Before she could jam her kerchief to her lips, a startled squeak escaped. She quickly glanced around the room. “I’m not proud of my actions at that time and never discuss them.”
One side of his mouth quirked; an evil twinkle flashed. “Never?”
She clenched her teeth to keep from laughing. The man’s shocking, devilish way of asking questions tickled when it should have stung.
He leaned forward, his voice ironic. “Do you think I’m in any position to judge you?”
She drew in an uneasy breath. He spoke the truth. As painful and embarrassing as her mistakes had been, from what she knew of Captain Tollier and his lengthy résumé of misconduct, her list of folly might not give him even a twitch of discomfort.
He leaned back placidly, awaiting her answer.
For ten years she’d kept those secrets locked away. She didn’t need to tell him. It probably wasn’t even wise. Staying in her old room at Grancliffe reminded her how long it had been. One-third of her life had passed since. But if revealing one or two misdeeds would establish some common ground with him and help her family, then so be it.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Clearly her mind and body disagreed. “Let’s discuss something else. It’s old history and not pertinent to the voyage ahead of us.”
He leaned in, his jaw hardening. “I disagree. It is highly relevant to our journey.” His voice took on a tone of implacable determination, and his bright aqua-blue eyes intensified like they had in the long gallery. She had no doubt he’d used similar intimidation on stubborn crewmembers to great effect.
Though he’d not said it aloud, the implication was clear. If she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he might not take her through the blockade. Time was running out. If he backed out now she didn’t know what she’d do.
Her butterflies flew into a hammering frenzy.
She took a big gulp of water, gazed at her kerchief and began working it into knots. “At nineteen I was one of the most sought-after debutantes in New York City. She cut a quick glance his direction. “I was also a very spoiled, privileged only child, and extremely sheltered from the ways of the world. Back then I had an unrealistic optimism and naïveté that I could have anything I wanted. My blunders ruined my reputation and that of my parents.”
The knotted kerchief bit into her hand. Untying it, she checked his expression. The captain had eased back into his chair, but his jaw hadn’t softened. The slight pursing of his lips and intense gaze indicated he was waiting for her to continue.
She took another big gulp of water. “In those days I was the perfect hostess and lady. My mother was a stickler for propriety and respectability, you see. When gentlemen called, I made polite conversation, tried to put them at ease, patiently listened to them, and always took great pains to gently send them on their way. There were plenty of gold diggers to be sure, but my parents were a little surprised when I stubbornly refused to consider any of the decent, eligible, constant young men who begged my attention.”
The captain shifted in his seat and raised the tankard to eye her over its rim. His gaze became an even more intense blue, compelling her to explain, “Making a spectacular match is the goal of any well brought up young lady.”
“Of course.”
“It may sound boastful, but back then I could have had first pick of any one of the best young men. Instead, I became embroiled in a very public…love triangle.” Her disgust at the memory and what she’d admitted made her want to crawl under the table.
“Did the gentlemen kill each other?” he asked blandly.
Her stays bit into her sides as she squelched a laugh. “Nooo,” she whispered. “He chose the other woman.” Her tense throat muscles strained against attempts to pull in air. When finally able to breathe again, she searched the captain’s face. His expression had turned to polite, courteous indifference, tending toward boredom.
“Did you kill her?” he asked, deadpan.
The question so surprised her, a high titter escaped before she could clap a hand over her mouth. While she struggled to curb her laughter, he studied her.
“You killed him?”
His question, delivered with such casualness, brought forth an even louder peal. Such ridiculousness seemed to pry open a small door. Years of pent-up secrets and lonely regrets bubbled toward the exit and fought her attempts to curb her amusement. The sudden loss of control nearly sent her off her chair into a heap of hysterics on the dining room floor. She hugged her middle with one hand and covered her mouth with the other. Even so, with each forward rock, mirth escaped through her nose.
A few diners in the nearly empty room looked up from their meals and began to stare.
Captain Tollier tipped his tankard to his mouth and gazed at her with dispassionate calm.
She took another big gulp of water to squelch the giggles. “No, Captain, I did not kill him either.”
He looked skeptical, but a gleam formed in his eye. “There was blood, though, lots of blood?”
She bit a knuckle.
Tsking, he whispered, “No blood at all?”
“I did not say that.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Now tell me the particulars.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Did you use your fists, a knife or a gun?”
She shook her head. The inner wounds had healed, but as she’d suspected, discussing how they got there threatened their reopening. “Have you ever been in a raging hurricane, and the only thing you could do was find a way to outlast it. More than anything, I now regret how my naïve, ignorant actions harmed more than myself.”
His aqua-blue gaze deepened to cobalt. “Are you still in love with him?”
She stifled a groan. “Dear me. It’s been ten years. I’ve no idea what’s become of him. By now he’s probably fat and bald, with a chronic case of gout and a passel of brats.”
The captain sat in silence, appearing to mull things over. His teeth worked back and forth over one side of his lower lip. “I’m of a mind we can’t choose the ones we love. As cruel as it feels, I think they are put in our path to lay raw the parts of ourselves that could not be changed or understood any other way.”
“Why, Captain Tollier, I did not realize you were such a sanguine philosopher.”
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “You seem surprised. If things had gone as otherwise planned, you might have been sitting here confessing to a man of the cloth. Fortunately, I was forced down a path more suited to my…talents.”
***
Once they’d finished their meal, Beau followed C.C. up the staircase, still thinking about her admission. Doubtless, she’d struggled through the condensed version of a much longer story. Her difficulty discussing her scandal said pain and remorse had buried the details deep. Secrets locked inside for so long tended to rust in place. Sometimes they had to be chipped away bit by bit. Still, her description of events, though scandalous, didn’t sound as bad as he might have expected, and they hardly justified exile. There had to be more to the tale. What wasn’t she telling him?
He fully believed she’d been the leading debutante in New York and could have chosen any of the best young men. Even acting a nutter, men continued to pursue her. So why did she waste her time in a love triangle with another woman over the same man?
For her lapse in judgment, she not only didn’t get the man she wanted, she’d also been shipped off to rusticate in another country. Such drastic measures often came with an untimely pregnancy. While his