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“Do ye really want that?” she asked in a whisper. “Do ye really want me to leave?”
He opened his mouth, ready to say the words again, to tell her directly that his life would be easier without her. He was ready to say goodbye. Ready for one less troublesome person in his life.
So why would the words not come? He peered down at her, the vulnerability in her eyes cutting him as deep as any knife.
“I don’t…” he began, but the chance to finish his sentence never came.
The door opened behind him, and they turned as Poppy and Mother filed into the home, their faces ashen.
“Be it the lugger again?” he asked at once, glancing behind them to the door they held open.
Why was he continuously having this fruitless argument with the love of his life—the love who’d never choose him—when his lugger was still in danger?
But as Mother stood to the side, another figure appeared in the doorway, bringing with him the cold darkness Trevik had hoped to never feel again.
There was no mistaking the man’s black eyes and long, drooping nose. “Mr. Truscott,” Trevik stated, gritting his teeth. Anger surged throughout him as memories of the man before him intermingled with memories of Father. “What do ye think ye be doin’ ’ere?”
The man appeared taken aback for a moment, but Trevik knew it was all a ploy to play the innocent fool. He’d done the same with Father seven years before.
What was he doing there? And why now, especially after so long?
“That is a sorry welcome, indeed, for an old friend,” came Mr. Truscott’s buttery smooth voice.
He took a step within the home, but Trevik moved forward at once to prevent him. “I told ye last time that ye were no longer welcome in our ’ome.”
A flicker of annoyance flashed over the man’s face, but he straightened, moving back to stand out in the rain, water dripping down from the brim of his top hat.
“I will respect your wishes,” he said. “It is, after all, your right and your property to do with it as you wish. But then…” He paused, looking over Trevik’s shoulder. “I trust you’ll extend me the same courtesy and return to me my own property.”
His property? What the devil was the man on about? Trevik had nothing of his, and he was sure of it. He’d sworn to never entangle himself with Mr. Truscott after what he’d done to Father.
But when Trevik caught the man’s eyes focused at the back of the room, he slowly looked over his shoulder.
Morvoren stood still, her face white.
“Morvoren?” Trevik questioned, his heart tremoring.
She didn’t say a word, yet somehow, he already knew the truth.
“Yes,” Mr. Truscott said from the doorway. “My niece.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Morvoren couldn’t breathe, the ground swaying beneath her feet, her world crumbling around her. Uncle. How had he found her? And why had she not told Trevik the truth earlier?
Confusion littered his brow as he glanced between Morvoren and her uncle—the man Trevik only knew as the person who’d destroyed his family.
She’d asked him if he’d truly wished her to leave, and she thought she’d seen hesitance in his eyes. But now she knew what his answer would be.
“Come along, Morvoren,” Uncle Truscott said. “It is time to go home.”
His smooth voice brought back the memories she’d done so well to stifle. His anger and constant threats, his cruelty and barbaric behavior. Keeping her from food, reading, friends, the sea. She couldn’t go back to it all. She couldn’t live such a life again.
“Morvoren be your niece?” Mrs. Honeysett questioned, her stunned expression making Morvoren feel even smaller.
“Of course she is,” said Uncle with a smirk. “Can you not see the family resemblance?”
Morvoren grimaced at his amiable tone. He knew very well he was not related to her by blood, yet he always knew just what to say to charm those around him into believing that he didn’t have a cruel bone in his body. But surely the Honeysetts knew better.
