“Do you suppose that’s what Esther did last night?” Patrick asked suddenly.

  Lost in his thoughts, John startled at the interruption. “What?”

  “Pitch him into the sea, I mean.”

  John only frowned further. “Esther? What are you talking about?”

  The young man’s keen blue eyes shot him a wary glance. “You. . .didn’t hear, then?”

  John stopped instantly. Effectively halting Patrick with an intense look, he waited for more.

  Appearing more than a trifle uncomfortable, his friend cleared his throat. “You knew that Purser McElroy was looking for her, right?”

  John nodded. “And?”

  “Apparently there was a problem with one of her passengers.”

  His eyes squinted. He had a sinking feeling he knew which one. “Winslow?”

  Patrick nodded and stepped clear of a group of passengers passing along the port side. “It seems the gent wanted some company last evening.”

  John felt his mouth hardening into a straight line. “Esther’s?”

  “Quite. It also seems he wasn’t as much of a ‘gent’ as he would have us believe.”

  The anger started somewhere in the pit of John’s stomach and boiled up within him to near fury. “How did you find this out?” he muttered.

  His friend’s eyes flicked around uneasily. “I’m not sure how many others are privy to the incident. I just happened to be on late duty in the hall. My station wasn’t far from that suite. I heard some of the altercation. The next thing I knew she was flying down the hall in the opposite direction. I seriously doubt she even saw me.”

  “Did you do anything? Go after her? Why didn’t you tell me?” The questions railed out of him like a veritable volley of shots.

  “Ease up, mate! I didn’t go after her—the woman was on a dead run. But I did approach the bloke’s cabin. He was standing in the doorway—three sheets to the wind at least.” Patrick cast him a sidelong glance. “And his face also sported a rather red mark. . .about the size of Esther’s hand, actually.” He grinned. “I’d say she can hold her own.”

  Letting out a huff, John shook his head. “She shouldn’t have to. I’m going to see the purser about this—”

  “Hold up!” Patrick curtailed him with a hand on his arm. “You’ll be going off half-cocked, old boy. The purser’s been informed. I don’t think she’ll be required to attend to Win-slow’s needs any longer.”

  John, beginning to understand, sought his friend’s face. “You?”

  The blue eyes smiled. “Right-o. I offered to double up with Freddie. We’ll manage him.”

  A fraction of relief washed over John. “Thanks, old man.”

  The steward shrugged. “All in the line of duty. And friendship.” The impish grin returned. “But I can’t say that I’d like to miss the opportunity of tossing the chap seaward.”

  “With the dogs,” John added as they shared a laugh at the thought.

  But something inside him still felt muddled. For all that it seemed to be resolved, there was more—much more that needed tending to. And the foreboding he felt at the onset of their journey seemed to only grow with each day into the voyage, with each mile farther out to sea.

  ❧

  If the splitting headache weren’t enough of a painful reminder of his indecent behavior the evening before nor the bloodshot eyes, the reverberating, echoing memories of the pretty little stewardess’s hand crisply smiting his cheek was more than sufficient. This morning he’d had the presence of mind to be grateful that she’d managed a getaway. He might not have been so understanding last night. Splashing the chilly water on his face, Philip tentatively sought his reflection in the mirror. Bad. Well, at least the shave had helped some. If he got his hair in a decent array, he might be an acceptable sight elsewhere on the ship.

  In all honesty, the dining hall didn’t sound too appealing at this time, in spite of the noon hour. Coffee. He wanted lots of coffee. And none of the stupid tea that these British ships seemed to always hold in overabundance.

  Straightening the tie on his blue-striped day suit, he retreated to his bedroom and sat on the edge of the mussed bedsheets. Leaning over, he slipped on his shoes and fastened the spats. Even that small task made his head pound in excruciating recollection. He shook his head in annoyance. When would he learn? If the few times he thought he’d held his own in the beer halls of Munich hadn’t taught him, what would? He wasn’t as young as he used to be. And it was showing.

  More than that, the clarity that eluded him in his earlier days was becoming sharper now. Actions, words, and deeds that might have seemed hilarious, if remembered at all, weren’t any longer. They were what they were—stupidity, pure and simple.

  Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his still throbbing temples and stood from the four-poster berth. First things first. A cup of coffee. Then he needed to find her. . .somehow.

  ❧

  Esther helped Lucy carry the remainder of her private cabins’ empty trays back down to the scullion. By now, the whole incident had been fished out of Esther by Lucy’s natural inquisitiveness and concern.

  “Well,” the young woman finally admitted, “at least you can slate it with your other unusual shipboard experiences. We all have our collections, you know.” She grinned secretively.

  Feeling slightly less burdened after sharing the event with understanding ears, Esther shot her friend a curious look. “Really? You’re not going to hold me in suspense, are you?”

  The blue eyes took on an obscure gleam. “Only somewhat.”

  Nudging the girl with her elbow as they traversed the now empty first-class dining hall, Esther finally succeeded in getting her to stop just short of the swinging reception doors.

  “Well, if you’d like to hear a real corker. . .”

  Esther leaned expectantly against a column and waited.

  “One particular voyage,” Lucy started, “I’d been assigned to an older wealthy couple. Very nice folks, they were. Well, mid-trip, the poor old codger expired. Right in the midst of dressing for breakfast.”

  Esther’s eyes widened in horror.

  “Yes, it was really quite horrid. The missus was distraught, naturally. But held up fairly well, considering. However, she wanted him to have a proper burial when we reached our destination—which happened to be yet another two days off.

  “So, the kindly woman asked if I’d mind keeping her company in the sitting room for the remainder of the journey.” The blond head bobbed down in coyness. “Along with her deceased husband.”

  “You’re not serious!” Esther fairly gasped. “She kept him in the room?”

  Lucy nodded. “A peculiar request, but seeing as how they’d been so kind to me previously, I could hardly see any polite way of getting out of it. So, I agreed.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did. And that’s not the half of it. Wait’ll you hear what an interesting night it proved to be. The weather turned quite nasty. The ship kept pitching and rolling this way and that. I’d a notion that I might be getting a touch seasick myself, but then I thought it might have something to do with sharing an intimate evening with a corpse.”

  “Oh, Lucy,” Esther moaned.

  “Ah, but it gets much better,” she promised with a giggle. “Picture the old fellow, all decked out in his dinner clothes, sort of half propped on a chaise lounge. And every so often, when a particularly violent wave would buck us about, he’d groan.”

  “You’re bluffing! This is complete balderdash!”

  “I’m not!” she insisted through laughter. “It’s too true. Ask Freddie. He was on the ship with me.” She took a moment to catch her breath and continued. “In any case, his wife and I kept trying to discreetly ignore this ‘noisy’ body and go about playing our cards. Until. . .” She broke off dramatically.

  “What? What?” Esther begged.

  “A jolt hit the ship, we rocked severely. . .and after a particularly loud groan, he fell straight on top of me!”

  Recoiling in horror, she could only gape in disbelief.

  Lucy, though, was lost in fits of laughter. “Oh, Esther, it was awful. His wife jumped up and ran screaming across the room. Two stewards flew into the room. I’m sure they didn’t know what they should think. Here I was, under this stiff. Screaming my head off. Except by that time, the whole situation had struck me as so odd that I’d also begun laughing.”

  “Only you,” Esther said as she shook her head. “That would only happen to you.”

  Drying her eyes from the tears of mirth, Lucy conceded. “Perhaps. But it is true. Ask Freddie.”

  “Oh, I believe you. No one would make up a tale like that.”

  Still grinning broadly, they started through the swinging doors and into the elegant reception area.

  “Don’t look now,” Lucy whispered as she discreetly leaned toward her. “But it appears as though someone wants to see you.”

  Esther scanned the vicinity of the expansive lounge, but saw no one she knew. Then her gaze lifted to the wide staircase.

  Paused at the top step, he stood. Lucy was right. He focused on her alone. And he looked troubled. Half of her wanted to turn and flee in the opposite direction. But the sensible side knew that the inevitable had to come. It had to be dealt with.

  She waited, poised, at the bottom of the stairs as he slowly descended the immense staircase. His last footfall touched on the carpet as his eyes sought hers.

  “Good afternoon, John,” she said quietly and far more calmly than she actually felt.

  seven

  “What did you think you were doing?” John railed.

  Esther winced at his tone and glanced around, hoping no one else could hear the dispute.

  “Lower your voice, John,” she insisted nervously. “Don’t you think we ought to go to the stewards’ lounge to discuss this?”

  “I’d wager there are more ears privy to this down there than on this deck.” His mouth was hard, his eyes as well.

  Stifling a sigh of annoyance, Esther discreetly grabbed the sleeve of his white jacket and pulled him in the direction of the empty dining salon she’d just vacated. The now unattended doors swung silently behind them.

  Taking a breath, she turned and faced him. “All right. What exactly is your. . .trouble?”

  “My trouble?” John asked incredulously. “I should think you’d mean your trouble. After all—”

  “What have you heard?” she broke in.

  His golden eyes narrowed. “Enough.”

  She kneaded her brow, pensive. “I was tired. It had been a long day. My thoughts are clearer today. I think that perhaps. . .perhaps I made more of the situation than there truly was to it.”

  “The blackguard tried to—”

  “Pardon me.” a voice from the reception entry suspended John’s thoughts in midair.

  Both whirled around to find none other than Philip Winslow peeking his dark head into the empty room, his expression placid.

  Esther could sense John’s twitching and she wondered how firm a grasp he held on his “instincts” just now. Refocusing her own nervous attention on the sudden intruder, she cleared her throat quietly. “Yes?”

  “Miss Mason,” Winslow started, “I’d very much like a word with you.”

  John made a slight motion forward. Esther’s fingers, concealed behind her back, firmly tugged on his coat hem. He stayed put.

  “Mr. Winslow,” she began again. “I’m sure if there’s anything at all you require, the stewards now assigned to your suite would be most happy to help—”

  “Please.” Philip’s voice was firm. Authoritative.

  “I believe the lady said ‘no,’ ” John muttered coolly, daring contradiction.

  Horrified, Esther momentarily shut her eyes, hoping against hope that what seemed likely to follow wouldn’t actually happen.

  A tense silence followed before Winslow replied.

  “I’m afraid this doesn’t concern you in particular, sir.” His brown eyes went back to her face. “Miss Mason? Please. I’m respectfully asking for your ear. Only for a moment.”

  Opening her mouth to respond, her words were suddenly upstaged.

  “ ‘Please.’ How polite of you.” John’s voice was growing more acidic with each syllable. “Funny, you didn’t remember your manners evening last.”

  “Stop it,” Esther hissed. “That’s quite enough.”

  John swung his head toward her, incredulous. “You don’t mean to say that you’re actually going to listen to what this—”

  “Enough.” Tightening her lips together, she shot him a final warning glare before drawing a breath. “All right, Mr. Winslow. You have my attention. What was it you wished to say?”

  Taking a few more steps across the plush carpet, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, seeming sheepish. . . and looking unaccustomed to being so. “Might you hear me out alone?”

  Before John could jump in with another terse comment, she turned and gave him a pointed stare. “Would you excuse us, please?”

  His eyes flared. She could see in them the concern, the an-ger. The hurt.

  Standing her ground, Esther waited until he released a rag-ged breath and virtually stalked from the dining hall, the swinging doors clapping animatedly back and forth in his tangible wake. Watching his broad, white-clad shoulders, she noticed he didn’t retreat too far away, taking an unobtrusive corner under the staircase—in full view of the dining room.

  Forcing her gaze back to the man who still left her feeling slightly vulnerable, she lifted her chin. “Very well, sir. You now have my undivided attention.”

  Philip tossed a look over his shoulder. “Who was that, anyway? Your personal bodyguard?”

  Ignoring the barb, to say nothing of the rude intrusiveness, she merely shifted her weight and waited for him to begin in earnest.

  Apparently sensing her eagerness to be done with this, he coughed lightly into his hand and gave her a brief smile. She noticed that he appeared much less insolent today than he had yesterday. A portion of the bravado was still there. . .but then most first-classers carried that. Especially when dealing with “the help.” But his deep brown eyes were lucid, despite his pale complexion—an obvious remnant of his decadence from the night before.

  “Could we,” he indicated to two empty chairs, “sit down?”

  “At the risk of sounding rude, Mr. Winslow, I’d really rather that you had your say. I do have jobs to accomplish today.”

  Biting his lips together and nodding his head, he pushed the offered chair back into place. A light chuckle escaped his lips. “ ‘At the risk of sounding rude.’ ” He shook his head. “Miss, you’d have every right to be rude and then some, in my opinion.” His downcast gaze tentatively sought hers.

  Esther felt discomfited in spite of his current gentlemanly demeanor. Perhaps last night’s terror was still fresh in her mind. Or perhaps it was still that indefinable “easiness” about him that she’d slowly grown unfamiliar with the longer she’d been away from America.

  Nevertheless, eager to be done with this interview, she shifted her stance once more. “If an apology is what you’ve come to offer, sir, very well. . .I accept.”

  The aristocratic features showed a trifle of relief. “Thank you,” he murmured.

  With a nod of her head, she started to move past him.

  “Wait a moment.” He made a motion to catch her arm, but stopped himself, as if in remembrance. His chestnut eyes were closer now, their fathomless depths staring straight into hers. “I know I’ve no right to ask anything of you. Anything at all.” Frowning in silence for several moments, he picked back up again. “I truly am. . .sorry.” He stopped.

  For a brief second, Esther saw again that same flicker of. . . something. The same indefinable element that had passed through his face yesterday. Finding herself studying him closer, she urged him on. “What? What is it?”

  “I’d be beyond grateful. . .if you could—would—agree to sit with me this evening.”

  Taking a step back, she began shaking her head.

  “Please,” he pressed, that same insistence in his voice, his stance, his eyes. “You could position a steward right outside the door. An armed guard. Anything. I don’t care. I just need— I’d really appreciate the company.”

  Totally perplexed at the changing person before her, Esther frowned. “Why? Why me? Could you not just have a steward come and sit with you?”

  This time embarrassment showed. “I’m not sure.” His wavering gaze sought out the toes of his shoes before lifting again. “You just seem like you’d. . .understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather not say. I just—please, Miss Mason. Would you even consider it?”

  Her emotions were in such a befuddled quandary, Esther found herself speechless. She tossed a look out the doors. John was still standing in his spot, craning to see into the room, his face intense. John. What on earth would he do if he knew what was being asked?

  “Miss Mason?”

  Smoothing out the apron of her uniform, she swallowed hard. “I don’t know, Mr. Winslow. I–I guess I’ll have to think about it.” She looked up, waiting for his response.

  Appearing deflated, he shrugged and tried for a smile. “I guess that’s all I can ask then.” Retreating several steps, he nodded politely. “Thank you.” Then he strode from the room, leaving Esther to watch his trim frame ascend the regal stairs.

  The entry that had swung outward to permit Mr. Winslow’s exit brought John with it on the return. “Well?” he demanded. “What did he want? What did he say?”

  Esther, still mixed up over the current of emotions seemingly raging through the guest, shrugged. “He wanted to apologize.”

  John’s face turned to stone. “And that took more than five minutes?”

 

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