Lord of Secrets Read Free Page B

I’ll trade with Miss Whitwell.”
    Rosalie blinked away tears. “You can’t mean that. It would be too great an imposition.”
    “I would never have made the offer unless I meant it.”
    She took a deep breath. She owed the gentleman an apology. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you tonight. I should have gone to my cousin. I realize you have no special duty to me.”
    Lord Deal’s eyes flickered over Charlie’s youthful figure, as if measuring his maturity and finding it slightly lacking. “There’s no need to apologize. You were beside yourself, and mine was the first door you encountered. One can hardly be expected to stand on ceremony at such a time.”
    The captain and the mate had disappeared into her father’s cabin. Her hands trembling, Rosalie brushed tears from her cheeks. “What will become of my father now?”
    “The crew will bear him to the deck, and unless you have some objection, Captain Raney will conduct the service tomorrow morning.”
    “They mean to bury him at sea, then?”
    “I’m afraid they have no choice,” Lord Deal said gently. “We’re still some two weeks from port.”
    So it was true, then. Her father was gone. Even now, habit had her itching to do all the things she normally did for him—to pour his Madeira, to draw his footstool up to his chair, to laugh at his teasing observations on the day, to kiss his cheek and bid him a fond good-night. But she would never do those things again.
    In danger of dissolving back into tears, she held herself together with an effort. Her chin came up. “Do you think I might have one last moment with my father, to say goodbye?”
    “I’ll speak to Captain Raney for you.” To her surprise, the marquess added, “And may I say, Miss Whitwell, I admire your fortitude.”
    Since she’d been sobbing on his shoulder not half an hour before, clutching his coat as if she might never let go, she wondered if he meant the remark to be cutting. But, no, he appeared to be in earnest. His chiseled features looked perfectly sincere.
    She squared her shoulders, striving to show a little of the fortitude with which he’d credited her. “Thank you. For—for everything.”
    Despite the sympathy in his dark eyes, his manner grew abruptly distant. “Pray don’t thank me,” he said, turning away. “I could hardly do otherwise, given the circumstances.”
    * * *
     
    The entire crew stood assembled on deck, heads bowed, as Captain Raney read the burial rite aloud from his dog-eared prayer book.
    Ladies were not expected to attend funerals—grief could be an insupportable burden—but somehow David had known Miss Whitwell would insist on coming. Aside from the girl and her cousin, he was the only private passenger present at the early morning service. Not that David faulted those who’d remained sleeping in their berths. He’d chosen to attend only because—well, he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it seemed wrong to move into a dead man’s cabin without even troubling to pay his respects.
    Though the crew had brought the ship to a standstill for the burial, after the service the Neptune’s Fancy quickly returned to normal. Captain Raney spoke a few words to Miss Whitwell, then strode away to the quarterdeck. The sailors scattered to man the ropes. The bow turned, the sails filled again, and a deckhand hoisted the flag from its position at half-mast.
    Soon, David and Miss Whitwell were the only passengers left on deck. The slim, black-clad girl lingered at the rail, her back to him, gazing out over the water at the horizon.
    David knew better than to speak to her. He’d been watching her for most of the voyage, wishing he were the kind of man who could strike up an easy, harmless flirtation, but so far he’d resisted the urge to involve himself. He knew better, even if she did look forlorn, standing alone with the salt air tugging at her cloak.
    Surely he would never have spoken to her if she hadn’t spoken first.
    “I wonder what the women in