She had to make him understand. “I thought my betrothed had left for America, but he has not. He’s back there.” She pointed in John’s direction. “We must go back.”
The captain sighed. “My lady, we are already late. If we were to return now, we would miss the tide, and I cannot be delayed by an entire day because of one young lady’s affairs of the heart.” The condescension with which he spoke had echoes of Luella.
Will arrived then, and he put a hand on her shoulder in support. “We will give you twenty pounds to turn this ship around.”
The captain scowled. “It is no easy feat to turn a ship around, particularly in the middle of a river. Now I ask you to please go belowdecks. We are working.”
“Fifty pounds,” Charlotte blurted.
The captain remained silent.
“Need I remind you who I am?” she snapped, squaring her shoulders, fists on her hips. At this, the men around them, who were watching avidly, exchanged expectant glances.
William raised his hands as though trying to ward off a physical altercation between her and the infuriating captain. “You do not need to turn around. Just pause a moment, while her betrothed catches up.”
“Pause?”
“Lower the sail. Drop the anchor. Whatever you do to stop a ship from continuing its forward path. She’ll give you a hundred pounds. Surely that’s worth your time. You can buy the crew several casks of brandy at the next port to make up for their troubles.”
The captain looked at his men, who were nodding to each other. “Fine. A hundred pounds and she”—he jabbed a finger in her face—“leaves the ship.”
“Done,” Will said before she could respond to the captain’s rudeness. With a hand on her back, he guided her toward the railing.
“I cannot believe we’re paying that man such a fortune,” she muttered. “How hard could it possibly be to turn around?”
“Sister, this is not the time to quarrel.”
Will was right. Now that the anchor had been dropped and the sail furled, the small tugboat was gaining ground. It took only a few minutes before it was close enough that she could see John’s face. His cheeks were puffed, no doubt from the exertion of rowing, but his expression was shadowed with relief.
Beside her, one of the deckhands threw a rope ladder over the railing. “Are we to climb downthat?” It shifted as the ship did, and looked suspiciously flimsy.
Will handed over the small satchel she’d brought on board. A deckhand must have fetched it for her. “No,weare not disembarking. Someone must chaperone your things to Boston and back.”
“You’re not coming with—” There was a hardthunkas something hit the side of the ship. She looked overboard to see John, shielding his eyes as he looked up at her. All of the yelling and the chaos melted away and she took a full breath for the first time that day. He’d come for her. She’d come for him. Whatever happened next, they could face together.
She turned back to William. “Will you be all right?” His leg had not fully healed, nor had his mind. He was sober, but could he stay that way surrounded by sailors?
“I’ll be fine, Charlie. An adventure will be good for me.”
She rummaged through her satchel until she found her reticule, stuffed with more cash than she’d ever carried at one time. “You’re going to need this. Please don’t spend it on booze.”
He winked at her, and then took her bag and dropped it overboard into John’s arms. He offered her his hand.
With a thudding heart, she took it. Her slippers weren’t made for climbing rope ladders. The wind whipped her hair across her eyes.Drat. Dash. Darn it. Don’t let me die now. Not when I finally have all I want.
She swung a leg over the side of the ship, gripping on to the railing with every ounce of strength she had. As she put her weight on the ladder, it swung to the side slightly and she yelped.
William’s hand, which was fisted in the back of her dress, yanked upward. “It’s all right. You’ve got this. Next foot.”
Each rung gave a little as she stepped down. The rope was uncomfortable to hold. So focused was she on not slipping that it wasn’t until John’s hands were on her hips and he was guiding her into the wildly rocking boat that she remembered to breathe.
“John.” She turned the moment her feet hit the wood and she threw her arms around him, burying her head in his neck. Above them, the crew whistled wildly and she could hear Will protesting.
John sank one hand into her hair; the other arm caught her around her waist and pulled her close. “Love,” he murmured. “Oh, love.” He loosened his grip on her and she stepped back, throwing her arms out as her shift in bearing threw the boat off-kilter.
He sat and helped her to a spot on the bench by his side.
She took his face into her hands and kissed him deeply, ignoring the catcalling from the ship. She reveled in the urgency of his lips against hers and the feel of his day-old whiskers beneath her fingers. “Where have you been?” she asked when she could finally bring herself to pull away.
