by Rae Summers
She looked away quickly.
“Who is she?” Lucy asked.
“Don’t look, Lucy dear,” Mrs. Fenton-Bell said, her tone scandalized.
“Why not?” Lucy craned her head to look.
“It’s those dreadful Americans.” The older woman shook her head. “How they managed to procure seats at the captain’s table, I’ll never know. I suppose money can buy anything these days.” She pressed her lips together. “The world has turned upside down since the war.”
“I’m American.” Lucy’s eyes sparked fire. Jenny laid a soothing hand on her sister-in-law’s knee beneath the table.
“Oh, I don’t mean all Americans, of course,” said Mrs. Fenton-Bell. “But upstarts like them don’t belong here among our kind.” She smiled ingratiatingly, with that patronizing tone she used on the young. “Did I tell you I met your grandfather, Senator March, at a garden party many years ago?”
“Twice.”
Recognizing the signs of mutiny in her young sister-in-law, Jenny leaned close and whispered. “There’s a dance in the ballroom this evening. Would you like to join in as soon as you’ve finished your dinner?”
Lucy’s baby-blue eyes brightened. “That’d be super.”
Across the table Mrs. Fenton-Bell caught the slang and pinched her lips. Blissful silence.
“I hear she’s a nightclub singer,” Colin said, still looking across the packed dining room to the captain’s table. Jenny didn’t blame him. Tom’s wife had a luminous quality that was hard to resist. She glowed like a woman in love.
“Dancer,” she corrected without thinking. Every head at the table turned to look at her, and she blushed. “She moves like a dancer.”
She dipped her spoon into her bowl of Charlotte à la Russe and kept her head down. The restlessness that had been building inside her since their rescue this afternoon overwhelmed her. She fanned herself with a napkin.
“Is it too hot in here for you?” Colin leaned toward her with a solicitousness that felt suddenly stifling.
“It’s just the wine. I think I’ll take a stroll on the deck to clear my head.” And the fire within her. She set the napkin down beside her plate. “If you’ll please excuse me?”
The men at the table rose as she stood.
“I’ll walk with you,” Colin offered.
Jenny shook her head. “I’d rather you escort Lucy to the ballroom after dinner. I’ll join you there.”
“Of course.” He gave her another of his brief bows and did not sit back down until she’d wound away between the tables.
To reach the closest doors she had to pass by the captain’s table. She tucked her head down in order to avoid eye contact. In vain.
“Good evening, Mrs. March.” Tom rose up before her.
She nodded, but kept her face averted. “Mr. Gallagher.” Instead, her gaze fell on Tom’s wife. She was even prettier up close, soft and delicate as a flower, with bee-stung lips and eyes that glittered as brightly as the diamonds at her neck.
The brightness was not only natural vivacity, Jenny noticed. Nor was it the sparkle of new love. Mrs. Gallagher’s eyes had the glazed look that came from too much liquor.
“Please excuse me,” she mumbled, trying to brush past Tom. But he was implacable.
Unable to stop herself, she looked up, straight into the dark, burning gaze she remembered all too well from her afternoon adventure. She blushed, her whole body burning with the discomforting heat. Discomforting because it was so pleasurable, and because the man who caused her to burn like this was married.
A married man with a wife who was both glamorous and beautiful, even if a tad under-dressed and over-sauced for this chilly night. Even under different circumstances, even if he weren’t married, how could a man like Tom Gallagher ever find a very plain and very conventional woman like Jenny interesting?
“Mrs. March, this is my wife, Beatrice Gallagher. Bee, this is the woman I spent the afternoon with.” He inclined his head towards his wife, not once breaking eye contact with Jenny.
Jenny’s flush deepened. “In the elevator.”
“Why did you spend the afternoon in an elevator?” Past Tom’s shoulder, Bee’s eyes widened in surprise.
Jenny raised an eyebrow infinitesimally at Tom before she focused back on his wife. “The elevator got stuck, with us in it.”
“I hope Tom behaved himself.” Bee puffed in a breath from the long cigarette she carried in a silver cigarette holder.
“He was the perfect gentleman.”
“That doesn’t sound like my husband.” Bee blew out a lazy smoke ring. “But he always was a sucker for a pretty face.”
Tom’s jaw tightened, and Jenny resisted the urge to lay a calming hand on his sleeve. There were undercurrents here she had no hope of understanding, nor was she sure she wanted to.
“Good evening, Mr. Gallagher.” She nodded at Bee. “Mrs. Gallagher.”
This time Tom stepped aside to let her pass. But she felt that intense gaze on her back until the moment she stepped through the doors and out into the protective shadows of the deck.
Jenny kept on walking until she reached the shelter deck, far enough away from the more populated decks where couples strolled and elderly ladies gossiped.
Alone at last. She leaned on the railing, breathed in the chilled, briny air, and closed her eyes. Waves slapped up against the hull in a gentle rhythm. Since the ship was so large, she felt nothing more than the slightest roll as it ploughed forward through the midnight dark waters.
She had no idea how long she stood alone, purging her mind of all distracting thoughts of men in any shape or form, and her body of quite improper reactions and very proper aches. But she was definitely aware of the moment when she was no longer alone. She didn’t even bother to open her eyes to look at her new companion. She’d know his scent anywhere, having already spent so long alone in the darkness with him.
“A pleasant evening for a walk on deck.” Tom leaned on the railing beside her, his elbow brushing hers. Since she wore only a summer-weight dress, the heat of his presence seared right through to her skin. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cool evening air.
Tom shrugged out of his jacket, offered it to her, and she wrapped the jacket around her shoulders, its fine wool steadying her in a way that had nothing to do with the chill air.
“The evenings are getting cooler.” He leaned back on the railing. “Summer is definitely over.” He sounded sad.
She turned to look at him. “Don’t the men usually congregate in the smoking room after dinner?”
Tom shrugged, and shifted to face her, mirroring her pose. “The view is much more interesting out here.”
“Perhaps your wife would like you to take her dancing?”
“I doubt it.”
That was the second time he’d used that phrase. And both times the hostility in his tone had been evident. And his bride hadn’t even noticed his absence this afternoon. She spoke without thinking. “Is your marriage not happy?”
He held her gaze, unblinking. “As I’ve said before, you are a perceptive woman.”
She dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.” When she risked a peek at him, he was smiling.
“You can ask me anything you want.”
His smile warmed her more than the jacket, making her brave. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I didn’t.” His smile turned wry. “Not two months ago when we married I had every expectation ours would be a good marriage. Even until today, I hoped we might overcome our differences.”
“What happened today?” That urge to reach out and touch him, to offer him the same comfort he’d offered her in the suffocating darkness of the lift, swept through her. She fought it back. Respectable women did not touch strange men. They did not touch married men, no matter how bleak the expression in their eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, tucking her hands securely away from temptation.
“I’d much ra
ther talk about you.” A mischievous spark lit his eyes. “Jennifer. Jenny.”
Her name on his lips, spoken in that low, seductive voice, sent a thrill shuddering through her. Her own deep-throated chuckle sounded nothing at all like her. “Are you flirting with me?”
“What if I am?”
“It won’t work. You’re a married man, and that is a line we cannot possibly cross.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned back to lean both elbows on the railing and studied the starlit sky above. The crisp night air swirled about them, wrapping them in an intimate cocoon, a bubble of their own simmering heat.
For a long while they stood side by side in silence.
She shouldn’t stay. She shouldn’t be alone with him. At any moment a crew member or passenger might happen by. It was one thing to be trapped alone with a strange man, but to deliberately seek him out, to revel in the pleasure of his presence... It was wanton. It was wrong.
And she knew from bitter experience what heartbreak wanton behavior caused, even when it felt so right.
“My wife has asked for a marriage in name only.” He said it as if he were making an observation of the weather.
Jenny couldn’t help lifting a stunned face to him. What kind of woman wouldn’t want more than a name and a wedding ring from this man? He was strong, and gallant, and smart. He was temptation personified.
If he hadn’t been taken already...no, she wasn’t going there. He was still a gangster, a man who lived on the wrong side of the law, while she was a vicar’s daughter, and too conventional to step beyond the bounds of her own world a second time. Especially after the first time had ended so badly. No, there was no if.
“She will change her mind,” she said with certainty.
Tom shook his head.
“Will you tell me why you’re so sure?”
“She revealed a secret to me today.” Darkness colored his tone. It chilled her more than the evening breeze, because for the first time she was aware of the latent violence beneath his urbane surface. She bit her lip as she contemplated him. Tom avoided her gaze, staring out instead at the sky and sea, his face closed.
“Will you tell me?” she asked, softly. “After all, who better to divulge confidences to than a complete stranger?”
When he faced her, his eyes were dark and hard. “It is a secret too shameful for a woman like you, Mrs. March. Even I have trouble thinking it. But I thank you for your concern.”
She took a step backwards, as if he’d struck her. So it was back to Mrs. March, was it? He had shut her out as effectively as slamming a door in her face. And he was right to do it, of course. She was the one who had overstepped the boundaries of decency. It was a nasty habit.
“I am expected in the ballroom,” she said. “Good evening, Mr. Gallagher.”
She handed him his jacket, and he nodded and turned back to his contemplation of the restless ocean. Jenny couldn’t get away fast enough.
#
The clock tick-tocked out the minutes, but Tom had no idea what time it was. The early hours, no doubt, since the ship had fallen into a silence broken only by the slap of water against the hull and that damned clock.
He sprawled across the bed. This was the most comfortable night he’d had since the start of this wretched journey, yet still sleep eluded him–in spite of the quantity of Scotch he’d sedated himself with.
By the time he returned to the stateroom, Bee had long since disappeared. Only the slip dress and diamond necklace remained to mock him with his mistake.
He had a pretty good idea where she’d gone and could only hope she would be discreet. A wedding ring wasn’t enough to protect her from gossip if she was seen hanging around the servants’ quarters at all hours, and there were already enough eyes on this ship watching for them to stumble, to reveal themselves as the frauds they were.
But Bee wasn’t the cause of his lack of sleep. Every time he drifted off he saw a pair of cool grey eyes and a wide mouth that was slow to smile but sparked something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time, a feeling that was so much more than desire.
What he wouldn’t do to strip her of that careful reserve, to reveal the passion he sensed underneath. He wanted to unravel her hair and see it loose around her shoulders. Bare shoulders. He could imagine the smoothness of her pale skin, could almost taste the honey of her skin on his tongue.
Worse were the other images that came to him as he slept: Jenny with a baby in her arms, a baby with his dark hair and her grey eyes.
This was ridiculous. He threw off the covers and rose from the bed. Hadn’t he already learned his mistake? He had to put an end to this need to keep chasing women he couldn’t have.
Even if he could get free of Bee, a decent woman like Jennifer March would never have a man like him. She deserved so much better.
If the only way to rid himself of these images of her was to stay awake, then so be it. He’d pace the moonlit deck and deny himself sleep until this ship docked in New York and she could be free of his dark obsession. Free to make a fresh new start with the kind of man she deserved, as much as the thought made his jaw clench and his hands fist.
Chapter Three
From somewhere in the distance the sound of ragtime played on a piano drifted through the sultry late afternoon air, the energetic music at odds with the lazy slanting light and the solitude of the narrow sun deck hidden between the ship’s funnels.
Jenny lounged on a striped deck chair, her book propped against her knees, but she couldn’t be bothered with reading. It was only an excuse anyway. The light breeze, cool on the bare skin of her arms and lifting the fronds of hair from her face, carried the wild scent of the sea, and she breathed it in. It was the scent of freedom, the only thing denied her, the only thing she craved.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs to her eyrie, and she prayed it was another soul in search of solitude so she need not make polite conversation. Then a sleek dark head emerged into view, followed by the rest of him, and she suppressed a gasp.
At a distance, she had compared Tom to Rudolf Valentino. Up close, and with the advantage of natural light, it was impossible not to admire his beauty. It was more than the dark good looks or burning eyes. He was all man, with a solid, muscled build no shirt could conceal and the easy grace of someone used to being in command of his world.
“Alone again, Jenny?” His grin was feral as he crossed the deck towards her. He dug a packet of cigarettes and a book of matches from his pocket and settled on the chair beside her. Though her mouth was dry, she found she was no longer quite so unwilling to make polite conversation.
“I thought...” But it didn’t matter what she thought last night. The darkness was gone, and the man sitting beside her now seemed more relaxed than the man she’d met yesterday. His eyes crinkled at the corners and there was a smile in his eyes that had been noticeably absent before. She wondered if that meant he’d reconciled with his wife, and hated herself for the sharp pang of disappointment.
He offered her a cigarette. “Why are you not playing deck quoits or taking tea in the Verandah Café with all the other passengers?”
She shook her head in refusal. “I’m hiding.”
“Not from that delightful sister-in-law of yours?” He grinned and lit a cigarette for himself. “No. From an over-solicitous officer, then.”
“Is it that obvious?” She kept her tone light, but her heart thudded. Tom had noticed. And a man didn’t notice such things unless... Perhaps he was merely concerned for her welfare. As a gentleman.
He laughed. “You told me in the elevator you don’t want another husband. That young officer would like to convince you otherwise.”
“You sound very sure.”
He shrugged, eyes darkening. “I’ve been in his shoes.”
She bit her lip. They were treading on dangerous ground again, that prickly subject of his marriage, which had driven a wedge between them last night.
“Are you enjoying your journey?” I
t was the same question she would have asked of any other passenger, an innocuous question that expected an innocuous reply. From Tom, she should have known better.
“Not particularly.” He blew out a curling plume of cigarette smoke. “This ship can’t get me home fast enough. Especially since the only diversion that might make the journey worthwhile is beyond my reach.”
Since both alcohol and entertainment ran freely on board their ship, she could only imagine one diversion inaccessible to him. She couldn’t breathe, and couldn’t think what to say. Small talk seemed so difficult with this man who spoke so plainly. Tom didn’t play the same games as the people she knew. Did he not know the social niceties or did he choose to ignore them?
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
As if sensing her discomfort, Tom’s lips curled in a predatory smile and he leaned back in his chair. “Tell me about your husband.”
The pain was less pronounced these days, but it was still there. Today, she was glad for the dull ache in her heart. It reminded her of who she was and where she was, and everything that was beyond her reach. “Robert was a kind man, thoughtful. What I loved best about him was that he could always make me smile. He was a happy person, and when I was with him I was always happy.”
“How long ago did he die?”
“Nearly a year ago. It was pneumonia.” A stupid chill that wouldn’t go away, and by the time they had realized how serious it was, it was already too late.
“A year is a long time not to be happy. You had no children?”
She shook her head, tasting her bitterness.
Perhaps freedom wasn’t the only thing she craved. There wouldn’t be children now. It was so unfair that Robert–her beacon, the light of her life–was gone and she was still here. Though loneliness was the least punishment she deserved for her weakness.
“I always wanted children,” Tom said.