She couldn’t even relieve her tension by moving about the ship. There wasn’t much of a ship to move about in and most of it was populated by hammocks, crates and cannons below decks and sailors above decks who swung between admiring awe and superstitious disgust at her presence. After a young ensign almost toppled overboard when she ventured above deck Captain Meacham begged her to remain in her cabin for her own safety, as he put it, but his gaze conveyed something else entirely. He looked so young and harassed she agreed.

Edge, wisely, said nothing, meeting her glare as she returned to her cabin with a look as blank and empty as a grazing cow. But she knew that behind that Pharaonic façade was one big ‘I told you so’.

She’d kicked her cot when she was back in her room, which didn’t help at all except to knock her narrow pillow to the floor, but at least that gave her the good idea of placing the mattress there as well which made her night marginally more comfortable since she didn’t have to worry about falling, just rolling when the ship pitched.

The only relief was during mealtimes when she and Edge joined the officers. She dug deep to resurrect the social skills she’d discovered that fateful year of her debut in Venice and realised she had not completely lost her ability to charm and by the time they passed Gibraltar the young officers were sharing their hopes for their naval careers with her.

But the more they thawed, the more Edge ossified. He was unfailingly polite, but he concentrated all his conversation on the ship’s surgeon who shared his interest in Greco-Roman culture. Every time she tried to join their conversation he became so deferential she barely restrained the urge to kick him under the table.

She wondered what these men thought of their marriage. She wondered most of all what Edge thought of their marriage. With a kind of superstitious fear she clung to the hope that once they reached London they would somehow mend matters between them. All she had to do was survive that long without Edge’s ominous calm breaking and having him toss her overboard.

* * *

It broke three days before they reached England, set off by the most inconsequential thing. That particular evening the waves made dinner a challenging exercise and Sam excused herself early, followed by Edge, maintaining the façade of an attentive spouse. Just as she reached her door the ship pitched and Sam almost went with it, but Edge caught her, bracing himself against the wall. For a moment as the ship righted itself they stood there in a parody of an embrace. Sam closed her eyes, breathing him in, her skin warming and softening even as her mind warned her any moment now he would put her away.

He did precisely that. Very carefully untangling himself and reaching past her to open the door. In a fit of desperation Sam grabbed his coat and pulled him inside. Only his quick reaction saved him from smashing his head against the lintel and before he could recover she shut the door behind him and pressed her back to it.

The tiny space shrank by several sizes, emptying of air. She rushed into speech before he put her aside again and marched out.

‘I’m sorry, Edge. I know you’re furious and I’m a horrid person, but please...can’t we stop this stalemate? It is exhausting. I feel like I am under siege.’

‘You feel like you are under siege!’ Edge wiped a hand over his mouth and jaw as if physically strangling the words. His eyes were dark with anger and she pressed back against the door. Perhaps forcing this particular panther into a cage with her was not the most intelligent move at the moment.

She raised her hands. She would have waved a white handkerchief, but he did not look in the mood for whimsical gestures.

‘I know you are regretting marrying me—’

‘What I am regretting,’ he interrupted, ‘is not throwing you over my shoulder and taking you back to Poppy and Janet so you could travel to England in a more...proper manner. I should have listened to Captain Meacham instead of you.’

‘He doesn’t appear to mind my presence on board any longer...’

‘Of course he doesn’t mind your presence! The young fool is infatuated with you. I’m only grateful you’ve preserved enough sense to stay below decks or we’d find ourselves run aground on the first shoal if he mooned after you on deck the way you encourage him to do across the dinner table.’

‘I do not encourage him! And he does not moon.’

‘Fine. Drool.’

‘Captain Meacham’s manners are impeccable. As opposed to yours, Lord Friday-Faced-Fussock.’

‘If you are going to resort to childish name calling, try for accuracy rather than alliteration. Fussock means a lazy woman.’

‘It does? That wasn’t at all the image I had in my mind.’

Tags: Lara Temple Billionaire Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net