Page 71

He raised his eyebrows. “Did I now?”

She shook her head, fighting another smile. “Not because of any other reason apart from your doubtin’ my ability to cook. I did know how to once.”

He swallowed again. “’Ow much salt did ye use exactly?” Then he waved a passive hand. “Ye know what? It ’ardly matters now. I just be glad the tax on salt ain’t as bad as it ’as been durin’ the war. We’d not be able to replenish the supply ye’ve clearly drained to make these pasties.”

“All right,” she said through her laughter, “ye be done now.”

She reached forward, grasping the plate, but he speared another bite with his fork. “No!” she exclaimed, wrapping her hand around his wrist. “Ye’ll make yourself sick!”

He could have wrestled away from her easily, but he allowed her to hold him back as laughter bubbled up within him, too. “No, I won’t stop. I love it too much.”

They struggled for a moment, but as the fork moved closer toward his mouth, she reached forward and clasped her fingers over his lips.

The moment he felt her warm touch, all sense was lost, and time stood still. His grip on the fork weakened, and it dropped from the table to the floor with a clatter.

But he wasn’t looking at the fork. He was looking at Miss Hollow, staring into her eyes and becoming lost in their green depths as flecks of gold shimmered within them. Their chests still rose and fell from the laughter they’d shared during their struggle, and neither of them moved apart, though Trevik knew he ought to have.

His head spun as if he stood at the top of a dizzying cliff, teetering dangerously toward the edge. And yet, he couldn’t step back, an invisible pull toward Miss Hollow keeping him in place.

After a moment, her focus dropped to her fingers at his lips. Her touch relaxed, but she didn’t pull back. Instead, she tipped her head to the side with a softened expression and slid her fingers down his lips in small, calculated movements.

His breathing grew ragged, his heart pounding furiously against his chest and in his ears until he could no longer prevent himself from dropping his gaze to her lips, as well.

Those lips were perfect, just like the rest of her flawless face and figure. The woman was entirely, undeniably bewitching.

But when the door clicked open, the spell was broken, and Miss Hollow tore her fingers away from his lips, leaving a coldness in their wake he’d never experienced.

She swiftly turned her back to him, and Trevik bent down to retrieve the fork that had clattered to the floor, straightening just as Mother and Poppy joined them in the kitchen.

Poppy began speaking with Miss Hollow in an instant, but Mother’s curious eyes flicked between Miss Hollow and Trevik.

He couldn’t bear the questions he knew she longed to ask—questions he didn’t know the answers to himself—so he pushed back from the table, pardoning himself with a mumbled excuse of needing to use the privy.

Once outside, he leaned against the side of the house with rattled breaths.

What was that? Why had he been so affected by the woman, and why, why had she leaned forward, looking as if she wished very much to…?

He ran his fingers through his hair with both hands, taking a few steps beyond the house to view the sea from the cliff’s edge. The water’s rhythmic waves reverberated in his chest, though they did nothing but remind him all the greater of Miss Hollow.

He couldn’t afford to lose his head in such a manner. Yes, he was attracted to her—what man wouldn’t be? But he would not allow his thoughts to stray any farther than that. Falling for her would bring untold problems to Tristwick. Edern would stir up greater trouble, the Cardys would leave, the Pilferer wouldn’t have enough men to bring in the fish for the winter, and Tristwick would not only be divided, but it would ultimately be at risk of starvation.

Trevik wouldn’t do that to his family or to his community.

With his resolve back in place, he returned inside with a steely gaze and defenses at the ready.

And yet, as the evening progressed, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of the woman. She moved about the kitchen with Mother and Poppy, as comfortable as if she’d been living there for years.

Dinner only made matters worse, for she quipped about her failed pasties, listened happily to Poppy and her endless chatter, and conversed about her time as a child, swimming with dolphins in the sea and spending every morning hunting for crabs with her mother.

All the while, like a gullible guppy, Trevik listened, intrigued and heartily captured by the woman and her charisma. And he couldn’t help but wonder, when had he begun to think of Miss Hollow—of Morvoren—more as his friend and less as the desperately troublesome, self-proclaimed sea-maid?

When had she become…one of them?

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The next week passed swiftly for Morvoren as she adapted to life in the fishing hamlet. Despite the backbreaking tasks in the cellars and the continued glares from the Cardys, she began to take pleasure in the work, for she knew that every pilchard she preserved, pressed, and packed away would help during that winter, as well as add a small fraction of payment to her coin purse for the future.

Each day, she looked forward to rising, Mrs. Honeysett’s encouraging words buoying her spirits as Poppy’s happy chattering propelled time forward even faster.