No missus or Miss Fitzwilliam. “I have no intention—” A new fit of retching cut me off. I leant over the handrail and did what I’d been doing every cursed day for the past week. Practice didn’t make it any easier.
“Here. Let me help.” Rennie brushed my hair from my face and held it away from my heated cheeks. How he could drop every ‘h’ in his speech was a mystery.
“Don’t look at me,” I said, coughing and spitting.
A raucous laugh rumbled out of him as he held me up and put a comforting hand on my forehead. “Why not? You’re pretty.”
Somehow, those ill-timed words stopped the nausea. I turned towards him, ready to face the sea again if another wave of sickness took me over. I was about to tell him his comment was inappropriate, especially since we were alone, but what I said was, “Do you think I’m pretty?” Because I wasn’t sure I was, what with my matted hair, green skin, and the stink of seasickness.
I wouldn’t consider myself stunning, but I knew how to enhance my good traits. With the right dress, hairstyle, and a bit of make-up, I could make an impression. The fact Sandro had been so stunned by me proved it, and surely, even our witty conversation had charmed him. But with Rennie, I hadn’t worn anything flattering, taken care of my hair properly, or talked much to him. The latter not for lack of trying. He simply replied with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to my questions and never started a conversation.
Also, on those rare occasions when we talked, I always asked him about my parents’ strange behaviour, and he became silent, refusing to discuss the subject. But wasn’t a cruise in the company of a pugilist more damaging to my reputation than a kiss from a prince?
He rummaged through the pocket of his grey suit and produced a large handkerchief with a tartan motif. “Yes, I do think you’re pretty,” he said, wiping my mouth.
“What are you doing?” Embarrassment was about to kill me. I snatched the handkerchief and hid my face behind it. “I can clean up myself, thank you. I’m not a child.”
“Never thought you were, missus.” He searched his pocket again and took out a glass vial. “You should try this.”
I peered up at the glass vial containing a green liquid. “What is it?” I asked, tilting my head up to stare at his face.
He glanced around before answering. “Something for the sickness. You’ll feel better in a moment, but you must take only one drop.”
“What’s in it?” There was no label on the vial, and I knew better than to trust a stranger offering me a supposedly miraculous potion. What if he wanted to drug me? Although, I’d been so out of sorts lately that, if he’d wanted to take advantage of me, he would have had a dozen occasions.
He scrubbed his unshaven chin. “I don’t know. Herbal things. Nothing poisonous. I take it regularly.”
“Do you suffer from seasickness too?”
“No.”
“Then why do you take it?”
He lifted a shoulder. “As a tonic. To become stronger.” For a split second, a smile played on his lips, as if he were enjoying a private joke. “Trust me. It works for seasickness too. It’s a cure-all.”
As my stomach roiled with nausea again, I admitted defeat and took the vial. But he didn’t release it.
“Only one small sip.” His eyebrows arched, giving him a menacing look. As if he needed it.
“Fine. Fine.” I was ready to try anything at that point.
A faint scent of mint wafted from the vial when I pulled out the stopper. Before another fit of retching started, I swallowed a small sip. The flavours of bay leaves and pepper tickled my taste buds and stung my tongue. The green liquid left a refreshing trail down my throat to my stomach. I held my breath, waiting for the sick feeling to strike again. But nothing came. No, something did come. Sweet relief. The constant ache that had tormented my belly was gone. The headache vanished. The sour taste in my mouth disappeared. I could even breathe more deeply. My mind cleared.
“Good Lord. This potion is wonderful.” I studied the magical vial in the sunlight. “Why didn’t you offer it to me earlier?”
“I did.” Scowling, he took the vial from my hand. The rough pad of his thumb brushed my skin, reminding me—by contrast—of Sandro’s soft, delicate fingers.
Then Rennie’s words sank in. “You offered it to me?”
“More than once. You never replied. In fact, you told me to leave you alone, which I did.”
Oh, well. It could be true. I’d been so sick that, if he’d asked me something, I doubted I’d heard him. I tugged at my crumpled shirt.
“I apologise for my behaviour. Thank you for your assistance.” I tried to regain some dignity, ignoring the fact that my hair was wild and untied and my gown was a nightmare of wrinkled green velvet.
He gave a bow of the head. “You’re welcome.”
I cleared my throat. “May I keep the vial?”
