didn’t want to know.
She sighed, bewildered and impatient. Why ask a question to which he already knew the answer? Why else would she have come? Why else would she have stayed?
‘You know why. I love you.’
Stunned, he stared at her. Love? He’d never known it, didn’t trust it. He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t. You might think you do. But it’s just –’ he waved an arm in frustration, ‘girl dreams. You don’t know me. No one knows me.’ He jammed his fists into his pockets, wanting to kick something, or pound someone to a pulp. She didn’t know what she was saying. How could she love him?
Scrambling to her feet Tamara buttoned her bodice with violently trembling fingers. What had she done? She had been so sure he would understand. How could she have been so wrong?
Tidying herself as best she could, she reached for her coat. ‘Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, Devlin. If you don’t want me, that’s your loss.’ She paused to swallow the agonising lump in her throat. She had made a terrible mistake. She felt sick and shaky and needed to get home. But she would pull out her own fingernails sooner than let him know how deeply his words had cut. Pride was a flimsy veil but it was all she had.
He looked away, keeping his distance as she struggled into her sodden coat. Loathing himself, and furious with her, he wished she would hurry up and go.
Shock and the cold weight of her coat made her teeth chatter. But she steadied her voice by sheer force of will. ‘You’re right. I don’t know you. I thought I did. I believed you were different. I was sure you understood things that other men can’t or won’t. But I was wrong. You’re blind. And you’re a coward.’
The scorn in her voice stung like a whiplash. His head jerked up. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘I face death every time I go to sea.’
She fastened her coat and picked up her umbrella. ‘Yes, perhaps you do. But so does your crew. So do the miners who work underground. So does every woman who bears a child. People face death every day. But to embrace life, to share your heart and soul as well as your body,’ she opened the door to the relentless rain. ‘That takes courage.’ She stepped out into darkness. ‘And you don’t have enough.’
Chapter Seven
Jenefer woke with a start. There was a time, before the accident, when she had slept deeply, rarely waking until morning. But now, always aware that Betsy might need her, she could never relax completely and her sleep was light and fitful.
She lay in the darkness listening to the wind outside and the waves crashing on the rocks as she waited for a repeat of whatever had disturbed her sleep. A few months ago she would have jumped out of bed immediately. But it had been warmer then, and the nights lighter. Nor had she been so desperately tired.
Was that a door creaking? Please don’t let it be her father up again. After settling her sister for the night Jenefer had emerged from Betsy’s room and heard muffled voices in the hall below. Looking over the banister she had seen Treeve, who was certainly not sober, with a supporting arm around her father who was so drunk he could barely walk.
She had known better than to offer help. She would get no thanks. Her father was more likely to curse her interference then accuse her of spying on him. Walking quietly along the landing to her own room she had closed her door and, leaning her back against it, listened to their erratic progress up the stairs.
A thud followed by a series of smaller ones told her one of them had dropped something, probably a bottle or maybe a decanter. It bounced to the bottom but didn’t smash. She would make Treeve mop up the spillage in the morning. Maggie already had more than enough to do and Treeve was responsible for her father’s condition. Yet, as Treeve said when she tackled him about it, if mister ordered him to fetch brandy and threatened dismissal for him and Maggie if he refused,
She sighed, bewildered and impatient. Why ask a question to which he already knew the answer? Why else would she have come? Why else would she have stayed?
‘You know why. I love you.’
Stunned, he stared at her. Love? He’d never known it, didn’t trust it. He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t. You might think you do. But it’s just –’ he waved an arm in frustration, ‘girl dreams. You don’t know me. No one knows me.’ He jammed his fists into his pockets, wanting to kick something, or pound someone to a pulp. She didn’t know what she was saying. How could she love him?
Scrambling to her feet Tamara buttoned her bodice with violently trembling fingers. What had she done? She had been so sure he would understand. How could she have been so wrong?
Tidying herself as best she could, she reached for her coat. ‘Don’t presume to tell me what I feel, Devlin. If you don’t want me, that’s your loss.’ She paused to swallow the agonising lump in her throat. She had made a terrible mistake. She felt sick and shaky and needed to get home. But she would pull out her own fingernails sooner than let him know how deeply his words had cut. Pride was a flimsy veil but it was all she had.
He looked away, keeping his distance as she struggled into her sodden coat. Loathing himself, and furious with her, he wished she would hurry up and go.
Shock and the cold weight of her coat made her teeth chatter. But she steadied her voice by sheer force of will. ‘You’re right. I don’t know you. I thought I did. I believed you were different. I was sure you understood things that other men can’t or won’t. But I was wrong. You’re blind. And you’re a coward.’
The scorn in her voice stung like a whiplash. His head jerked up. ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘I face death every time I go to sea.’
She fastened her coat and picked up her umbrella. ‘Yes, perhaps you do. But so does your crew. So do the miners who work underground. So does every woman who bears a child. People face death every day. But to embrace life, to share your heart and soul as well as your body,’ she opened the door to the relentless rain. ‘That takes courage.’ She stepped out into darkness. ‘And you don’t have enough.’
Chapter Seven
Jenefer woke with a start. There was a time, before the accident, when she had slept deeply, rarely waking until morning. But now, always aware that Betsy might need her, she could never relax completely and her sleep was light and fitful.
She lay in the darkness listening to the wind outside and the waves crashing on the rocks as she waited for a repeat of whatever had disturbed her sleep. A few months ago she would have jumped out of bed immediately. But it had been warmer then, and the nights lighter. Nor had she been so desperately tired.
Was that a door creaking? Please don’t let it be her father up again. After settling her sister for the night Jenefer had emerged from Betsy’s room and heard muffled voices in the hall below. Looking over the banister she had seen Treeve, who was certainly not sober, with a supporting arm around her father who was so drunk he could barely walk.
She had known better than to offer help. She would get no thanks. Her father was more likely to curse her interference then accuse her of spying on him. Walking quietly along the landing to her own room she had closed her door and, leaning her back against it, listened to their erratic progress up the stairs.
A thud followed by a series of smaller ones told her one of them had dropped something, probably a bottle or maybe a decanter. It bounced to the bottom but didn’t smash. She would make Treeve mop up the spillage in the morning. Maggie already had more than enough to do and Treeve was responsible for her father’s condition. Yet, as Treeve said when she tackled him about it, if mister ordered him to fetch brandy and threatened dismissal for him and Maggie if he refused,
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