Page 189

A BED. A proper, soft bed was under Hector’s sore body. Not the rough pallet made of palm leaves he’d slept in for the past few years. He wasn’t sure how many. Unless he was wrong in his calculation, it should be eight years since the damn storm had sunk the Observatory .

He blinked his eyes open. They hurt after two weeks spent on the raft under the glaring sun. Everything hurt.

Someone had found him. It wasn’t a hallucination induced by a sunstroke and exhaustion.

A ship had found him. At least he hadn’t been wrong about his calculation on the ships’ journeys across the ocean.

He’d hoped one of the ships sailing in front of the island where he’d been stranded would have spotted him.

After his sight adjusted to the blissfully dimly lit room, he gazed around.

Yes, he was in a cabin, all dark wood and pristine floor.

Polished wooden wainscoting covered the walls of the cabin, giving him a sense of calm.

The pungent smell of carbolic acid and paraffin teased his nostrils.

He touched the area around him, savouring the softness of the bedsheets and their scent of soap.

But where was his book? Panic seized him.

He bolted upright, wincing as his back muscles shot pain through him.

He couldn’t see his precious diary anywhere.

There was a cabinet with a lamp on its top, a narrow wardrobe, a water basin, and.

..there. He sagged against the pillow when he spotted his bundle in a corner. Hopefully, no one had touched it.

He breathed the stuffy air in and out. It was the first time in years that stale air had filled his lungs.

The porthole showed only a portion of the sea, a small, deceitful portion because the sea wasn’t the placid giant the view portrayed.

It was a sleeping monster, ready to swallow lives without mercy.

Somehow, he wore a clean white shirt and a pair of breeches. The fabric felt soft on his hardened skin since he hadn’t worn any clothes for a long time. He propped himself up on his elbows, grimacing at the pain stinging his body. Then he waited. But no emotion, tears, or shudders came.

He'd dreamt of the day he’d be rescued, even cried, thinking about the moment he would be found.

He’d even prepared a speech to thank whoever had spotted him in the sea.

On those occasions, a storm of emotions had raged in his chest. Relief, gratitude, and happiness.

But now? Nothing. Only mild curiosity at the ship and her destination.

He raised his calloused hands. His thick skin was dark against the white bedsheets. He didn’t even shiver. A void of sensations lay in his heart. He felt...nothing. And how disturbing was that? Had the sea robbed him of his humanity, too?

After the storm and the sinking, he’d awakened on a beach, surrounded by dead sailors, broken equipment, and flotsam.

At that time, he hadn’t felt anything either.

Just annoyance at his absurd situation. The nervous breakdown had come later when he'd fully realised he was alone on a deserted island and that no one was going to search for him.

A new breakdown would arrive soon, he guessed. It was a matter of time. Hopefully. What was a man without his emotions?

He jolted when the door swung inward and a short man entered. Hector bared his teeth, an instinctive reaction he didn’t want to control at the moment. The man stilled and raised a hand. The skin around his brown eyes wrinkled when he smiled.

“Good day, sir. I’m Dr. Landon. I’m the physician who has been attending to your health since you were rescued.”

Hector didn’t say anything, too stunned to talk. He hadn’t heard a human voice in years and wasn’t sure what to make of it now.

Dr. Landon fiddled with his small hands. “You’ve been asleep for three days.”

Hector said nothing. Oddly enough, his brain fixated on examining the doctor’s dark waistcoat. So different from the waistcoats Hector used to wear. The neckline was low, and there were only three buttons on the front. Why was he paying attention to fashion?

“May I check your pulse?” the doctor asked.

A dozen questions piled up in Hector’s mind, but still his tongue refused to move and let him speak.

The doctor came closer, seemingly unaffected by Hector’s silence. “You’re on board the Steamship Empress , sailing from Nassau to Southampton. We’re due to arrive in less than two weeks if the weather remains fair.”

His breath hitched. England. Home. His mother. His brother. The thought caused a painful tightness in his chest. His family had to be distraught over his supposed death. He’d missed them so much.

The doctor sat on a stool next to the bed. “May I?” He waited, but since Hector didn’t move or speak, he reached out for Hector’s wrist.

On pure instinct, Hector recoiled and moved to a corner of the bed. Why? He hadn’t the foggiest idea. The doctor wasn’t one of those dangerous primates that had attacked him on many an occasion.

“What is your name?” the doctor asked, withdrawing his probing hand, but still smiling.

Hector opened his mouth, but his throat was sore, and only a raspy noise came out.

“Oh, right. Wait.” The doctor poured him a glass of water and handed it to him. “Here. You were dehydrated when we found you, but not as much as I’d expected. My guess is you had some provisions with you on the raft.”

Hector gulped down the water, closing his eyes at its fresh passage in his throat. He nodded.

The doctor beamed. “Ah, so you understand English. Good. I was starting to think you didn’t speak my language. Are you an Englishman?”

Hector nodded again, drinking more.

“Your throat is fine, by the way. Just a bit dry. What is your name, lad?”

He swallowed a couple of times, feeling a burning scratch in the back of his mouth. “He-Hector,” he croaked out. “Hector Wen-Wentworth.”

Dr. Landon stilled, his cheeks paling. “Hector Wentworth? The Duke of Blackburn?”

Hector swallowed again. “My brother, Robert, is the duke.” His voice sounded all raspy and low.

“Good Lord.” The doctor removed his rounded glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But Lord Hector Wentworth...his ship sank eight years ago.”

“So she did. I sank with her.”

Dr. Landon’s mouth dropped open. “How did you survive?”

Hector brushed a lock of hair from his face. “Luck. I’m not sure.”

“Lucky, I’d say. Lucky a woman on the ship spotted you.”

“A woman spotted me?” he asked, since he didn’t know what to say to the doctor’s astonishment.

“Yes.” The doctor put his glasses back on, but they couldn’t hide the odd look in his eyes. “She was on the deck when she saw the raft and raised the alarm.”

Blazes. That woman had saved his life. “I want to see her.”

Dr. Landon scratched his chin and poured more water in Hector’s glass, studying him as if he were a rare beast. Maybe he was.

“It can be arranged.”

The news that a mysterious blond man had been recovered from the sea was whispered, muttered, and discussed in detail everywhere Maddie went.

From the dining hall to the main deck, her name was on everyone’s lips.

Her role in the finding of the raft had been greatly exaggerated by the gossip.

In one of the versions she’d heard, she’d dived into the sea and single-handedly saved the man.

In another, she’d suffered from a hysterical crisis and fainted on the deck.

She’d also heard another, more disturbing tale. A few people believed the castaway might be a passenger of the Observatory , perhaps even Hector. There hadn’t been any other sunk ships since then. It was logical to assume one of the passengers on the Observatory might be the castaway.

But Hector couldn’t be the man on the raft, could he?

The survivor was unconscious as he’d been for the last three days, and Dr. Landon had firmly forbidden anyone from approaching him.

But if the rescued man was Hector, she wanted to talk to him.

Still, how could he be? Eight years had passed.

His ship had been swallowed by the sea. Where had he been all that time?

But if it was him...just the possibility sent her heart into a frenzy and started a flutter in her chest. Hector alive.

She couldn’t even fathom the huge meaning of the news.

She was strolling along the deck, twisting her sketchbook with her stiff fingers, when Dr. Landon rushed over to her. The chain of his pocket watch bounced up and down as he ran.

“Miss Debenham. Miss, I need a word.” His reddened face glistened with sweat, which he dried with a handkerchief.

Oh, no. She came to an abrupt stop. Had something happened to the survivor?

“Doctor, is something the matter?”

“Miss Debenham,” he said, dabbing at his face with the handkerchief again. “I apologise if I’m being so straightforward, but my patient, who claims to be the presumed dead Lord Hector Wentworth?—”

“Excuse me?” She tottered on her legs.

“Yes, yes. I know it sounds impossible.” Dr. Landon loosened the collar of his shirt. “But he claims to be he. Did you know Lord Wentworth?”

“I did.” Oh, Lord. She’d never suffered from seasickness, but now seemed a good moment to start to.

“Well enough that you would recognise him?” The doctor gave her a pointed look.

“Yes. I think I can.”

“Good. He wishes to see the woman who spotted his raft.”

“Me?” She was eager to see him too, but she hadn’t expected him to care.

“Yes. He wants to meet the lady who saved him.”

She didn’t have to think about it. “By all means, let’s go.”

As he led her below deck, she shoved people aside in her hurry to see the castaway. The passageway in that part of the ship was narrower than the one in her area. Two people could barely squeeze through together.