“Hang your involvement, Dev. Have we not just established that it wasn’t as profound as you keep insisting?”
“I don’t know,” Devlin repeated, because frankly, he’d never been more confused or uncertain about anything before in his life. “I simply don’t know.”
“Right. Well. I suggest you figure it out then.” Monty jutted his chin in Cassandra’s direction. She’d stepped away from Penelope and was now standing alone, staring out across the water. “Because having her think you ruined her life is no way to start a marriage.”
One week later,Devlin was of the opinion that time did not heal all wounds. Occasionally, it just allowed the wound to deepen. He’d given a great deal of thought to what Monty had told him and had to acknowledge there was a chance of his being right. About everything.
Even so, approaching Cassandra with the purpose of explaining it was something else entirely. Mostly because he wasn’t sure how to find the right words. So he’d put it off for a day and then for another and now he was here with an awkward wedge between them. It was the most uncomfortable experience. Because he’d returned to his cabin to sleep in order to diminish potential gossip among his crew. Which meant they saw each other, spoke to each other—though not extensively, he had to admit—shared their meals in the dining room with Monty, Bronswick, and Penelope, and even engaged in the occasional pastime activity with each other.
In many ways, it was as if things were normal between them. Cassandra showed no hint of animosity toward him. Indeed, she was always polite. But she was also reserved and horribly distant. And while it might not have been obvious to anyone else, the twisted state of Devlin’s insides served as a constant reminder to him that things were not right between them. Far from it.
“How long until we reach Cape Town?” Cassandra asked when he met her later that day on the deck. She’d been sitting on a crate, conversing with Penelope until she’d noticed his presence and come to join him.
“Lessons?” he inquired, deliberately putting off her question.
“French,” Cassandra told him with a nod. “She struggles with some of the verbs.”
“I don’t blame her,” Devlin muttered. “It’s a beastly language to learn. Hated it myself.”
She pursed her lips. “I can’t say I’m especially fond of it either, but educated people are expected to speak it. Considering her…situation…it seemed doubly important that she should be as accomplished as other ladies.”
“Her situation,” Devlin bit out with a sudden flash of anger, “is that she’s my daughter. I’ve given her my name and acknowledged her as my own.”
“Yes. She is fortunate to have you. I am not disputing the fact.” Her voice was tighter now, more strained. She also, Devlin could not help but note, had not saidweare fortunate to have you. “However, the circumstances of her birth are no secret, and that means there will always be someone looking to find fault with her, ready to criticize and exclude her for being a bastard.”
She spoke the last part so softly there was no chance of Penelope hearing. Still, Devlin instinctively glanced over his shoulder, then grabbed Cassandra by her arm and steered her further away. “For the love of God, Cass, you’re her mother!”
“And what?” Something dangerous flashed in her eyes. “My love for her will never change what she is, and I would be either naïve or stupid to pretend otherwise.”
Devlin drew a deep breath and expelled it. “Of course.” He let go of her arm. “Forgive me. Few things infuriate me more than the asinine rules of society. And knowing Penelope as I do, the idea of anyone treating her cruelly for any reason makes me want to do bloody murder.”
Cassandra’s face, which had begun to relax at the mention ofasinine rules of society, immediately hardened, and Devlin belatedly recognized his poor choice of words.
“I’m sorry. I did not mean to—”
“How long until we reach Cape Town?” she repeated.
A shuddering sigh clawed its way through his body, leaving his chest feeling raw. “A month, I expect.”
“Right. Well then.” Her mouth had flattened into a grim line. “I’m sure you have a great many things to attend to.”
He wanted to ask her to stay, but she was already walking away. Her contempt for him was strikingly clear. Hell, she couldn’t wait to exchange this ship for another just so she could be rid of his company. The notion grated. Worst of all, it distracted him from his duties.
With a growl, he returned below deck. It was time to inspect the ship’s cleanliness and once that was done, the cargo would need checking. If he was lucky, the rest of the day would pass with greater speed than the previous one and, God willing, bring him closer to figuring out what to do.
She’d been close.Half a second away from telling him she didn’t blame him for what had happened – from assuring him she understood – when he’d brought reality crashing down over her head with his words.
Timothy’s death had been an accident. A horribly tragic one, to be sure, but an accident nonetheless. And although Devlin had chosen to take the blame, he hadn’t even been at the scene. All he’d done was hire the carriage and ask the driver to make haste. For her to hold that over his head, for her to allow him to hold it over his own, would be wrong.
And yet she could not rid herself of the pain his revelation had stirred in her breast. She felt as if she were falling apart all over again. Because of the connection, she suspected. It had to be. The irony of marrying someone so irrevocably tied to Timothy’s death was simply too much.
Which was why every instinct told her to run. Because if she didn’t; if she faced the feelings Devlin awoke within her…
She almost choked on the sherry she’d brought with her onto the deck. It was late evening. They’d eaten supper by rote after which Penelope and Devlin had both retired, allowing her the solitude she so desperately craved.
A quivering sigh made its way past her lips. She cared about Devlin, just as he cared about her, but to think there could ever be anything more was, “Absurd.”
She considered the word and was stunned by how ill-fitting it sounded to her own ears. But to suppose there would ever be anything more between them was absolutely terrifying.
