When I'm with You (3 page)

She tried to pull the sheet from his grip, only to have him tighten his hold on his end. Her teeth gritted together. “Rafe.”

“What?” His eyes were round with feigned innocence. “I'm only trying to help.”

“Well, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“That! Stop helping!” She snapped the sheet from his grasp and his end fluttered to the floor. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you.”

“You could. But it'll get done faster if you stop being stubborn and let me assist you.”

She tried to snatch the linen away, to ball it up before he could get a hold of it, but she wasn't fast enough. As he lifted it, she discarded the notion of simply ripping it out of his hands again. What purpose would it serve, to make more work for herself?

“Fine,” she grumbled, tucking her end under the mattress.

“So gracious,” he teased, smoothing the sheet down. She didn't look at him, but felt his smug grin and had to tamp down the urge to throw a pillow at him. “And you didn't answer my question.”

She circled the bed, giving him a wide berth, and shrugged as she bent back to her task. “Obviously, I had a change of plans.”

“Why?”

The colorful quilt was next, pulled up to the head of the bed and smoothed flat before she answered. “Because that's how it worked out.”

“Balboa wouldn't take you back?” He reached for one of the massive pillows, fluffing it carelessly before tossing it onto the bed.

It might have been her imagination, but his voice sounded hot around the edges. She straightened, hands on her hips, trying to keep her own voice offhand as she asked, “Are you actually
angry
at me?”

He held her stare for a long moment, his expression still neutral. “No.”

She folded her arms over her chest. The look she gave him was the same one she would use on Balboa's unruly customers. The one that made said patrons fidget or apologize within minutes. “Well, for someone who isn't angry, you certainly sound it.”

“Fine. Yes, all right, I am. But I have every right to be as furious as I wish.”

“Oh, is that so? And what gives you that right? I was the mistreated one, wasn't I?” She unfolded her arms and circled the bed to attack another pillow while she struggled to come up with a properly snappy retort. “From what I recall, you didn't exactly fight for me to stay, did you? You didn't fight for me at all.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“What were you supp—” She caught herself before her voice rose to a shout. “To begin with, you could have stood up for me.” She slammed the last pillow in place and jerked the basket up to jam against her hip. “But you didn't.” She glanced up at him and lifted her shoulders, as if without a care in the world. “You didn't.”

A dull flush swept up into his olive skin, but she took no joy in his discomfort. She hated seeing him this way, preferring his more self-assured—downright cocky, at times—side to this one. It was easier to be angry with him when he was cocky.

“I can explain, Katie.”

“You can explain?” She let out a dry laugh. “Is that so? From where I sit, there is no need for an explanation.” She carted the basket to the doorway, where she paused beside him and shook her head. “You had a choice—and I'll give you it couldn't have been easy—and you chose your family. There was no reason for me to stay and no reason for me to tell you where I was going. And really, you did me a great favor, Captain Sebastiano.” She forced a smile. “Instead, I've come here and made a new life for myself.”

“As a maid.”

She didn't miss the note of derision in his deep voice, and it only shored up her determination not to soften toward him. Her fingers tightened about the basket's woven handles. The rough hemp bit into her flesh with sharp teeth, but she ignored it. “Yes. There's nothing wrong with choosing to be in service, and the Marchand family is wonderful. Lady Sally is kind and sweet, and Lady Marchand is a fair employer. I could have done far worse than this.”

“So, you're happy?” His hand hovered at her elbow.

“Why do you care whether or not I'm happy?” She stepped out of his reach. “It's no longer your concern.”

As she tried to pass by him, he caught her by the arm. “There's no need to be nasty, Katie. Of course I care. I don't want you to be miserable.”

“Then you're off the hook, because I'm not miserable.” She shook off his hold. “And if you'll excuse me, I've work to do. And I'd wager Lady Sally is eager for you to return to the library.”

She half-expected him to reach for her again, but he surprised her by folding his arms. “Very well. I'm glad you're happy.”

“Then we can both be happy.” She tossed this over her shoulder as she hurried down the corridor to the senior Captain Sebastiano's chambers. And “hurry” was the perfect description, for if she slowed down, even a little, she'd be tempted to double back and throw herself at him. She had her pride, but sometimes she'd give it all up just to feel his arms around her one last time. For one last magical night with him.

But he didn't stop her, and she didn't halt her stride. By the time she reached his father's chambers, Rafe's footfalls had faded into the distance. He'd gone back down below.

Katie realized her hands were trembling, despite her grip on the basket's handles. Still, she thought she had handled herself perfectly. No scene. No hated tears.

But even as she tried to busy herself with making the bed, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have melted against Rafe if he'd pulled her into his arms again.

Chapter Four

Lady Sally sat at her dressing table, frowning at her reflection in the glass. “Katie, could you do something different with my hair this evening?”

“Something different?” Katie stood behind her, meeting her gaze. “Such as?”

“I don't know. That's the problem. I'm tired of chignons.” She propped her elbow on the table and her chin on her fist, and let out the most wistful of sighs. “Edna doesn't realize how fortunate she is to have straight hair. Curly hair is so limiting, and this sea air makes mine so dreadfully puffy.”

“That isn't true. The sea air actually works in your favor. It gives your hair body, whereas hers goes flat no matter what.” Katie ran the silver comb through her Ladyship's dark hair, the teeth sliding through without hitting a snag. Despite her complaints about it, Lady Sally had beautiful hair, gossamer soft and black as a raven's wings. The curls were smooth and glossy, and when the light hit it at certain angles, it almost looked deep blue. “If you like, we can pin it up into a roll here—” she pressed the side of her hand into the area just above Lady Sally's nape, “—and I can anchor it with my sapphire butterfly.”

“Would you?” Lady Sally twisted around to smile up at her.

Katie nodded. Her sapphire butterfly was the one valuable piece of jewelry she owned, the only thing of hers that had belonged to her mother, whom she barely remembered. As she rarely did more with her hair than a stoic knot at the back of her head, the butterfly spent most of its time in its small teak box. Every morning, Katie polished it with the hem of her apron, then tucked it back into the nondescript box which went into the table drawer. Out of sight, out of mind, and all that. Although she trusted Martha, she wasn't about to take any chance of the butterfly disappearing. It meant too much to her, even if the sapphires were little more than pinpoint blue sparkles. They could be chips of broken glass for all she cared. Its sentimental value was far greater than any material amount.

It wasn't often she thought to share it, and she had no idea what made her offer the treasure, but once the words were gone she couldn't take them back. Patting Lady Sally on the shoulder, she said, “It won't take me but a moment to get it.”

It took a bit longer than a moment, but Lady Sally smiled brilliantly at her when she returned with the box. Her eyes widened when Katie lifted the butterfly from its nest of satin. “I don't understand why you don't wear it more often.” She took it from her with gentle fingers. The light danced over the butterfly, from its golden antennae to the small chips of diamond dotting the lower part of the wings. The sapphires glittered beautifully in the silver setting. It looked at once delicate and fragile, yet strong and durable. As Katie watched the stones glitter and throw off flecks of color, she had terribly mixed feelings about letting it out of her sight.

She tried to ignore her unease, saying, “I rarely wear it because I always have my hair tucked beneath this cap.” She brushed her fingers over the lacy cap's hem. “And I'm afraid I'd lose it. Besides, maids rarely wear their finest. We'd look too silly.”

“Mmm…” was all Lady Sally said.

The gleam of the butterfly's blue-sparkled wings in the candlelight always brought back the one memory Katie had of her mother. Katie couldn't recall how old she was when her mother died, but figured she had to have been quite young, to remember so little about her, about any of her family. Still, the memory resonated—a small blonde woman with kind eyes and a warm smile, her hair pulled back from one ear and held with the sparkling butterfly.

The image faded without surrendering any more information.

She went to work, combing and twisting and pinning, until her Ladyship's thick hair was in an elegant roll at the back of her head, with the butterfly nestled in the dark strands, like a bird in a nest. Katie lost count of how many pins she used so the thick mass didn't tug the ornament free. The sapphire chips were almost the same shade of blue as the lady's gown.

As she slid the last pin into place, Katie said, “What do you think?”

Lady Sally picked up her handheld looking glass, positioning it to see the back of her head, and smiled. “I promise to be careful with it. You'll have it back in one piece.”

Although she couldn't say it aloud, Katie certainly hoped that would be the case. She forced herself to smile. “I know you will, m'lady.”

With a whisper of silk, Lady Sally rose from the brocade bench, smoothing the cobalt-blue waterfall of her skirt. Blue rivaled green for Lady Sally's favorite color, and the gown she wore tonight was one of her favorites. The shade flattered her coloring, brought out the blue in her turquoise eyes and made her skin glow almost ivory. She was stunning, and with a pang, Katie realized Lady Sally and Rafe would suit one another perfectly. In more ways than one.

That left her feeling unsettled and slightly sick to her stomach, so she busied herself with tidying up the dressing table, stowing unused pins in their box and closing the various jewel boxes that had once held the sapphire earbobs and the sapphire-and-diamond choker her Ladyship wore.

“Sally, are you ready?” Lady Edna poked her head into the room and smiled. “Oh, good. You are. Shall we? Mama is waiting for us in her dressing room.”

Lady Sally looked up and nodded as she rose from her bench. “I am, Egg. I don't wish to keep Mama or our guests waiting.”

Katie fought off a wince as Lady Edna, who didn't seem to mind being called Egg, giggled. “Oh, of course not. We mustn't keep Captain Sebastiano waiting.”

“Don't be saucy, Egg.” Lady Sally swished to the door, where she playfully swatted her sister with her fan. Then she linked arms with her, and whatever else she said was swallowed up as they left the room. A thick silence descended, and Katie breathed a sigh of relief. Peace. A respite from gossip.

Alone time was very rare in Marchand Hall. She shared her chambers with Martha, and they all had very little leisure time. Katie sometimes wondered what it would be like to have more than a few hours completely to herself. She couldn't recall ever having that luxury. Free time was a rare gift, at times a poor omen. Free time could mean she wouldn't eat for a day or two, or be able to pay her rent. Neither lent itself to a good night's sleep.

After tidying, she closed the shutters. The night breeze was gentle but cold, sweeping in from the water. It washed over her, and she savored the tang of salt in the wind, the smell of the water. She couldn't imagine not being near the water.

Not only was Bermuda colder than she was accustomed to, it was also lonelier in some ways. She missed Balboa and his easy laugh, missed sharing a rum with him after a long night at the tavern. Missed knowing there was at least one person who cared for her, who cared what became of her. Someone who would worry about her if she didn't emerge from her room for several days. Someone who would mourn if something happened to her.

Until she had met Vanessa Esteban, Balboa had been the only one she had ever considered a true friend, although he'd been quite clear that he would have liked more. He wanted to marry her, had asked her on several occasions, even knowing what she was. It didn't make him think any less of her. It didn't make him care any less.

“And if I'd been smart,” she muttered, reaching up to tuck a wayward curl back beneath her cap, “I'd have said yes.”

But while Balboa accepted what she considered her weakness, she abhorred it. How could he possibly love her, knowing how she'd been used? What man wanted a well-used wife? Especially in a town where everyone seemed to know everyone else's concerns. In Kingston, everyone knew Balboa. And they most definitely knew her. She would always be a fallen woman in their eyes.

Balboa had been kind to her, even after she'd turned down his proposal. He'd always made sure she had enough to buy food, to keep a gown on her back, a roof over her head. Always made sure she knew she could turn to him.

Yet when the opportunity to leave Jamaica had showed itself, she hadn't been able to leave fast enough, going with Aidrian and Vanessa and Rafe to St. Phillippe.

Still, she always tried to show people the same kindness Balboa offered.

Well, Vanessa was married now. To Rafe's oldest brother, Aidrian, the scion of the Sebastiano family. At times, Katie envied Vanessa her happiness, envied what she had found with Aidrian. She had almost had that happiness for herself, had been so close to it that she could taste it. Unfortunately, Rafe's family had made it very clear. They would not stand for their son to link his name with that of a fallen woman. And he didn't have the courage to stand up for her.

Katie blinked at the stinging in her eyes. She'd made so many mistakes in her life—too many to count. It seemed coming to Bermuda was another one. But how could she have known Rafe would come here too, that his family and the Hamiltons knew one another?

“I should have gone back to Jamaica,” she muttered, pushing the shutters closed and flipping the latch to lock them. “Balboa might have still wanted me.”

The silence mocked her. No, Balboa had probably moved on by now. Plenty of ladies admired him. Why would he pine for one lowly little barmaid?

Katie closed the door behind her as she left Lady Sally's chambers. “Why, indeed?”

“Why indeed what?” Mrs. Bates was striding toward her. “Did you finish with the Captain Sebastianos' rooms?”

“I have, Mrs. Bates. Both beds are made and ready to be slept in. And Lady Sally already went below with Lady Edna. Did you need me for anything else?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “You've a bit of free time before her Ladyship will need your assistance. Enjoy.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bates.”

The maids' quarters were in the attics, on the western side of the house, as far away from the guest chambers as they could be. The room she shared with Martha was small, but cozy. If she angled her neck just right when she looked out the window, she could see the lush foliage behind Marchand Hall. The brightly blooming hibiscus in riots of orange and blazing coral, the rich, leafy greens of the ferns, and delicate purple and white orchids that seemed to have their seasons mixed up—all cheered her as she leaned on the window sill and breathed deep to savor their fragrance.

To her disappointment, Martha wasn't there. That was too bad, as Martha was teaching her how to read, and there would have been time for a lesson. They didn't have much time for study, so Katie tried to work in a passage or two every chance she had. It was slow-going. It seemed like every time she thought she'd mastered the skill, she hit a string of words that she could only just make out. But Martha was patient and encouraging, and seemed convinced that Katie would conquer it sooner or later.

She slipped Martha's Bible from its drawer and made herself comfortable at the small table by the window. The pages crinkled as she slipped the strip of watered silk from between them and frowned at the sea of letters swimming on the paper. She was determined to make sense of them. Just because she'd been born without skills didn't mean she had to die without them, and she'd heard the ladies speak of so many wonderful novels they'd read. How she'd love to be able to discuss at least one of them. It wasn't the loftiest goal she could set for herself, but it was a goal nonetheless, and as the candlelight danced and flickered along the walls, she bent over the book, chewed on her bottom lip and lost herself in the stories as best as she could.

* * * * *

Rafe smothered a yawn as he sat with his father and Lord Marchand in the dining room after the ladies went into the library. It wouldn't be long before the talk turned to business or politics, and while most nights he didn't mind discussing such matters, tonight wasn't one of them. The thought alone was enough to make him yawn again.

His thoughts kept wandering to Katie. She was the last person he'd expected to encounter in Bermuda and seeing her was like a solid blow to the gut. He'd kept trying to convince himself she was in the past, that every last feeling he had for her had blown out to sea with the ship that had carried her away from St. Phillippe to parts unknown. Or at least what he'd
thought
were parts unknown.

He tried and failed to convince himself almost on a daily basis.

“Perhaps you'd be interested?”

A boot connected sharply with his ankle, and he jerked his head up to find his father staring at him, looking none too happy. “Where the devil are you, Rafe? Marchand's asked you the same thing twice already.”

Rafe sat up, folding his hands to rest them on the table. “My apologies. It's been a long day. I'm afraid I'm more than a little tired.”

Lord Marchand's round, beefy face carried its usual jovial smile. If the man knew what a bad mood was, Rafe had never seen it. “I understand. It's why I rarely leave the island. Traveling even a short distance is enough to wear a body out, and there is no such thing as a short distance to or from Bermuda.”

He swirled his glass of brandy, took a sip and then lowered it to add, “I will need to you to sail for New York instead of the Carolinas. It'll add roughly six hundred nautical miles and several days to your voyage, so I hope that won't be a problem. Oh, and you'll be bringing back Edna's fiancé as well. He runs Maynard Shipyards, has been in New York overseeing a project I've commissioned Maynard to build, and I've sent word ahead that you will be bringing him home for their wedding.”

So, there were to be
two
weddings. Wonderful. Rafe didn't relish the thought of the extra passenger, or playing lackey to Marchand, but the Earl and his business were far too important to insult or refuse, so he'd have to let it lie.

He slipped his fingers apart and tapped his left forefinger on the tabletop. “That won't be a problem. I'm used to being at sea much longer than three or four extra days. As for any additional bodies, as long as they remember it's
my
ship, everything should go smoothly.”