Page 25 of Marrying Bluebeard

He lets out a hiss as he twists away. “I’ve got it.”

“You’re shaking so hard you’ll spill it,” I argue. “Please. I can get it for you.”

A shudder vibrates beneath my hands, and I stumble back as he whips around, a feral gleam lighting his dark eyes. “Leave me.”

“What—”

His voice morphs into a growl. “Go. Now.”

Instinct drives me to my feet, and I’m flying through the hallway. The direction doesn’t matter; I just know I need to get as far away as I can. When I catch a glimpse of blue sky through the window, I surge toward it. A door isn’t far off.

I reach the ship’s railing moments before my breakfast resurfaces.

What was that… look? I wipe my mouth as I slump to the floor, my legs incapable of holding me up any longer. It almost felt as if—I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image of Bertrand’s expression is burned into the back of my lids—as if he were an animal on the brink of attack. A… a predator of some sort. And I’d been the wide-eyed bunny.

“Miss, are you all right?” I look up to see a woman not much older than me watching with concern. The gentleman she’s with stands stiffly behind her, looking pointedly away. The woman draws a delicate, white handkerchief from her clutch and bends down as she offers it to me. “The waves upset my stomach as well, sometimes,” she says kindly.

I accept the bit of fabric without thinking, fingers numb as they go through the motions of dabbing my mouth. “Thank you.” Clutching the railing, I force myself back to my feet. I can only imagine how I must look to these people. I’m an absolute mess. “It’s my first time on a ship,” I explain. My first time having the wits scared out of me by something other than a ghost. I hold the handkerchief out, but she waves it away.

“Keep it. I packed more than I can possibly use as it is.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” the man chimes in, smiling briefly at the woman before once again looking away.

“Quiet you,” the woman giggles, swatting his arm. To me she asks, “Can we get you anything? A cup of tea, perhaps?”

“No, I… I think I’ll just head inside and freshen up.” I should probably check on Bertrand. Already I’m questioning my need to run. So he snapped at me. He was ill, of course he’d snap. That doesn’t make him dangerous. I nod, determination taking root. “Yes, I believe some rest will set me to rights.” I muster a grin as I press a hand against my stomach. “Good thing we’re merely crossing the Channel.”

“Goodness, yes,” the woman agrees. “Can you imagine taking one of these things all the way to America? I’d die.”

“Death would be preferable to setting foot in that rat-infested country,” the man beside her sniffs. “Why anyone would want to travel there is beyond me.”

“To discover new things, broaden their horizons.” The woman rolls her eyes at me, a teasing grin pulling at her lips. “Personally, I’d love to explore the Wild West. Maybe even meet a handsome cowboy or two.”

I smile as the couple spirals into a lively debate, slipping away as they argue whether Buffalo Bill qualifies as cultural entertainment. Between the sun, sea air, and their carefree banter fading away behind me, I find I’m much calmer now than I was when I came tearing out. He’ll have taken his tonic by now, I assure myself as I retrace our steps from earlier, making my way back to the room. As his wife, I should be there to take care of him.

Turning the corner, I spy my blue-bearded husband slumped against the door to our room. His top hat rests on the floor beside him as he tunnels nervous fingers through his hair. He looks up at my approach, and any remaining worry melts away in the face of his contrition.

“Adelaide, darling. I’m so sorry.” He springs to his feet, looking surprisingly robust for a man who’d just recently been on the brink of collapse. Once again, I wonder if my mind exaggerated it.

“Shh, it’s all right.” I step into the circle of his arms, allowing him to pull me close. He presses desperate kisses against my hair as he holds me.

“My condition can be intense at times. If I forget to take my tonic, it can overwhelm me. It’s not an excuse for shouting at you, of course. Just an explanation, and an apology if you’ll accept it.”

I place my palm against his cheek. “Consider it forgotten.” I hesitate, searching his face for any sign of lingering pain. “You’re feeling better now?”

“Splendid, now that you’re here.”

“Good.” I cover my mouth before he has a chance to kiss it. “Now let me in the room so I can freshen up. I lost my breakfast in the Channel.”

Bertrand grimaces as he opens the door. “Can I get you anything?”

“Yes.” I smirk. “You.” He grins, once again leaning in to kiss me. I give him a playful push before sashaying into the room. “After I’ve cleaned up.”

17

ADELAIDE

We arrive in Calais that evening, where a carriage delivers us to the Hôtel Meurice. For someone who grew up on the outskirts of the British elite, titled yes but never truly well off, walking through the ornate lobby and passing guests dressed in the finest fashions is like a dream. I’ve never considered myself vain, but I’ll admit to being grateful for our last-minute shopping trip in Dover. At least I don’t stick out too dreadfully.