Chapter Seventeen #2
The ship pitched, and she stumbled, catching herself against the wall next to the bed. She braced herself there, the towel slipping from her numb fingers. Even with the storm’s roar muffled behind the walls, she couldn’t stop hearing it—wind, water, and the echo of her own gasping breath.
Her friend handed her a fresh set of clothing. “Here. Get changed.”
Abigail drew an uneven breath as she tugged off the soaked breeches, which clung to her like a second skin.
She pulled on the new ones, the rough fabric now feeling more like armor than humiliation, and slipped her arms into the blouse.
Shivering despite the warmth of the dry clothes, she lowered herself to the edge of the bed.
Josephine sat next to her and helped button the blouse. “Are you alright?”
“I’m never setting foot on a ship again.”
“I thought you were…” Josephine took a deep breath. “I thought you were gone. That was the most frightening moment of my entire life.”
Abigail managed a small smile. “Mine too.”
“Thank goodness for Mr. Moreau.” Josephine’s hand brushed hers briefly. “He’s quite remarkable, isn’t he?”
All she could manage was a nod, the memory of his strong arms around her chest threatening to unravel the fragile calm she’d gained.
“He kissed you.”
She sucked in a breath. So much for calmness. “I know.”
“In front of everyone.”
“I know.”
Her friend’s eyes sparkled as she stood and draped the towel across one of the chairs. “Is there something you’d like to admit about the two of you?”
Abigail stared at the chair, where just hours before, she’d nearly surrendered to the thrill of her hands on his bare skin, his smoldering gaze holding her fast. She ignored the rush of heat the thought sent racing through her. “No.”
“He’s very handsome.”
She forced her face to remain neutral, though fire burned up her ears. “I suppose so.”
Josephine laughed. “Come now, I saw the way you watched him on deck earlier.”
Grateful for the dim light of the cabin hiding her blush, Abigail shifted on the bed.
A romance with Mr. Moreau? She frowned, leaning her head against the wall. Never once had she imagined a man like him all the times she’d pictured falling in love. A tremor of something wild and uncertain stirred within her, and she took a steadying breath, pushing it down. Nonsense.
She sighed. “I just want to get home. To Savannah. I can’t wait to return to normal.”
Josephine’s smile slid away, replaced with a stricken look, and a heavy knot settled in Abigail’s stomach.
“What?”
Her friend took a step back, and the hairs lifted along the nape of Abigail’s neck. “What’s wrong?”
Josephine’s voice went tight. “Nobody has told you?”
A hollow dread settled inside her gut. “Told me what?”
“Thorne burned your house down. There’s nothing left.”
Abigail blinked at Josephine’s whispered words. Surely, she’d misheard. “Excuse me?”
Josephine closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
The words finally hit, landing with a blow that sucked the air from her lungs.
Nothing left.
*
“Your dress is dry.” Josephine held up the wrinkled fabric, then glanced toward the windows, where rain ran in silver threads down the glass. “Though I doubt it’ll stay that way for long.”
Abigail rolled over, the dull ache in her chest tightening beneath her ribs. She hadn’t moved from the spot on Samantha’s bed since discovering the news of her home’s fate. “Why can’t I just stay on board with you?”
Josephine gave a vigorous shake of her head. “Hurricanes are not anything to mess with. We had one on Tortuga nearly a decade ago, and many people lost their lives. You’ll be safer on land.”
Abigail pursed her lips. Savannah had endured two tropical storms in recent years, and she’d heard enough tales of monster hurricanes to know their ruin. She crossed her arms. “If it’s so bad, why are you and Samantha staying on the ship?”
Josephine huffed. “Because we are more experienced. If the ship should falter, we can get off and swim for shore. I’ve no wish to see you in the water like that again.”
The thought of the sea swallowing her again, of being flung helplessly among the dark waves, sent a shudder through Abigail. “Well, it’s not proper.”
She nearly laughed at the absurdity of her weak protest. The last weeks had been anything but proper. Especially where Mr. Moreau was concerned.
Josephine raised a dark brow as if reading her mind.
“Proper has nothing to do with surviving a hurricane. Mr. Moreau said he knows the area of Mobile well, that there are several respectable inns in the town. The good thing about hurricanes is they move quickly. By morning, it will have passed, and we will all be together again. Surely, you can make it one night.”
When worded like that, it sounded so sensible. With a sigh, Abigail nodded and stood. “Very well. One night.”
Josephine helped her change into the dress. The fabric pressed and tugged with the skirts hanging heavy around her legs, and the bodice’s laces restricting her chest. Her gaze flitted to the breeches and blouse piled on the floor. Was she… missing them?