Sapphire

Henry’s voice broke into her thoughts and she looked at him, smiling.

He opened the door as he reached for his top hat. “I want us to have our own apartments. I want us to be together.”

“And if your parents disown you, how will we pay for these grand apartments?” she asked.

“They won’t disown me. They’re just testing me to see if I really do love you.” He lowered his hat to his head; it was a rather handsome hat, she had to admit. “You let me worry about money. Let me worry about everything.”

“Have no fear of that,” she teased, dropping onto the bed. “You’re already doing a fine job of it.”

He kissed her hand and drew it from his mouth. “Adieu, mon amour.”

“Your French is atrocious,” she laughed, trying to lighten the conversation.

“And you love me anyway.” He held on to the door. “Say it, say you love me, Angel.”

“Go. You’ll be late.” She waved him away.

“It isn’t enough.”

There was something in his voice that hurt her. She met his gaze. “For now, it will have to be.”

Sapphire sat cross-legged on the bunk, as far from Blake as she could get. She watched him read, but whenever he turned his head to look at her, she pretended to be interested in her nails or the pattern of threads in the blanket.

Hours passed. She napped, relieved herself when he discreetly excused himself from the cabin, ate in the afternoon, and napped some more. Now it was growing dark outside the single porthole and the fact that she was going to America was beginning to sink in. The silence in the cabin had begun to wear on her. She fidgeted. She made the bed, then remade it. Twice Blake offered her a book. Both times she declined.

When it grew too dark in the cabin to read, Blake lit two swinging brass lamps that were attached to the bulkhead and another that was cleverly attached to the built-in desk, which swayed along with the ship.

“Are you going to sulk all the way across the Atlantic?” he asked, startling her when he finally spoke.

“I’m not sulking.”

He closed his book. “Yes, you are. Which is fine,

if you’re enjoying yourself.

She folded her arms. “I am most certainly not enjoying myself. I’ve been taken against my will and am being dragged across the ocean toward the wilds of America.

Blake rose from his chair. “All right, all right, enough.” He extended a hand to her, turning his head as if to protect himself from her next attack. “We’ve already gone over this. I know you’re here with me against your will. The question is, how are you going to deal with it now that you find yourself in this position?” When she said nothing, he went on. “Because that really tells me what mettle a man is made of, how he reacts to a bad situation he finds himself in.”

“I’m not a man.”

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “I, of all people, am well aware of that.”

She almost laughed. She stared at her feet for a moment, her arms still crossed over her chest. “I’d like to go up to the deck before it gets too dark. I’d like to see the ocean.”

“Would you like to dine topside?”

The thought intrigued her. “We can do that?”

“I paid the ship’s owner well for this crossing. I can do whatever the hell I please.”

“Do you always get your way?” she asked, letting her hands slip to her sides. “Do you just buy your way through everything?”

“Usually.”

“That’s pretty arrogant,” she said.

“It’s the truth.”