Of death.
And that unhappy train of thought was how I’d found myself outside her door at three in the morning when I should’ve numbed myself with a joint and fallen into a fitful sleep.
I wasn’t here to force myself on her. I wasn’t here for sex period. The images of her dead and broken did not turn me on in the slightest.
I wasn’t here for any of the reasons why I’d installed the lock in the first place.
I was here to stare at her while she slept—to remind myself she was still alive and safe. That she was here with me and not lost in Monte Carlo. I was here to lie silently beside her, to breathe her in, to hold her close, to bury my face in her hair and try to find some sanity.
I’d turned to her and not the weed in my bedside drawer for comfort.
And what had she done?
She’d locked me out.
On my orders.
Fuck.
I could knock.
I could punch the door and wake her up. I could grab her the moment she opened it, all sleep warm and dream fuzzy, and carry her back to bed. I had no doubt she would welcome me with open arms. She’d run her fingers through my hair and be both lover and mother for however long I needed. She would let me hold her until I could breathe again.
But I couldn’t ask her to do that.
I was supposed to be the protector in this world, not her. She was supposed to trust me to stay strong and know what the hell I was doing. I wouldn’t tell her I’d been lying to her all along.
Lying that I had no fucking clue about any of it anymore and needed guidance. That I was willing to try whatever she wanted if it meant I could finally be normal.
Drawing away from her door, I balled my hands.
Earlier today, I’d made the agonising decision not to sail to America—to trust the men I’d put in charge to handle the mess over there and focus on life on this side of the globe.
My business didn’t stop running just because I was having a crisis of identity and loyalty. Pim didn’t stop existing just because I couldn’t get my head on straight.
Life moved on.
I had work to attend to.
Therefore, I’d commanded Jolfer to change our course back to the original one.
We had a few days before we arrived in England. Not only would Pim be my plus one at the Hawk’s Masquerade but she’d also accompany me on a few other visits around town.
But before we docked, I had every intention of finding my way back to being kind and generous. I missed her.
I’d missed her when I left her behind, and I missed her now that she was back in my life.
It’s ridiculous.
Why keep myself from the one person I wanted to spend time with?
Why believe in delusions that the more distance I put between us, the less I’d fall in love with her? That there was some possible way of revoking the fall and returning to stable ground where my heart belonged to me and not a woman who had the utmost power to shatter it?
Stalking down the corridor and back to my quarters, I finally admitted to myself.
No distance or avoidance could cure me.
Because I was no longer falling.
I’d crashed and burned and had no possible way of getting up.
Chapter Sixteen
Pimlico
“GOOD MORNING.”
I glanced up, squinting against the bright sunshine. Elder’s silhouette was black and sharp against the glowing fireball behind him.
Bringing my hand up, I did my best to block the over-saturation of light and focus.
To study his face.
To see if any remnants of his awful overheard epiphany yesterday still lurked on his features.
He gave me a sad half smile. An apologetic warmth in his gaze. He stood in an open neck muslin shirt with light coloured jeans. His hair glistened with shower-droplets and the way his jaw clenched as he studied me made my heart race to eradicate the distance between us.
To clamber off the canvas-covered lifeboat and leap into his arms.
To tell him I’d eavesdropped on his conversation and knew everything.
To promise him I wasn’t afraid, and I would do whatever it took to keep him safe.
But before I could return the greeting or move from my perched spot, he moved closer and sat beside me. His thighs tensed as if ready to spring back up, his body coiled tighter than anyone should be at this time in the morning.
“Mind if I join you?” He glanced at me; his eyes narrowed against the sun.
His hair glittered blue-black while his skin seemed to glow. The sun wasn’t an enemy to him, painting him in warmth and sincerity while, at the same time, revealing fine lines around his mouth and stress that shouldn’t be there.
“Of course.” I scooted sideways to give him more room so the rigging wouldn’t dig into his thigh.
He scowled, seeming hurt that I’d moved away from him.
Worry bubbled. Patting the canvas next to me, I murmured, “Come closer. I don’t want you uncomfortable.”
“Why would I be uncomfortable?”
“The rope.” I pointed at his leg where the giant salt-frosted rope pressed against his jeans. “I’m making you squish onto the end.”
He shook his head, his lips curling into a smirk. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
“Okay.” I glanced away, unable to hold the intensity in his gaze for more than a few seconds. He’d replaced the sunshine with his onyx stare, and it was just as blinding.
Despite his assurances that he wasn’t uncomfortable, he shifted toward me. His hands flexed on the canvas, hoisting his weight closer. I couldn’t look away from his perfect fingers, square nails, or the veins running along the ridges of his knuckles.
Those hands had been on my skin.
Those fingers had been inside my body.
This man had touched me, loved me, and I hadn’t run away screaming.
So why did everything with Elder now feel as if we’d reverted back to strangers? Why couldn’t I figure out what to say? How to act? Why was self-consciousness ruining this sweet, simple moment of sitting quietly in the new sun?
Elder must’ve felt the same way as he moved restlessly, making the pulleys groan a little. He cleared his throat as he looked at the sky, a staff member buffing a banister, a seagull soaring past—anything but me. Anywhere but where I truly wanted him to look.
The silence was no longer a visible thing; it was a wall between us—thick and soundproof.
This couldn’t be allowed to continue.
Turning a little to face him, I placed my hand on his.
He jolted, his fingers curling around the edge of the lifeboat as if having me touch him was physically painful. Which could entirely be the case seeing as he fought more complicated desires than me. A simple touch for me might be a lewd promise to him and one he’d sworn never to break.
My heart hurt as I quickly removed my hand. “Sorry.”
He swallowed a gruff groan. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. My mind sifted through too many things he might be apologising for. But I couldn’t see anything that was his direct fault and not a combined effort on both our parts.