“I don’t see why it should be of such an interest to everyone.” Though he was trying to appear unbothered, Jane detected a subtle tension in the set of his shoulders. He normally carried himself with more ease. “Aren’t the Chartists up to something more exciting they could write about? All I did was get captured.”
Odd that the article bothered him so much. Did Eli dislike being reminded of his experience, or was there more? Had he suffered greatly in his captivity? He hadn’t said anything about it, except that he’d been in chains, but pirates probably weren’t the most humane captors.
Jane didn’t like to think of him that way—cold and alone, surrounded by enemies. The idea pinched at her heart, until she reminded herself that she didn’t even know how much of his story could be trusted. Her only source of information was Eli.
Wait. Nowtherewas an idea. Jane froze, her attention shifting from her petit point to the possibilities before her.
Would it be so hard to set her doubts to rest? His former captain was in London, and there must be other witnesses to the shipwreck, if she could dig them up.
It was an intriguing possibility, and only one thing held her back: a nagging voice in the back of her mind that said playing detective wasn’t the best way to prove that she’d moved on with her life.
“You’re too modest,” Bertie insisted. “It’s heroic. Isn’t it, Jane?”
She looked up from her stitch. “I don’t feel I have enough information yet to determine what it is.”
Perhaps more information was just what she needed to banish Eli from her thoughts. If she proved he was lying, surely that would kill this lingering attachment she suffered.
Her uncle sighed, obviously put out. “Don’t mind her, Lieutenant. We’ve had a late night, and are perhaps not in the best of tempers.”
“I should let you return to your day.” Eli stood. “I only wanted to stop in and give my good wishes.”
He cast an apologetic glance to Jane, his meaning clear. He wouldn’t have come if Bertie hadn’t invited him.
“Oh no,” Bertie assured him, rising to his feet to mirror Eli. “I didn’t mean to rush you off. You’ve only just arrived. And I wanted to ask you about those letters you mentioned to correct your death certificate. What is it that we’re meant to include?”
“You really don’t have to do that. I can ask someone else.”
“Not at all. We’re happy to.”
We, he’d said. Jane supposed she was included then, in spite of her protest last night. She punctured the linen with her needle a bit too hastily and pricked her finger, sucking in a breath as blood beaded up a moment later. It was all Eli’s fault. He’d distracted her.
“Here.” Somehow, he was at her side before she realized he’d crossed the room, holding out his handkerchief.
She didn’t take it. “Don’t be silly. I’ve got one right here if I need it.”
“Yes, but yours has embroidery on it,” Eli pointed out with a faint turn of his lips. They looked very kissable at this proximity. Her heart did an awkward tumble at the sight. “It’s too nice to actually be used for anything. Whereas a man’s handkerchief can mop up blood without misgiving.”
“I don’t want yours.” Jane lifted her digit to her lips and sucked away the offending spot while Eli followed the motion with his eyes, his expression darkening. Did he feel it too, or was it only polite concern that prompted his attention?
Flustered, Jane lowered her hand again, and fresh blood welled up.
“You have to apply pressure.”
Yes, I know that, she would have said. But the words died in herthroat as Eli took her finger into his own hands and pressed the handkerchief round the pinprick. He wastouchingher. As if he had any right to such an encroachment on her person. And she was letting him.
Worse than that, she was acutely aware of the small point of contact between them. The warmth of his skin. The rough calluses on his palm, no doubt from lashing sails or whatever it was naval men did. She couldn’t think clearly through the heat that flooded her.
“You’re being contrary for no reason,” he murmured, too low for Bertie to hear.
Even so, her uncle was watching them with no small measure of surprise upon his face.
The sight finally jolted Jane into reacting. She snatched her hand back, her cheeks growing hot.
“Thank you. I have it.”
What was wrong with her? She must be a pathetic sight, so starved for attention that she would lose all composure at the simple touch of his hand.
Eli withdrew, turning back to her uncle and the matter of those wretched letters as if nothing had transpired. Perhaps for him nothing had.
