Troubled by the thought, her eyes darkened somberly as she swung back to the rail. A wrinkled hand patted the forearm she rested on the smooth wood, drawing Rachel’s startled glance to the elderly woman beside her. There was no sign of her husband, but Rachel recognized the woman instantly as half of the couple she’d helped the day before.
“Don’t be too hard on your husband, Mrs. MacKinley.” Her look was filled with sympathetic understanding. “I’m certain he truly cares for you. If you try hard enough, I know you will find a way to work out your problems. You make such a lovely couple.”
“I—” Rachel was dumbfounded and lost for words.
But the woman didn’t expect her to say anything. “Poppa and I have had our share of arguments over the years. Sometimes he has made me so angry that I didn’t want to see him again, but it passes,” she assured Rachel. “No marriage is wonderful all the time. In fact, often it is only some of the time.” A tiny smile touched her mouth as she confided her experience.
“I’m sure that’s true.” Rachel’s expression softened. There were always highs and lows, but most of the time marriages were on a level plateau.
“One thing I do know,” the woman insisted with a scolding shake of her finger. “You will solve nothing by sleeping in one cabin while your husband sleeps in another.”
At last Rachel understood what this was all about. The woman had obviously seen the corrected passenger list and noticed that Gard was in a different cabin. She tried very hard not to smile.
“I’m sure everything will work out for the best. Thank you for caring,” she murmured.
“Just remember what I said,” the woman reminded her and toddled off.
Chapter Six
Punctuality had always been important to Rachel. At half past seven on the dot she walked into the passageway running lengthwise of the Bridge Deck and stopped at the first door on her right. It stood open, the sound of voices coming from inside the suite, signaling the arrival of other guests ahead of her.
Uncertain whether to knock or just walk in, Rachel hesitated, then opted for the latter and walked into the suite unannounced. Four ship’s officers in white uniforms were standing with Gard in the large sitting room, drinks in hand while they munched on the assorted cheeses and hors d’oeuvres arranged on trays on a round dining table.
When Gard turned and saw her, a smile touched the corners of his eyes. He separated himself from the group and crossed the room to greet her. Although Rachel was used to being the lone woman in business meetings, the feeling was different in a social situation.
“You did say seven thirty,” she said to Gard, conscious of the smiling stares of the, so far, all-male guests.
“I did.” He nodded as his gaze swept over her dress, patterned in an updated version of a turn-of-the-century style out of a raspberry-ice crepe.
The high-buttoned collar rose above a deeply veed yoke created by tiny rows of pleated tucks and outlined with a ruffle. The tucks and ruffles were repeated again in the cuffs of the long sleeves. A narrow sash, tied in a bow at her waist, let the soft material flow to a knee-length skirt. In keeping with the dress’s style, Rachel had loosely piled her ebony-dark hair onto her head in an upsweep. A muted shade of raspberry eye shadow on her lids brought a hint of amethyst into the soft gray of her eyes.
&
nbsp; “You look lovely,” Gard said with a quirking smile that matched the dryly amused gleam in his eyes. “But I can’t help wondering if that touch-me-not dress you’re wearing is supposed to give me a message.”
His remark made Rachel wonder if she hadn’t subconsciously chosen this particular dress, which covered practically every inch of her body, for that very reason. But that would indicate that she felt sexually threatened by her own inner desires, which she was trying to keep locked in.
“Hardly,” she replied. “You’d probably see it as a challenge.”
“You could be right there,” he conceded, then took her by the arm to lead her over to his other guests. “I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”
He introduced her to the four officers, including the purser, Jake Franklin, whom she’d already met. But it was Gard’s close friend, Hank Scarborough, who put a quick end to polite formalities and meaningless phrases of acknowledged introductions.
“Ever since I heard about you, Mrs. MacKinley, I’ve been anxious to meet you.” Hank Scarborough was Gard’s age, in his middle to late thirties, not quite as tall and more compactly built, with sandy-fair hair and an engaging smile. There was a gleam of deviltry in his eye that seemed to hint that he was fond of a good story. “You more than live up to your reputation.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said, not sure whether she should take that as a compliment.
“I admit I was curious about a woman who would first pass herself off as Gard’s wife, then boot him out of his own cabin with not so much as a ‘by your leave.’” He grinned to let her see that he knew the whole story and the unusual circumstances. His mocking glance slid to Gard. “You should have kept her for your wife.”
“Give me time, Hank,” he advised.
A sliver of excitement pierced Rachel’s calm at Gard’s easy and confident reply. She had to remind herself that he was just going along with the razzing. It did not necessarily mean that he was developing a serious interest in her. When his dark gaze swung to her, she was able to meet it smoothly.
“What would you like to drink?” Gard asked and let his gaze skim her nearly Victorian dress. “Sherry, perhaps?” he mocked.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” she ordered.
There was a subdued cheer from the officers. “A good British drink.” They applauded her choice. “You’ll fit right in with the rest of us chaps.”