed, and she saw him pinching his thumb and forefinger together.
“I believe the count said we will not need to dive as deeply this time. We’re almost there.” She paused. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
He shook his head and managed a tight smile, and then took her hand. “Let’s find your book, and go somewhere that spying eyes are not.”
The tables were bare, so she walked Sam over to the shelf where she’d originally found the book, and rather than retrieve a ladder, he reached up and withdrew the title she indicated. They left the library quietly, and he still retained hold of her hand. It was the one bright spot in a moment fraught with worry; his claustrophobia had returned, and the night was upon them, which meant Hazel would go to bed and dread falling asleep.
They had reached Deck Two and were just outside the Main Room when the count and Renton emerged from the deck below. Hazel’s heart tripped, and she dropped her book. A sudden cacophony of sound and terror filled her mind, and she shoved Sam to the side, trying desperately to get them both away.
She sucked in a breath, sobbing without tears, and she distantly heard her voice producing words she didn’t understand. In flashes, the Magellan disappeared, and she was in Marit’s room, despair and madness floating around her like a palpable thing. The faded rug, toys, chipped paint on the shutters, the smell of dust—the visceral details overwhelmed her.
Her gaze tore from the count to Renton, and the scream building in her throat finally escaped. She pressed her hands against her ears and strained against Sam’s arms. He must have gathered her to him at some point, but she had no memory of it.
“Hazel!” Sam’s lips were near her ear. His warmth enveloped her, and she inhaled deeply, finding her footing in the scent of his soap, the smell she loved so much that was uniquely him. It was the smell that pulled her back. “Hazel, what is it?”
The noise in her head ceased. The flashing, unsteady combination of Marit’s room and the corridor slammed into clear focus, and her sister’s room disappeared completely. She drew in a trembling breath and removed her hands from her head. She blinked, dizzy, and took in her surroundings.
The corridor was still, and only the faintest traces of her scream echoed before fading. Her uncle and Renton stood, rooted to the spot, and stared.
“My dear?” the count said, slowly approaching her as one would a frightened creature. “What has upset you so?”
“I . . . I . . .” She shut her eyes and pressed her fingertips against them.
Sam subtly shifted her back a step.
She opened her eyes and exhaled. “I . . . Apologies, I felt ill for a moment. Likely the Magellan’s movement, diving again.”
Sam paused and looked at her, his blue eyes close to hers, and moved his hand up between her shoulders to rest on the back of her neck. He touched his fingers to the side, and she felt her pulse beat quickly beneath them.
“Dearest, you were speaking Romanian.” Dravor’s focus on her was complete, and she realized he knew she had been sensing Marit’s presence.
She had felt her sister’s terror. Marit had seen the two men through Hazel’s eyes and experienced deathly fear. But for the first time, it had happened while she was awake.
“Doctor MacInnes,” Dravor said, “bring Hazel to the Main Room. We shall sit a moment, have tea until her nerves calm.”
Sam hesitated, but then asked, “Hazel, would you like some tea?”
She nodded. She needed time to think. “Yes, tea would be lovely.”
Renton looked at her with one brow raised, and then turned on his heel and left.
Sam guided her into the Main Room with her uncle, and the three of them sat near the hearth. The lights were low, and the room was comfortably warm.
At the count’s signal, a silent ’ton poured tea from a pot that was kept eternally warm and full. She accepted it with shaking hands, and slowly sipped the chamomile.
Her uncle made light conversation, the words flowing around them until she gradually began to relax. She felt calm, and wondered why she’d ever been concerned. She and Sam were safe, and Uncle Dravor loved her and Marit so much that he’d gone all the way to London to find her and bring her home, to gather them together as a family, and all so she could help heal Marit.
She looked at Sam, who seemed to have shed both his earlier anger with Dravor and his anxiety for her, and was enjoying his tea. Gratefully, Hazel turned her attention to Dravor, who watched her intently, unblinking, and smiled.
Once before, she had seemed to see a darker shadow beneath her uncle’s expression, and she experienced that same sensation again. This time she saw his smile was artificial. All of it was artificial. The sense of peace, of submission—it all felt fabricated. As though her soul had tried to warn her that all was not well, but had been smothered by a blanket of false assurances.
She pushed her way to the surface, shoving through webs and lies and tangled thoughts until she finally gasped and blinked.
Sam placed his hand on her shoulder. “What is it, Hazel? Are you well?” His eyes were cloudy, and he blinked.
She took another sip of tea, as well as a deep breath, and rotated her head on her shoulders. She glared at her uncle, heart thudding, and experienced a surge of anxiety and worry, as though the feelings she’d suppressed had been dammed up and suddenly released.
Dravor watched her, reluctantly impressed, as though she’d executed a chess move he’d not expected. He lifted his cup to her in salute, and she breathed in slowly through her nose and out again.
“I doubt it will surprise you that I have been experiencing a connection with my sister. It has only increased the closer we draw to our destination,” she told her uncle. “I expect before long I shall understand her quite well.”
Dravor looked at her with unsurprised eyes. “This makes me happier than I can ever express.”
“What, truly, do you want of me?”
He frowned, the picture of concern. “I need your help, Hazel. Marit needs your help. You are a Healer, and—”
“Where is her room?”
He blinked. “Her room?”
“Where do you keep her?”
“At the castle. I’ve told you this.”
Hazel narrowed her eyes, relieved to know that the sense of calm settling over her was her own sense of peace, not something fabricated by her uncle. For the first time, she felt a sense of her own strength.
She glanced at Sam, who seemed to be listening intently,
though he didn’t say a word.
“The strangest thing happened the first night aboard this ship,” Hazel said. “Someone entered my cabin while Sally and I slept. In light of her later accident, I wonder if the person who hurt her was also the same one who snuck about in the dark, interrupted only because I awoke.”
Her uncle raised a brow. “I wish you had told me of this event. It is unacceptable for an intruder to enter your cabin.”
“When I switched on the light, the room was empty. Tell me, Uncle, who else has access to your invisibility stone?”
The look of surprise on his face was genuine, but was gone in an instant. “Nobody has access to my property, dearest, though I suppose someone might have slipped it away in an unguarded moment.”
“Perhaps the intruder hid in the lavatory until I fell asleep again. I failed to look in there. I was afraid.”
“Such strength of spirit you have acquired in such a short time. I do not imagine you would be afraid to look now, would you?”
“I would still be afraid. But I am coming to realize something. You were entirely correct; Marit does need me.” Hazel remembered the terror, the madness she’d felt when she, but more importantly Marit, had seen the count and Renton. She suddenly understood the fury a mother might feel when protecting her offspring.
Dravor chuckled. “You’re exhausted and overwhelmed. The mind does play tricks on one in a vulnerable position.”
Sam was still quiet, and she suddenly realized the count was holding him under his thrall while conversing with her, fully engaged.
She inhaled quietly, trying to maintain the calm she’d managed to achieve. “How old are you, Uncle?”
“An odd question, my dear. I am forty-seven.” He set his tea on the table next to him and crossed his legs. “I do not understand how that pertains to our present discussion.”
She thought of his collection of enchanted artifacts designed to prolong life, and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how long he had been forty-seven, but she held back the question. He was likely quite old, and with longevity came strength and power.
The Lady in the Coppergate Tower Page 19
