Page 193

“Your mother,” Maddie said softly, releasing a breath.

“She couldn’t cope with the pain of losing both her sons.

It was too much for her.” She took his clenched hand in hers.

The contact was enough to help him breathe more easily.

“She wouldn’t eat. She couldn’t sleep. So, she acquired the habit of taking a sleeping draught at night.

One night, she took too much.” Her fingers closed around his.

If she found his rough, hard-skinned hands disgusting, she didn’t show it.

“The physician wasn’t sure if the overdose happened on purpose or not.

She’d become more distracted and detached from reality with each passing day.

The possibility she made a mistake is strong since she didn’t want the help of a maid.

But he didn’t exclude the possibility that she’d done it consciously either. ”

“Then why isn’t she buried in consecrated ground in my family’s crypt?” He gripped her hand in turn, but when she winced, he eased his grip. He had to learn to dose his strength. Among other things.

“Your cousin, Quentin Wentworth, now the Duke of Blackburn, didn’t believe your mother should be buried in holy ground.” Her voice lowered. “He believed she’d taken her life.”

“Quentin.” He barely knew him and had vague memories of a cousin who lived outside London. Not that it mattered now.

“I’m sorry for how my mother told you. It’s inexcusable.” Maddie inched closer. “She spouts gossip without caring about the consequences. Or maybe she knows perfectly well what she’s doing. Both options are awful.”

He said nothing, focusing on their joined hands.

Mother. She should be buried in the family crypt next to Father as she’d wanted.

A pang sliced through his chest so strongly he couldn’t breathe.

His inner turmoil was a stark contrast with the angelic vision of Maddie, who looked so ethereal in a dark-green gown matching her eyes.

She smelled of lavender and cleanliness, of peace and harmony. Her pink skin radiated softness, making him painfully aware of his wild state and shattered mind, and he wasn’t even sure why he noticed her dress now. If it was an unconscious attempt at reining in his grief, it didn’t work.

He couldn’t stop himself and started crying, not bothering to hide his face.

Returning to London seemed such a monumental task, harder than surviving on the island.

How could he pick up the pieces of his life, be normal again, and bury his mother where she belonged?

How could he deal with the strange people around him, people he didn’t understand anymore, when he found it hard to leave his cabin?

Maddie wrapped her arms around him. His first instinct was to stiffen and pull away from her.

But her scent and softness calmed the panic rising within him.

He let her hold him as he cried on her shoulder.

If he was going to be honest, the pain of having lost his family wasn’t the only reason he was upset.

He was scared of returning to London, almost as scared as after he’d woken up on the island. Once again, he faced the unknown.

She caressed his hair while whispering something he didn’t understand.

He wasn’t sure for how long he cried, but when he straightened and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve, his neck muscles were strained by the awkward position he’d been in.

He didn’t feel better, but at least could control himself.

She handed him her handkerchief. “I’m sure your cousin will be happy to see you.”

He dried his eyes and said nothing. Although she seemed to wait for him to talk since she stared at him with her large eyes full of compassion.

“Would you like me to leave?” she asked, already rising. “I can shave your beard another time.”

He shook his head and tilted his chin up, exposing his neck. “Please,” he croaked out. “Unless you want to leave.”

“No, I’m happy to stay.”

She put the hot towel on his face again.

Every time her fingers brushed against his cheeks, his heart flipped.

He’d forgotten what it meant to hold someone’s hand or feel someone’s heat.

When the doctor visited him, it was with an effort that he kept himself from flinching.

But Maddie’s touch brought him a sense of peace.

A crease appeared between her eyebrows as she spread the shaving cream on his face. Ah, the sweet sensation of the soft, soapy cream. Its minty scent tickled his nostrils.

“Stay still. I don’t want to cut you.” She took the sharp razor. “Let’s hope the ship doesn’t decide to jolt right now.” She chuckled nervously, but fell silent when he didn’t laugh.

He did as he was told as she gently passed the blade over his neck and cheek.

She was close enough he could see the tips of her black eyelashes curling up and overlapping.

The layer of face cream she wore couldn’t hide the red tint of her cheeks and nose.

Likely, the tropical sun had burned her delicate skin.

It had taken him months to grow a thick hide resistant to the sun and the insect bites.

During the first weeks, his body had been itching and burning.

No earrings hung from her small earlobes.

He wanted to touch them to see if they were as velvety as they looked.

“No earrings,” he said as she shaved his chin.

She paused. “My earrings? Oh, I stopped wearing them when...a long time ago. I found them impractical. I don’t have any regrets to be honest. One less thing to worry about.”

She washed the razor into the bowl of water. The foam spread on the surface, releasing its fragrance.

“What happened a long time ago?”

“Nothing that matters.”

“I want to know.”

Perhaps his tone was too harsh because her emerald gaze flashed for a moment. He ought to learn good manners again.

She continued shaving him. “After I healed from the infection, I found it difficult doing a few tasks, including putting my earrings on. Some types of earrings require the use of both hands to close the clip. Anyway, my fingers were clumsy, and I ended up either hurting myself or dropping the earrings. I could have asked for help, but I wanted to practise with my right fingers. Wasted time. I grew angry and impatient. So, I stopped wearing them.”

When she focused, as she was doing now, she acquired a more mature expression. Her lips were the same colour as those berries he’d eaten on the island. He wondered if her lips tasted the same. He remembered her beauty, but somehow, he rediscovered it now, and it stunned him.

“You’re absolutely beautiful,” he said in all honesty, because it was true.

Her reaction didn’t make any sense though. She blushed fiercely to the roots of her hair and averted her gaze.

“Lord Wentworth, we’re alone in your cabin.” She withdrew her hands and cleaned the blade, her hands shaking.

What did the fact they were alone have to do with anything?

“I’m not saying you’re beautiful because I haven’t seen a woman in years.

I genuinely believe you’re stunningly beautiful.

Your sister is pretty too, but your more mature beauty strikes me harder.

You’re almost painful to look at, like the sun.

” What had he said now? Why did she fret and blush?

Her breath hitched. “Have I said something wrong?”

She wiped her hands on the towel and took the bowl. “I need more water.”

She moved towards the door, but he took her wrist, jolting her. The bowl dropped to the floor, spilling the soapy water around and soaking the floor again.

“Bother.” She crouched to wipe the water.

“I’m sorry.” He cursed himself for his lack of control and knelt next to her. He helped wipe the water, but she waved him away.

“Don’t you worry.”

“Why are you upset?” He could understand being upset if someone had lied to her. But he spoke the truth.

She exhaled. “Lord Wentworth?—”

“Hector.”

Another exhale. “Usually, gentlemen aren’t so straightforward when talking to a lady. Men don’t pay direct compliments to women in such a candid fashion. Surely, you remember that.”

“Someone else must have told you how beautiful you are.” He was confused. He’d broken a rule. He understood it. But if the rule was stupid, did it matter?

“No. No one.” She shoved to her feet, holding the bowl and marched out of the cabin.

He wiped his face with a fresh towel, failing to understand her sudden change of mood. But then again, he failed to understand a great many things.