“Not the woman I’ve held and comforted…and kissed,” he finally said.
Her cheeks warmed, and inexplicably, she felt the prick of tears. She blinked rapidly to ward them off and moved even closer to him. “The woman you held is who I am. No title will ever change that.” She placed her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers out. “Did inheriting the title of earl change the man in here?” Her fingers pressed into his chest over his heart. “Did you stop being the man who served his country all because your name changed?”
He closed his hands over hers, holding them tightly against his chest. “No.”
“I cannot bear it if you start viewing me differently, Merrick. Not after all we have endured together. This stiffness I feel in you, the awkwardness, this isn’t the man I held.”
She felt him relax beneath her hands, and her relief was so great she nearly sagged against him. She leaned forward and rested her forehead just above where her hands lay on his chest.
He lifted one of his hands and cupped the back of her head, leaving his other hand over hers. Gentle fingers smoothed her hair, and for a brief moment, she wished she wasn’t the heir to the throne. Wished she and Merrick were just two normal people with only themselves to consider. No responsibility to a nation of people. No justice to seek for the family she lost.
She shivered against him as the brisk air blew over them. His hands gripped her shoulders and pulled her away from him. “We should go to our cabins where it’s warmer.”
Nodding, she followed behind him.
He stopped outside a door, opened it and gestured her inside. “Since the captain is fully aware of our circumstances, we no longer need to share a cabin for appearances. I’ll be next door should you have need of me.”
A tiny pang of disappointment tightened her chest, but she offered a quick smile and ducked into the cabin. She leaned against the door when it shut behind her, closing her eyes. Her hands brushed over the rough wood, and she felt the prick of splinters in her back.
She opened her eyes and glanced over the sparsely furnished room. A small bed, an upright barrel beside it with a half-burned candle. To the side of the candle lay a small bundle of dried flowers bound with a leather tie, seemingly out of place in the rustic cabin.
With a sigh, she pushed away from the door and crossed the cabin to the bed. She sat down on the side and pulled her boots from her feet. After rummaging through the drawers below the bed, she found a nightshirt. She peeled her clothing from her body and put on the clean-smelling shirt. Then she climbed beneath the covers and snuggled into the pillow.
In the morning, she was going to find soap and a washing cloth if she had to search every cabin. She had begun to fantasize about wonderfully scented baths and being able to submerge her entire head in a tub of water to give her hair a good washing.
As she lay staring up at the ceiling, she tried to envision Merrick in the next cabin. Wondered what he was doing and missed his presence next to her.
She flopped over and stared at her door instead. It was at least more interesting than the ceiling. And she could imagine it opening and him walking in.
Or she could just go to sleep and quit acting like a girl fresh out of the schoolroom who had just received her first invitation to dance. Acting like she had the right to dream.
The chasm that separated them was vast. More than her being queen, more than him being an English lord. Duty, honor, revenge, nationality. All those things floated around like tormented souls doomed to haunt a particular spot.
Would that she was a simple English miss or that he was a modest Leaudorian farmer. But they were neither of those things and too many people counted on them to be who they were. Furthermore it was time for her to get past her fears of ruling a nation and accept her responsibilities.
She turned over again, this time facing the wall. She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. To forget everything but the fact she was finally returning home.
Chapter Sixteen
Simon woke after only a few hours of sleep. The rocking and swaying of the ship had been a welcome lullaby, but now he was alert and refreshed. He swung his legs over the side of the bunk and rose, wiping his eyes to clear the hazy film.
He called for water and a basin and spared only a few minutes to dress and wash before hastening to the captain’s quarters. He knocked and the call came from within for him to enter.
“You’re just in time for breakfast,” the captain said from the small table across the room.
Simon ducked in, glancing around the small room. Books adorned nearly every inch of space on the shelves, and not all were nautical. The captain was well-read. As he drew closer, Simon noted that the captain had apparently laid aside a book he was reading to take breakfast.
“Sit,” the captain urged, motioning to the chair across from him.
Simon did as he was bidden and settled back in the chair, still taking in his surroundings. While it appeared on the surface that the captain kept less than neat quarters, upon closer examination, all the many items were very meticulously placed about the cabin. If anything the captain suffered from too little room.
The bed was impeccably made, the blankets tightly drawn across the mattress. The only piece of clothing in sight was a perfectly folded shirt lying at the end of the bed.
He deduced that the captain made his home aboard the ship even when it was docked. His cabin echoed his personality much more than the bland, nondescript cottage he owned in Dover.
The cabin was dotted with a range of personal items, ones that were certainly not a necessity aboard a ship. Newspapers, books, paintings, even a sketchpad that Simon wagered the captain likely dabbled on.
“Would you care for something to eat?” the captain asked, breaking through his thoughts.
