Heart of the Storm (14 page)

His masculine presence enveloped her. Her breathing grew shallow. Her heart hammered in
her chest. The music and laughter of the party seemed quite distant now.

She looked up into his gray eyes. Lord, but she wanted to kiss him.

Steve followed them outside. “Let’s dance, Rachel.”

He smelled of whiskey and swayed ever so slightly. However, she didn’t want to be rude. He’d been kind this evening.

Ben didn’t share her reservations. “Rachel and I were just going for a walk.”

“Ah, let me have one more dance with her. Ben, have a drink while we dance,” Steve said. He took Rachel by the arm.

Ben clamped his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Another time.”

Slowly, Steve uncurled his fingers from Rachel’s arm. His gaze hardened and he didn’t step back. “Another dance later, Rachel?”

“Perhaps,” she said. His shift in mood frightened her.

“I’m going to hold you to a dance, Rachel,” Steve said.

Gently, Ben cupped her elbow, a clear show of possession. “Much, much later.”

Ben guided Rachel further away from the party.
They left Steve behind standing alone by the door table his left hand fisted.

“He’s not very happy,” Rachel said.

“He’ll survive.”

They stepped outside. A thousand stars winked in the clear, night air. In the distance seagulls squawked.

Ben wrapped his long fingers wrapped around her hand. She was surprised how well their hands fit together. They walked along the main street. The light from the boat barn glowed behind them. If this were a perfect world, she and Ben would be courting, perhaps dreaming of a wedding day like today.

“I only have an hour before I must get back at check the lanterns.”

“Do you ever get tired of working in the lighthouse?”

“I thought maybe I would at first. But I’ve discovered this place is in my bones.”

“I admire your conviction,” Rachel said. Her head barely reached his shoulders.

He stopped laid his hands on her shoulders. Moonlight reflected off his blue-black hair. He touched curled end of her hair.

He stood so close to her. She stared at the curve of his lips and wondered if they tasted as salty and sweet as they had before. His lips covered hers.
She felt the tension in his. She parted her lips, ready for him to kiss her.

“I’ve been thinking about us.”

The sound of his voice broke the spell. She realized with utter embarrassment that she’d been staring at his lips.

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Lord, but she feared he was going to bring up talk of marriage. “Ben.”

“I heard what happened in the store yesterday.”

Relief and disappointment collided. “I’ve tried not to think about it or what I’m going to do to support herself. My money won’t last forever and I’ll go mad just pacing the cottage.”

“You could have given up. You didn’t. I admire that.”

“Your stubbornness is wearing off on me.”

“I have a job offer.”

“What?”

“The rescue service will be visiting the island the first of May to inspect the cottage and the lighthouse. I need help putting the house in order now that I’ve decided to stay. When the inspectors come, they will expect the house to be in order. The lighthouse is fine, but the house, well, you’ve seen it.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know the first thing about keeping a house.”

He shrugged as if he didn’t care either way. “Ida can show you what you don’t know.”

“We’ve kissed. We are getting complicated.”

He lifted a brow. “Do you want the job or not?”

“I do.”

T
he next morning, Rachel took stock of the rooms and discovered they were worse than she imagined. Before she’d not noticed the cobwebs, floors in need of waxing or dulled brass. Now she did.

And she didn’t have the first idea how to go about it.

Rachel found Ida standing behind the counter balancing her ledgers. The aroma of strong coffee filled the store.

“Ida.”

The older woman peered over her glasses. Her eyes were bloodshot and the lines in her face looked deeper. “Lovely wedding don’t you think?

“Yes.” Rachel’s skirts rustled softly as she moved down the isle.

Ida yawned. “I’m getting too old to stay up so
late. The last guests didn’t go home until after midnight.” She picked up a tin cup beside her and moved to the potbelly stove where a pot of coffee brewed. She poured a cup. “Have one?”

“No thank you.”

“Callie and Timothy are staying on the mainland for two days in an Inn.”

“I’m so happy for them. They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them.”

“I wouldn’t go back to that age for all the gold in the world. I was young and green and when I married my first husband I didn’t have the faintest idea of how to be a wife.”

Rachel understood only too well. “Every bride has her rose-colored glasses.”

Ida stared at Rachel over the rim of her cup. “You are a widow. You should know.”

Rachel hesitated. “My marriage was not a success. I wanted it to be, but it failed.”

Ida studied her a beat longer. “I’m going to have a talk again today with Mrs. Freely about the school. Yesterday, we caught her by surprise. Now that the idea had had time to sink in she might think differently.”

“You don’t have to. You see, that’s what I’ve come about. I’ve gotten a job.”

Ida raised a brow. “Doing what?”

“Ben has hired me as his housekeeper.”

Ida’s gaze swept over Rachel, taking in her porcelain skin and smooth hands. She started to giggle.

“I’m quite serious.”

“Yes, I know you are.” Tear welled in Ida’s eyes as she laughed.

Her ire piqued, Rachel stood taller. “It’s not a joke.”

“I know.” She wiped the tear from her eye. “I suspect you’re here for help.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Most ladies your age who’ve the time to practice their lace making don’t have much in the way of chores to do.”

Rachel rubbed her smooth palms. “I don’t know the first thing about keeping a home. I’ve supervised maids and cooks, but I’ve never done the work. And I must learn these things for myself.”

Ida set her cup down on the counter. “All right then, if you’re serious.”

“I am. I want to make my own way in the world.”

“You sound like a lady determined not to go back to her old life.”

“I’d die first.” Rachel spoke too candidly.

Ida sipped her coffee. “Strong talk.”

Rachel straightened her shoulders. “I’ve made
mistakes. And I’m tired of suffering for them. I want a fresh start.”

Ida pulled off her glasses and set them on the counter. “I can appreciate that.”

“Then you’ll help me?”

“I’ll give you your first lesson this morning.”

Rachel clapped her hands together. “Excellent.”

“Don’t get too excited, girl. Your first taste of housework is going to be laundry.”

“A simple enough task,” Rachel said.

Ida chuckled. “I think you still might have those rose-colored glasses on, girl.”

Eight hours later every muscle in Rachel’s body ached as she stood behind the cottage watching the sheets, blankets and clothes flap in the cool breeze. Her hands were chapped red by the lye soap and the wind.

That night dinner was a mixed fair of sliced Virginia ham, sliced cheese, day-old bread and coffee. She barely had the energy to eat as she and Ben sat at the small table in the kitchen. Lanterns on the table glowed, casting a soft light on the room.

“You’ve been busy today.” His deep, rusty voice held no hint of fatigue. She’d seen him several times today. He’d hauled a rowboat out of the shed and whitewashed it. He’d chopped wood for the stove. He’d climbed up the lighthouse tower a half
dozen times, hauling oil for the lanterns that fueled the lighthouse beacon. Yet, he didn’t look the least bit tired. He looked amused.

“How does one man create so much laundry?”

He tore a piece of ham with his long fingers. “I’ve not had the chance to send it out in several weeks and the sheets in the spare rooms haven’t been done since the last lightkeeper lived here. Let’s see…that would be six months.”

The muscles in her back groaned. “They smelled of mold and dust.”

“I told you you’d had your work cut out for you.”

Her eyes felt heavy. The bedroom seemed so far away. “Nothing that can’t be handled.” With great effort she rose. “I’ve got sheets to put on the bed and then I’ll retire. Ida is retuning in the morning to teach me something about polishing brass.”

Ben grimaced. “Good.”

Rachel retrieved the sheets from the line outside. The hot sun had dried them and thought they were cold they smelled fresh and clean. She couldn’t wait to lie down.

When she returned to the kitchen, Ben had cleaned the plates and put the ham in the pantry.

“You ever made a bed before?” he said.

“How hard can it be to fold sheets over a mattress.”

Ben lifted a brow. “I can help.”

“No. No. I’ve got it. This is my job.”

She took the bundle and headed to the spare room, which was hers now. She’d moved her belongings in last night when she’d agreed to take the job.

She started with the single bed in her room, reasoning it should be easier to make. Once she’d practiced on her bed, she’d do Ben’s.

Of course, the task didn’t prove easy. The sheets took on a life of their own. Several times she had to snap the linens to get them to lie flat on the bed. Once she nearly knocked the lantern off the side table. And tucking the corners required more skill than she’d imagined. It took more than a half hour for her to do the one bed. Her back ached and she wanted nothing more than to climb into it.

How hard can it be?
She vowed to strike those words from her vocabulary.

“The job will take half as long with two.” Ben’s voice came from behind her, making her start.

She turned. He stood in the doorway, holding a lantern. His shoulders all but ate up the width of the doorjamb. Suddenly her fatigue faded and her heart beat faster.

Rachel picked up the second bundle. “This is my job. I can do it alone.”

Making beds suddenly took on a more intimate
meaning. Vague memories of the night they’d shared after the shipwreck swirled in her head.

He moved toward her. He glanced at the flat steamer trunk where her few possessions sat. He frowned, but said nothing. Rachel had stayed in his room since she’d arrived and Ben had slept in the spare room when he wasn’t on duty. However, now that she worked for him, it made sense she take the smaller room.

“Rachel, I’m tired. I’m looking forward to lying on these clean sheets.”

She noted then the dark circles under his eyes. He always seemed so strong and capable. It never occurred to her that he would be tired. “Of course.”

Together they headed down the hall. The room felt strange now. No longer hers, she felt as though she’d entered dangerous territory.

Ben set the lantern on the nightstand. The light slashed across his face, making him look more like a pirate. The top two buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned, revealing curls of dark hair.

A sharp snap of desire shot through Rachel’s limbs. She hugged the sheets closer to her. Don’t do this to yourself, she warned.

“Sheets?”

Her head snapped up at the sound of Ben’s
voice. He looked amused. And she realized her mouth gaped open. She’d been staring.

Color flooded her cheeks as she dumped the bedclothes on the mattress. Quickly she started to rummage through, looking for the bottom sheet.

Ben reached into the pile. His long fingers brushed hers. Need stabbed inside her. She curled her fingers back, retreating. She’d sailed into dangerous waters.

She cleared the bed of the other linens and set them on top of a chest. When she returned to the bed, Ben had smoothed the sheet on his side flat. She set to work on her side, careful to keep distance between them.

Still, her gaze drifted. Ben’s side was military-neat; her side, wrinkled and crooked.

His dark eyes had turned smoky. Tension radiated from his body.

A dozen different emotions tugged at her. With Ben she could find the dark, secret pleasure she’d once heard her maids giggling about—the pleasure she’d never found in Peter’s bed. “You’ve never made a bed before, have you?” His voice was deep, silky. “No.”

“It’s been a while for me, too.”

Rachel didn’t miss the double meaning of his words. A shiver rippled down her spine. She blushed.

She had to get out of this room.

She moved quickly to the trunk and grabbed the top sheet. With a quick snap, the sheet fluttered down over the other.

“You seemed to have found your second wind,” Ben said as he tucked the blankets and sheet under the edge of the bed.

She picked up the down pillow. His scent still clung to it. There seemed no escaping him. “Just ready to sleep. I’ve a busy day tomorrow.”

“Can I help you with any other chores?”

She all but jumped out of her skin. “No!”

He chuckled. “Then you best get to bed and get some sleep.”

Sleep. Her muscles hummed now and she feared there’d be no sleep tonight.

“Sweet dreams.”

Rachel ran from the room and didn’t stop until she was in her room and the door shut. She leaned against the closed door.

Ben understood the strength of the connection between them. And he knew, as she did now, that there’d be no avoiding what was going to happen between them.

Peter sat in his study, staring at the reports from the detectives. It had been five weeks since Rachel
had disappeared and still there’d been no sign of her. He’d lain awake at night, wondering whom she’d run away with. He knew she couldn’t have left alone. She didn’t have the spine.

No doubt Rachel and her lover were laughing at him now. He crushed the latest report in his hand and tossed it into the fire.

A light knock sounded on his door. The maid peered inside. “I don’t mean to disturb, sir.”

“What is it?”

“There is a man to see you, sir.”

He curled his fingers into fists. “I don’t want to see anyone.”

“He says he has news of Mrs. Emmons.”

Peter shot to his feet. Few knew that Rachel had left. He’d been careful to keep the information quiet, hoping to salvage his good name. “Where is he?”

The maid flinched. “In the front foyer waiting, sir. His name is Captain LaFortune.”

“Send him in.”

Peter moved to a side table filled with decanters. He poured himself a bourbon. He took a liberal portion, savoring the way the liquid fire burned his throat. He’d been drinking too much lately.

Seconds later he heard the thud of boots in the hall. He took a sip, forcing himself not to gulp the
drink as he stared out the window of his study with his back to the door.

The maid cleared her throat. “Mr. Emmons, may I present Captain LaFortune.”

Turning, Peter noted that the man standing in front of him embodied the term “river rat.” Dressed in black pants, white lace shirt and a blue jacket with trim, he possessed an arrogance that grated. LaFortune. French, no doubt.

Peter hid his distaste. “You’ve news of my wife?”

“
Oui,
I do.”

Peter lifted an eyebrow. “What makes you think she’s missing?”

The captain shrugged. “Perhaps she is not. Perhaps the woman that boarded my ship last month dressed as a widow was not your wife.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out Rachel’s wedding band.

Peter took the ring. Elation hummed in his veins. For the first time in five weeks he wanted to smile. He held the ruby ring up to the light. The blood-red stones caught the gaslight and blazed. The ring had cost him a fortune. But the cost hadn’t mattered. When he’d first seen it, he’d known it would be perfect for Rachel. Damn her. He’d given her the best at every turn and look how she had repaid him.

Peter clenched his hands over the ring until the
stones cut into his palm. “You said a woman boarded your ship?”

“
Oui.
Quite a lovely woman, if I may say. She traded the ring for passage to the Caribbean.”

“Was she alone?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

The captain shrugged. “That information I must keep to myself until we settle on a price. You see, my ship went down just over a month ago, and I’ve a mind to replace her.”

Peter had the urge to throttle the man. But he’d long ago learned that flies were best caught with honey not vinegar. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

LaFortune shrugged. “Trust is a wonderful thing, no?”

Peter smiled and poured a second drink. “Yes, it is.”

The captain accepted the bourbon, drinking it down in one swallow. “You are a gentleman, that I can see. Let us settle on a price and I will tell you what I know.”

Peter went to his desk and drafted a banknote. He handed it to the captain.

The man’s eyes widened in surprise before a slow, satisfied smile crossed his lips. He tucked the
note into his vest pocket. “She boarded my vessel, the
Anna St. Claire,
just over a month ago. We set sail, but soon we hit rough waters and my ship went down in the Graveyard. For days after the wreck I thought about her, trying to place her in my mind. I read and reread the initials on the inside of the ring. R.E. And then I remembered her. I had seen you two on the New York docks last year.”

“What of my wife? Did she go down with the ship?” Had he been cheated of his final reckoning?

“I made inquires among the local fisherman. They’d heard tales of seven men washing up on the shore of the outer banks just south of Corolla. But there was no mention of a woman.”

Peter stiffened. “She could have gone down with the ship.”