Return to the House of Sin. Anabelle Bryant

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СКАЧАТЬ appearance complicated most every part of this trip. What would force a young woman to undertake the dangerous travel without escort? He’d forgotten to question her, lost somewhere between her fetching blush and brilliant green eyes. And her hair… he wondered if it was as thick and silky as it appeared.

      The ship pitched forward and he braced a palm against the wallboards. The sky appeared mostly clear when he was above deck, but storms at sea could blow in quickly. Hopefully, strong winds and smooth sailing would grace their journey. He battled enough inner turbulence without adding the treachery of dangerous weather.

      Collecting a few biscuits from a basket near the kitchen, he wrapped them in a linen napkin, climbed the stairs to the main deck, and discovered the weather had undergone a change. Thick, gloomy clouds, grey and plentiful, hovered over the water to obliterate the sun. The sea, angry to be interrupted, splashed and sulked, its depth black-blue and fathomless. Whatever loomed on the horizon threatened to be disruptive to their travel. With any hope, the winds would carry the storm away faster than the ship sought passage through it.

      Taking a turn towards the private quarters, he stalled in front of the door to confront yet another issue he’d invited. What if Amanda was asleep inside? He could leave the biscuits on the table and return to Ferrisimo’s room. But what if she were in a state of undress? That suggestion caused his brows to climb high and he rapped on the door as if to clear the image before it gained clarity.

      Nothing happened.

      Of course. How would Amanda know it was he who wished to enter and not a stranger meant to cause harm or discover she’d stowed away? He blew out a breath and turned the lever, cracking the door slowly, so as to not cause a startle. He noted she should have secured the latch. Anyone could walk in. They would need to discuss safety and agree upon some sort of signal that differentiated him from others. Additionally, a stern reprimand was in order to ensure she remembered to fasten the lock.

      An unescorted female was perfect plucking for a randy sailor. A surge of protectiveness swept through him and he credited it to his close relationship with Sophie. He mourned how he’d left his sister without a word of his welfare. She must be beside herself with worry, yet he hadn’t so much as sent her a letter. It was poorly done of him, most especially how he’d complicated matters with Sophie’s dearest friend, Vivienne, and made a mess of things at the Underworld. These latter thoughts stirred up too many uncomfortable feelings and he stepped inside the room prepared to confront whatever lay inside.

      ‘Amanda?’ He hoped to allay her fears as quickly as possible. With any hope, she hadn’t sought refuge in the closet again. To that end they would have to negotiate their arrangement. Otherwise he’d go mad before the ship reached England.

      But all his forethought and apprehension proved for naught. She slept on his bed, the bed now her bed, positioned on her side, palms folding under her cheek the way a child might fall asleep while listening to a favourite bedtime story. The sight evoked a thread of tenderness he didn’t believe existed in him any longer. Not wishing to disturb the scene, he placed the biscuit-filled napkin on the tabletop and eased out of the room. Caution told him not to stare at her longer than necessary. He didn’t wish to notice things he was better off forgetting.

      Amanda woke with a start. Had someone spoken? The ship answered with a creak and a groan in what could only be described as complaint. Her eyes adjusted to the dank interior, drawn to something white atop the table. She rose with a slight stagger. The rolling motion of the ship after lying abed caused her steps to be unsteady, but when she reached her goal she discovered a crumpled white napkin with two biscuits. At first taste, they were dry and crumbly. She had nothing to drink but welcomed the food regardless. Life aboard a ship was compromise and she’d made the choice to stow away instead of confronting the captain. She couldn’t expect to visit the passenger dining room, now could she? What if someone drew her into conversation and discovered the truth of the situation?

      She’d fallen asleep recounting her good fortune. The tiny window which allowed light from the open hall showed only blackness now. With Crispin’s assistance, she could navigate this journey and be returned to London in time to keep her social agenda. Thus attending the soiree at the height of the season. She smiled softly. The event was her one chance to alter everyone’s perception and change their opinion of her.

      Nibbling the edge of the second biscuit, she shot her eyes to the trunks piled in the corner. What composed a man like Lord Hastings? He seemed a gentleman in every respect, no matter he boasted his poor reputation. Nothing untoward had happened to cause her to believe otherwise. Did he share a romantic relationship? Someone to love and with whom to plan a future?

      Howsoever would she pass time within the confines of the quarters without company? Would Crispin spare her time for conversation? Perhaps she could convince him to visit for no other reason than to help the hours pass. She sat at the scarred table and traced the curved lines ingrained in the wood. Three weeks. Twenty-one days. She would go mad.

      She stood from the table with resolute determination, only to grapple for the corner as the ship lurched right. Whatever weather preceded their path, it promised to be violent. A tremor of thunder and subsequent flash of lightning confirmed her suspicion as her pulse leapt into a fast rhythm. Storms at sea were things of gothic novels and old tales shared before the hearth, not something to be experienced firsthand. The placid waters during her trip to Italy seemed a distant memory now. Father had shared his wealth of knowledge pertaining to ships and answered her myriad questions, the experience interesting and pleasurable, but this trip seemed in adverse at the moment.

      The vessel swayed, rocking her with vertiginous force as an unexpected wave of nausea gripped her stomach. She’d hardly eaten. It couldn’t be the food. Perhaps the combination of her nerves, the unpredictability of her circumstances and the ocean’s upset conspired to wreak havoc with her disposition. Best she located the chamber pot in case the need arose.

      Torn with indecision, it was several hours later when Crispin returned to check on Amanda. Lunch had come and gone, followed by supper and, with a lack of finesse he would never claim as his own, he’d left a basket of food on the hook beside the door and knocked before leaving the passenger quarters swiftly. Soon after, the weather had shifted. Intelligent passengers locked themselves away to avoid the onslaught of rain and lashing relentlessness of waves across the deck. Daredevils, scoundrels and those who tempted fate held fast to the railing and watched the angry sea wage war. Crispin was of the latter, but with a recent case of conscience he worried over Amanda locked tight in his former chambers.

      All around him crewmen worked to secure the ship and prepare for a night filled with tumultuous weather. That same wiry sailor who’d eyed him earlier scurried by, surefooted on the slippery deck, despite he carried a coil of rope twice his size. In truth, Crispin needed to return to Ferris and take to his own sleeping quarters, but first he’d check on the fetching stowaway. Besides, he needed to collect the basket and discuss the terms of their agreement. He couldn’t imagine delivering food to her door for over a fortnight. Not only would other passengers become wary, but he wasn’t up to the task. Most of his life had been spent in the usual way afforded gentleman with a title. He visited his club, whiled away time riding, shooting and playing billiards, as well as socializing with the best set in London. His home was fully staffed with impeccable servants who provided for his every need.

      When he’d settled in Venice, he’d accommodated himself in much the same manner. Ferris was anxious to welcome him into a lifestyle of merriment that obscured the ghosts Crispin evaded, chasing them away and replacing unrest with beautiful women, liquor and senseless abandon.

      In regard to Amanda, earlier in the day he’d delivered one basket of food, packed solidly with ample portions of oatmeal, molasses, bread, butter and rice, as well as a bottle of wine and flask of water. He’d remembered СКАЧАТЬ