Chapter Twenty-Seven #2
Warstein gave a sad shake of his head. “I want her to be happy above all else. But now that she’s tasted freedom, I fear she’ll wither away like a bird with clipped wings. Being ashore will break her. I could have prevented that.”
Something coiled in Christian’s belly. Something that felt a lot like guilt.
I’ll never set foot on a ship again.
He pressed his eyes closed. Warstein was right. He hadn’t only taken her dreams from her—he’d broken her.
Lifting his hand, he squinted into the square again and frowned. Where was she? His heart began to pound a dull thud in his chest.
“You won’t find her here. She never stays for the hangings.”
The door opened behind them and Judge Williams strolled out. Christian’s stomach roiled and fresh droplets of sweat beaded beneath his hat. Damn everyone’s perceptions of him. He couldn’t do this.
After nodding a greeting to the man who’d sentenced Thorne to death two days earlier, he turned and hurried down the steps. He didn’t slow his pace until he ducked into an alleyway between two buildings. Ripping his hat free, he leaned his head against cool stone.
A thousand other things. His father could have chosen a thousand other professions. And their reunion would have been full of joy. What a cruel twist of fate.
His fist smashed into the wall, sending pain bursting up his arm. Again. And an anguished cry broke free. One that had been building since that day on his father’s ship.
Spinning, he jogged toward the water before anyone could come investigate. He needed to get away from the square. Needed . . .
Red.
As much as he would regret it, he needed to see her. He’d examine what exactly that need meant later, preferably well into his cups.
For now, he lurched down the steep steps leading to the docks. Where else would a grounded pirate find refuge? Briny air filled his lungs as he strolled onto the thick wooden planks. He headed toward the end, where one of her uncle’s merchantmen floated.
She stood at the bottom of the gangplank with one bare hand resting on the railing, her glove lying discarded at her feet. Her eyes were closed and a small smile played across her lips.
Listening to the vessel.
He’d gotten a chuckle out of it when one of her crew pointed it out that first night on her ship.
But then he’d watched her face transform as she had taken the helm.
He’d never seen anyone get so lost in the magic of sailing.
It made him think back on his first days on the water as a lad, when each rise and fall of the ship held a new discovery.
And now, he’d taken that joy from her.
He stood still, the constant splash of water against the ship tempering his racing pulse. A dockhand pushed a cart laden with cotton bales past and mumbled an apology when he bumped into Christian. Still, he couldn’t pull his gaze from her. He could watch her all day.
Forever.
The same thought he couldn’t shake in the cave slammed into him and he took a step back. He loved her. The realization took the wind from him. He was in love with a pirate.
An ex-pirate. His heart gave a hopeful beat. Could it work? He curled his fingers into a fist. No.
Not after everything that had happened. Not after their family secrets had been revealed. Not after he’d so callously ruined her dreams.
Slender fingers clenched and Red’s smile disappeared. He should turn around. Leave her be.
Instead, he started forward. He approached with quiet steps and stopped when the scent of lemons filled his nose. So close, he could touch her if he reached out. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Miss Warstein.”
Her eyes snapped open, blue and green hues swirling in the sunlight. They narrowed briefly and she spun and walked away.
Let her go.
He bent and picked up her glove, brushing away a speck of dirt from the white satin. She made it to the end of the dock and sat on a crate, crossing her arms and staring out over the water at the salt marshes of Hutchinson Island.
He glanced at the glove and back to her. Leaving it hanging on the railing would be wisest. A faint breeze pressed at him and he closed his hand around the soft fabric. Walk over. Drop it next to her. Retreat.
A sound plan.
When the glove rested on the crate next to her, he pivoted. Where to now? Planter’s Tavern, a block from the waterfront, should be open. Isaac would find him there.
“Lieutenant?”
He froze, the soft whisper echoing in his head. His heart pounded against his ribs as he turned back.
“Are you . . . alright?”
He tensed at the repeat of Isaac’s words from earlier. How could he answer that? His father was about to hang. At his hands.
She patted the spot next to her. “Join me?”
Alarm bells went off in his head. He should not have come out to the docks. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. With a sigh, he stepped over and sat.
“You didn’t know who he was until he called you up that first night on his ship.”
A statement, not a question. God, he was not ready to have this conversation. Especially not with her.
“I didn’t know.”
She nodded. “You held yourself together well.”
“I had no choice. I was there to save you—had to focus on trying to get us out of there.”
Her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I’m sorry.”
It could mean so many things. And suddenly, he had to know.
“For?”
She twisted the glove between her fingers. “That my uncle sent you after me. If he hadn’t, you might have never found out.”
“Why did he send me after you? He was perfectly capable of retrieving you himself. In the end, it was his crew that saved the day.”
Her hands stilled. “I don’t know.”
He stared at her for a long moment, but she didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. She told the truth. Warstein had set something in motion. The question was, what?
“And you believe I would be better off not knowing what my father became?”
“Sometimes, things are better left unknown.” Sea-colored eyes met his. “What good can come of the knowledge?”
The muscles in his chest constricted. “It’s a reminder of what I could become.”
“You’re nothing like Thorne.”
A cold laugh lodged in his chest. “How do you know?”
Pretty pink lips pressed together. “You’re not. You . . .” She began to fidget with the glove once more. “You wanted to save me. Even though I was a pirate.”
The hazy scene flashed before him, her curled naked against his side, staring at him from behind that blasted mask. Her soft words: You can’t save me. His pulse thrummed anew.
A flush had spread across her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to her lap while the breeze tossed a curl over her forehead.
He reached out and tucked it back in place. “I would have, Red.”
She sucked in a breath and pulled from his touch. “I think it might be best if you would stop calling me that.”
Numbness tingled through his limbs. This was it, then.
Goodbye.
He pushed to his feet and stepped to the edge of the dock. Murky water swirled in angry eddies. Tide was going out.
A chorus of shouts came from the square and they both turned toward the shore. His father had probably been brought out. Not long now. He pressed his eyes shut.
Her fingers grazed his arm and he jumped at the contact.
“If it were my father, I don’t think I could bear to stay, no matter what he had done.”
He could barely manage a nod. “Let me take you home.”
She inclined her head and he led her to the bank. At the top of the steps, she tugged his arm and pointed to a nearby wagon with two mules.
“They belong to my uncle’s men.”
Silence had fallen over the city and he hurried toward the vehicle. If they could get far enough, maybe they wouldn’t hear the applause that would follow his father’s death.
Son of a bitch.
A cold sweat broke out across his brow as he helped her up to the bench. When he took his seat next to her and took the reins, he caught her worried look.
“I’m a monster, aren’t I?” The wagon lurched into motion and she grabbed his arm for balance. “I could have let him go.”
“You were only doing your job.”
He slapped the mules into a trot. “Would you have done it? Brought your father in?”
“I don’t know. If he had done the things Thorne has . . .” She met his gaze. “I don’t know.”
He cleared his throat against the uncomfortable weight gathering there and his vision went blurry. If they kept talking about this, he was going to lose control. He needed to get her home and lose himself in a bottle.
The wagon bumped along the road as it opened into the countryside and he urged the team faster. Her grip on his forearm tightened as they reached a teeth-rattling speed and a few tendrils of warmth pierced through the coldness settled in his stomach.
“I don’t t—think this wagon is meant to go so fast.”
He glanced down where her fingers dug into him and pulled the reins back. The mules slowed to a walk and he blew out a breath. “My apologies.”
The Warstein estate stretched out ahead, the big white house reflecting the sunlight. When he turned the team down the oak-lined drive, silence curled around them. He began to breathe in tune to the clip clop of hooves and the creak of harnesses.
Drawing to a stop, he jumped to the ground and held out his hand. Such a beautiful afternoon. Such a beautiful woman to help down. It could almost be a normal day.
He walked her to her steps and came to a stop.
She looked up at him. “What will you do now?”
He shrugged. “What I’m best at. I leave again tomorrow. Will probably stay out for a few months.”
She pushed the toe of her slipper into the dirt, but her face stayed blank.
Ask me to stay.
He shook his head at the absurd thought. “And what of you, Miss Warstein? Will you be alright?”
Copper brows pushed together as hurt flashed through her eyes. Up here, away from the water, the green hues threatened to overtake the blue in them.
Her shoulders dropped. “I wanted to become a sailor my parents would have been proud of. To follow in their footsteps.”
Her eyes glimmered and she twisted away. Climbed one step. “I thought finding the treasure would make me feel closer to them. But instead, I feel farther than ever before.”
He touched her shoulder. “You need to steer your own course in life instead of trying to live up to other people’s standards. You don’t need to follow your family’s legacy; you can make your own.”
She sniffed and he reached out and gently turned her. Wet trails streamed down her cheeks and she pressed her eyes shut.
There was nothing he could say to lessen her hurt.
So, he did the only thing he could think of.
The step put her face nearly level to his and he skimmed his hands up and brushed away the tears with the pads of his thumbs.
When her lashes lifted, he leaned in, hovering a hairsbreadth away from her lips.
Her breath puffed against his chin.
He closed the distance.
“Lieutenant!”
He jerked his head back as the shout echoed around them, followed by the thunder of hooves. Miss Warstein wiped at her face as Isaac pounded up the drive. The officer pulled his horse to a sudden stop and it tossed its head, sending bits of foam flying.
“It’s Thorne. He escaped.”