Page 11 of Losing Wendy

“Forgive me,” says a voice that strikes me out of my stupor like a match to sandpaper. “But given the fact that Miss Darling must be married off by the midpoint of the night, it only seems efficient that a single suitor not hog her ever-dwindling time.”

Lord Credence’s hands immediately find a more appropriateplace to sit on my waist, and though his grip on me still churns my stomach, relief sinks into my chest.

“Of course, Sir…erm…” Lord Credence scans the foul stranger with the Mating Mark painting his hand.

“Captain, actually. Captain Nolan Astor,” he says, but not to Credence. To me. His glowing green eyes set upon me with a fierceness that might have my cheeks flushing, if they weren’t already drained from my encounter with Credence.

“Dance with me,” says the captain, though his voice remains steady, balancing between a question and a command.

“Of course,” I say, only to get myself out of the hands of Credence.

Credence delays in relaxing his grip, at which point Captain Astor says, “In my homeland, three do not dance at a time.”

The elderly lord grumbles something under his breath. For all his confidence earlier, he’s clearly bewildered by the captain, who towers over him by a head. And Credence is no small man.

When the lord lets go of me, a noticeable weight lifts off my body. It’s as if the shackles binding my limbs have released, and now that I’m free to move, immense frustration irks me for not having run. Not having fought.

As the string quartet transitions to a more graceful tune, the captain leads me to the ballroom floor. I can’t help but notice the tension in his fingertips as he keeps them firmly but gently planted at my waist. Never faltering. Never roaming.

It would likely be proper to thank the captain for rescuing me out of the eely hands of Lord Credence, but I’m too mortified that I needed rescuing at all to say as much. Especially to a man as coarse as Captain Astor.

“I was under the impression you weren’t interested in a child bride,” I say, forcing my gaze to meet that of the captain. It’s easier now than it was several minutes ago. Captain Astor is still intimidating, his presence just as imposing. But compared to my dread of Lord Credence, my fear of the captain tastes more like the respect one gives a challenger.

“I’m not,” he responds, his green eyes flashing.

“Then why, pray tell, are you wasting your time dancing with me?”

The captain actually averts his eyes. I watch, tantalized, as his throat bobs underneath his dark stubble. “It seems your evening is destined to take a turn for the worse. No need to add to your suffering.”

Something about his open admission, the acknowledgment of the terrors I’ll likely be subjected to this very evening, digs at the raw spot in my chest. “Perhaps dancing with you is the very definition of suffering.”

He makes no effort to counter. Just returns his attention to me and drawls, “Perhaps,” with an unshakeable look of boredom on his face.

As we dance, the cadence of the tune picks up, and the captain adjusts accordingly, guiding us through the steps with more grace than I would have expected from someone so hardened. My parents had initially hoped to marry me off to a nobleman, but as my prospects dwindled and the shadows of my fate crept closer, they thought it best to stretch our nets to those of self-made wealth. A captain would be among those, though I don’t recall signing a letter to a Captain Astor when we posted the invitations. Though considering how many males are here tonight, I suppose I shouldn’t expect to remember each one of them, especially with my parents and John having helped me write the letters.

I’m about to tell the captain he’s a skilled dancer, and expect for him to say something about life on the waters giving him steady feet, when his jaw opens, then works.

“Yes?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“You seemed about to say something.”

Captain Astor sighs, annoyed. “You shouldn’t have let him touch you like that.”

I reel back, but the captain is prepared for it, adjusting his hand on my waist accordingly.

“What would you have had me do?”

Captain Astor doesn’t frown. Perhaps I’d find him less perplexing if he would. “Anything other than the nothing you did.”

My throat stings, his words lodging there. I’m used to being insulted by haughty suitors. Never have the insults echoed my own recriminations so precisely.

“It’s not so simple for me as it might be for you,” I whisper.

The tune changes, but rather than end our dance, the captain pulls me closer, transitioning with ease into the slower piece.

“Tell me why that is.” The surety with which he gives the command startles me. Though it shouldn’t. He’s used to captaining a ship after all. “And don’t hide behind a difference in strength between the sexes. The lord is one hip-snap away from teetering into the grave.”

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