"Jeb, why do you want me?" I blurt out. It wasn't something I ever questioned before. When this just seemed to make so much sense. But I get the feeling Jeb doesn't love me, not the way a husband would love a wife. Is he just being kind? Doing me a favor?
In truth, I find myself hoping for an excuse. I wish to let him go and find something else, anything else, to complete my life. I didn't even care if it led to ruin. Not anymore.
It’s a stupid thought, because even suffocating in this world is better than the likely alternatives. I could be happy here, right?
I once would have been.
Still, I search for hope in his eyes. Let me go, I beg him.
"What?" he asks, eyes wide at my question. "You, we, I mean... it's always made sense."
I nod lightly. "It did. But—"
"Is it not what you want?" he asks suddenly, stopping even though the music doesn't and we're still in the middle of the dance floor.
I pull him back into motion, and he follows. "I don't know, it is. But—"
It isn't.
"You don't know."
I shake my head. "I don't know what I want, anymore."
He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. Finally, the song fades to a close, and Jeb releases me. I follow the rules of conduct I've been trained for and walk politely back to the crowd, away from my suitor. His face is fallen the rest of the evening, and I can't help but feel like the worst human being on the planet.
Bluff
My blood rushes cold, hands nearly shaking, as I walk through the massive oak doors and into the hideously decorated hall.
"Wow," Rosemera whispers beside me, blinking at the crystal chandelier which scatters light around the room.
I roll my eyes. The skin I'm wearing is heavier than I'm used to. He's tall, but not so much thin. I figured a little round about the belly was fitting for this lot.
It’s an indulgent society, if I ever saw one.
"Remember, stay close, all right? Pretend not to speak English if anyone pries."
She gives me a smirk that tells me she has no intention of doing any such thing. I shake my head. She's only going to be a liability here. I should have insisted she wait outside, but heaven knows she would never have listened.
At least like this, she'll be nearby if I need to sweep her away.
Because Rosemera will never blend in here. Her skin is too dark, her nose too wide, and her speech too rough. No matter how well dressed and put together she is, she might as well have the word “foreigner” written on her forehead.
I hate this close-minded society.
I mentally chide myself for falling in with one of them. What a fool.
Rosemera presses into the crowd and I follow. Eyes already glance her way. Too many eyes.
Her dress is red, the light glinting off golden beads embroidered into the fabric. It's a bold choice, but I'm hoping that sells the idea that she's a rich foreigner, here as the guest of some highbrow moron.
A flash of blond hair and blue eyes distracts me just long enough for Rosemera to slip into the dense, well-dressed bodies and disappear.
"Dammit," I spit out from under my breath. A large woman with thinning hair she tries to hide under a black bonnet sneers at me. I smile shyly and turn the other way.
I can't worry about Rosemera or we'll never attain our goal—finding Whitley before Stede does. Even though she's the last person I want to lay eyes on right now.
Especially with her arm wrapped tightly around some large-armed fancy boy like she is right now. I wince the moment the sight registers. His hand is at her waist, and my heart screams a song of wrath and agony. I squeeze my fists until my nails sting my palms.
I hate this feeling.
I hate that I can't force myself to stop caring. I shouldn't. I was never supposed to care about her.
And here I am, cracking because her fiancé—who she had all the time we spent together—spins her around in circles beneath that stupid sparkling chandelier.
He has what she desires. He can give her the things she wants.
I can't.
I have nothing to give her. Except more pain. More fear.
Part of me wants to walk away, let her be with her stupid Jeb and fend for herself, but the truth is it doesn't matter whether I walk away or not. My world is coming for her.
It will be my fault that she's miserable. My fault she can't have the life she wants.
At least let me be the one to rip it from her. Perhaps I'll find a quiet joy from that.
I take in a long breath and slip back into the crowd, knowing it's unwise to approach her now. Who knows how her beloved Jeb will react? I certainly don't need a scene.
The next moment she's alone, I'll act.
Now that my target is pinpointed, I'll check back with Rosemera.
I move through the crowd quicker than the man whose skin I'm wearing would ever attempt, but my mind is too distracted to act appropriately.
The room is so large, the crowd so thick, I struggle to track down my lost friend until I hear her impolite laugh ringing through the room. Several heads spin towards her as she snorts in the middle of her belly laugh.
When I'm finally able to reach her, I find two young men entirely too close to her. One is running his finger along the beads of her dress at the waist. I grit my teeth, ready to defend her, but she chuckles again and leans in, whispering something in the boy's ear.
It's easy to forget that Rosemera is anything but typical, especially in this place. She's a pirate. And she doesn't get much opportunity to talk with boys her age, particularly ones she likely finds attractive.
I approach casually. "There you are," I say with a low voice. I hate speaking with a voice other than my own. That is always the strangest part of shifting, and I avoid it when possible.
She blinks as she looks at me, clearly forgetting who I am. I raise my eyebrows, and her face smooths, as recognition settles.
"Yes. Meet my new friends, Thomas and Eddie. They're acquaintances of Jeb."
I grit my teeth. "Wonderful."
"This is my uncle," she tells the two boys. One has sandy blonde hair and light freckles. He’s probably only fourteen or fifteen and clearly the shier of the two. He doesn't know quite what to do as his friend gets inappropriately close to Rosemera.
The other boy has long black hair that slips down to his eyes. His lips spread into a mischievous grin. "Nice to meet you, Uncle," he says without taking his eyes off of her.
"I was just telling Thomas here that a trip to the study with him would be rather a bad idea, would it not?"
I almost laugh at her. She's surprisingly good at talking the right way, though by the laugh that brought her to my attention, and the way she leans in too close to her new friend, I realize she's still at risk of being found out, especially if any of Stede’s crew shows up. She may be incriminated along with them, just by the evident truth that she does not belong in this world.
"Very much so. We must keep at attention; our friend may be along at any time."
"Right," she says, blinking as if she really had forgotten the real reason we came.
"If I must leave you behind, I will," I say quietly.
"Boo hoo," she says with fake pouty lips. "I'm sure I'll be just fine."
I take in a deep breath. "I hope so."
As the song ends, I turn back to the dance floor to ensure I don't lose Whitley, but I realize I'm too late. Jeb is walking through the crowd towards me, and Whitley is nowhere to be seen.
Whitley
I stare at a hand drawn map of Manhattan on the wall of Mr. Peter's study. According to it, I am nearly a mile from the harbor, 5,000 feet or so from the closest drop of salt water.
Waves dance in my mind. Sails billow. Grey-blue eyes watch me.
"What are you doing in here?"
I turn to face a man in a tailored suit and bow tie with grey hair and spectacles. It takes my mind a moment to register his face as the man I've most dreaded for what feels like my whole life
.
I swallow and resist the urge to look down at my feet. "Hello, Mr. Robinson," I say politely, but already I'm considering my exit routes.
This man has never hurt me, not physically. His words have always had an edge to them, though—a sense of control. His eyes hold a hint of cruelty that terrifies me, even now.
Sometimes I wondered if it was my imagination, if it was just the rumors that had me jumping to conclusions. But not now.
Now I trust my intuition.
My skin tingles with anticipation of flight. I do not want to be alone with this man.
"Well?" His voice is low and commanding, yet holds a hint of wicked enjoyment.
I raise my eyebrows, trying to show anything but the fear pulsing through my veins.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Didn't I?" I say sweetly, keeping eye contact. I won't be an easy victim.
His lips turn up into a sadistic smile. "Avoiding Jeb, are we? I heard about your little tiff. Too bad, when young promising couples fall apart before they even begin." He steps forward casually, as if the motion means nothing, but my pounding heart does not like the dissipating distance between us.
His fingers glide along a cedar shelf as he takes slow steps towards me, his eyes on the photos and books that crowd the borders of the room.
My eyes flit to the open door. A gentle waltz hums faintly from down the hall. He's moving closer, and my heart picks up speed. Every step he takes towards me, I could step away towards the door. But I don't move—that would tip him off to my exit strategy.
I don't know what he has planned for this moment, but I intend to assume the worst and listen to my pounding heart that screams for me to run.
So, I will allow him to believe he is in control. I want him to continue moving towards me. The closer he gets, the clearer my exit route—so long as I move quickly when the time comes.
I settle my feet and clench my fists.
"You always were a quiet one."
Around you, yes.
"Well, anyway, I suppose your disagreement with Jeb is in my favor." Now he looks up to meet my eye. There is one small chair between us, and only a few feet.
My heart throbs, pounding in my ears. I force my eyes not to move towards the door.
"How is that?" I ask, and the sweetness of my tone disappears. Which I suppose is okay, because he may suspect something isn't right if I'm not at a least a little unsure. He wants me to be scared.
"Those pirates were a bit of a wrench in the plan, but, well..." his voice drifts off, like his mind is lost, stuck on something far away. Then his gaze locks on mine fiercely. "You know you have other options, don't you, Whitley?" His voice is quiet as he takes one more step. He's nearly close enough to touch me. My path is wide open, around the other side of the cedar desk.
My heart pauses one beat as I prepare to leap away from him, out of the study and back into the crowded hall—
He pulls a small ring from his pocket, fingering it absently. "Your father will be pleased."
I blink, muscles frozen in place. "What?" I haven't heard a word about my father since the pirate raid. For all I know, he may not even be alive.
He smiles and takes another step. This time I step backwards, away from him, but don't run. I thought his mention of the pirates was strange, but not enough to keep me from fleeing without answers. Now, my eyes move to my mother’s ring between his fingers, and my lungs stop working.
"Oh yes, we've been corresponding."
Heat rushes to my face. "He's been corresponding with you." My father hasn't spoken to anyone in New York since we left. He broke all ties. Except Mr. Robinson, if I believe him...There’s hardly been enough time for a letter to arrive since the raid.
The man's dark eyes shine, and my chest tightens.
"Of course. I was just preparing to make my way down south when I got his message. We both thought that was the end— a pirate raid taking his most valuable commodity." He shakes his head. "Such a shame." He leans against the desk, hand inches from mine. "You'd be ruined, if you managed to survive, and our deal would be off. But you managed to make it out with a solid reputation. I'm very impressed, I must admit."
I press my eyes together. "You made a deal with my father." I don't care about the rest of it. I don't care that my father is alive, or who he's been talking to. The implication here is much worse.
A low chuckle resounds from Mr. Robinson's chest, and he holds out my mother’s small and unimpressive emerald ring. When I don’t take it, he drops it on the floor.
He knows I don’t need to accept it for his deal to stay in place. I have no say in this.
"How much?" I ask, low and firm, then meet his eye, resisting the urge to spit at him. How much was I worth? bile rises in my throat.
"Enough."
"My father sold me to you." Chills flow all the way down my body. "You were coming to meet us in our new life, with money to keep us wealthy."
“How else do you think he afforded such an estate, even in Carolina?” He looks over his finger nails, so casual, but obviously loving my panic. "September fourteenth. That was the date of our wedding."
My stomach clenches so hard I pitch forward. How I don't lose my lunch is beyond me. I take the moment to bend down and pick up my mother’s ring. I hold it in my clenched fist. No wonder my father wouldn’t allow me to wear it during our trip. He ripped it from my fingers and tossed it inside my jewelry box never to be seen again. We were in such a rush, I hadn’t had time to argue.
Had he pulled it back out when I wasn’t looking and left it as a token their bargain was still on? I swallow, looking at the faded silver.
"Of course, now it must be postponed,” Mr. Robinson goes on. “But there are worse problems. I'm simply pleased you gave us a convenient excuse to break off your engagement to Jeb. You've done a mighty fine job at making this work so well for me."
He reaches out and gently brushes a hair behind my ear. I don't remember the last breath I took.
My body finally reacts, and I shoot away from him—not fast enough, though. He grabs my upper arm, pulling me back to face him. I let out a squeal, but I give not one moment of hesitation before I slam my heel down on his toe. He hollers in pain and I pull my arm from his grip with a jerk that sends me to the floor. I hit my head on the corner of the desk on the way down, but I scramble up as he reaches for me again and fly from the room.
“You bitch!” he yells after me.
I run down the corridor and into the crowded hall. Bodies press in around me, but I don't see them. The pounding in my head drowns out the music.
Everything spins.
My father betrayed me. Again. I didn't even known what he was doing. When would he have told me? When Mr. Robinson showed up out of the blue? On the day of my wedding?
I'd rather be with one of those pirates than the cruel man to whom my father bartered me.
I always knew my father would use me. My value was in my beauty. He never kept that a secret. But I thought... I thought I could find a way to please him without destroying everything. Marry someone who could make me happy, and please him at the same time.
He didn't even let me try.
He wouldn't even let me have what little happiness I could gain myself, even if it still fit what he wanted. My happiness wasn't worth enough money. So he sold it.
"Sweetheart," a woman's gravelly voice says behind me, and a soft hand touches my forearm. "Are you alright?"
I don't even look towards her. I don't know if she's sincere or gossip hungry, but it doesn't matter because she can't help.
I push my way through the crowd towards the front door, an incessant need to escape pressing in on me. I run up the stairs to the main exit of Jeb’s beautiful home. A home that could have been mine. Would have been. Wondering if this will be the last time that I would set foot here.
"Whitley!" someone calls.
I pause, feeling a soft breeze on my wet cheeks, not even sure when I started crying.
A shift. A chill. The smell of salt.
Something has changed in the room. I turn to search the crowd, from the edges of the room to the center and back out. I could see it all from my vantage point, high on the marble stairway. The music still plays. People still dance and chat in corners, sipping their drinks.
No one else seems to notice that something is very much not right.
Men from all corners of the room, moving from edge to edge, sweeping the room methodically. They're dressed in something resembling the usual tailored suits of high society gentlemen, but... not quite right.
Like the gold earring in one man's right ear. Or the black scar on one man's lip. The dirt beneath their nails. The stain of blood on one man's bowtie.
“Care to dance?” Jeb says, pulling my attention back to him.
My stomach flips—the first pleasant feeling I've had in days, despite the fear ripping through my chest.
"Not with a bunch of pirates filling the room," I say, looking him in the eye and knowing full well that it is not Jeb I'm talking to.
Bluff
I flex my fingers, working to hide my discomfort as she meets my gaze with sea blue eyes full of wonder and an expression I can't quite describe. Her mention of pirates surprises me, not because she's noticed them, but because she'd tell her high-brow fiancé, whose skin I'm still wearing, about them so causally. Does she confide in him that heavily?
"What do we do?" I ask, realizing part of me is testing her. We need to go, get out of here as quickly as possible, but I want to know what she'd do without me. Would she rely on Jeb and his big towering home to save her? Would she run away with him?
Her expression shows a moment of confusion, like my question doesn't belong on my lips. Perhaps Jeb is more controlling than that?
"Run," she says and holds out a gentle hand towards me, eyes seductive— almost like we're not running from a dangerous pirate crew, but towards something much more exciting.
Heat rushes to my face at the thought of us doing anything like the last moments we spent together in the captain’s quarters. So even though it's not the safest choice to make, I shift back into myself. My clothes stay, prim and proper for the occasion, but my body and face fall back into their natural state.
Sea of Treason (Pirate's Bluff Book 1) Page 10