Kissing Comfort (45 page)

He showed her his secretive, selfish smile, the one that made her breath hitch. “I know. And it makes me very, very happy.”

There wasn't time for her to reply or even tread lightly on his toes. The passengers were moving toward the gangway, and Bode steered her in that direction.

John Farwell culled them from the crowd as quickly as a miner plucking gold nuggets from a sifting pan. There was no opportunity for awkwardness on Comfort's part, because Mr. Farwell had a list in his head of all the things that must be accomplished without delay. He began by asking about their individual arrangements, barely blinked when Bode announced their marriage, and launched into a somewhat confusing recitation of what had transpired in their absence.

Comfort was grateful when Bode held up his hand and silenced the clerk. “All in good time, John. You need to take care of Mr. Kerr and the
Artemis Queen
first. I've already made arrangements for the delivery of our belongings. I want to hear everything, but not all of it before I've reached the office.”

“Yes, sir. There are just a couple of things you should—” He cut himself off because Bode shot him a warning glance over the top of Comfort's head. “Yes, sir. I'll talk to Mr. Kerr right now.” Reversing his direction, he headed back to the ship.

“Thank you,” Comfort said softly. “He was making my head swim.”

“I know. He means well. He had a lot of responsibility these last weeks, more than he's taken on before. If he did well . . .” Bode fell silent, thinking.

“Yes?”

“If he did well, I might be able to spend more time doing what I want and not what I have to.”

“Designing, you mean?”

“That's part of it. Testing. Construction. Sailing. All of that.”

“Then I hope Mr. Farwell has done exceedingly well.”

The Black Crowne Office came into sight as they turned the corner. Bode deliberately slowed. He usually felt a quickening in his steps as he approached. The sign above the entrance was nearly as long as the building was wide, and the affectation of the fancy English script rarely failed to amuse him. This time, though, he barely noticed the sign. His attention was focused higher than that. He was staring at the windows on the second floor, the ones that looked out on the street from his home.

He stopped walking altogether and took Comfort by the arm. He turned to her. “I should have said something before. Maybe I would have if I'd even thought of it, but I didn't, so here we are. I don't know how to make it right on short notice. A hotel, perhaps. Or your uncles' home. It would only be temporary until I can find a more suitable place.”

Comfort tried to recall if she'd ever seen Bode ill at ease. He spoke as rapidly as John Farwell and, from her perspective, made about as much sense. “Please,” she said. “You're making my head swim.”

“We don't have to live here if you don't want to.”

She blinked, surprised. “Why wouldn't I want to? You're my husband, and this is your home.” She raised one hand to the back of her neck and fiddled with several loose strands of hair. “Unless you don't want me there. It's your private stateroom. I understand that you might not—” She stopped because his face was no longer shadowed by concern. He was grinning at her and looking about as irrepressible as a ten-year-old boy with a ball and a stick. Shaking her head, she let him lead on.

Bode bid good morning to the clerks working in the storeroom as he ushered Comfort to the stairs. He gestured to her to go first and enjoyed the view from behind.

Comfort pushed at the hatch when she reached the top, but it didn't budge. “I think it must be stuck,” she told him.

Bode climbed higher and carefully maneuvered himself beside her on the narrow stairs. The hatch didn't move for him either. “I don't understand. Something must have fallen over on it.” He pushed again, harder this time, and felt the door give a little. “Can you go down a few steps? I don't want to knock you out of the way while I'm pushing.”

Comfort didn't move immediately. They were balanced precariously on the same step twenty feet above the floor of the storage room, as close to each other as was possible without embracing, and Comfort was struck by the fact that she was safe. Perfectly safe.

“I love you,” she said.

He slowly lowered his arm from over his head while he stared at her. “Does your timing strike you at all as peculiar?”

She made a small, helpless gesture with her shoulders. “I didn't know how to be sure. After Bram . . .” A vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I needed to know that what I feel for you is true.”

“You're certain of it?”

“I am.”

“And you understand it would be reckless to kiss you just now.”

She nodded.

Bode didn't think she looked disappointed, but it was what he felt. He'd given some thought to what he would do when she finally said those words, and in every one of the scenes that unfolded in his mind, he'd kissed her so thoroughly that they had no breath between them.

“Hold on,” he said, lowering his head. Recklessness was exactly what was required. He held on to the rope railing with one hand, put the other at her back, and covered her mouth with his. Astonishment made laughter bubble to her lips. The vibration tickled him. He found himself smiling, then chuckling, and in the end it wasn't the kiss that made them breathless, but something as memorable, and perhaps even better.

When he lifted his head, he stared down into eyes that were bright and lively with mischief and the promise of more to come. He was tempted to be reckless again, but the harsh scraping noise over their heads diverted his attention and hers.

They both stared at the hatch as the door began to open. Bode moved instinctively to shield Comfort. He nudged her gently, encouraging her to take a step down. When she did, he took a step up.

Samuel Travers bent over the opening and stared down at Bode. “I guess John didn't get around to telling you about the secret knock. Good thing I recognized your voice.” He glanced past Bode to Comfort. “And yours, too, Miss Kennedy. Always did think you had a pretty voice. There's music in it.”

Comfort recovered before Bode. “You're very kind, Mr. Travers. Thank you. May we come up now?”

Bode said, “Secret knock?”

Sam let the door fall back and waved Bode up. He stayed close to lend a hand to Comfort.

“What secret knock?” Bode asked again as he and Sam lifted Comfort through the hatch.

“Three sharp raps, then two, then one.”

“Good to know. But why do we need a secret knock?” He heard Comfort laugh softly as he plowed his fingers through his hair. He probably looked every bit as confused as he felt. She, on the other hand, was already moving away, staking her claim on territory that had always been his. Before he could stop her, she was bending over his drawing table to study the pitch and curve of his three-blade brass propeller. He put out a hand to stave off Sam's explanation and asked a more salient question. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Samuel's eyes made a significant roll in Comfort's direction. “Language.”

Comfort glanced up. “It's all right, Mr. Travers. I've been at sea for better than two weeks. I can make hitches and bends and swear like a sailor.”

“You see?” Bode said. “What are you doing here?”

Sam closed the door. He didn't bother shoving the bookcase back on top. Now that Bode was here, the precaution was unnecessary. “Your brother sent me the same night you left, although I didn't know then that you'd gone anywhere. I only knew you weren't here. He gave me a key to get in the office and a message to deliver to you. He was clear that if I didn't bring you back with me, I shouldn't come back at all. I've been here ever since.”

“You've been living here.” It wasn't really a question. Bode just needed to say it again to put it solidly in his mind.

“That's what I meant when I said I've been here ever since.”

Bode made a noise at the back of his throat. “How did you convince John to let you stay?”

Sam pointed to the brace on his leg. “It didn't take much convincing. He's a good man. Wasn't going to throw me out. I was already nicely settled in before he found me. What with you being gone, he didn't have any reason to come up here. My thumping around gave me away.” He shrugged. “I would have had to show my face sooner or later. You didn't have much in the way of food.”

“I wasn't expecting visitors.”

Sam grunted softly. “You didn't have enough to feed the mice, but I've taken care of that. I made a list of things I needed and your clerks brought them. And don't worry that I put it on your bill. I paid for it all myself.”

“Jesus, Sam, I don't care about that.”

“Well, you should. I know you don't have two nickels to call your own, and it just makes sense that I should—” He stopped because Bode's head had snapped around to look at Comfort. She was no longer studying the drawings. She'd pushed herself up from the table and was staring at him.

“You heard what he said?” Bode asked her.

She nodded faintly, the rest of her very still. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“All right.” She paused, turning her thoughts and feelings inward, taking measure of herself. After a moment, she said, “No. Nothing's changed. I don't think you married me for my money, and I don't care if you
don't
have two nickels.”

Samuel Travers slapped his good leg and thumped his bad one. “I'll be damned. You're married. That's where you've been. John Farwell wouldn't give you up for anything. Not to me, not to your mother, not to anyone else who came around looking for you, and all this time you've been on your honeymoon. I suppose that's about the best news these old ears have heard in a long, long time. A honeymoon. Aren't you the deep one? Well, congratulations.” He limped to the drawing table and thrust out his hand to Comfort. “Hope you'll accept my best wishes, Miss Ken—er, Mrs. DeLong.”

Comfort took his hand and laughed when he pumped it enthusiastically. “Your best wishes are very welcome.”

“I hope you'll excuse my forwardness, ma'am, but I need to say—” Bode's soft groan interrupted him. He glanced over his shoulder.

“Maybe you should hope that
I'll
excuse you,” Bode said.

Ignoring him, Samuel Travers turned back to Comfort. “I need to say that I never warmed to the idea of you marrying Bram. Bode here is the right man. Always has been. I didn't know if he'd ever get around to convincing you. I figure he's been thinking about it these, oh, maybe eight, nine years now. It's something you should appreciate, how steady he's been in his affections. Watching you and Bram together all this time, well, that takes its own kind of toll on a person's soul, and I don't suppose it was any different for Bode, but he's patient and constant, and he knows how to persevere.”

He smiled broadly. “And hasn't he done just that? It makes a body proud, I can tell you.”

“And you certainly have.” Bode's mouth twisted wryly. He spoke to Sam, but his eyes were on Comfort's. “Told her, I mean. Told her everything.”

Samuel was unapologetic. “Seems like there's been some secret keeping. Best to air it all before the honeymoon's passed.”

“You know that from experience, do you?”

Comfort gently chided Bode. “Leave him be. You'll get to be on the other side of this when we sit with my uncles. They're bound to say something I'll wish they hadn't. You'll enjoy that.”

He conceded the point. “Give my wife back her hand, Sam, and have a seat. Is there anything to drink?”

Sam released Comfort's hand and stepped toward the table. “I didn't drink all your spirits if that's what you're asking.”

“It's not even noon. I wasn't asking for whiskey. Is there tea?”

“Lemonade in the icebox.”

“That's sounds good. Comfort? Would you like a glass of lemonade?”

“I would. No, you sit with Mr. Travers. I'll get it.”

“Icebox is in the pantry,” Travers told her. “That's the first door on your left.”

She thanked him and went about finding glasses while Bode sat at the table. She heard Sam congratulate Bode, his wishes perhaps even more heartfelt than the ones he extended to her. Smiling to herself, she set out three glasses.

“So what did my brother need me for that was so important?” asked Bode.

“I don't know. He never told me.”

“But you said he had a message.”

“Sure. But it didn't explain why he wanted you at his bedside.”

“Do you have it?”

Samuel Travers tapped his temple. “Right here. Haven't forgotten a word. I'm supposed to say that Bram's not only lying in bed and that he needs you.”

Except for the slow downturn of his mouth, Bode was still. “Tell me again,” he said finally.

“Bram said, ‘Tell Bode I'm not only lying in bed. Tell him I need him.' Do you know what that first part means? He was particular that I get it right.”

Bode nodded. “I had some questions for Bram and I didn't trust his answers. I told him I hoped he wasn't lying to me. He made a joke of it. Said he was lying in bed. What he was telling you, what he wanted me to know, was that, yes, I was right. He's been lying all along.”

“He's in trouble,” Bode said quietly. “I knew it, but I let him put just that much doubt in my mind.” He closed the gap between his thumb and forefinger and stared at the infinitesimal distance between the two. “Just that much. Did he say anything else, Sam? Anything at all?”