Page 13 of The Heart of an Earl

Des nodded, his jaw set solidly closed.

She stared at him. Silent. Silent seconds that ticked into a full minute. What should have been awkward, wasn’t—it just was.

Neither said a word, neither moved past the stillness in the cabin until she cracked her lips open. “I am sorry for your loss. That was what I was thinking in that moment that you had just been beaten and collapsed to the deck and Redthorn stole that letter from your hand. And I was so sorry. Sorry that I was the cause of the beating. Sorry that she died. Sorry for all of it.”

Her head dropped forward, her look going to her lap. “You stepped in to help me because of that—didn’t you? Because you didn’t care whether you lived or died?” Her gaze lifted to him. “I thought about it after. How my father would not step forward to defend me, but you—you did. A stranger. But while my father wanted to live, you didn’t care one way or another.”

Des’s eyebrows lifted. He hadn’t underestimated her. She was far too astute—had learned far too much about what made the world work—what made men fall to their knees.

But he wasn’t about to answer her suppositions—couldn’t answer her, for her words were far too close to the truth.

Des cleared his throat. “And your name?”

“My name? Penelo—” Her jaw dropped, but no words came from her mouth. An awkward smile, and she chuckled, strained, and the sound drifted higher into manic trill. “No. Not Penelope. My name is not Penelope.”

“You are going to have to tell me more on that.”

Tears brimmed on her lower lashes as she looked up at him. “I never told him. Redthorn. It was what he wanted—demanded—to know my name. I refused for weeks. Refused him, starving myself. Until I realized I could lie. It had never occurred to me before that—to lie to anyone about anything important like my name. Silly, now that I think on it. Lying is easy if you set your mind to it. So I never told him. I never gave him that part of me. I gave him the name Penelope—she was my favorite horse in my father’s stables—a speckled mare that had a heart-shaped splotch just above her nose.”

She exhaled a deep sigh. “Penelope. That was all he ever got from me. Of the real me. Of the me before. My horse’s name.”

“What is your real name?”

She stared at him, her voice cracking. “Julianna. My name is Julianna.”

Where there should have been doubt in his mind about the name—for the story she’d just told him was evidence that lying about the issue would be no problem for her—Des knew, instinctively, that she was telling the truth.

The corners of his lips twitched upward. “Then it is good to meet you, Julianna.”

“Jules—everyone calls me Jules…did call me Jules.”

“I am Desmond Phillips—Des to everyone aboard.”

She nodded.

“There are three other things I need to tell you, Jules. One, our course is set. We are travelling to England. Captain Folback wants to get home to see his wife, as it’s been eight months since we’ve been there. Which behooves us in getting you back to your family. If the weather and winds hold, we should be there within four weeks’ time.”

A visible inhale lifted her chest high. “And the second thing?”

“I want you to know I will get you home—you are my responsibility until you are under your father’s roof.”

“You—you would do such a thing? Why?”

“What happened to you on thePrimrosewas wrong. I right wrongs. I couldn’t at the time, but I can now. Fate has graciously offered me another chance.”

She nodded, her gaze curious on him. Certainly not trusting. Apparently honor had been hard to come by on theRed Dragon.

She cleared her throat. “The third thing?”

“I need to sleep in here.”

Her head jerked back and forth. “No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

Her hand flipped into the air, waving about. “No. There are plenty of hammocks on a brigantine like this—I’ve seen enough of them to know.”

Des’s gaze went hard. He wasn’t about to argue this with her. “It isn’t about a lack of hammocks, Jules, it’s about you.”

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