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Authors: Kelly Varesio

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BOOK: Insperatus
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His face changed; he wore a sudden surprised look, no doubt from her comment of trust. Did he not receive that often? It seemed to her that he was the type of man whom everyone would trust but always managed to neglect.
His surprised, essentially grateful expression slowly altered into a more somber one. “I do appreciate your trust. This may make you change your mind, but—” He chuckled emptily. “Would you invite me to your chamber?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean at all to be uncouth, although that must sound terribly near to it. I would invite you to my own, but it’s a bloody wreck, and I should explain to you in quiet…”

Of course,” she stuttered, wiping her eyes. She felt a very deep thrill stirring at his wish to go into her chamber. The gentleman she liked, that she wanted to speak with, wanted to speak with her. But the subject on which he was addressing her brewed terror inside of her.
Trust whom you meet with the same nationality as your own. He is to be trusted.
The last words of that horrifying letter echoed in her ears.

 

Chapter 11

 

In her defense, her chamber was very tidy. But the very thought of having left something out of place haunted her. In the hall she had him trailing behind her quietly, in awkward silence to the door.
She turned nonchalantly to him with a half smile, took out the key from her pocket, and unlocked the door. He returned her smile, but his eyes focused on everything but her. She could see his coyness, and she suffered anxiety over the thought of who would begin the talking. She was usually rather timid herself, and having a man she didn’t know in her chamber? She kept calm, and thought more about the idea of getting to know this man better.
Her latter feelings won out—she managed to walk into her chamber with ease. To her relief, he already seemed more outgoing than he had been before. He took a seat at her request with thanks and relaxed his long, muscular body.

I’m sorry, I have nothing prepared to eat, but there is some wine in the icebox,” she said with a sigh. “If—”

No wine, but thank you for your generosity,” he said with a small smile, his impeccable face relaxed. “Your chamber is very well kept.”
She shook her head and smiled, taking a seat across from him at the table. She noticed for the first time, as he put his arms on the table, that he was scarred on more than just his hands. She could clearly see his forearms, as his white sleeves were rolled up. They were scarred worse—much worse—than his face. But the same kind of scars—long, narrow, similar to knife wounds. They must have been all over his body. But what had caused them?
To her dismay, he removed his hands from the table. “Not too formal, I suppose,” he said to her dryly.
She felt so ill it was nearly excruciating. “No…
no
, I—”

They are a long story,” he said simply, rolling down his sleeves.

Oh, please don’t!” she declared with the most foolish feeling burning her up, and he stopped immediately and looked at her. “I don’t care if I see them,” she muttered. He watched her closely as she tried to clear up her actions. “I just hadn’t noticed them before. Please forgive me if I offended you. I don’t mind, really.”
He said nothing. He watched her a moment, looked down, and kept his sleeves as they were. But he put them under the table. His face was down, and he seemed for a flashing moment personal and pensive. “Are they much worse than my face?”
She was shocked at his comment. He seemed more sarcastic with himself as he spoke, but not as if he was depressed. But within his eyes she could see question. She could read something, finally. But he must know what his face looked like…
She felt horrified at herself. “No. I mean, yes! No, Mr. Harker, your face isn’t…the scars on your face are barely noticeable; I just…I’m sorry!” For a moment she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Don’t apologize,” he said with a short, silent chuckle. “I was just wondering. I prefer not to look at myself in the mirror. Don’t exactly
like
my reflection.”
She marveled at how that was possible, but mortification still clung to her, and she put her face in her hands.
After a pause, he sighed with a trembling breath. “About the letter, Miss Pierson,” he began, changing the focus of the conversation. He paused. “Rein?”
She looked at him, releasing her hands from her face. He’d said her first name. He’d actually slipped and used her
first
name!

It isn’t something you must pity,” he said. “I’ve had them for years.” When she didn’t reply, he spoke with more refinement. “Miss Pierson, I don’t want to have to tell you that the letter you received is truthful, but…” his regretful pause was terrifying. “I hadn’t thought it was, and I said it wasn’t because part of me wanted to make sure you were…well, you seem to take shock better than most women.”
She sat back and laughed a little. “That’s what Saria told me. But of course she is also very—”

Dramatic?” he finished for her, and he smiled.

Yes. She is terribly histrionic.” She stopped and spoke with a quiver. “Oh, Mr. Harker, I haven’t offended you, have I? I had to have; first your eyes, and now—”

Miss Pierson, please,” he said quietly. “I’m not offended.” He made a slight shake of his head and toyed with his fingers. “The writer of your letter— Mistress—is a well-known woman in this ship. But she is not anywhere near it. In fact, she is in a far-off country, as of now. But both I and Carden served for her…I mean, for work.” He seemed to end his speech there.

You must be wealthy to have a castle, as I heard Mr. Romanoff say you did,” she said. “Why would you work?”
His manner shifted into one of uncertainty. “I inherited it. It regrettably didn’t come with money seeping out the cracks.” She smiled at his unintentional humor, and he continued. “But Mistress had…
has
a tendency to
know
things. A medium, perhaps you would consider her. I wouldn’t say witchcraft, but, I don’t know,” he mumbled. “I have not seen her in many years,” he seemed to grimace. “In fact, I’ve needed her for so long…”
Rein felt like her heart was attempting to come up her throat. He was making this Mistress sound as though he had once loved her, and the very idea was heartbreaking.
“—
so the letter you found was just as much a shock to me as it was to you. She isn’t on this ship, Miss Pierson.”
She took a shaky breath and blew out her fright in anger. “A witch? You think a witch wrote me this letter stating that my father left me in a boarding school when he was a few miles up the road my whole life? And brought back a French daughter five years younger than me?”
He didn’t reply at first. “It is not my intention to have your personal life trouble you,” he said quietly. “Nor is it my intention to even
know
your personal life, but I do believe now that what is written is true.”
With a quick movement of her hand, she wiped the blurriness out of her eyes. His face was very grave but became saddened—he had noticed.

I believe you,” she whispered shakily, though she wasn’t sure why she said that.
She didn’t want him to think she was in love with him, especially if he loved someone else. But she found she was experiencing the wildest feelings she could dream of, and they were becoming stronger. The strangest part was that she had no way of stopping the progression of those feelings, even though she hardly knew him. The idea of falling in love so quickly was completely ridiculous to her. She hardly knew him. Why hadn’t she fallen for any other man she’d hardly known? There were others; some extremely handsome, but they nearly revolted her. Somehow it honestly felt like she did know Traith Harker, and
that
made her believe him; she just couldn’t let him see that.
He widened his fiery eyes. “I…” He paused, and her heart stood still. “I’ve never had anyone trust me so, Miss Pierson,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to say.”

If your ‘Mistress’
is
a witch,” she stuttered to reply, covering her deepness of feeling for him, “then she told me to trust you. You are the only British man I know of on this ship. Other than Edgar, of course, but I’ve known him since before I boarded.”
He laughed softly. “Please stay calm for me, then,” he said. “I realize you have been and most likely
will
be calm anyway, without my asking you to, but stay alert at the same time. We will be approaching America in a fortnight, maybe less.” He glanced at the letter she had thrown on the table. “If this is true, your father will be waiting for you when you get—” he cut himself off and became quiet. “When you get back to England.” He let out his breath and cleared his throat after a moment. “I haven’t seen England in awhile. How is it?” He appeared to be reminiscing.

It’s well,” she replied, wiping down her dress. “Hasn’t changed any for years, really. Where are you from there?”

Surrey,” he replied. “New Egham. Small town, but quaint.”

Oh, south England. I’m from up north. That’s odd; you don’t sound as though you’re from a home county.”
He laughed softly. “So you simply found this letter here, right?”

Yes,” she said, getting her thoughts back on track. “This ship is so bizarre. Couldn’t you explain to me why you seemed so worried when we first met in the corridor? Why was I in need of warning?”
His focus was solely on her, and his comfortable posture stiffened. “M-Miss Pierson, I…” His face was full of concern as he was about to finish his reply. He bit his tongue and sighed, his head falling into his hands. “This is so hard to understand.” He wiped his hands down his face and squinted at her. “You told me you trusted me, so just do that. There is no explanation I can give, but I can keep you safe. There is nothing more for you to worry about, all right?”

No explanation?” she repeated in a confused whisper. “So you warned me without reason?”

No, not without reason,” he said. “Just without explanation. Trust me.”
She shook her head and smiled at the way he spoke. Despite not receiving the answers she wanted, she felt inside as though she should embrace him. He cared about her situation. He said he would protect her and asked for her trust. She had been right all along, but both her propriety and the table were in the way of an embrace.
Suddenly her eyes strayed toward the bedroom hollow. He had slowly reclined himself, but as she stood, he immediately sat erect. He must’ve thought she wanted him to leave. He stood after her and was clearly about to bow in leave, but she walked past him toward the place where she was staring. She hadn’t wanted him to leave. Something had caught her eye on the bed.
She walked almost as if she was in a trance. Her weakness returned. She was concealing the fear, anger, and sorrow she felt over the letter she had found, supposedly from a witch, but an influx of chills seized her when she realized that there were a few more pages to that letter that she hadn’t seen, peeking from beneath the blankets.

 

Chapter 12

 

He didn’t follow her, but he glanced into the room where she was with interest. She saw him stand out of the corner of her eye, but she was paying close attention to the remaining pages of that letter which had been hiding beneath a fold in the sheet.

 

However, Miss Pierson, I am sorry to inform you that your timing leaving England was terrible. Your father died last night…

 

Her lip quivered. Her heart raced. She felt herself losing color.

No,” she cried quietly, holding her head. “No. This isn’t true,” she said, tears finally beginning to escape her eyes. “This can’t be true! Oh, God, it can’t be true!”
She fell onto her bed and cried softly with little recall of the man standing behind her, watching her every move. She couldn’t hear him, but then she felt a hand touch her shoulder. He was in her bedroom, trying to be of some comfort. But she didn’t care; she didn’t care about him being there. She didn’t even care about holding in her fear anymore—about showing the world she was strong.

Miss Pierson, what is it?” he asked. “What’s happened?”
She could not answer him. She felt as though she couldn’t talk, but she had to. She held her head, breathing little breathes in sorrow. “Is this some kind of cruel joke?” she asked angrily.
But he didn’t know what she was talking about. “I don’t believe I understand. May I?”
His last words were hesitant, but she handed him the end pages of letter without delay. “I can’t read anymore,” she choked.
His eyes scanned the paper, and he slowly pulled it down from his face and stared at her. “I am so sorry. How far did you read? You may want to read the rest,” he paused and looked at her with sympathy. “Did you want me to?”
She wasn’t sure what kind of expression she had given, but he nodded and looked down, clearing his throat and reading from the beginning to her.

However, Miss Pierson, I am sorry to inform you that your timing leaving England was terrible. Your father died last night. It was determined that he had Typhoid Fever, brought on by his time spent in unsanitary places in France
.” He stopped. “This is appalling,” he murmured.
BOOK: Insperatus
9.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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