Surrender the Heart (14 page)

Miss Denton wrung the cloth out in a basin of water.

“Oh, I suppose I’ll live.” Agnes tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. She tugged at the lace of her nightdress that appeared to have a stranglehold on her neck. “Just a wee bit hot and me stomach’s twistin’ and turnin’.”

“Is there something I can get you?” Noah wove around the bed and drew a chair on the other side from where Miss Denton sat. Seafoam pried open her sleepy eyes to look his way.

“No thank you, my boy. Marianne has been an angel, takin’ care o’ me all through the night.”

Through the night? Noah gazed at Miss Denton as she laid a cloth over Agnes’s forehead.

“I apologize, Noah, for not makin’ yer breakfast,” Agnes said.

Noah took her hand. “Madam, you think that concerns me? The crew will make do. All that matters is that you get well.” Her hand felt warm, but not too warm. He brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. Hot, but he’d felt worse. His alarm dissipated.

Only then did Miss Denton look at him with the most peculiar stare before she quickly averted her eyes.

The ship pitched and her eyes widened a moment. A sail snapped above.

Rising, Seafoam stretched and made her way to Noah, jumping into his lap. The old cat had been a gift from their father to both Noah and Jacob on their first crossing to England nearly fourteen years ago. A kitten at the time, she had grown up on this ship, knew every crevice and cranny, and had feasted on her fair share of rats. Noah scratched beneath her chin, and Seafoam stretched her neck upward and purred in response. This old cat and the handkerchief in his pocket were the last things Noah had that had belonged to Jacob.

Agnes squeezed his hand, jarring him from his thoughts. “Order Marianne to her cabin to get some rest, Noah. She’s been here all night.”

“Order her?” Noah chuckled. “I don’t believe anyone can order Miss Denton to do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

Marianne’s lips lifted at one corner, and she favored him with a sly glance before facing Agnes. “I am well, Agnes. When you rest, I will rest right here beside you, in case you should need anything.”

“You are too good to me, dear.” An exchange of affection passed between Agnes and Miss Denton that caused Noah to shift in his seat. For a woman accustomed to ordering servants about to please her every whim, Miss Denton’s care for this dear sweet woman was quite baffling.

And Noah didn’t like it one bit.

Emerging from the companionway, Marianne slid her shoes tentatively onto the upper deck. She’d been avoiding coming above, loathe to face the endless sea. But after spending two nights and three days in the stagnant, sickly air of Agnes’s cabin, she risked confronting her fears in order to get a breath of fresh air. Thankfully, Agnes’s fever had abated, and she slept soundly now. She’d be back to her old self soon.

Noah truly cared for Agnes. Marianne had seen it in his eyes as he held her hand. She had heard it in the soft tone with which he
addressed her. And Seafoam. Marianne had never seen a man so affectionate with a cat. And a cat so attached to her master. She began to think there was more to this man than she first assumed. Yet that did not change the fact that he did not wish to marry her. Nor that he planned to do so out of obligation to his father. At least she hoped that was still his plan. That he harbored feelings for another woman didn’t bode well on that front.

Fatigue hung on her shoulders and weighted down her eyelids.

Squinting against the afternoon sun that sat a handbreadth above the horizon, Marianne made her way to the round object they used to heave the anchor, bracing herself against the surge and roll of the ship as she went. Somehow the vessel’s constant sway seemed less dangerous below where if the ship canted and she tumbled out of control, the walls could break her fall. But here above deck, what would stop her from toppling overboard? She gripped the wooden heaving tool and drew in a deep breath of the stiff breeze that swept past her, bringing with it a hint of salt and fish.

Sailors scampered by, tipping their hats in her direction as they passed. Shielding her eyes, she glanced above where men lumbered over the yards with as much ease as if they strolled along Market Street. Another blast of wind rushed over her, cooling the perspiration on her neck. Forcing down her fear, she dared a glance at the vast waters that held the tiny ship captive. Azure blue waves spread to a glowing horizon, each swell capped with golden crystals of sunlight. The ship bucked and a salty spray showered over her. She jerked back, brushing the drops from her arms.

“Miss Denton,” a deep voice startled her, and she turned to see Mr. Weller standing beside her. “Good afternoon t’ ye.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“We haven’t seen much of you above deck these past few days.” He adjusted the red scarf that seemed to be permanently attached to his neck.

“I’ve been attending Mrs. Hobbs.”

“Aye, we ain’t got a decent meal in quite some time. I hope she gets
well soon.” He frowned. “Not that I only care about me food. She’s a kindly lady, too.”

“Never fear, she’s recovering.”

He gazed toward the horizon. “The sea is beautiful in the afternoon. If you come t’ the foredeck it feels like yer a bird, flyin’ across the water.” He gestured for her to follow him.

“Oh no, I couldn’t, Mr. Weller.” She swallowed. “I’m perfectly saf—I mean content here.”

He cocked his head and a slow smile spread on his lips. “Yer afraid of water?”

She gave him a sheepish grin, wondering if she should confide in him. Despite his scarred face, nothing but sincerity shone from his brown eyes. And he had always been kind to her. She leaned toward him. “Dreadfully.”

The ship bucked and he placed a hand atop hers, “Nothin’ to be feared about, miss. This ship is the sturdiest craft as ever I sailed.”

“But ships like these do sink, do they not?”

“Aye, from time t’ time.” He doffed his hat and scratched his thick head of charcoal black hair.

A wonderful idea planted itself in her mind. This man must know a great deal about ships—especially this particular one. “I’ll make a bargain with you, Mr. Weller. I’ll brave the foredeck if you’ll explain just how sound this ship really is.”

He extended his arm. “Ye’ve got a bargain, miss.”

Noah sprang onto the deck to the sound of feminine laughter. His eyes soon discovered the source. At the bow of the ship stood Miss Denton and Mr. Weller, of all people. Her, gripping the railing. Him, steadying her with a hand on her back. They held their heads together as if they were old friends.

An uncomfortable feeling skittered across Noah’s back. What would Miss Denton and Mr. Weller find in common to discuss so intimately? Why, Mr. Weller rarely spoke to anyone since Noah rescued
him from St. Kitts and gave him a job aboard the
Fortune
.

Forcing down his annoyance, Noah took the ladder to his position on the quarterdeck. After greeting Mr. Pike, who was positioned at the helm, he stood at the stanchions with hands clasped behind his back. He attempted to divert his gaze to the sea, but his traitorous eyes made their way back to Miss Denton and Mr. Weller. Where most women would cringe at the man’s deformities, she treated him as if he were the Earl of Buckley dropping over for tea.

Wasn’t it enough he’d been forced to witness her kindness toward Agnes? Now this? Why, sooner or later he might have to admit he admired the lady. And that would not aid his plans in the least. Not in the least.

Marianne smiled at her new friend. No longer noticing the rippled skin on the left side of his face or his missing fingers. “So there’s nothing that can penetrate the ship’s hull save a massive rock or a cannon shot?”

“That be correct, miss. Unless”—he winked—“you were to take an ax to it, I suppose.”

Which she would never do. The last thing she wanted was to cause the ship to sink. “And what of these ropes?” Releasing her death grip on the railing, Marianne clung to one of the massive lines that stretched taut up to a sail above. But she already knew the answer. Nearly as thick as her wrist and covered with tar, it would take hours to slice through with a knife.

Mr. Weller grinned. A single gold tooth twinkled in the setting sun. “Nay, these lines are fast and hard. Nothin’ can break them ‘sides a heavy ax or grape shot. Besides, ye’d have to sever more than one o’ them to do any damage.”

The ship pitched and with it, Marianne’s heart. She clutched the railing with both hands again and tried not to look down at the foamy water sliced by the bow of the ship. Without access to the captain’s cabin, she must find another way to disable the vessel.

She gazed upward. “And the sails?”

“Sturdy as steel cloth. Nothing but fire or the blast from a ship’s gun could penetrate them.”

Marianne bit her lip. Neither would suffice without endangering the crew, and she couldn’t do that.

“You are a kind lady, miss.” Mr. Weller smiled and ran a thumb down the scar on his face. “Most women avoid speakin’ t’ me.” He shrugged and stared at the churning water at the bow. “I suppose my appearance scares ‘em.”

Marianne’s heart shrank. Though she had no disfigurement, how often had she been slighted in favor of more beautiful ladies? She raised a haughty chin. “Then, I daresay, they are missing out on knowing a very knowledgeable, courteous, and chivalrous gentleman.”

“Gentleman?” He guffawed. “Ain’t never been considered to be such.”

She smiled at his easy manner then grew serious. “May I be so bold as to ask what happened to you?”

He tugged his scarf up as if suddenly self-conscious of his scar. A sail above them thundered in an ominous snap. “I was a gunner’s mate onboard the British warship, the
Hibernia
, of one hundred and ten guns”—he took a deep breath—“an’ durin’ a battle wit’ a French frigate, our gun exploded. I lost three o’ me fingers and a scrap of hot lead struck me face.”

Marianne’s stomach grew queasy. “How horrible.”

“Three other sailors lost their lives, includin’ a young powder boy who was no more ‘an thirteen.”

“Thirteen.” Marianne’s head began to spin. She could not imagine the horrors of enduring a battle at sea, let alone such a tragedy. The glaze of painful memories clouded Mr. Weller’s eyes, and she longed to take his pain away, to say how sorry she was, but words failed her.