Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Mr. Moreau threw up his arms as Thorne slowly rose to his feet. “Fine. We will meet at Warstein’s. Tomorrow morning.” His hand still rested at the small of Abigail’s back, and he turned toward her. “Do you want to go with your friend?”
Abigail hesitated, her gaze flicking to Samantha, who stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed and eyes locked on Christian. The tension between them hovered like a living thing, heavy in the cool air. She swallowed. “No. I don’t think I should. They… they have much to talk about.”
He nodded, his eyes softening. “You can stay with Eloise and me.”
Thorne rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. A thick silence fell over the yard, all eyes locked on him. He took a wooden step toward Eloise. Another. Until he closed the distance and nothing but a hand’s breadth separated them. His fingers twitched at his side, but he didn’t reach for her.
The pirate’s chest rose and fell in shallow, ragged pulls as he stared at his wife.
Eloise’s eyes reflected the storm in his, a single tear slipping down her cheek.
In the silence, decades passed between them, stretching the moment taut with memory and regret.
Thorne’s throat worked, the muscles jumping as if unsaid words fought to claw their way out.
Finally, he bowed his head. Not in defeat—the rigid line of his shoulders forbade it—but in something more difficult: surrender. Abigail swallowed. The infamous captain, a man who had never bowed to man nor fate, was yielding.
When he lifted his head, his voice came low and rough. “Until tomorrow.”
He straightened, his mask of command sliding back into place. “All hands, back to the ship.” His crew, who had been watching wide-eyed and uneasy, snapped to attention at his barked order.
With one last unreadable glance at Eloise, he turned and stalked from the yard, his men falling in step behind him, weapons slung, but still alert.
“I’m going to go make sure they all leave.” She startled as Mr. Moreau leaned in close. “I don’t trust him—not yet. Probably not ever. Stay with Eloise, help her pack a bag.”
Abigail nodded, swallowing as he brushed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. Then, without another word, he turned and strode toward the trees, disappearing into the shadows.
A few paces away, Mr. Thompson finally found movement, shoulders stiff and fists clenched. “Samantha, we need to—”
“Not now.” Samantha examined the blade of her rapier and took a shuddering breath. “Go get the horses. They should be up the drive.”
He opened his mouth as if to argue. Closed it. With a tight nod, he pivoted and stalked away. Samantha sagged against the gate as he left.
Abigail crossed the space and took her friend’s hands in hers. “Are you… alright?”
Samantha’s eyes flicked toward Christian’s retreating back, then back to Abigail.
The edge of fury that had marked her earlier was still there, but softer, tempered with worry.
She gave a bitter laugh. “I have to be, right? I don’t have the option to fall apart.
Heaven knows I’m still mad at Christian, but this… this…”
Abigail gave a gentle squeeze as Samantha trailed off before sucking in a harsh breath. “I just don’t know how he’s going to come to terms with this. How we are going to make sense of it all.”
“What about Thorne?”
Samantha’s jaw tightened and she yanked her hands away, pacing along the fence.
“Damn him. If he had given my parents half a chance to explain, they might still be here.” She pushed back a fiery lock of hair.
“But why did my father go along with such a terrible plan in the first place? I don’t know who to be angriest at.
Him. Thorne.” Her blue eyes drifted to Eloise. “Her.”
Guilt settled hard against Abigail’s ribs.
Every death. Every life shattered.
It all began with her own father. He’d been the one to set this horror in motion.
She took a shaky breath. “My father.”
Samantha stilled. “What?”
Abigail hugged her arms around herself. “If it hadn’t been for him, none of this would have happened.”
For a long moment, the two women stood in silence, the twilight pressing in around them. Samantha’s hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, and Abigail shifted on her feet. Finally, her friend let out a trembling exhale, her voice quiet, almost defeated. “I need to go.”
Chest constricting, Abigail nodded, and her vision blurred. “Of course. I’ll see you in New Orleans.”
Samantha gave her a tight smile and turned, hurrying to catch up with her husband.
Abigail spun at the soft click of a door behind her. The yard had quieted; even the cicadas seemed to hold their breath. She was alone. Her chest ached with a sudden, hollow panic, and the shadows pressed in, too large, too still to face by herself.
With hesitant steps, she crossed to the porch and entered the house.
Inside, the lanterns cast long, wavering shadows across the walls.
Eloise stood at the base of the stairs, staring into space.
Her hands hung loosely at her sides, yet every taut line of her posture betrayed the turmoil within. Abigail cleared her throat.
“Ah, Abigail. Hello.” Eloise smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
An uncomfortable weight twisted in Abigail’s gut. “There’s something I need to tell you, but you’re going to hate me for it.”
Eloise’s brow furrowed. “Whyever would you say such a thing?”
“My father is Commander Ross. He’s the one who started all this.”
“Oh, my dear thing. Your father’s sins are not your own to bear. Besides…” She paused, letting her gaze settle on her. “I knew who you were the day Warstein dropped you off on this porch.”
Abigail’s eyes widened. “You did?”
“Your father and my husband were good friends, close as brothers one might have said. Mr. Moreau was kind enough to make several inquiries over the years to see how he was faring. I was saddened to learn of your mother’s passing, you look just like her, you know?”
Abigail’s breath caught at the mention of her mother, a sudden sting rising to her eyes. She swallowed hard, clearing her throat. “Even knowing who I was, you’ve been so kind to me. Thorne, on the other hand, was going to kill me.”
Eloise’s expression tightened, a shadow passing over her features.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” Abigail pulled her lip between her teeth. “What will you do?”
Eloise stared at the space above Abigail’s shoulder, her eyes shimmering like glass about to break.
“When I first saw him, I felt such joy. All my deepest, most private hopes seemed to have impossibly come true.” She sniffed, her voice lowering to a mere whisper.
“But he’s right. He’s not the man I married. Not the man I loved. I—”