Unraveled (Turner, #3)

She was trying to work that one out, when he continued.

“As for the other, I’m not a duke’s son, which is the normal method of acquiring a courtesy title. My brother is a duke, but he took the title from a distant relation. I am just Mr. Turner.”

They’d reached the Prince Street Bridge. He stopped at the edge of the water and rubbed his cheek.

From here, they could see the city’s docks spread out before them. The harbor was full these days. A slim three-masted ship had been hoisted in the dry docks, and a crew scraped barnacles from her hull.

Beside her, Lord Justice—Turner—took a deep breath, and stared ahead.

“Are you much interested in ships?” she asked.

“Your pardon?”

“I ask only because you’ve stopped to look. I took Robbie to the launch of the Great Britain last summer.” She frowned. “It’s still in dock. I don’t know why. It’s been months.”

He turned to where she was looking. “It won’t fit out the locks.” He started across the bridge, his pace even faster.

She jogged along beside him. “What do you mean?”

“It’s the largest steamship ever built from iron. While she was being built, Bristol made some alterations to the locks that regulate the level of the Floating Harbour. Now the locks are too small—or the ship is too big—and she’s trapped until the company can convince the harbormaster to widen the locks. It’s an incredible waste.”

They reached the other side of the river.

“Do you know much about ships, then? It’s the only thing Robbie will talk about. I’ve tried to speak with him about them, but mostly, when I make an attempt, he rolls his eyes and says, ‘That’s not a ship you’re pointing to; it’s a boat.’”

“I know what is happening hereabouts, generally, and that means I occasionally know a tidbit about ships. I have a fair knowledge of watercraft.” He cast her another glance. “I’m unlikely to board one, if that’s what you’re asking, and so all my understanding is theoretical.”

“Oh.”

They walked on in silence for a while, past dying weeds dripping rainwater along the footpath.

“So,” Miranda finally said, “if you were to have a courtesy title, what would it be? Lord Andrew? Lord Robert?”

“No.”

The street they were on was terribly muddy. The rain had only intensified, coming down in heavy sheets, but she was safe under his umbrella. He glanced sidelong at her. His eyes were blue—brighter than the stone-gray of the sky. It was only a few moments that he contemplated her, but still, she dropped her eyes in confusion. It didn’t help; her gaze fixed on his hands, on long fingers encased in dark gloves. One of those fingers reached out and she held as still as she could, waiting…

But he only took her elbow and conducted her to the other side of the road.

“I don’t like my Christian name,” he said as they crossed to the other side. “I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to contend with it on a regular basis.”

“It can’t be that awful.”

The path they were on dipped closer to the Avon. The water rushed through the channel, swirling in greenish-white rapids.

“Yes, it can.” He took her elbow and guided her to the inside of the path. The gesture seemed almost sweet—as if she were a lady, and he a gentleman, protecting her from being splashed by puddles. He didn’t even seem to have noticed that he’d done it.

“I knew a man named Defatigus once,” she supplied. “He took the stage name of Robert Johns. He wasn’t a pleasant fellow. Your name can’t be much worse. I doubt you have any reason to mope about it.”

He sighed. “You’re indefatigable, did you know that? It’s Smite.”

“Smite? Your father named you Smite?”

“No. My mother named me. Also, she didn’t name me ‘Smite.’ That’s a short version of my real name, which is, ‘The Lord said in his heart, I will not again curse the ground any more for man’s sake; for the imagination of man’s heart is evil from his youth; neither will I again smite any more every living thing, as I have done.’”

She stared at him.

“It’s a verse from the Bible. Genesis. After Noah’s flood, when God is promising that he’ll never again punish all humankind by drowning them.” He huffed, and waved a hand at her. “Stop looking at me that way. My mother wasn’t well, and my father wasn’t present. I trust you won’t spread that about.”

“Your mother named you after the rainbow?”

He winced. Around the corner, she could see the cold stones of New Gaol rising up.

“Oh, that’s sweet. It makes me think of doves and olive branches and peace. I can’t see why you don’t use the name.”

“For the love of all that is holy.” His words would have been harsh, but his cheek twitched, ruining the delivery.