After over a month in the dark, cramped cabin, I started going above deck once a day for fresh air and sunlight, but the smell of turpentine and piss usually drove me back even before the sailors started leering. Montgomery came down sometimes, but the ship was shorthanded and the captain kept him and Balthasar busy above deck, never mind that they were paying passengers. Montgomery did the work without complaint. The dogs barked incessantly. I thought I’d gotten used to the ship’s rocking, and even believed we’d make it to the island with no incidents—until the storm hit.
The waves sent the ship tossing and made sleep impossible. Every lurch had me clutching the sides of the bed to keep from falling, and my stomach felt flipped upside down. I couldn’t imagine what was happening above deck. The animals must be going wild, or else terrified and huddled in the corners of their cages. Not so different from how I felt.
Someone pounded at the door. I stumbled across the dark room to let in Montgomery and Balthasar, who were drenched to the core. I lit a match for the lantern, but the ship lurched and the flame wavered and sputtered before catching. Montgomery bolted the door against water creeping in. He pulled off his shirt, cursing and shivering.
As the weeks passed, I’d spent more time above deck, and it wasn’t uncommon for the sailors to go shirtless. But this wasn’t some stranger. This was Montgomery. It was hard to keep my eyes from trailing back to steal glances at his bare chest.
He wrung out his shirt and hung it over the back of the wooden chair to dry. “It’s a squall,” he said. “Captain’s ordered all but a handful below. Damn drunkard. We lost a trunk over the side before he thought to batten everything down.”
I sank onto the bed and pulled a blanket around my chemise. It didn’t cover my ankles, which I tucked underneath me. Montgomery might be accustomed to showing his bare skin, but I wasn’t.
Balthasar slunk to the floor and rested his head against the wall. He didn’t seem to care that he was drenched. His trousers and white shirt were now just one dull shade of dirty gray.
Montgomery pulled out the desk chair. His skin glowed in the lantern light. The first time I’d seen him in London, I’d noticed how tanned his skin was for a gentleman in winter. He looked considerably less like a gentleman now. Sunburned shoulders. Salt ringing the hem of his trousers. Hair tangled and loose, and an edge in his handsome blue eyes. No wonder he bristled at the idea of staying in London—he was as wild as the caged animals.
We sat in silence, listening to the storm rage. I recalled an old song Lucy used to sing about a fisherman lost in a squall who returned to his beloved as a ghost. I didn’t realize I was humming the tune until Montgomery leaned back and closed his eyes.
“That’s nice,” he said.
“It’s just an old song.”
“Well, don’t stop. Please.”
But I was too embarrassed to continue. Montgomery toyed with the lantern’s latch, raising the flame to a blaze and then back to a whisper of light. When we were children, I could tell what he was thinking even without words. Now his thoughts were a puzzle to me.
“Do you still play piano?” he said at last.
It took me by surprise. “It’s been a few years.”
“We have one on the island. It’s probably out of tune. I never had an ear for music like you.”
My cheeks warmed at the thought of him remembering that I played. “How did you manage to bring a piano to an island?”
“It wasn’t easy. I hadn’t a clue what I was doing, but I wasn’t going to tell the merchants that. I’d chipped three keys and broken a leg by the time we reached the island.” He paused, and I blushed as I realized he was staring at my bare ankles, which had drifted free of the blanket. I tucked them under me.
“The piano’s limb, I should say,” he said curtly, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in the presence of a lady.”
I smiled. There was a time when the word leg wasn’t mentioned in polite company, even when referring to inanimate objects. My mother had tried to train Montgomery in etiquette. Apparently a few things had stuck.
“You’ve been gone from London too long,” I said. “No one gets upset over mention of a leg these days.” My neck felt increasingly warm. “Besides, you forget that I’m not a lady anymore.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jul—Miss Moreau.”
“If you haven’t noticed, Mr. James, I’m alone in my nightdress with two men, after being thrown out into the streets.” I lightly ran my fingertips over my dry lips. My nails had grown so jagged and unkempt that Lucy would have called them claws. “What else does he have you bring?” I asked.
He laughed, almost a bark. “Four cases of butterscotches. The full collection of Shakespeare, the same edition as from his library on Belgrave Square; you remember the ones? I had a devil of a time tracking those down. And once he asked for a copper bathing tub. It fell from the crate and sank while we were loading it.”
“What peculiar things.”
“Yes, well, he can be very peculiar.” His jaw clenched. “I’m sure you recall.”
I drew the blanket tighter around my shoulders. A peculiar disposition didn’t make a madman.
Not that alone.
“Montgomery, what do you . . .” I paused. The words were an experiment, and they came out stilted and half formed. “About the accusations . . .” My throat closed up. I felt his intense gaze but couldn’t bring myself to ask. If I’d still been ten years old, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But there were years between us now.