The Shipmaster's Daughter (17 page)

The island in the center of the kitchen had been cleared. It was tall, just up to Reed’s waist. The kitchen staff—one aide to Mrs. Peters and one scullery maid—stood against the back wall, their eyes wide.

“Lay her here,” Mrs. Peters said, patting the top of the island.

Gently, Reed set Luciana down. She held herself on her elbows. Her hair—hanging loose as usual—was wild and wind blown. She wore a frown as she stared at her foot. Blood covered her heel and stray pebbles still clung to each foot. He smirked. No shoes indeed.

Mrs. Peters said nothing as she dipped the rag into a bowl of warm water. She kept her eyes focused on Luciana’s foot, avoiding anyone’s gaze. When she pressed the rag to the wound, Luciana sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth. She glanced at Reed, a pretty blush rising to her cheeks.

“It stings,” she whispered. After a moment, she added, louder, “Thank you.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgement. “As I said, I wasn’t going to leave you out there.”

“It’s not bad,” Mrs. Peters piped up, her voice grating. She threw Reed a harsh look, which he countered with an upturned eyebrow. Luciana caught the exchange and looked away from him, focusing on the wood of island.

“Will it need stitches?” she asked.

“No. Just a nice clean bandage.” Mrs. Peters nodded to the scullery maid, who brought forward a bandage and long piece of gauze. “There you are,” she said when she’d finished. “Good as new.”

Luciana scooted to the edge of the island and gingerly lowered herself to the floor. “Thank you,
Signora
Peters.”

“You should wear shoes from now on.”

Luciana grinned.
“Si, signora.”
She then looked at Reed. Her eyes were soft, but she stood tensely, her shoulders tight. Judging by the glare Mrs. Peters had pinned on the girl, she wasn’t tense because of her injured foot. “Esther is safe and sound now. I hope you can rest easy,” she said, though her eyes darted back to Mrs. Peters.

“Yes, thank you for your help.” He paused. “If she begins to hang around the conservatory too much, let me know and I’ll tell her to keep away. It’s your space, not hers.”

“I’m glad to have her company,
signore
.”

“Do you need assistance to make it back to your room?”

She shook her head and hobbled to the doorway. “No, but
grazie
. I can manage. I think I’ll just go rest a while before supper.”

He bowed. “As you wish.”

With the swish of her skirts, she turned the corner and left. Reed waited a moment, lingering in her wake, before turning to Mrs. Peters.

“Mrs. Peters, if you have some issue with Miss Renaldi, please–”

“It’s not her I have an issue with,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. The squat woman leveled a dark look at Reed. He frowned. “It’s the pair of you.”

His heart skipped a beat. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“You are in love with her.”

Reed scoffed. “No.” His attempted nonchalance only made him appear—and feel—all the more guilty.

Mrs. Peters shook her head. “You look at her the way you used to look at the mistress.”

Reed set his jaw hard. If what Mrs. Peters said was true, if people could really see his affection for Miss Renaldi, he had betrayed Katherine. But would allowing himself to love Luciana really prove to be such a betrayal? Hadn’t Katherine wanted him to find happiness again? But what about his conscience? How could he promise to love Luciana when Katherine still haunted his mind and his heart?

There was no way he could win. If he let himself even dream of happiness with someone else, he was betraying Katherine. Yet if he remained true to his first wife, he was denying himself—and maybe even denying Luciana—a chance at something wonderful.

He didn’t know what to do or what to feel. He was a mess—a bloody, good-for-nothing, scraggily mess. Mrs. Peters’s leering eyes and condescending smirk further enflamed his frustration. His fists curled at his sides.

“Mrs. Peters, thank you for your input. I’ll remember to ask for it next time.” He threw her a short smile before stalking from the room.

“Did you accomplish much in the conservatory today, Miss Renaldi?” Reed asked her later that evening.

Luciana looked up from where she was playing checkers on the floor with Esther, her eyes meeting his. Dinner had been finished and cleared long before, and for the first time in a long time, the small dinner party had retired to the parlor. Normally everyone parted ways, shutting themselves in for the night.

Tonight, though, something drew him into the room. Maybe it was the roaring fire, or maybe it was the sight of Luciana and Esther already inside. Either way, Reed had soon found himself sitting in the same chair, the faded yellow wingback, he’d always sat in beside his wife, glass of wine in hand.

“Not really,” she admitted. “After I hurt my foot, I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room.” She shrugged and moved a piece on the board. “I’ll get more done tomorrow. Esther has been a great help.”

“Can I help tomorrow?” Esther asked.

“It would be more of cleaning windows.”

“I can do that.”

“Then I’d love to have your assistance.”

Esther smiled and returned her eyes to the game. Reed took a sip of his wine and leaned his head against the side of the chair. His eyes closed. With the combined affects of wine in his stomach and the sound of the players’ soft murmurs, Reed felt that he could sit like this forever.

“Where is Uncle Jack?” Of course it was Esther who broke the silence.

Reed sat up, startled. When he spoke, his voice was groggy with sleep. “What?” His daughter repeated her question. “Oh, he’s in Manchester. He’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Why?”

Reed rubbed his face then glanced at the clock on the mantle. He really should go to bed. Today had been a harrowing one. Between visiting Montgomery in the afternoon alone and losing Esther that morning, he’d never gotten the chance to catch his breath.

“I’m sure he’s just on business, Esther,” Luciana said. She stood. “I’m tired, so I think I’ll go to bed.”

“I’m not tired,” Esther drawled. She yawned and her eyelids drooped.

“Well, you look it.” Luciana reached out her hand, which Esther took as she stood. “You can’t be yawning all the time if you want to help me in the morning.”

After another yawn, Esther nodded vigorously. “Oh yes, I do want to help.”

“Then why don’t you go to bed?”

Esther dropped Luciana’s hand and went to stand by the arm of Reed’s chair. “Goodnight, Father.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, patting her shoulder. When she left, he stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I guess I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

Luciana finished packing away the board game. “It’s all right,
signore
. It was a long day.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”

“Call you what?” she asked slowly, her back turned to him.

“Sir.”

She closed the cabinet door and turned around. “You’re my employer. What else would you like me to call you?”

“I’m more than your employer, aren’t I?”

This is the wine talking. Only the wine.

After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded, though she ducked her head in an attempt to conceal her blush.
“Si.”

“So please stop calling me sir. We’re friends. Call me by my Christian name.” As an afterthought, he added, “You’ve done it before.”

A timid smile played across her lips. “Well then, goodnight…Reed.”

He held out his hand. She stared at it a moment before slipping her own fingers into his grasp. He tightened his grip, the feeling of her smooth hand comfortable. “Goodnight, Luciana.”

She blinked, and his heart lurched in his chest. Saying her name aloud for the first time startled them both. It sounded pleasant, fitting. Right.

“Luciana,” he repeated. Unconsciously, he took a step forward. “Lovely name.”

She licked her lips. “It means illumination. As if I’m some sort of lightbulb.”

He smirked. “That’s not as odd as my name. Reed means ruddy face.”

She laughed hard enough to warrant clasping her other hand onto their still-joined hands. This brought them closer, so close he could smell the mint on her breath and the citrusy smell of her hair. She sobered when she, too, became aware of how close they were.

Her eyes roamed his face. “You don’t have a ruddy face,” she breathed.

“And yet I have been cursed with this name.”

She shook her head. “I like it. It’s interesting—like you.”

“I’m interesting?”

Normal women would have blushed, made excuses, backed away. Luciana only held his hands tighter and nodded. “I think so.”

He wanted to kiss her. No, he was
going
to kiss her. He didn’t care that doing so would mean he was jumping into the forgotten familiarity of feeling. The room was warm, she was beautiful, and he was a little drunk. So he was going to kiss her.

With his free hand, he reached up to caress her cheekbone. She didn’t even flinch. His heart hammered inside of his chest. He could almost feel his ribcage drumming along to the beat. He lowered his head and, in turn, she took a tiny step closer. Her breath fanned his mouth. He lost all ability to think, all reason. And then...

“Oh my goodness, excuse me, sir.”

The moment was ruined.

Brigette’s voice sliced through the atmosphere like a sword. Reed quickly dropped his hand from Luciana’s cheek and untangled his other hand from her grasp, stepping away purposefully.

That had been close. Too close.

Luciana stared at him with unblinking eyes. Was she hurt? He couldn’t tell. Her eyes darted to where Brigette stood in the doorway. Then she looked back at him. He found it hard to return the gesture. His heart was still beating a mile a minute and he wasn’t sure whether or not he wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss her anyway or run away and hide in his office.

“Goodnight, Reed,” was all she said in response to his silence.

As she left the room, limping, only pausing to say something to Brigette, he ground his teeth together. He was a fool. An utter fool. He should have kissed her. Damn his inhibitions! In a burst of rage, he picked up his glass and tossed it against the wall. It shattered and the glass rained down on the floor, shining in the firelight like gems.

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

A muffled sob came from the doorway. He turned to see Brigette staring at him in horror, her hand clasped over her quivering chin. He sighed. Of course.

“Brigette, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, turned on her heel, and fled.

Reed counted one thing as a blessing: Jack had been absent from this...episode. If he had been there, Reed would never hear the end of it.

Chapter 19

L
uciana couldn’t fall asleep.

She rolled over for the hundredth time, refluffing her pillow as she did so. She hated him. Her entire body was filled with a special loathing reserved especially for him.

At least, that’s what she wanted to feel.

She wanted desperately to hate him. She wanted to fall asleep, wake up, and leave the next morning, never look back. She would forget about them—Esther, Jack, Reed. She would forget about them all and be happy.

That’s what she
wanted
. It wasn’t what she was going to get. Not with her stomach in knots. Not with her heart still pounding.

He would have kissed her. He was going to until Brigette showed up. Thank the Lord for her. Though part of Luciana wished she could go back in time, shove Brigette out of the way, and force Reed to kiss her. The other part of her was happy they’d been interrupted. Maybe it had saved her from coming to terms with her feelings. She still wasn’t ready; she would never be ready.

All the same, the way he’d been so quick to step away stung. Did he not want to kiss her? Was she wrong to think, for even a second, he may care for her?

The thought had crossed her mind before. She could have easily mistaken his generosity and kindness, his willingness to offer her things she did not deserve, as affection. The copious amounts of wine he consumed during and after super must have swayed his actions. She had smelled it on his breath and it was been strong. Yes, she was in the wrong. The near-kiss had been a product of wine, nothing more.

Luciana rolled over and buried her head in her pillow, letting loose a low groan. How she wished it was more! Her heart was torn. Her entire being felt like it was being pulled in two different directions. Why couldn’t she just make up her mind? She had never felt this way before. Was affection... Was
love
supposed to feel like this? The very word alone sent a shiver down her spine. It was much too strong a word for something she could not yet understand.

Sleep. Sleep would put her head right again. She would wake up and feel normal once more. The sick, tight feeling in her stomach and the warmth spreading throughout her body was a product of her overthinking. Like the near-kiss was a product of too much wine.

Yes, with a little sleep, everything would return to normal.