The Sailor and the Seamstress Page 6

  “There, now, you eat while I ask you some questions. Of course, you don’t have to answer when there is food in your mouth, but I would like you to answer. It would make what I have to ask you that much less…awkward.”

  His eyebrows shot up and the bite of sandwich in his mouth turned to dust. What was she going to ask him, and how would that make anything about her awkward?

  Too many questions, too many possible answers. And how will you answer anything if you can’t speak without bungling it?

  She caught sight of his expression and a slight smile lifted her lips. Angela took a bite of her own sandwich, slowly chewing, and he could see her mind racing behind her vivid and open eyes.

  Jarren watched her swallow, the pale perfection of her neck alluring, even when performing the most mundane of tasks.

  Lord, but you have become a fool.

  “My first question,” she began, her hands now flat on the table top, “is what was it like on your ship?”

  Startled, Jarren could only stare at her, blinking twice before dropping his gaze to the sandwich in his hands. She wanted to know about the Hag Mor? How could he even begin to tell her the truth, about how his life was hell. How he starved more than he ate, how he was beaten daily just to keep him in compliance. How he wasn’t allowed to set foot on land except for the docks where they offloaded their ill-gotten gains. How he hadn’t spoken to anyone other than his shipmates for twenty years, and how he was tied to the mast and lashed if he ever spoke out about anything? How could he tell her that the reason he stammered when he spoke was because his masters had taught him English as the point of a gun. How a terrified little boy was so overwrought, he couldn’t think straight to speak straight. How, over the years, his affliction worsened whenever his emotions ran high?

  There was just too much to say, and not enough time in that hour to articulate even a fourth of it. So, he offered her what he could.

  “Bad,” he answered, that one word falling from his lips easily enough.

  Her brows formed a deep V, and she pursed her lips, obviously displeased at his answer.

  “That’s it? That’s all you can tell me?” she asked, annoyance make her nose scrunch up most adorably. “During all our lunches together, I’ve just about told you everything there is to know about me, and yet I know next to nothing about you, save you were once a sailor and now you tailor men’s clothing.” She huffed. “Isn’t it about time for you to tell me something

  “Yes,” he said, the urge to reach out and clasp her hands, to touch her, to make her understand without words, was nigh impossible to ignore. But he did. He couldn’t touch her. She wasn’t his, would never be his.

  Angela snorted, leaning back in her chair, her lunch forgotten. He watched her, her expressions flickering across her expressive face, her eyes turning from cornflower blue to sapphire as she nibbled on her bottom lip. His gaze dropped to her mouth, his body tightening; she had a lush, pink mouth. A mouth made for soft, slow kisses followed by deep, passionate kisses.

  Which one would their kiss from yesterday have been if those women hadn’t interrupted them?

  “Is it your stutter?” she asked, forcing his examination from her mouth to her eyes.

  He cocked his head, wondering if he’d imagined her question.

  Please have imagined her question!

  “Your stutter,” Angela repeated. “Is the reason you won’t talk to me because of your stutter?”

  He peered at her, shock and humiliation pouring into him.

  He opened his mouth to tell her she was mistaken, but he knew that by speaking, he would only confirm her belief…that he was a dullard.

  Dropping his uneaten sandwich on its butcher paper wrapping, he then tugged at the tie around his neck. When had his clothes gotten so tight?

  “S-stutter?” he asked, cringing. Aye, he was a fool to think she wouldn’t notice, but what man, facing such a beautiful woman, wouldn’t hope to at least appear faultless?

  She nodded. “Yes. That’s what my cook back in Waylon called it. Her son had the same peculiarity; he would trip over his words, especially when he was excited or tired or angry or scared…” She seemed to peer through him. “Is that what is happening with you?”

  When he didn’t answer immediately, she continued, “There’s no reason to be ashamed, Jarren. I don’t mind it at all.” He wouldn’t have believed her if he hadn’t seen the look of utter honesty on her face, her eyes shining without a hint of artifice.

  He wanted to believe her, that she didn’t care about something that had made him a laughingstock on the Hag Môr, and had turned him from a once gregarious child into a wary, often awkward man.

  As he watched her, she watched him, and though he had no doubt she could read him like a dress pattern, he couldn’t quite make out what she was thinking.

  “Now, will you tell me about what it was like on your ship?” she prodded, a hopeful grin on her face.

  An ache in his chest spread outward, until the whole of him was desperate to topple the table, reach out for her, and kiss that smile. To know what joy and goodness tasted like.

  He would do anything to keep that smile in place.

  Anything.

  Sucking in a long, deep, ragged breath, he kept his gaze on her as he began, “It w-was h-hard.”

  Her grin grew until the room was brighter than the sun in the sky.

  His heart stopped then began beating again, thundering in his chest.

  “Keep going,” she insisted, her eyes wide. “Please.”

  There was no need for “please”, he would have told her anyway.

  And so, he did. Leaving out the parts about being tied naked to the mast as punishment, and making sure to not do into too much detail about the captain’s smuggling enterprise, Jarren told her about his father selling him, about his rough life as a ship-bound slave, and about how he’d finally earned his freedom after saving the captain’s life.

  “You saved his life?” she marveled, awe in her voice. “Jarren, that’s incredible!”

  He blushed, his skin warming beneath her praise.

  “I-I w-would have d-done it f-for an-anyone,” he remarked honestly. It didn’t matter if it were a preacher or a smuggler who got too drunk and fell overboard, he would have saved him. Life was life, and it deserved to be preserved, no matter the risk.

  “You are too modest…” she insisted. Angela ducked her head for a moment, peering up at him with an odd look in her eye. “And handsome, and kind, and industrious, and considerate, and brave.”

  With every word of praise, his breathing hitched. She couldn’t mean any of that, and so he said so.

  “Of course, I mean it! I wouldn’t say it otherwise. I admire you, Jarren. You’ve come through so much, and still you are a gentleman I would gladly call my friend.”

  His heart near to bursting, he didn’t know if he could take any more without grabbing her, wrapping his arms around her, and telling her what he felt for her.

  You can’t. She doesn’t feel the same…but was the true?

  “T-thank you, A-angela,” he replied, his cheeks hot. Speaking to anyone for any amount of time seemed alien to him, but, with Angela it felt like he could finally be more than a brooding presence—as his clients so often remarked. Among men, silence was golden; there was little to no need for useless chatter. The men came, he asked them what they wanted, he’d measure them, and then they’d leave. Few words ever passed his lips.

  Now, though, he’d spoken more in that forty-five minutes than he had in the last four months, total.

  Angela stood and followed suit, staring down at the lunch which had been consumed in fits and starts throughout his life telling.

  “Thank you for lunch,” she said, her voice breathy.

  “It was my…pleasure,” he replied.

  “Again, the handsome, considerate gentleman.” She offered him a timid grin, and he wondered at that.

  Forming his words before opening his mouth, he managed a heartfe
lt, “Thank you.”

  She giggled, the sound nervous. “You can thank me by taking me to dinner tonight,” she blurted, the unexpected phrase strange as it bounced around in his mind.

  Though, not as unexpected or strange as his immediate response.

  “Alright.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sitting across from Jarren under the sparkling lights of the hotel restaurant, Angela knew she was in over her head. Jarren was dressed in a black suit coat, a crisp white shirt, a black tie, and with his golden hair slicked back from his forehead, emphasizing the sharp edges of his face.

  Lord, he was handsome.

  She was wearing her best dress, though it was an old design. When she’d put it on, she felt pretty enough, hoping that she would feel confident enough to ask what she should have asked that afternoon but instead took the coward’s way out and asked Jarren to dinner instead.

  Forced him to take you to dinner, more like!

  Oh, heavens, she hadn’t really thought this part of her plan through. Last night, she’d determined that if her father wanted to marry her off to a man she hated, she would make him believe she was no longer available. Then, she wondered how she would do that; she’d only met the husbands of her clients and the owner at the mercantile, and she hadn’t spent much time outside of her normal day-to-day meeting any eligible men—which she could only blame on herself. Then, she realized she had a perfect candidate living right next door. And, if she were honest with herself, she would admit that even playing like she was in a relationship with Jarren Gryffud would please her far too much. Then, she went back and forth, thinking on the pros and cons of such a flimsy plan, finally settling on the pros and ignoring the cons, like how Jarren would take one second to stare at her like she was crazy and then turn and walk away. But, she’d take that risk, because facing down the barrel of a marriage to Phineas Colvin, she would do whatever she had to to wrest the control from her father’s hands.

  Having already ordered dinner from the waiter, it would be rude to just get up and run for the hills as her nerves were screaming for her to do. Besides that, she knew that there were many eyes on her. On him. On them. Soon enough, her father would get word of what was happening in the restaurant. And when that happened, she hoped the crowd would keep the bombastic man from bellowing at her and dragging her from the room.

  But first, she had to get around to asking Jarren to play her fiancé. He was a man of honor and unlikely to appreciate being dishonest, she knew that to her marrow, but he was also her friend, wasn’t he? He would help her, wouldn’t he?

  “Y-you look…beautiful,” Jarren remarked, his green eyes intense and pinned to her.

  She blushed, brushing a lock of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. She’d brushed it and left it down, thinking it looked better that way, more feminine. Why it mattered that she look feminine, she refused to acknowledge. She absolutely did not want Jarren Gryffud to actually fall for her.

  The lie was hollow and ugly.

  “Thank you,” she replied, her voice squeaking. She laughed it off, hoping to take the edge off of nervousness. There was no reason to be nervous; she was just having dinner with the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and was about to ask him the most ridiculous question.

  She cleared her throat, wishing the waiter would return with their lemonades.

  “I was so glad that you told me about you and your life,” she admitted. “I knew there was something interesting about you.”

  At the look of surprise on his face, she laughed.

  “Don’t be so shocked, Jarren. When you first arrived in town, I thought you’d come here to steal my business.” She grimaced. “Sadly, I can only blame myself for my loss in business.” And that rat Phineas Colvin and his underhanded machinations. “And then I met you, and I realized I wanted to know more about you. I’m sorry it took so long to get around to it.”

  “I enjoyed…getting t-to know y-you, too,” Jarren said, the sides of his lips quirking.

  What she wouldn’t give to see that man smile. She knew she was being much too open about her private thoughts, but at least she wasn’t spilling the beans about how she spent most nights wondering about him, about what he was doing, thinking, feeling. About what it would be like to be his—though she had no rightly idea as to why she’d want something like that. She was just starting out her own life, doing what she always wanted to do.

  And failing at it.

  “Even though I chattered on like a magpie in a snit?”

  If she thought seeing him smile would change her life, she was unprepared for the magnitude of his laugh.

  She stared in utter stupefaction as he threw his head back and a deep, rich laugh boomed from his chest. His face was transformed, the hard planes softened, his eyes danced, his body shook with his mirth…he was magnificent.

  I think I love you.

  Biting back a shriek of astonishment at her abrupt realization, Angela nearly missed the murmurs that began rising around them. Alarm shot through her and she nearly snapped her neck in her hurry to look toward the main doors.

  Her father was standing there, Mr. Colvin at his side, and a sneer of pure rage on her father’s mottled face.

  Oh no. It was too late to ask Jarren to help her.

  Too late to save herself from the wedding noose.

  She stood so abruptly, her chair nearly toppled to the floor. Jarren, alarm written into his features, stared at her, then looked in the direction of where her doom was stalking toward her.

  Obviously sensing something was wrong, Jarren stood as well, coming around the small table for two to stop just beside her. His large hand coming to rest on the small of her back. It was surprising, a little inappropriate, but totally needed. His touch was like a balm, filling her with his silent strength, as if he were telling her, “I am here, I am with you. Do not fear.”

  So, she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, not when her future, her dreams, depended on it.

  Her father, a large, robust man of fifty, moved easily through the room, skirting tables and other couples, and storming down the straightaway like a bull.

  She stiffened as he neared, Mr. Colvin not far behind, and once they were both standing before her, she held her breath, waiting for the yelling and demeaning to begin.

  “There you are, you ungrateful wretch,” her father began with preamble.

  “Hello, Father,” she intoned, her voice louder than she expected, especially since she couldn’t breathe. Jarren’s hand at her back slid up and the down again, a comforting motion.

  He was there with her. She wanted to turn at look at him, to tell him to save himself, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Once again, she was being selfish. She wanted him there.

  “Oh, so I am your father now, after you abandoned your family to fritter away your life in this dust-coated town?”

  She ignored the gasps from the people around her, knowing they couldn’t help but hear her father. He was never one to keep his voice down.

  “I didn’t abandon you. I chose to leave, to pursue my dream of being a business owner,” she said, not that it would do any good. She could tell by the twitch beneath his right eye, that he was working himself up into a lather.

  “And how is that business going, girl? Making any money? Or are you failing at this just like I told you you would?”

  It stung.

  Beside her, Jarren tensed, his arm pressing along the back of her arm flexed.

  “It’s time for you to give up this ridiculous notion, come home to Waylon, and marry Mr. Colvin, just like you were supposed to.”

  More shocked gasps tore through the room.

  Jarren jolted as if she’d struck him, and she couldn’t help but look at him then. There was a startled expression on his face, accompanied by anger and disgust.

  At her?

  When his gaze landed on her, she realized, no, he wasn’t mad or disgusted with her. He was smart enough to surmise what was actually happeni
ng. During their lunches, Angela had told him about growing up in her father’s house, about how she had to hide her sewing from her father, lest she be bent over his knee and made to wobble when she walked. She’d told him about his business associations with questionable men, men who made their money doing dishonest things. However, she hadn’t told him what she’d learned from the woman of Aurora Lake. Now that Jarren knew how Mr. Colvin was involved in her past…she felt sick.

  “I don’t want to marry Mr. Colvin. I didn’t then, and I don’t now,” she ground out, keeping her voice down, not that it mattered since the people seemed to be getting closer. “I am twenty, you cannot make me marry anyone I don’t want to marry.”

  Her father chuckled thickly, a hideous sound. “I can make you do whatever I want. You have nothing here, no money, barely a home, no business—” He turned to Mr. Colvin. “We took care of that, didn’t we Colvin.” Mr. Colvin sneered, his dark eyes flashing with evil merriment.

  “Oh, she won’t be able to pay her rent this coming month, and after that, she’ll be ready to scrape at the dirt to fill her empty belly. She’ll marry me before the end of the month.”

  She gasped at that. She’d known Colvin was working to bankrupt several of the families and businesses in town, but it never occurred to her that he was doing that, not just as a way to own the town, but also as a way to own her. She was a bonus. She’d already felt the pinch at her lack of money, she knew she was just on the edge of closing her doors forever. And to think her own father had a hand in it…

  The sick in her stomach rose into her mouth, and she opened her lips to tell her father exactly what she thought of his disgusting plot, but Jarren spoke before she could.

  “P-perhaps we should t-take this c-convers-sation somewhere p-private.”

  Her father’s face screwed up into the imitation of a wrathful frog.

  “Who the hell are you? Are you a retard?” he mocked, and Jarren jolted again.

  “Don’t you dare talk about him like that,” Angela snapped, raising her finger to jab it into her father’s chest.

  “You dare to put a hand on me, girl?” his voice was rising, and she knew a blowout was coming. He raised his fist and she flinched, knowing what was to come, but Jarren dropped his hand from her back, and stepped out in front of her just as her father’s punch landed. Against Jarren’s jaw. He stumbled back but remained upright.