Page 20 of A Kiss Of Lies

Lily, it turned out, was a magnificent sailor, although it was fair to note that the sea had been relatively calm ever since they left Canada.

The first night on board ship had passed smoothly. They’d all dined in the main cabin, adjacent to Christian’s stateroom, before Sarah retired early to see to Lily. She’d wanted to ensure that the little girl wasn’t nervous or scared. At night, in the dark, the creaks and groans of the schooner’s wood and rigging could be frightening for a young girl who’d just lost both her parents and was being taken away from the only home she’d ever known.

Sarah read to her until Lily fell asleep. Then she’d crept to her own cabin and fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. She’d managed to flee Canada without being caught. She prayed she’d be safe in Dorset.

Christian must have slept soundly too, because Sarah didn’t wake until dawn, having had the best night’s rest she’d had in weeks. No nightmares of Sean, her husband’s vile overseer, chasing her, pinning her down, ripping at her clothes . . . Unless Sean was a fish, he’d not catch her at sea. She gave a strangled sigh. He was as slimy as a fish. And stank like one too.

Once she was dressed, the lure of fresh air saw her climbing through the hatch. Arriving on deck, Sarah gloried in the dawn breaking in vibrant oranges and reds, spreading its light like a newly lit fire across the waves. No longer was the joy of being alive a forgotten sentiment.

She raised her arms and gulped in the fresh sea air, then slowly exhaled. She was going to enjoy this crossing. The pleasure of standing on English soil was one she thought she’d never experience again. A tear slipped from her eye and she wiped it away. She wished she could wipe the last two years from her memory just as easily. She might be returning to the home of her birth, but she could never return home.

Seeing the captain leaning on the railing, Sarah moved to his side. “Good morning, Captain Weatherspoon. It’s going to be a beautiful day.”

“Aye, lass. The winds are filling the sails. It’ll be a quick trip down the coast to Jamaica.”

“Jamaica?” Sarah tried to keep her tone steady.

“Lord Markham got an urgent missive as we were boarding. He asked me to change our route to sail via Jamaica.” The captain smiled. “You’ll enjoy the stop. Jamaica’s a bit wild, but the scenery and sparkling waters are among the most glorious anywhere in the world.”

With that, he touched his cap and strolled up onto the bridge. She turned back to lean on the railing, her pulse beating frantically.

She didn’t want to go to Jamaica. Her husband owned a slave auction house on the island, the image of which she would never be able to wash out of her mind. They had made frequent trips to the island when each slave ship arrived with its desperate cargo.

Most of the gentry on the island knew who she was, because when they were first married, Peter had stopped there on their way home from England. He’d shown her off like a prize mare.

This was not what she needed to hear. Her snug feeling of safety evaporated like seawater on a sun-drenched deck.

She heard a footfall and knew who it belonged to: Christian. She tried to keep from turning to watch his approach, but it was as if an irresistible force made her pivot about until she was leaning back on the railing, her heart beginning to beat rapidly as she soaked in his dark yet scarred beauty.

“Good morning, Sarah. When the day warms up, I dare say you’ll need a bonnet. You wouldn’t want the delicate skin on your face to burn. Although it seems you don’t appear to mind freckles.”

She struggled to keep from responding in a tart manner that she abhorred freckles. But earlier, when she’d seized an opportunity to make her hazardous escape from Virginia, she had not had time to grab a bonnet. It had been over a sennight before she’d been able to sell some jewelry and procure a change of clothes—including a bonnet.

“You’re right, of course. When I’m on deck in the full sunlight, I should wear a bonnet. I would not be a good example to Lily otherwise.” It would also help hide her identity when they landed. “The captain informs me we are detouring to Jamaica,” she went on, struggling to keep her question light. “How long will we be staying on the island?”

He tilted his head, studied her for a moment, and then smiled a cheeky grin like a young boy about to be let out of the schoolroom on a sunny afternoon. Christian’s potent smile made her completely forgot about his burns. Her stomach did a little flip and she couldn’t help grinning back.

“My friend the Marquis of Coldhurst is residing in Jamaica and seeks my assistance.” He paused and scanned the ship. “I’m unsure how long we will remain on the island. It shouldn’t delay our arrival in England for long, and the stop should be very pleasant. I’ve never been to the Caribbean. Have you?”

She hesitated. “Yes. Yes, I have.” He waited expectantly.Stick to the truth as much as possible. “We stopped there on our way to Canada. A honeymoon, so to speak.”

He settled against the railing beside her, his unspoken questions hanging in the air. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. Christian was jacketless, but he’d donned a waistcoat and his cravat was tied tightly at his throat. He looked dashing with his white shirtsleeves billowing in the light breeze.

The hardness of his body drew her closer. She could remember the feel of his muscles and could think of nothing better than touching him again. She told herself she should stand back and move away from him. Not only was his body overwhelming her, but he was about to embark on a series of personal questions she had no intention of answering.

Instead, she stayed standing so close to him that they were almost touching. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the wind ruffle his hair, pushing a few strands onto his face. She gripped the railing tighter, itching to reach out and brush the wisp off his face. She loved looking into his eyes. The deep green drew her in, comforted her, making her feel as if standing next to him was the safest place in the world.

“Did you have a choice in the selection of your husband?”

Choice? Far from it!“No.”

“I see.” He studied her. “I . . . gather your marriage was not a happy one?”

That’s an understatement. Sarah should have been shocked at his inappropriately personal question, but she’d known since their dinner on her first night in the Pearson house that this conversation was coming. She also knew why he wanted to know the answer. There could be only one reason: he wanted to know if she’d be open to becoming his mistress. A woman still in love with her husband was unlikely to be looking for a dalliance.

She shook her head. “No, it was not.” She wasn’t a good enough actress to pretend that her marriage had been a congenial one.

Eyes back on the waves, he sighed. “I’m sorry. Some men are not cut out for matrimony.”

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