Ship of Dreams (14 page)

Suddenly, strong arms seized her from behind, startling her breathless.

"Della! What are you doing?" Kent pulled her away from the rail and swung her around to face him, his eyes wide with alarm.

His obvious concern touched something within her, but almost before she could register it, the aftermath of the sudden fright hit her, transforming into abrupt anger.

"Don't ever do that again! You scared me half to death!" she gasped.

"I was about to say those exact words." Now anger suffused his features, too. "What were you trying to do?"

She blinked at him, her anger fading as quickly as it had erupted. "I ... I was just watching some fish." She pointed vaguely. "They were swimming under the ship. I had a firm grip on the rail. Did you think I was going to jump?" Her amusement must have shown on her face, for Kent's complexion darkened.

"I thought—I don't know what I thought," he said lamely. "You were leaning so far over, and ..."

Della now became aware that he still held her, his closeness doing odd things to her breathing and pulse. Tempted as she was to remain in his arms, she realized what danger she courted. "Your revelation last night wasn't quite enough to make me commit suicide," she said, her tone as dry as she could make it.

Her words and tone had the desired effect: he released her at once. It
was
what she'd desired, wasn't it?

"I'm sorry. Of course not. I don't know what I was thinking," he repeated, rubbing a hand over his face in what appeared to be acute embarrassment.

Touched, Della unwillingly softened toward him. "And I'm an ungrateful wretch. If you thought I was in danger, you acted quite appropriately—and heroically. Thank you, Kent, for trying to save my life."

Finally, an answering amusement lit deep in his amber eyes. "Even if I inadvertently frightened you half to death? I suppose it's a good thing I didn't startle you over the edge. But I'm glad you realize my intentions were good."

She gazed at him, wondering whether he referred to more than his rescue attempt. "You had such a firm grip on me, I was never in any danger," she assured him, then immediately regretted reminding him—reminding herself—of that sudden embrace. But she
had
felt safe in it ...

"Thank you for saying so." He gave her a rueful smile. "Now that I've saved your life, may I escort you in to breakfast? I believe the bell will be ringing any moment."

Right on cue the signal rang out, so she took his arm and accompanied him down the curving stairs. Not until they reached the dining saloon did they encounter any of those who'd witnessed last night's exchange with Mrs. Benbow.

At once, Mary Patterson hurried forward. "I see you two have patched everything up. I'm so pleased! I know it can be unsettling when incidents from one's husband's past suddenly surface. It happened to me more than once while Robert and I were engaged, and on one occasion nearly caused me to cry off. But he had the right of it when he said that his activities before meeting me were none of my concern."

Della managed a smile, though again she wanted to shake Mary for so blindly accepting anything her husband told her. Still, Mary seemed happy enough, so it really wasn't her concern.

"Yes, as Kent and I had such a whirlwind courtship, I suppose it was inevitable that we would discover things about each other that we hadn't suspected before we married."

A glance at Kent showed him watching her, but then he nodded. "We will just hope that no other such discoveries are as unsettling as that one was."

 
There was a question in his eyes, but Della pretended not to see it. She owed him nothing—but perhaps she would eventually tell him about the little matter of her name anyway. Not that it should matter, of course, as they clearly had no future together.

Suddenly depressed, she suggested they all take their seats at the table.

*
          
*
          
*

Della was avoiding him, Kent realized. He hadn't had a chance to speak with her since breakfast, and now it was nearly dinner time. Not that he had anything in particular to say to her, of course. He glanced over to where she stood talking with the other ladies at the opposite end of the saloon, looking lovelier than ever with her curls gathered on top of her head.

"... wouldn't you say, Bradford?"

But he had lost the thread of his discussion with Ansel Easton about loan rates. "Beg pardon, Easton? My mind wandered for a moment."

The other man grinned. "I noticed the direction of its wandering. Glad to see no permanent harm was done by that harpy last night."

Kent only wished that were true. Until the encounter with Mrs. Benbow, he and Della had been moving toward some sort of understanding that went beyond simple friendship. He had even begun to hope that it might somehow be possible for them to explore a deeper relationship. But perhaps it was for the best.

"I can't really blame Mrs. Benbow. It was natural for her to wish to pursue a connection from her home, and it's scarcely her fault that she was in possession of outdated information."

The lie tasted bitter on his lips, reminding him that without honesty, no relationship with Della would ever have been right. He had finally come to a point where he trusted her, only to have her trust in him cruelly shattered. Why had he not told her the entire truth from the outset? Then, perhaps—

"Ah," Easton exclaimed then, breaking into his thoughts again. "Addie is gesturing for me to join her. Coming, Bradford?"

"In a moment."

No, if he'd told Della about Caroline at the start, it would have precluded even the degree of intimacy they
had
reached. Though that might have been better than what they both suffered now. Slowly, he walked the length of the saloon, savoring Della's profile as he approached her. Might she now insist after all on leaving him in Panama? And what right did he really have to prevent her?

"We were just choosing our teams for charades," Virginia Birch informed him as he reached the group. "It's decided that we'll play tonight after dinner. What do you think, Mr. Bradford? Shall we pit sets of couples against each other, or have the men compete against the women?"

"Oh, that would scarcely be fair," exclaimed Mary Patterson worriedly. "Such a disparity in mental prowess!"

Della cocked her head and smiled. "Perhaps we could make some sort of concession to the gentlemen, to help them to keep up with us," she suggested.

Mary looked confused, but the others burst into laughter. Kent grinned at Della's jest, even though it was directed at his own sex, admiring her quickness, but she would not meet his eye. Yes, she was definitely avoiding him.

Finally it was agreed that the Pattersons and the Birches would make up one team, while the Eastons and Bradfords would make up the other. The dinner bell rang then, and they moved toward the tables, still discussing the rules by which they would play.

"May I sit with you?" Kent spoke softly in Della's ear as she passed him.

For the first time since his "rescue" of her this morning, she looked at him, her green eyes shadowed. "It would cause comment if you did not."

Not precisely the answer he had hoped for, but he would not quibble. He took his accustomed place beside her at the long table, her nearness reminding him vividly of how she had felt in his arms that morning. Her softness, the faint scent of rosewater that clung about her, the shine of her flaming hair in the early sunshine, ruffled by the breeze ...

Why did he torture himself like this? Determinedly, he joined in the conversation, dividing his attention between the discussion of games of charades played in the past and the food in front of him. Every time Della spoke, however, his awareness snapped back to her, memories of that morning assaulting him unbidden.

For he had faced a blinding revelation when he had stepped out upon the deck to see Della seemingly teetering over the rail. Her apparent danger had forced him to acknowledge the very thing he'd been dodging for days, a truth that smote him fairly between the eyes in that moment when he thought he might lose her.

Kent was falling in love with Della Gilley, goldminer's daughter and sometime snake-oil saleswoman. And he had no right whatsoever to tell her so.

*
           
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*

CHAPTER 10

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free;

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Della was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain her distance, both physically and emotionally, from Kent. Since his admission about his fiancée a few days ago, he had been unfailingly kind and attentive whenever she would allow him near her. She had more than once surprised an expression in his eyes that nearly melted her bones—an expression that said more clearly than words that he had grown to care for her.

But what difference did it make, truly? If she forgot her pride and confessed her own feelings, they might enjoy a brief dalliance for the remainder of the voyage. She had no doubt that it would seem worth whatever she sacrificed—for a time. But what would become of her when they reached New York?

Once Kent was back among his own kind, he would soon realize how out of place she was in his world. His mother, his fiancée, would press their claims, and without the fantasy of the sea clouding his judgment, he would doubtless accede to them. How could he not? It was what he'd been raised to do—what generations of his family had been raised to do.

And did she have any right to demand he do otherwise? That he risk the business that supported his mother and sisters? Turn his back on friends, family and livelihood for the sake of an Irish prospector's penniless daughter? No, she could never do that to him.

She sighed, focusing again on the blur of the approaching coastline off the port bow. Tomorrow, barring unexpected weather, they would reach Panama City. Occasionally, as now, she toyed again with the idea of disappearing there. It would be the surest way to protect her safety, as well as her pride and her heart, and an easy thing to do in a crowded coastal town, she was sure.

The dinner bell sounded, but Della remained where she was, thinking.

No, she decided, she could not desert Kent in Panama. He'd be left to make up some kind of explanation, and despite what she'd said to him the night she learned about his fiancée, she knew he'd have a difficult time making his story believable. How much simpler this would all be, if only she didn't care so much!

As it was, she doubted her ability to keep her distance for yet another two weeks, until they reached New York. Every moment in his presence was sheer torture. Mealtimes were bad enough and the nights worse, though she was always careful to pretend sleep when he came to bed and when he rose in the morning. But the games of charades they'd played for the past few evenings were the most difficult of all.

Not only did that force her to interact closely with Kent in front of the others, but occasionally their roles called for them to touch for minutes at a time. Endless minutes, when she could not ignore the thrill of connection that arced between them. She could not be certain whether Kent felt it too, but again—what difference did it make, really?

"Are you coming, Della?" It was Addie Easton, who had become a good friend over the past two weeks, and particularly these last few days. "They'll begin serving at any moment."

She turned, just as glad to abandon her melancholy thoughts. "Yes, of course. I was just watching the coastline and daydreaming."

Addie looked at her in some concern. "Pray don't worry overmuch about how Mr. Bradford's family will receive you. I can see that it is preying on your mind, but I'm certain everything will come right, even if there is some initial resistance."

Della smiled at her. "Thank you, Addie. No doubt you're right." If only she had nothing worse to worry about! Linking arms with the other woman, she accompanied her new friend down to the dining saloon for another evening of sweet torture.

Kent was already there, standing by their accustomed place at the table. His face lit up when he saw her, and she rather suspected hers did the same. Perhaps this
was
nearly as hard for him as it was for her. She took a bittersweet comfort in the idea.

"The Panama coastline grows clearer by the hour," she commented as she joined him. She'd become adept at unemotional small talk of late.

He nodded. "Yes, I was watching it earlier this afternoon. We appear to be precisely on schedule." Did she imagine the trace of sadness in his tone? Could he suspect what she'd been contemplating?