ONE
SOMEWHERE IN THE ATLANTIC OCEAN, 1887
FEELING SICK ON a boat—pardon,ship—is an utterly undignified affair.
I’d been casting up my accounts from the moment my unfortunate journey on theSteam Ship Florentiahad started. When I’d left Southampton a few days ago, I could have never imagined that going on a cruise could be so painful. I’d been confused and suspicious about the trip but also thrilled and curious. How wrong I’d been.
And people went on a cruise to take a holiday?
We’d been cruising all the way down to France, and now the ship was sailing through... I didn’t have the foggiest idea where. All around me was an endless blue expanse that moved, lifted, and lowered, lifted and lowered. Oh, Lord.
A new wave of nausea caught me. Gripping the handrail, I leant over the side of the deck and emptied my stomach into the endlessly grey view of the Atlantic Ocean. Just watching the water shifting, the sunlight glinting off the waves, and the white foam bubbling made me feel sick all over again.
Thank goodness that corner of the deck was empty. TheSS Florentiawas a monstrous ship, like a village floating on the sea. The passengers—those who weren’t afflicted by seasickness and headaches and didn’t wish to die—enjoyed the many forms of entertainment on board, from violin concerts to dance performances and card games. The last thing I wanted was to have a witness to my rather unladylike state. One couldn’t feel sick with abandon in front of an audience.
My dark-blonde hair flapped wildly over my cheeks, adding a new layer of discomfort, but I was too weak to gather the long tendrils into a decent chignon. My dress was a mess of wrinkles and stains of dubious origin. Blazes, I’d even lost a button of my shirt somewhere. I could almost hear my mother’s horrified comments.
Monia! Compose yourself.
Yes, my name was Monia, short for Sanctimonia. No, not in the sanctimonious, holier-than-thou sense, but in the ‘symbol of purity’ sense. Purity my foot. I didn’t feel pure at all in my current state.
Another sea wave crushed against the hull with a deafening thud. At least it sounded deafening to my poor ears. The deck shifted up and down, and I gripped the handrail harder. Or tried to. Energy had been leaching out of me for the past few days. My legs trembled as I fought to stay upright. But fighting required too much effort. Sod it. I was going to collapse on the deck and stay there. Dignity be darned. Maybe Poseidon would have mercy on me and sweep me away. If I was lucky, I was going to pass out.
I had barely time to release the handrail and let gravity do the rest before a thick, strong arm coiled around my waist and supported me.
“Careful, missus,” a deep, slightly raucous voice said close to my ear.
Oh, no. Nothim. Not now. Not my chaperone!
Groaning inwardly, I gazed up and wished I hadn’t. There he was.
Mr Rennie Steele was staring at me with both pity and concern. I wasn’t the type of woman to swoon over a gentleman. Most of the time. No sir. But he had a rough, wild type of beauty I admired but didn’t make me faint. He had very broad shoulders, lots of muscles, and a harsh jaw. Overwhelmingly strong. His large green eyes were pretty. Intense and charming when they wanted to be. Every time he gazed at me, a little shiver of fear made me quiver. Mr Steele frightened me. I had no problem admitting it.
Slender men with the long and elegant fingers of a pianist were less alarming to me. Rennie’s hands were calloused with tiny scars marring the knuckles, and so strong they could snap someone’s neck. He looked like one of those bare-knuckle pugilists who thrived in London’s underworld. His nose had definitely been broken at least once, judging by its crooked shape.
“I’m fine,” I croaked out, wishing to feel sick alone. Self-pity worked much better when I was alone.
“No, you aren’t. You don’t look fine.” His Cockney accent was so thick I could scrub the deck with it.
Why had my parents chosen him as my chaperone instead of an old lady? In fact, why had they sent me here? It wasn’t the first time I’d asked myself those questions. My parents and Rennie had been of no help in answering them.
Ten days ago, I’d convinced my parents to let me go to a magnificent ball at one of my friends’ houses. Music, champagne, handsome gentlemen, and solid, firm ground underneath my feet. Heaven. My parents had yielded to my request, and I’d hugged them both, happy.
You might find a good suitor. Someone you like,Mother had said.
And I’d found someone! A handsome, sophisticated prince from Rochenstein, a small principality in Central Europe. His name was Sandrosarkbach, and he was perfect. His long midnight hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and willowy body of a dancer had mesmerised me. Admittedly, his name wasn’t easy to pronounce. I didn’t think I could say it out loud without stammering. The ‘Sandro’ part was easy, but the last one sounded like my grandfather when he had a coughing fit after he snuffed tobacco. Anyway, Sandro had seemed to be mesmerised by me as well, which had surprised me. I wasn’t a wallflower, but I wasn’t the type of lady who attracted men’s attention, either.
We’d danced and talked for hours. And he’d understood me so well. He’d stolen my heart, paying me a lot of compliments, telling me about the challenges of being a prince, and letting me talk about everything I liked. When he’d asked me to take a stroll in the garden, I’d accepted his invitation. We’d sat on a marble bench under the moonlight, our fingertips brushing against each other, heads leaning closer, and hearts pounding. He’d been about to kiss me. But it’d been the moment when things had started to go horribly wrong.
Mother had spotted me and let out a scream that could have rivalled the police’s siren. Sandro had fled like a wanted pirate, and I couldn’t blame him. Mother had suffered a complete breakdown. Hysteria had taken her. She’d screamed that her heart was breaking and I was killing her, I was an irresponsible, reckless woman, and I had no idea what trouble I’d put myself in.
Hadn’t I been doing what she’d asked me? Finding a husband? And a prince at that! But no. She’d cried and despaired, accusing me of being a silly woman and crying for help. Then Father and she had ordered me to pack my belongings and take a cruise to tour the Mediterranean Sea with Rennie as my chaperone. Odd. At first, I hadn’t understood how a cruise in the company of a man, who wasn’t one of my relatives, could be a punishment for my so-called lascivious behaviour. But now I did. I so did.
The cruise was sheer torture. The company dreadful. The worst punishment ever.
“Let me go,” I said, stepping back from Rennie’s embrace.
His jaw clenched, causing a tendon in his neck to stand out. “All right. Just don’t fall into the sea. I don’t want to dive into the water to rescue you.”
