The military-style command was meant to stiffen his resolve. It made her laugh.
“Of course.” She squeezed his hands in return. “I will wait for you. No matter how long it takes.”
The hint of desperation nearly undid him. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed it.
She cupped his chin in that delicate palm. “I love you, Rourke O’Malley. I always will.”
Emotion battled sense. He wanted to give her hope, but with no certainty he would ever be able to return, to declare love now would be cruelly selfish. “You are the finest woman I have ever known, Elizabeth. You have had my heart for years.”
A sob wrenched from her. “Such a sorry pair we are, your Romeo to my Juliet.”
He knew enough Shakespeare to understand her reference—and to fear it. “Promise me you won’t do something foolish.”
“Promise me you will return.”
That he could not do. Except she hadn’t asked when. She hadn’t demanded a time. He couldn’t have given one if she had. Maybe she realized that. He pulled the leather thong from around his neck and removed his grandmother’s ring.
He pressed the ring into her hand. “This belonged to my grandmother. Take it as a pledge.”
She turned the ring over and over in the moonlight. “It’s beautiful.”
He lifted her chin. “Not as beautiful as you.” Then he kissed her, slow and soft and filled with the promise of what he hoped would be one day. She responded gently at first and then with the same hunger she’d once had for sailing. She clung to him, held on with all her strength, clearly afraid to part.
But part they must.
He held her one last time. Kissed her forehead. Drank in the jasmine scent and the taste of salt. He ran a finger across cheeks soft as a lapping wave, marveled at eyes bright as stars. A bell rang in the distance. Much as he wanted to stay here the rest of the night, he must let her go.
“Godspeed.” He pushed her toward home before he lost the will. Then he walked away, not daring to look back.
“Godspeed, my love,” she echoed.
18
The kiss warmed Elizabeth all the way home. It followed her when she slipped through an open window undetected. It nestled with her beneath the bedsheets and welcomed her into the new day. It confirmed what Rourke could not say in words. He loved her. He would return for her.
She lay against the bolster and pillows, letting the sunlight dance across her face. Her body ached with fatigue, but the memory of last night wiped away any sleepiness. He had pledged his love and honor. She pressed his ring to her lips. It fit her third finger perfectly, as if it had been made for her rather than his grandmother. Though she could not wear it publicly, this pledge gave her the strength to face as much as a year apart. Please, Lord, make it less.
She turned the silver ring, examining its intricate pattern. It looked very old. It must be an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation. A man would only give such a ring to the woman he intended to marry.
A knock sounded on the door. “Miss?” Anabelle was already here.
Elizabeth twisted the ring from her finger. “Please come back in ten minutes.”
After Anabelle’s footsteps faded away, Elizabeth flitted across the room to her dressing table and opened the rosewood box. The ribbon she had used for her trunk key would work. She removed the key and threaded the ring onto it. Then she slipped the ribbon over her head and beneath her chemise. Until Rourke put this ring on her finger before witnesses, she would wear it secretly near her heart.
Secret. Oh dear, she had promised Rourke to get a secret message to Tom today. She must hurry.
Elizabeth kept paper, pen, and ink in the reading room. When she was growing up, this space had been a nursery and then a room for play and studies.
One day she and Rourke would have children. How they would laugh and play together. They would all learn to sail—boys and girls alike. Swim also. The gossips could blather all they wanted about how unseemly it was for a girl to swim. But a child of the sea must know such things.
Another knock sounded on her bedroom door.
“One moment,” Elizabeth called out as she gathered up the necessary writing implements.
Though Rourke suggested she send the note through Anabelle, Elizabeth would not give up the chance to talk to Tom. He might be able to tell her what Rourke had not—why he’d been called home.
Anabelle stuck her head in the room. “Are you ready for me, miss?”
“Not yet. I have a note to write. Come back in another ten minutes.”
Anabelle frowned but acquiesced.
Alone again, Elizabeth settled at her dressing table and dipped the pen in ink. What had Rourke wanted her to write? She searched her sleep-muddled mind. Oh yes, something about when they were sailing. The wind. That was it. She scratched out the note.
Captain O’Malley wants you to proceed at the first favorable wind. Otherwise wait.
There was something else. What was it? She searched her memory. Ah yes. The crew.