* * *
Goingto Mytos had been a terrible idea.
On the steamshipAdventure, heading for the Strait of Gibraltar, Anthony was holding his wife as she cast up her accounts. The ship rocked right and left, slapped by a storm that didn’t have any intentions of getting calmer. The rocking wasn’t excessive, barely an inch or two per side, but Isabella’s body overreacted, and he cursed himself for the decision to take her on this trip.
“You don’t have to see this,” she said, leaning over the handrail.
“Don’t worry about me.” He put a hand on her forehead as she emptied her stomach.
When she finished, she grabbed the handrail with both hands. Even though they were on the covered deck, the chilly rain splattered against them, and her hair was soaked.
“We need to leave.” He put a hand on her waist. “I’m not sure we should be here during a storm.”
“Here is better than the stuffy cabin.” She leant against him, exhaling. “Where’s Lawson?”
“Doing what you’re doing but sensibly in her cabin.” He helped her along the slippery passageway leading to their cabin.
First-class cabins lined the covered deck, guaranteeing a nice, open view of the ocean that was now boiling with rage.
“Is your grandmother all right?” she asked as he opened the door.
“She’s in the dining hall, having dinner.”
“Oh, goodness.” She clamped a hand on her mouth. “It’s her duchess power for sure.”
He took a towel and dried her face. “I’ve never seen her feel sick. I don’t believe she’s human.”
She sagged on the floor, paler and more exhausted than she’d been in London. “I’m so sorry, Anthony. I’ve caused you nothing but problems, and lots of unpleasant moments involving me being sick here.”
“The first time I’d sailed on a ship, I wanted to die, so sick I was. I understand your pain, but it’ll go away. And going to Mytos was my idea. I didn’t know you suffered the sea so terribly.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Neither did I. I’ve taken short trips on the Thames, but this ship and the sea are another matter.”
He sat next to her. “You should eat something.”
She scrunched up her face. “I’d rather have a tooth pulled out.”
“Trust me, you’ll feel better.” He rose to take the tray with the food he’d ordered for her. “Hot, sweet tea and flatbread. Simple but effective.”
“Are you absolutely sure it’s going to make me feel better?”
“I am.” He poured her a cup and broke a piece of flatbread. “The stomach needs something to do. And you can’t be worse than how you feel now.”
“I’m not sure, but all right.” She did as told and sipped the tea.
He sat next to her, his back on the wall. “I like this gentle rocking. It lulls me to sleep.”
“Gentle? I feel like the floor is going to swap places with the ceiling.”
He laughed. “No, really. This is nothing. I’ve been on board ships when the sea was so enraged that all the cups fell to the floor and I was thrown off my bed. I couldn’t walk straight, and the ship seemed about to capsize at any moment. That was rough.”
“Why are you so good to me?” She chewed a small bite of flatbread. “You could be with the Dowager, having dinner. You could have sent me away. You could have asked for an annulment.”
He brushed a sable curl of her hair from her forehead. “I am where I want to be. You promised not to lie to me again. That’s enough for me.”
She put aside the cup to hug him. “I care about you, too. I do.”
“If you stop feeling undeserving of happiness, your health will improve tenfold.”
