Warm and soft and smelling of roses, she pressed her face against his chest and held on as if she were drowning.
“Sometimes,” he murmured against the top of her head, “it can be freeing to talk about the things that plague us.” When she didn’t pull away, he smoothed his hand against her back and gently added, “Keeping it bottled up inside can cause it to fester until it destroys our soul.”
Aware of the risk he took by pressing the issue – the chance of her walking away and leaving a gorge between them – he leaned back and tipped up her chin. Eyes haunted by pain and guilt and heartache stared back, causing his own heart to shudder with grief. And he knew that the only way forward was for him to be more transparent with her than a pane of glass.
So he eased her away just enough to take her hand and lead her toward a couple of crates. “You loved Penelope’s father a great deal.” It was curious how in all of their conversations and all the years they’d known each other, the man’s name hadn’t come up. Gesturing for her to sit, he waited for her to do so, then sank down and placed one arm around her shoulders. “I cannot imagine what it is like to lose someone so close, but that doesn’t mean I do not understand the anguish death can bring. Especially when it takes a person before their time.”
Her eyes were impossibly bright, like moss right after the rain. “You lost someone too.”
“Not in the way you did. But yes.” Devlin closed his eyes for a moment and forced himself to remember the details he’d struggled so hard to forget. “His name was Luke and he was a crewmember – a lad no older than sixteen years of age – and we’d just returned to London from Athens. It was my first voyage as captain and…” He blew out a deep, agonizing breath. “I sent Luke up the mainmast to make sure the sail had been properly secured before disembarking, but it started to drizzle the moment he stepped out onto the topgallant yard – that beam of wood you see up there – the second one from the top.”
He pointed toward it even though it was hard to make out in the dark. Cassandra still gasped, perhaps because she’d discerned the direction the story was taking. “I shouldn’t have issued the order. I should have sent someone with more experience up there and…and I should have paid better attention to the condition the ropes were in. But I had a different boatswain back then. As it happened, the rope Luke grabbed hold of was damaged. It snapped the moment he checked its strength, but I’m not sure he would have fallen if it hadn’t been for the slickness of the beam beneath his feet.”
“Dear God.”
“I did my best to catch him. Broke my arm in the process. But it wasn’t enough, though I daresay it might have been best if I’d done nothing at all.” When she stared back at him with incomprehension, he had no choice but to say, “The fall didn’t kill him straight away. It took a while, during which he suffered tremendous amounts of pain.”
“Was there nothing to be done?” Her hand had somehow found his while he’d been talking.
“I tried. The physician I usually brought along with me had family near Dover, so I’d dropped him off on the way and continued to London without him, confident I wouldn’t need him for the remaining distance. So I ordered Quinn to fetch a physician post haste.”
“But Luke didn’t make it. Did he?”
Too agitated to remain seated, Devlin stood and clasped his hands behind his back. “No. He died before Quinn returned.” But that wasn’t all. There was more to the story – the reason he no longer drove past St. James’s. He just couldn’t seem to get the rest of the words out.
And then she suddenly stood and her hand found his cheek, and whatever else he’d meant to confess was completely forgotten. “Guilt is a wretched emotion. I’m sorry you’ve had to live with it for so long.”
He stood, transfixed by the unshed tears causing her eyes to shimmer. Most people would have said they were sorry Luke had died or that Devlin wasn’t to blame. As captain, however, he was responsible for the ship and its crew. So ithadbeen his fault and he knew this, had lived with it every single day since. Which probably explained why he appreciated Cassandra’s lack of finesse, because there was honesty in it.
“It won’t go away.”
She lowered her hand, leaving his skin more sensitive to the cool night air than before. “No,” she whispered, “it won’t.”
And just like that he knew they were no longer speaking of him or of Luke, but of something else entirely.
Remaining perfectly still, so still he realized he held his breath in anticipation, he waited for her to explain. It wasn’t easy. In fact, the brief moment of silence between them felt like the longest he’d ever endured. The temptation to prod her, to shift his weight impatiently, or blurt out one of the many questions he had about her and Penelope’s father was horribly tempting. But he sensed that even the slightest sound, like clearing his throat, would cause her retreat.
So he waited. Waited until he was ready to shake her.
Until he began to worry she’d change the subject or find an excuse to go back inside.
But then, so softly he scarcely heard her at first, she said, “Timothy and I grew up together. He was my brother’s best friend and…” Her lips formed a wistful smile. “He thought me a pest when we were little and used to tease me relentlessly. I always dreaded his visits.”
“He must have liked you. Even then.”
“He put jam down the back of my dress!”
Devlin grinned. “And I would most likely have done the same, had I known you back then.” When she gaped at him he shrugged and told her plainly, “Boys don’t tease girls unless they’re interested in them.” Belatedly, he realized what he’d said and how it might sound and all things considered, the last thing he wanted right now was for her to think he’d been pining away after her for years when she’d never pined for him and…
He coughed and quickly nudged the conversation back into motion by saying, “But then you got older…”
“Yes.” She gasped the word as if startled. “There was a summer during which everything changed. We hadn’t seen each other for a couple of years because he’d gone off to travel the Continent after completing Oxford. In fact, he left the same year I had my debut, but that didn’t matter. None of the other young men made an impression. In retrospect, I suppose I was waiting for Timothy to return. We hadn’t come to an understanding at that time, and I’m not sure I even realized what I felt for him until he came back.” She smiled and Devlin’s chest tightened. “My parents were hosting a ball, and I’d just finished dancing with Mr. Vreeland when Timothy arrived, perfectly attired and looking more handsome than ever. And I knew, before he reached me and asked me to dance, I just knew he and I would marry, because of how much I loved him.”
Devlin clasped his hands tightly behind his back and fought the urge to retreat from the conversation. It would be cowardly when he himself had pressed for it and besides, he had no reason to feel jealous. Did he? It wasn’t as if he’d fallen in love with Cassandra. So why should he care if she’d given her heart to Timothy so long ago?
Perhaps because he knew hecouldlove her if she’d let him. And possibly also because the idea of loving her if she couldn’t return the sentiment didn’t appeal. “You still love him,” he said, torturing himself with the reminder that a dead man would always have something he wouldn’t – Cassandra’s heart.
“Of course. He was my closest friend and Penelope’s father. I shall always love him, Devlin. That won’t ever change.”
