finished.”
“I’m not, Miss Impertinence - not by—”
“Ah, Mrs. Bullerham,” a cool, deferential voice interposed. “Did you wish assistance ascending the steps?”
Amanda’s head whipped round, and her face flamed as she saw Mr. Brentick striding towards them. The blaze in his blue eyes seemed to crackle through the dim passage.
“Or had you rather,” he went on in more ominous tones as he neared, “return to your cabin to rest?”
Mrs. Bullerham opened her mouth. Mr. Brentick took one step closer. Mrs. Bullerham shut her mouth, turned, and scuttled back into her cabin.
The blazing blue gaze fell upon Amanda then, and her heart seemed to clench into a hard little fist. She couldn’t breathe.
“Miss Cavencourt, may I invite you above, to relieve yourself of the string of oaths burning your tongue?”
He’d heard. What burned then was her face.
“It seems the Devil also makes work for idle tongues,” Mr. Brentick said as they reached the rail. “Mrs. Bullerham has the true instinct of a killer.”
“It would be more gallant to pretend you’d heard nothing,” Amanda said, forcing a smile.
“I thought that would be cowardly. I’m already disgusted with myself for not intruding sooner, but I was caught between Scylla and Charybdis, you see.”
She was far too hurt, bewildered, and mortified to see anything at the moment, and her smile felt like a hideous facial contortion. Looking away, she inhaled deeply of the brisk salt air.
“I thought at first that if I dashed to your rescue, it would make matters worse,” he continued. “I didn’t realise my presence was unnecessary to accomplish that.”
“If you will not be gallant,” she said, “then please don’t be kind, either.” She swallowed, and made herself meet his sympathetic gaze, “Is it true? Is that what others think?”
“As you told me a while ago, Miss Cavencourt, her mind is poisoned. It was all venom.”
She shook her head. “No, and that’s the worst of her. However venomous, there’s always truth in what she says. What enrages everyone is that she’s insensitive enough to say it. It is what others think, isn’t it? That I’m so desperate—”
“Why would anyone but a miserable, dyspeptic old cow think anything like that? Her mind is as sick as her infernal liver,” he answered angrily.
“Do you think it?” she asked.
He stared at her a moment incredulously, then, to her confusion, he smiled. “If you’ll pardon the impertinence, miss—are you mad?”
“What do you mean?”
“She said you were at your last prayers,” he answered with the excessive patience usually offered the mentally enfeebled. “Whatever other twisted ‘truths’ she may have uttered, you cannot be so overset as to credit that.”
Amanda stared at him blankly.
He returned the stare. “You aren’t,” he said. “It’s quite impossible. Do strive to collect your wits.”
“I wish you’d collect yours, Mr. Brentick. I most certainly am at my last prayers. I am six and twenty.”
“And?”
She coloured. “And—and I have a looking glass.”
“If you can’t gaze into it in a rational manner, I can’t imagine what possible good it does you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you are not trying to persuade me I am some sort of femme fatale?”
“I should not presume, miss.”
“If that is your notion how to appease my wounded dignity, I must point out you are altogether off the mark.” As she met his expressionless gaze, another suspicion arose. “You aren’t—you aren’t flirting with me again, and pretending you’re not, are you?”
His eyes opened very wide. “I wouldn’t dream of it, miss.”
“I should hope not. You did promise you wouldn’t.”
“If memory serves, I said I mustn’t.”
“And so you mustn’t,” she said, growing flustered in quite a different way. “It makes me most—most uncomfortable.”
“I’m painfully aware of that, miss. It is most provoking.” His tones were
“I’m not, Miss Impertinence - not by—”
“Ah, Mrs. Bullerham,” a cool, deferential voice interposed. “Did you wish assistance ascending the steps?”
Amanda’s head whipped round, and her face flamed as she saw Mr. Brentick striding towards them. The blaze in his blue eyes seemed to crackle through the dim passage.
“Or had you rather,” he went on in more ominous tones as he neared, “return to your cabin to rest?”
Mrs. Bullerham opened her mouth. Mr. Brentick took one step closer. Mrs. Bullerham shut her mouth, turned, and scuttled back into her cabin.
The blazing blue gaze fell upon Amanda then, and her heart seemed to clench into a hard little fist. She couldn’t breathe.
“Miss Cavencourt, may I invite you above, to relieve yourself of the string of oaths burning your tongue?”
He’d heard. What burned then was her face.
“It seems the Devil also makes work for idle tongues,” Mr. Brentick said as they reached the rail. “Mrs. Bullerham has the true instinct of a killer.”
“It would be more gallant to pretend you’d heard nothing,” Amanda said, forcing a smile.
“I thought that would be cowardly. I’m already disgusted with myself for not intruding sooner, but I was caught between Scylla and Charybdis, you see.”
She was far too hurt, bewildered, and mortified to see anything at the moment, and her smile felt like a hideous facial contortion. Looking away, she inhaled deeply of the brisk salt air.
“I thought at first that if I dashed to your rescue, it would make matters worse,” he continued. “I didn’t realise my presence was unnecessary to accomplish that.”
“If you will not be gallant,” she said, “then please don’t be kind, either.” She swallowed, and made herself meet his sympathetic gaze, “Is it true? Is that what others think?”
“As you told me a while ago, Miss Cavencourt, her mind is poisoned. It was all venom.”
She shook her head. “No, and that’s the worst of her. However venomous, there’s always truth in what she says. What enrages everyone is that she’s insensitive enough to say it. It is what others think, isn’t it? That I’m so desperate—”
“Why would anyone but a miserable, dyspeptic old cow think anything like that? Her mind is as sick as her infernal liver,” he answered angrily.
“Do you think it?” she asked.
He stared at her a moment incredulously, then, to her confusion, he smiled. “If you’ll pardon the impertinence, miss—are you mad?”
“What do you mean?”
“She said you were at your last prayers,” he answered with the excessive patience usually offered the mentally enfeebled. “Whatever other twisted ‘truths’ she may have uttered, you cannot be so overset as to credit that.”
Amanda stared at him blankly.
He returned the stare. “You aren’t,” he said. “It’s quite impossible. Do strive to collect your wits.”
“I wish you’d collect yours, Mr. Brentick. I most certainly am at my last prayers. I am six and twenty.”
“And?”
She coloured. “And—and I have a looking glass.”
“If you can’t gaze into it in a rational manner, I can’t imagine what possible good it does you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you are not trying to persuade me I am some sort of femme fatale?”
“I should not presume, miss.”
“If that is your notion how to appease my wounded dignity, I must point out you are altogether off the mark.” As she met his expressionless gaze, another suspicion arose. “You aren’t—you aren’t flirting with me again, and pretending you’re not, are you?”
His eyes opened very wide. “I wouldn’t dream of it, miss.”
“I should hope not. You did promise you wouldn’t.”
“If memory serves, I said I mustn’t.”
“And so you mustn’t,” she said, growing flustered in quite a different way. “It makes me most—most uncomfortable.”
“I’m painfully aware of that, miss. It is most provoking.” His tones were
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