By the Light of the Silvery Moon (21 page)

She nodded, but she also knew she wouldn’t forget. Damien cared for his brother without Quentin’s knowing. Had he paid off bad debts? Had he assisted his brother in other ways?

She looked deeper into his eyes and noticed something new. She saw anger and maybe a bit of relief.

“He’s not all bad.” Damien sighed. “Quentin is just lost.”

Damien glanced from her to the paneled ceiling.

She understood then why Damien hadn’t been peppering her with questions. He didn’t say anything, because he was relieved that he knew where his younger brother was sleeping tonight.

Her heart warmed at that thought. Maybe she was being too hard on him. Maybe she should just enjoy spending an evening with a handsome man.

Amelia picked up her fork again. “You mentioned the Louvre. Did you go there? I would love to go someday. But now, going to America, I doubt I’ll get the chance.

Damien fixed his gaze on her again. Relief flooded his face. “Maybe someday. You never know what the future holds, Amelia.” He smiled. “And to answer your question, I greatly enjoyed the Louvre, although there was far too much to see in one day. The
Mona Lisa
was the highlight of the trip.” He chuckled. “But I guess that’s what everyone says.”

“I’m so glad she found her way back to the Louvre.”

“I know! I couldn’t believe it when I heard she’d been stolen. And for her to be gone for so many months. Was it three months?”

“No, nearly six.” His face shone with excitement as he talked. “But I said from the beginning that she’d be found. I knew the thief would try to sell her, and when he did the end would be near for him.”

As if punctuating Damien’s words, beautiful music filled the air. It was a popular American tune that she often heard her neighbor playing in Southampton. Amelia tapped her toe to the beat.

“So true.” She glanced around, noticing that the musicians had moved just outside the doors of the café. Crowds followed the music—long lines strolled in from the decks and from the dining room, packing into the smaller space—and she understood why. The musicians’ skill was like none she’d ever heard. Yet the more people entered, the more she noticed something else, too.

As he talked about his knowledge of how the thief had gotten away with the perfect crime, Damien took on a new air. He sat straighter, talked with more conviction. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the conversation that had stirred him. Maybe it was the people. Rich people that everyone in the room seemed to know. She was never one to keep up with their adventures that the newspapers loved to commentate on.

From the corner of his eyes, Damien seemed to be watching the first-class crowds as much as they were watching him. Even though she sat across the table from him, she no longer felt as if they were on a date. Damien seemed to be courting the whole room.

Was this how the wealthy lived? Enjoying fine foods and exquisite music and studying each other—wooing each other with their manner in hopes of gaining everyone’s approval?

French waiters served coffee and pastries to the other guests. They moved in and out of the kitchen with quickened steps through the revolving doors. Amelia wondered if the attendants were used to this display. She guessed if they spent any time serving first class, they were. Had her mother noticed?

“You know, Amelia,” Damien continued, interrupting her thoughts, “if I believe in one thing most of all, it’s doing what is right. The thief who stole the
Mona Lisa
will get what he deserved. Even those on this ship …” He glanced around. “They can act one way, but the truth of who they really are will always come out.”

Is he talking about his brother?

Amelia sat straighter in her cushioned chair, and a strange sensation came over her. What if … what if Quentin didn’t want anyone to know his whereabouts because he was in danger or feared being caught yet again hiding away on the ship?

What if Damien went to the bridge and told the captain of his brother being on board? More than that, just how far would Damien go to make sure his father didn’t know of his youngest son’s presence?

Would he sacrifice his brother to protect his father’s heart? His wealth?

D
amien was thankful Amelia had agreed to stroll the decks with him. Thankful for the quiet. Thankful to leave curious eyes behind. Dorothea had watched him from across the room. Others had, too.
Who is this woman?
He spotted the question in their eyes.

And from those who knew that Amelia was from second class, he saw judgment, too.
What is she doing on our deck? She doesn’t belong.
To them, kindness and gentleness of heart were not traits to be valued. But after spending time with women who cared more about their latest custom hat than whether their cutting words wounded, Damien found Amelia a breath of fresh air. And she was beautiful in her own simple way.

Damien eyed Amelia as she studied the deep, dark water. The light freckles on her nose beguiled him. He imagined her walking off this ship on his arm. He imagined taking her to his father’s estate and showing her the property, seeing the joy the beauty of the place would bring to her.

He shook his head, wondering why he dreamed up such ideas. His chest grew heavy, as if
Titanic’s
anchor settled there. He didn’t know if he could continue on with the rest of the evening without telling her how he felt.

“Amelia?”

“Hmm?” She looked up to him, and he saw interest in her eyes. Perhaps the same emotions that were surging through him tossed around in her heart, too.

“I know this sounds like a line, but being with you this evening is one of the best nights of my life.”

She crossed her arms and pulled them to her. “Yes, Damien, I have to agree.” Her eyes blinked slowly, and a smile touched her lips. “I enjoyed it very much. Enjoyed getting to know you. You’re a very special person.”

Her words—her contentment in being there with him—stirred something within he couldn’t contain. He lowered his lips to kiss hers. He touched her lips slightly. They were soft, cool from the night air. His heart exploded inside his chest. A rush of heat moved through his limbs.

But instead of returning the kiss, she pulled back. Her face registered surprise, shock.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been too bold. I’m overstepping my bounds.”

“Well, if you want me to disagree, I won’t. I haven’t spent time with someone like you before.” She swept her hand toward the room they’d just exited. “I am not accustomed to your lifestyle. I’m not sure how these women respond, but … I do not give my kisses away so freely. In fact, I don’t wish for that to happen again unless it’s with the man I plan on marrying.”

“I’m sorry.” Heat drained from his face. “I never thought….” He let his words trail.
Foolish, foolish.
Most women were eager to accept his kisses, but they also understood and appreciated his standing and his bank account. A kiss to them meant access to both—or at least that was their hope. This woman seemed unconcerned with either. He liked that. He liked her. And at that moment, this was the woman he wanted more than any other. He’d let his shipmates entertain the women who had high standards and low morals. This was a woman to whom he wished to give his heart.

“Tomorrow? Do you think we can meet again soon? Tomorrow for breakfast?”

“I should spend some time with my aunt. I’m afraid she’s growing tired of engaging in conversation with strangers rather than her niece. But perhaps tomorrow afternoon … or maybe supper tomorrow night. You could come down to second class.” Her eyes studied him as she said that—as if she was testing him—but to Damien it made no sense. Why would he partake of an inferior meal when his first-class passage had already been covered?

“Or we could try the A La Carte Restaurant. I hear that’s something,” he suggested.

She nodded and bit her lip. “That’s in first class, isn’t it?”

“It is. The meal there isn’t part of the ship’s fare; it’s an extra charge, but I imagine it’s worth it.”

“I suppose that will work. Let me talk to my aunt and see if she has any plans,” Amelia said with a sigh.

He noticed her breath when she spoke, and he saw her lips shudder.

“We had better go inside,” he said softly. “We don’t want you to get a chill.”

“Yes. Yes we should.” She quickly rubbed her arms.

“Unless you would like to stay. I can offer you my jacket.” He unbuttoned the top button.

“No.” She raised a flat hand toward him. “I’ll keep warm enough until we get inside.”

Why did I waste so much time talking about Quentin? he wondered.

He wanted to know her. Really know her better. Maybe then she’d take his jacket if he offered.

He walked her from first-class down to second. People were dressed in their best clothes, too, yet their garments hardly compared to what she’d just seen in the first-class dining room. Music played on this deck, too, and laughter was carried along with the melody through the halls.

As they strolled by, Amelia’s eyes skittered to the second-class lounge. “If you’d like to stay, we can find some chairs inside. They have a three-piece orchestra that I’ve enjoyed greatly.” But as they entered, he noted a man in the far corner. He knew the back of Quentin’s head well enough that he recognized it even though he hadn’t seen his brother in five years, give or take. Maybe that sight was so familiar because as long as he could remember Quentin had always been walking away. Running away.

Damien paused in the doorway. “Actually, I need to get back to where I belong. On my own deck.”

“Oh, yes,” her voice was aloof. “I’m sure you are used to much grander furnishings.”

He was about to tell her that wasn’t the case. He remembered the days when his family lived with little and struggled for their daily bread—before his father’s hard work paid off—but before Damien had a chance to explain, Quentin stirred in his seat as if he was going to stand. Damien took a step backward through the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” With that, he turned and strode off. He was not ready to face his brother. If luck had its way, they’d make it off this ship without meeting, without confrontation. For if he were ever to come face-to-face with Quentin, his brother would surely not like to hear what he had to say. He also couldn’t guarantee the encounter would stop at words alone.

Damien balled his fists at his sides. His brother had ruined everything—more than once—and the years only fueled the fire flickering within.

Amelia was halfway across the second-class lounge when she noticed Quentin seated at a table in a far corner. He sat with a group of older women, and from their bright faces, she could tell they were happily telling stories. Quentin threw back his head in laughter, and she paused. Joy filled her heart to see him like this—enjoying himself without a care in the world. Amelia found an empty chair nearby to watch. The tingle of Damien’s kiss was still on her lips, but her heart warmed when she saw Quentin’s smile.

A young girl rushed by Quentin’s table and tripped on the leg of a chair, tumbling onto the floor. Without a pause, he rose and went to her, scooping her up in his arms. The girl wrapped her arms around Quentin’s neck and buried her face into his cheek. He gently carried the girl to her parents. Only after seeing that she was all right did he turned to make his way back to his table.

Amelia smiled seeing that. He didn’t care for the girl to put on a show. His tenderness came from a deep place within. She hugged her arms to herself, realizing he’d make a great father someday.

His eyes scanned the room as he walked, and his gaze fell on Amelia. He paused.

She smiled and lifted a hand, offering a wave. He tilted his head as if unsure if he should return to the ladies or approach her. Amelia thought of their conversation that morning. He’d been so upset to know his father and brother were on board. Her shoulders trembled slightly. He’d hate her for certain if he knew that she’d told Damien about his presence—not that Damien was going to do anything about it.

Amelia sucked in a breath and then motioned for him to approach. She wanted to see him, to talk to him. She wanted to be near him, even though she risked the chance of him being angry with her.

He glanced at the older women, offering them a parting wave, and then hurried her direction. His steps faltered slightly when he noticed her dress.

“You look fancy.” He offered a tentative smile. “Did you go dancing tonight? Was there a party I didn’t know about?”

“Just supper … with some new friends.”

“Well, you look very lovely.” He motioned to the table farthest from the music. “Do you have a minute or two to talk?” She looked back over her shoulder toward the door she’d just entered. She almost expected Damien to be there watching them. But he wasn’t. Only the darkness of the night and the black sea beyond filled her view. Amelia touched her lips, feeling like a traitor. Then again she hadn’t asked for the kiss.

She brushed a blond curl back from her face. “Yes, Quentin. I’d like to talk. I’d like that very much.”