Chapter Twenty-Five #3
She dared not blink, lest he dissolve like mist. “Lucien?” His name trembled free before she could steady it, fragile and half-disbelieving.
He closed his eyes as if to steel himself. When he opened them again, the intensity had softened.
She stared, rooted to the spot, struggling to reconcile the impossible with the undeniable truth standing mere feet away. “I’m beginning to think that maybe I do believe in ghosts.”
Something flickered across his face, but he caught it quickly, schooling his features. “I’m no ghost, though God knows I feel half dead.”
Her gaze flicked past him to the passengers milling across the deck. “Why are you here?”
A muscle clamped in his jaw. “I needed to know.”
The tense weight in his gaze pressed on her, and she swallowed, throat thick. “To know what?”
His gaze pierced her. “That you’re happy.”
Her chest tightened, each breath shallow and uneven. Happy? The word scraped against her ribs in a reminder of how everything had gone so horribly wrong. She had nothing. Nothing. How could she possibly be happy? Something fractured inside her, and she spun to face the rail so he wouldn’t notice.
“Abigail.”
She sucked in a breath.
The breeze caught the first of her tears, whipping them across her cheeks, and she pressed her face into her hands to hide the proof of her unraveling. A whisper-soft touch settled on her shoulders, a presence she was not sure if she imagined or not.
“I shouldn’t have left.” She whispered the words toward the horizon, but his fingers flexed in subtle confirmation he’d heard. When he remained silent, she took a shaky breath. “Mr. Ainsley has broken off our engagement.”
“Why?”
Shame flooded her as the sneering voice echoed in her memory. “When I told him the fire may have left me with nothing, he broke it off. All he cared about was—” Her voice broke. “He only wanted my money.”
“Would you think less of me if I told you I’m glad?”
She couldn’t help the small twitch of a smile his answer brought and turned to face him. His face softened. A calloused thumb swept across her cheek, wiping away a drop of wetness. He rubbed the tear between his fingers, staring at them before leveling his stormy gaze at her.
“Come back with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Wasn’t a command. Instead, his offer hung between them like a promise.
“I—” Her voice died in her throat as he closed the distance between them and reached for her hands. The moment his rough palms closed around her cold fingers, something inside her chest snapped open.
“You there! Get your hands off my fiancée!”
They spun as Mr. Ainsley strode across the deck, face flushed.
Lucien smoothed a crease in his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I believe I misheard you. Surely you misspoke?”
“I assure you I didn’t.” Ainsley’s eyes narrowed in sudden recognition. “Wait a minute, you’re the bloke from Warstein’s.”
“I am.” Lucien’s smile was slow and controlled. “Abigail has just finished telling me how you two are no longer engaged. I offer my condolences.”
Color tinged Mr. Ainsley’s cheeks. “Well, I…” He trailed off. “We had a small argument, that’s all. One that does not concern you. I have since seen the error of my ways.”
Abigail stared at him. “You’re mad if you think I will forgive you.”
He smiled, his teeth like razors. “I realized your father is a smart man. He would have secured his investments outside of your home. You may not have anything right now, but that will change.”
She lifted her chin. “I’d rather have nothing at all than be stuck with you.”
Outrage clouded his face, but his smile didn’t falter. “Come now, let’s go back to our cabins and have a little chat.” He reached for her arm.
Lucien stepped between them, his broad shoulders blocking Ainsley’s path. “Don’t set one finger on her.”
Mr. Ainsley huffed. “Don’t tell me what to do.” He shoved Lucien’s chest with both hands, palms slamming against solid muscle.
She gasped as Lucien stumbled a single step back, his gaze going dark and dangerous. With a growl, he pulled his fist back.
“Halt!”
A burly crewman rushed forward, pistol drawn and leveled.
Abigail’s hand lifted to her throat as Lucien glanced between the sailor and Mr. Ainsley, the tension in his frame still coiled and deadly. A crowd had gathered, excited murmurs rising as passengers pressed closer for a better view. Her pulse eased only slightly when Lucien’s arm lowered.
The crowd parted, and the captain strode through, face stern beneath a salt-and-pepper beard. “Both of you. Get off this ship now.”
Mr. Ainsley jumped forward, his voice pitching higher. “Now, see here, I’ve bought passage, you can’t kick me off!”
“You’ve disturbed the peace.” The captain crossed his arms. “Therefore, your ticket is void.”
Ainsley sputtered, fists clenched. “This is outrageous! How will I get back to Savannah?”
The captain shrugged, unmoved. “That’s for you to figure out.” His sharp gaze swung to Lucien. “Will there be any problem, or do I need to have my men escort you off?”
Storm-gray eyes met hers, steady and unwavering. “No, sir. We were just leaving, ourselves.”