Sunlight filtered through the windows in David Wainwright’s cabin, touching on Regan’s hair, showing the golden strands intermingled with the darkness. More sun glistened on her soft, sweet-scented muslin gown, highlighting each of the minute, embroidered golden rosebuds. A book was held lightly by her, and as she read from it her words were as soft as the picture she presented.
David lay back against freshly laundered cushions, propped on the end of the window seat, his arm in a sling, his snowy shirt open at the throat. It had been a month since that time Regan had found him alone and ill in his cabin. At the first movement of the ship, he’d become seasick and returned to his cabin. Hours later, he’d fallen from his bunkbed and landed in such a way that he’d broken his forearm. In pain, nauseated, weak, helpless, he was unable to call for help. In an attempt to return to his bunk, he fell again, and with the new pain he lost consciousness. When Regan found him he had no idea who or where he was, and for days after the bone was set no one was quite convinced he’d live through the ordeal.
And through everything, Regan had never left his side. She scoured the filthy cabin, washed David, sat by him, coaxed him into eating a broth made from salt beef, and, by sheer will-power, kept his spirits up. He was not a good patient. He was sure that he was going to die, that he’d never see England again, that America and Americans were going to be responsible for his death. He spent hours telling Regan how he’d had a premonition that these were going to be his last few days on earth.
For Regan, she was glad of an excuse to get away from Travis’s overpowering presence, glad for once in her life to be needed by someone, not
to feel as if she were a burden.
“Please, Regan,” David said petulantly. “Don’t read anymore. I do wish you’d just talk to me.” He shifted his injured arm with a great show of distress.
“What would you like to talk about? We seem to have exhausted every topic.”
“Every topic about my life, you mean. I still know exactly nothing about you. Who were your parents, where did you live in Liverpool, and how did you meet that American?”
Putting the book down, she rose. “Perhaps we should go for a walk on deck. It’s a lovely day, and the exercise will do us both good.”
Smiling slightly, David put his feet on the floor, waiting patiently for Regan to help him stand. “My mystery lady,” he said, his voice betraying that he rather liked not knowing much about her.
On deck, her arm around David’s waist and his about her shoulders, the first person they met was Travis. Regan couldn’t help but notice the contrast, the slim blond young man in his immaculate clothes next to Travis’s brawniness, and his clothes smelling of male sweat and the salty air.
“A bit of an airing today?” Travis asked politely, but lifting one eyebrow and giving a mocking grin to Regan.
David nodded curtly, almost rudely, before half jerking Regan forward. “How could you marry someone like that?” he said when they were alone. “You are the gentlest, tenderest woman, and when I think of you having to endure the attentions of that insensitive, oversized Colonial, I am nearly made ill again.”
“He is not insensitive!” she said quickly. “Travis is….”
“Is what?” he said with great patience.
There was no answer to that question. Moving away from David, leaning over the rail and watching the water, she asked herself what Travis did mean to her. At night he made her cry in delight, and the way he always had a tubful of hot water ready for her in the evenings convinced her of his kindness. Yet she was always aware that she was his prisoner.
“Regan,” David said. “You aren’t answering my questions. Don’t you feel well? Perhaps you’re tired. I know taking care of me isn’t the easiest task in the world. Maybe you’d rather….”
“No,” she smiled at the familiar complaints. “You know I enjoy your company. Shall we sit here a while?”
Staying with David the rest of the afternoon, she found she couldn’t keep her mind on what he was saying. Instead, she kept watching Travis as he agilely climbed the rigging tied along the mast, as he threw great heavy rope into an orderly pile. Several times he stopped and winked at her, always aware of when she was watching him.
That night, for the first time in weeks, she returned to her own cabin ahead of Travis. When he entered, his face was lit, his eyes smiling with happiness.
It seemed he’d grown more handsome in the last few weeks, his face tanned by the sun, his muscles even harder than before.
“You’re a welcome sight after a hard day. You think I could have a kiss of greeting, or did you give them all to young Wainwright?”
Her happiness faded. “Am I supposed to take that insult without a word? Just because you force me into an indecent relationship doesn’t mean another man can—or even attempts to, for that matter.”
Turning away from her, Travis removed his shirt and began to wash. “It’s nice to know the pup hasn’t tried to take what’s mine. Not that he could, of course, but I like to be reassured.”
“You are insufferable! And I am not yours!”
Travis merely grinned confidently. “Shall I prove to you that you belong to me?”
“I do not belong to you,” she said, backing away from him. “I can take care of myself.”
“Mmm,” Travis smiled, coming to stand near her. Sensuously, he began to run his finger down her arm, and when her steady gaze flickered he narrowed his eyes. “Can that boy make you shiver with only one finger?”
She jerked away from him. “David is a gentleman. We talk of music and books, things you know nothing of. His family is one of the oldest in England, and I enjoy his company.” She straightened her shoulders. “And I will not allow your jealousy to ruin my friendship with him.”
“Jealousy?” Travis laughed. “If I were going to be jealous of someone, it would certainly be someone with more than that whining boy.” His face turned serious. “But I believe the boy is getting serious about you, and I think you should stop seeing so much of him.”