Page 73 of Freeing Hook

“I was under the impression that such activities were finding their way into high society.”

“Well, yes,” I say, glancing away as I rub my palms against the tops of my knees. “For children whose parents let them leave the manor.”

Captain Astor leans back in his seat. “Ah.”

“But John and I used to put on shows for Michael. For the longest time, my youngest brother only spoke when he was repeating something dramatic. For a while, we thought his jargon didn’t mean anything, but when we realized he was using the dramatic quotes and songs in contexts that fit, we started exposing him to more of those things. We wanted to give him more to say, more ways to express himself. So John and I used to write and perform plays for him. Up until…well, up until I entered society, I guess. When it became obvious that my time should be devoted to…well, other things.”

The captain clenches his fingers against the edge of the table but says nothing except, “You love your brothers dearly, then.”

I nod, trying to quell the burning in my eyes. I’d rather not cry in front of the captain.

“Are they…” He looks as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Should I have taken them too?”

The words needle through me with shock, the implication infuriating. “You act as if you stole me for my own benefit rather than your own.”

The captain stares at me. “Can it not have been both?”

My cheeks heat with anger, but there’s no use tantrumming. “Peter saved Michael the night before you took me. Michael fell from the cliffs. Peter caught him. He won’t let anything happen to him. To either of them.”

The captain’s gaze darts to my hands, where my fork is trembling. When he speaks, he sounds as if he’s attempting to approach a fawn in the woods. “The other boys on the island…”

I slam the fork against the table. “They’re good boys. At heart. Nettle was misguided, eaten up by his own anger at what he perceived to be Peter’s betrayal and Thomas’s evil nature. Simon happened to get roped in. None of them would lay ahand on either of my brothers unless it was for one of their silly wrestling matches.”

I expect the captain to argue, but he says, “I’m glad to hear your brothers are safe.”

For some reason, this offends me most of all, but as I’m incapable of ascribing reason to my offense, I instead offer him a question. “Do you have any siblings?”

Astor blinks, like no one’s ever asked him that question. “Maddox,” he says with a lingering tone, “might as well be a brother. And a better one than most could boast of, blood ties or not.”

“Have you been friends for a long while, then?” I already know the answer to this from the first time I spoke with Maddox, but I’d like to hear as much as I can of the captain’s side of the story. I’ve found that when it comes to getting information, sometimes it’s best to remain quiet.

“Since before I was captain,” Astor says. “Maddox and I served under a cruel master. When the crew attempted to overthrow the captain, Maddox got me—and Iaso—out. Together we amassed our own crew. Though we’ve lost a few along the way.” Astor’s eyes dip to the corner of the table.

My mouth goes dry. “Would you tell me about her? About your wife?”

Astor’s thumb finds his wedding ring. He’s wearing it again. “Why would you need to know?”

I don’t know how to explain it, my unfaltering curiosity—almost obsession—with the woman who stole Astor’s heart, never to give it back, not even after a decade and a half in the grave. “I suppose I don’tneedto know. But…don’t you ever just want to know other people? What they love? What they hate? The aches they can’t seem to bury?”

The corners of his lips twitch. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to know a scoundrel like me, Darling.”

“And I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to know a spoiled heiress who looks as if she’s barely been weaned, but I’m not the one who invited you to dine with me, now am I?”

Astor brings his chalice to his lips, hiding his reaction. “You know, you can be insolent. When you want to be.”

“I’m not being insolent, I—”

“I didn’t say I disliked it.” He sets down his chalice, then pushes his plate meticulously to the side. “What is it that you want to know about her?”

“How did the two of you meet?”

A hazy look muddies his green eyes. “I don’t remember.”

I crane my neck at him.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head. “You’re just the type of man who seems like you’d remember the moment you met the love of your life, that’s all.”

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