“Dear heaven,” Genevieve exclaimed. “Was there nothing you could do? No one who could help you?”
“No. I had left my father, who was my only living family when I wed George. He was, by this time, long dead. My husband and I had lived a quiet life together and I had no one whom I would presume to ask for such a favor. I had no monies of my own and no claim to my husband’s fortune. Yet I found myself wandering the city aimlessly as I tried to conceive of a way to support myself.”
Genevieve knew that Constanza’s son by marriage could do as he liked as far as she was concerned, but that did not ease her outrage at the unknown Burford. That he could treat his father’s beloved wife so badly was inexcusable.
She was distracted from these thoughts as Constanza said, “It was on the second day of my wandering the city, wondering where I was to find food and shelter that I met Marcel. I actually fainted dead away on the street in front of him. When I awoke he was bending over me.” She looked at Genevieve with obvious chagrin at the memory, before going on with great respect. “Marcel insisted on knowing my situation. When I told him, he bought me a meal and offered me a place here aboard the Briarwind What else was I to do? I had nowhere else to go and he is a kind man, like my George.”
Genevieve was not able to hold her gaze as she asked, “You mean he offered outright for you to…?”
Constanza gave a soft chuckle. “Oh nay, not that, not Marcel. He offered only a place to lay my head.
“He said that he had need of a woman servant to clean and look after his things, though I soon learned that it was simple human kindness that had prompted him.”
Genevieve did not know why learning this relieved her. For in spite of finding that Marcel had not been knave enough to enlist the helpless woman as his mistress in the beginning, their relationship had clearly grown into that. Forcing herself to face the other woman again, she spoke with compassion in spite of the agitation she felt at this realization. “You could do nothing but what you did in accepting Marcel’s offer. It is no wonder that you came to care for him. He is a good man.”
Constanza faced her, her eyes regretful. She said, “Genevieve, I…I need expl—”
Wondering at the strange expression on the other woman’s face as she halted, biting her full lower lip, Genevieve could not help feeling as if she had been about to impart something of grave import. Genevieve prodded, “Aye. Is there something else you wish to say?”
Constanza shook her head. “Nothing, there is nothing.” She swung around and left the cabin with a pensive Genevieve staring after her.
Marcel looked up from the helm of the ship to see Constanza standing at the top of the ladder that led from the deck. The expression on her face was far from peaceful and he was not surprised when she said, “I must speak with you.”
He could feel the surprising weight of Harlan’s gaze as he nodded jerkily. Marcel turned to the first mate and instructed, “Take the helm.” He did not stop to consider the reason for his mate’s intensity as he followed after her. He was more concerned with what Constanza had to say, for he was certain it would concern Genevieve, a fact that made him feel very reluctant to have the discussion.
He certainly did not wish to speak in front of Harlan. Though he genuinely liked and respected his first mate, he preferred to keep the private side of his life completely separate from his role as captain of the Briarwind.
Constanza led the way down the ladder, her movements near as agile as his after the months she had spent aboard ship. At the bottom she turned to him. “I will not spend your time with niceties, mi amigo I have come to say that you must tell Genevieve the truth.”
After a quick glance about them, he took her arm and led her to a more secluded section of the deck. He wasted no more time in getting to the point than she had. “I cannot do that. I will not.”
She put her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. “You can and you must. I will not play the villainess in this. She is in love with you.”
He took an involuntary step backward as the words hit him like blows. “Did she tell you this?”
Constanza frowned. “Nay, she did not. But ’tis true.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before answering. “She is not in love with me. You do not understand any of it.”
She shook her head. “Sí, I do not understand and know so very little of you even after the many months I have been with you. Yet from soon after my coming aboard your ship I have known that there was something wrong, an emptiness inside you. I had thought that you might have been hurt by someone you loved. I believed that you might eventually come to confide your hurts to me as I have mine to you.” She looked up at him with genuine concern in her deep brown eyes. “I know you are a good man, Marcel, that you took me in and cared for me when I had nowhere to go and no one to help me. I thank you for that and I owe you much.”
He stopped her with a raised hand. “I did not ask you to keep silent on our true relationship because I felt you were indebted to me. You are not. Anything I have done for you was willingly and painlessly given. It is easier to give when one has much.” He halted himself. Even Constanza knew nothing of his status as the son of a noble house. He wished to keep things as they were. Once Genevieve had been returned to Brackenmoore, his life must go on as before. He wanted to be respected for his own deeds here. Not because he was the third son of the house of Ainsworth.
She was shaking her head. “I believe you, mi amigo, and would have refused your request if I thought you did so. But you must understand that this deception is very difficult to continue, especially as I do not know the reason you keep the truth from Genevieve.” She scowled at him. “You have too many secrets. I do not know why you wish for this young woman to believe the worst of us when you obviously have feelings for her.”
His lips thinned, for he did not know a way to deny this that would not sound like too eager a protest. Yet he tried. “I do not have feelings for her.”
She smiled knowingly, shaking her dark head. “You cannot convince me of that no matter how hard you try.”
He replied stiffly, “Again I tell you I cannot explain.”
“Is it because you believe this life too difficult for her?”
Marcel’s lips thinned. He had no wish to discuss this or even think on it for that matter.
Constanza went on, “Anyone who had a care to truly look at Genevieve could see she is not used to hardship—her speech, her carriage, those poor hands. They are not accustomed to doing even the simplest of menial tasks.”
Experiencing an unexpected sense of affront on Genevieve’s part at her assessment, he said too hastily, “She is actually quite accustomed to keeping busy, and has spent most of her life running a large house…”
He stopped himself as he saw her eager interest, then abruptly and deliberately changed the subject. “Your pardon. There is no need to defend her to you.”
Constanza was not willing to let it go at that. “So you have known the lady for a long while.”
He did not reply, simply looked at her.
“How do you know her, Marcel? What was your life before you became captain of the Briarwind? I have asked Harlan and even he, your friend, knows nothing of you before he signed aboard as your first mate two years ago.”
Still he made no move to answer. He was ever conscious of the fact that he did not want anyone here to know of his past, did not wish to become an Ainsworth in their eyes, and thus separate from them.
With a sigh of impatience, Constanza said, “I begin to see, in spite of your continued silence. You have fallen in love with a lady who is above your station and she, returning your feelings, has run after you.”
He said, “I mean to return her to her home as soon as my tasks in Scotland are completed.” He told himself not to feel guilty about allowing Constanza to believe falsely. He was not willing to compromise the life he had made for himself by telling her the truth.
He went on with careful reason. “You
need not keep up the pretense that we are lovers indefinitely. We will arrive in Scotland within the next few days and I will take Genevieve with me whilst I see to my business.”
She nodded. “Very well, then, I will not tell her, though it becomes more difficult by the day.”
He forced himself to attend her as she went on. “She seems a fine young woman, your Genevieve, and is kind to me in spite of what she believes of the two of us. It is unfortunate indeed that the two of you come from different worlds. When she is gone, though, we must speak, there are…” She took a deep breath. “’Twill wait.”
Marcel could only be grateful for her cooperation, his mind too full of his own disquiet and confusion about his feelings for Genevieve to long ponder her capitulation. He looked out over the vast expanse of the sea, not experiencing the familiar rush of belonging that he had known in days past. He felt for the first time since becoming captain of this ship that he did not completely belong.
Yet he did not completely belong to his former world, either. He could not live the way he had with no responsibilities to test his mettle and show him his true nature. Which was exactly what this life at sea had done. He had found the core of strength within himself.
Constanza had said that was it unfortunate that he and Genevieve came from different worlds.
Yet there was no other way.
Genevieve could not stop thinking about the story Constanza had told her, about how the other woman had no one but Marcel. Marcel, whom Genevieve wanted. For want Marcel she did, with every fiber of her being, no matter how she attempted to prevent it. Just the sound of his voice was enough to set her heart to pounding. Knowing that he was sleeping there only a few feet away from her, hearing the softness of his breathing in the darkness as she imagined the rise and fall of his smooth golden chest near drove her mad.
She knew what she felt was wrong. The Spanish woman had no one and depended completely on the charity of the man who loved her.
Genevieve, who had so much in the way of material wealth, felt she had nothing as long as she was bound by this hopeless longing for a man who did not want her.
Genevieve sighed. She had spent most of the morning pacing the cabin, wandering about listlessly. Then with a groan of utter frustration she tore the bandages from her hands and went to the door.
She could bear no more of her own company, even if it meant facing Marcel in the light of day. Her abrasions were healed well enough to do something—anything.
Out on deck, Genevieve saw that the sun was fairly high in the cloudless blue of the sky. Many of the crew were working with darkly tanned bare chests. She was aware of a few casual glances being sent her way, but she was clearly of little interest to the men in her boyish garb.
Though this encouraged her somewhat, she felt a slight anxiousness, wandering about without Marcel’s leave.
Casting a glance upward at the helm, Genevieve saw that Marcel was there with Harlan. The two had their heads bent close together over something. What it was she could not make out from where she stood.
Marcel was too busy to be concerned about her every movement. Surely as long as she stayed close he could have no objection even if he was not aware of her presence. She would be able to call out to him should anything untoward occur.
The cabin took up a goodly portion of this space but there was a wide strip of deck around the outside. She should be able to follow it around until she was at the bow of the ship. From there the view of the ocean should be quite wonderful.
She started forward quickly. The rolling of the deck beneath made Genevieve slightly nervous this close to the side and she held on to the rail tightly, feeling the salt spray upon her face and hands. She realized that its coolness might have felt invigorating had she been less preoccupied, less lonely.
Once at the foremost point of the bow, she looked out over the vast expanse of the sea before them and sighed. It was all so very beautiful, the sea an endless stretch of glistening silver, the gulls dipping and diving from the enormous blue sky. The wind of their passage tugged at her cap and she made sure that it was secure atop her head.
Marcel was quite aware of the moment that Genevieve emerged from the cabin. He could not have said why, he simply glanced over from his work, expecting to see her. And he did.
That he immediately went back to what he was doing without acknowledging her did not change his awareness. When he saw her disappear at the side of the cabin, he frowned. The deck would be quite wet and slippery and the wind was brisk.
Looking up from the maps of the shoreline, he said, “We will continue this later, Harlan. I must attend another matter at the moment. Watch the helm.”
If the mate was surprised at Marcel’s abruptness he gave no sign as he nodded. “Aye.”
Marcel then went to the ladder and slipped down to the main deck. He followed the way Genevieve had gone.
He found her at the back of the boat, her face turned up to the sun, her eyes closed. A trace of peach grazed creamy cheeks and her lashes fanned thick and luxuriant above it. For a moment as he watched her he was transfixed by her beauty, the expression of simple joy on her face.
Yet in the next instant she opened her lids, her gaze coming to rest upon his. Immediately her expression changed. In an almost protective gesture, she wrapped her arms around herself as she said, “Marcel.”
He was more perturbed by this automatic response than he wished to be. It made him speak with some irritation. “You must have a care up here. You could slip into the sea without anyone knowing.”
A frown marred her smooth brow. “I am not a simpleton. I know to have a care on a slippery deck. I just could not remain cooped up in that cabin for another moment and you do not wish for me to mingle with the crew.” She lifted her bare hands. “My injuries are quite improved, but I could think of no way to make myself useful. I thought to come to a place where I might not cause difficulty for anyone or bring undo notice to myself. I can see that I have erred yet again.” She swiveled around to leave.
Her words stabbed at his heart as he saw the sadness she attempted to hide with her anger. He spoke before he could prevent himself. “I…forgive me if I have spoken with a lack of chivalry, Genevieve. You did naught ill by coming here. I was simply worried about your safety.”
She stopped and spun around to face him, her uncertain gaze searching his.
He said softly, “Will you forgive me?” And as the words were said, he realized that he was referring to far more than having spoken too roughly. In the deepest part of himself he wished that she could forgive him for what he had done that ill-fated evening in his cabin. That she had been as eager as he was of no account. She was an innocent. He was an experienced man, well aware of where such action would lead.
Genevieve replied in a voice that revealed her uncertainty and vulnerability, “Are you sorry, Marcel, are you truly?”
He deliberately hardened his resolve against the answering throb in his chest, and squared his shoulders. “Of course, you may come and go as you will. Just have a care for your safety, not only with the men, but also the ship.”
She nodded quickly. “Oh yes, of course.” Genevieve turned to stare out over the water.
Angry with himself for feeling as if he had somehow hurt her, he said, “You will be glad to know that we will soon reach our destination. When we weigh anchor, you and I will go on to Glen Rowan by horse.”
She glanced at him. “You and I?”
He nodded. “Of course, you did not think I would leave you aboard the Briarwind without me.”
She shook her head quickly. “I assumed that Constanza would be—”
He interrupted. “She will remain aboard ship. She knows nothing of my family connections and I would keep it that way.”
She looked at him then, her eyes betraying her disapproval. “How can you keep so much from her, Marcel? ’Tis not right. Why do you hide so much of yourself from the one you love?”
He scowled at her. “And why sho
uld my family connections matter to the one I love, does she love me?” He stabbed a thumb at his chest. “I, Marcel, should be what she loves, naught else. Certainly not my name.”
As he spoke, her eyes widened and her expression grew troubled in a way that he could not explain.
He shook his head in frustration, then turned and strode away. Clearly he was unable to make her see, for she could not see him as anything other than an Ainsworth. No matter that he wished otherwise, that knowledge hurt more than he cared to admit.
Staring up at the ceiling, with only the shimmer of the moon reflected on the water outside the portal to light the darkness, Genevieve sighed with what she recognized as incredible sadness. Though he had not admitted all directly, he had given himself away. He believed she had wanted him because of his family. Now that she looked back, she knew that he had thought this from the very beginning. If only she had known she could have…could have what? She did not know how she would describe her feelings, though she did know that they were not based on her wish to be an Ainsworth. But it mattered not now.
Marcel loved Constanza. That had been made truly and painfully obvious to her. Truth to tell, she had known this before. To hear him say the words with his own lips this very day, lips that had kissed hers with such skill and tenderness was so painful, so devastating, she could barely contain the sorrow of it.
The fact that the hour was very late and Constanza had not yet returned to the cabin only added to Genevieve’s distress. For it meant that Genevieve was alone with Marcel, who had come in some time gone by, his expression not inviting conversation had she been so inclined. He had extinguished the candles and gone to his own narrow bed without a word to her. That she was already abed, her eyes closed as if sleeping, was not the only thing that had kept him silent.
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