Heart Of The Storm

Rachel’s heart sank. It was only a matter of time before Peter found her. He’d be returning to the town house tomorrow or the next day at the latest. She had to leave the country.

Her thoughts turned to her wedding band. Encircled with diamonds and rubies, it was worth a small fortune. She tugged off the glove on her left hand and removed her ring. “This should cover my passage.”

The captain took her ring and studied it. He held it up to the light. “It is an exquisite piece of jewelry indeed.”

She’d grown to hate the ring and all that it symbolized. “It’s one of a kind.”

His gaze sharpened with interest. He looked inside the band. “There is an inscription,” he said. “Forever and always.”

“Yes.” On her wedding day when she’d read the words, she’d been touched. Now they haunted her.

He held the ring up so that the sunlight reflected in the gems. “A widow who trades her wedding band must be quite desperate to leave.”

Her knees were shaking, but she held her chin high. “Do you accept my offer or not, Captain?”

LaFortune studied the ring a beat longer.

Rachel held her breath.

“Oui,” he said finally, tucking the ring into his vest pocket. “How could I resist such a generous offer? Welcome aboard the Anna St. Claire.”

His greeting didn’t offer much relief. This journey was the first of many to come. She had enough funds to get her through the next few months, but beyond that she didn’t know what she was going to do. “Thank you.”

The captain glanced around her. “And your bags?”

When she’d left the town house she’d not taken a bag fearing some of the servants loyal to Peter would contact him. She’d told her maid she was going to shop for an anniversary gift for Peter. “I’ve none.”

“And the mystery deepens. So young. No luggage. And a widow. That is regrettable.”

“Yes, regrettable.”

“Do you have a name, madame?”

“I believe I have just paid for my privacy.”

A slow smile curved his lips. “Oui. You have. But then we have eight days to get to know one another very well.”

Peter had taught her to school her emotions. Though she wanted to run from this vile ship, she held her ground. “We shall see.”

The captain signaled his first officer over. The large, heavyset man moved toward them with uncommon agility. “Yes, Captain?”

“Rubin, show madame to my cabin. She will be traveling with us. Mr. Rubin keeps the eight men on this ship in line, including myself sometimes.”

Rubin glanced down at her. His gaze traveled over her black dress and veiled face. “A woman is bad luck, but a widow is daring fate to destroy us. The men will not like it.”

LaFortune shrugged. “She is paying well.”

“We’ve had smooth sailing since New York,” the old sailor said. “Why tempt the seas now? Our lives are not worth whatever fare she has paid.”

The captain’s smile flattened. “Madame, you must excuse Rubin. He has sailed the seas for over forty years, but he is quite superstitious.”

Rachel sensed the power play between the two men. She kept silent.

“Good luck is why I’ve lived so long,” Rubin said.

The captain’s gaze hardened.

Rubin wasn’t happy, but he knew when he had pushed too far. “Very well. But we will regret this.” He nodded toward the small door that led to the hold below. “This way.”

As Rachel started to turn, the wind caught her veil and whisked it back off her face. For an instant her gaze caught the captain’s. She saw his eyes spark with interest as he studied the bruise marring her left eye. She quickly grabbed the veil and pulled it back in place.

The captain frowned. “Who would mar such a lovely face as yours?”

Rachel held the veil in place with a gloved hand. “It was an accident.”

He smiled. “Of course.”

He didn’t believe her, and she did not care. As long as he didn’t press her for details and left her alone, she was satisfied.

She wanted nothing more than to find her cabin and bar the door. “My cabin, Mr. Rubin?”

Nodding, the old sailor led her belowdecks. Rubin had to stoop to move down the low, narrow hallway. The smell of urine and filth, magnified by the confined space, assailed her.

He opened a small door to a cabin. The room had a bunk, one chair and a chamber pot next to the bed. A small portal above the bunk looked out onto the harbor. The precious little floor space was crammed full of crates of wine.

“Will you be needing anything?” Rubin asked.

She stepped into the room. The sheets on the bunk were stained. A rat scurried into a corner then disappeared behind a crate. Eight days in this hole seemed intolerable. However she had no choice.

Choking back her fear she said, “No.”

“Then I will leave you.”

She stared out the portal onto the busy dock. Hundreds of people milled around out there. The thought that one could be Peter had her itching to leave port. “Mr. Rubin, how long until we sail?”

He stopped, his hand on the door handle ready to close it. “A half hour.”

Too long. She would not rest easy until the shores of America were out of sight. “Thank you.”

With a grunt, Rubin closed the door behind him.

Rachel sat in the chair. She removed her veil. The air in the cabin was thick, but still it felt good to be free of the suffocating veil. She draped the veil over the back of the chair. She tugged off her second glove and, along with the other, folded it neatly. She took great care to tuck both in her reticule next to her money and a small volume of poems. The task complete, she folded her hands in her lap. She considered reading several poems. They always calmed her. Her stomach already queasy from the rocking of the ship, she decided against it.

The ship creaked. Above, the captain shouted commands.

She caught her reflection in a small mirror nailed to the wall beside the bunk. Her blue eyes were sunken, lifeless, and her skin pale. She looked much older than her twenty-three years.

How had her life become such a terrible mess?