He shot her a look, all raised brows and incredulity. Then a scorching smile that burned the disbelief away and left pure pleasure in its ashes. “I expected it would take another month to convince you. At least.”
She allowed a little smile of her own. “Flattering. But I think the blow to my skull knocked a bit of my stubbornness loose.” And the way he’d dove after her, cradled her so tenderly, spent every possible moment with her since, despite that it meant visiting her at the Tremayne house . . .
They said nothing more just then, since they were nearly to the Mermaid. Just focused on climbing aboard, casting off, and getting her under sail. Only once they were in open water—Mabena happy enough to let Casek man the tack and just relax—did he turn to her again with that look in his eye.
“Benna. When I saw that bloke strike you, when I thought I may have lost you . . . I love you. I always have—you have to know that. And I can’t let another day go by without saying it, not with that threat still out there.”
Her heart was a cormorant, skimming over the waves with its wings spread wide. “Caz.” She didn’t know what else to say. Maybe there were feelings there, threatening to choke her, but they didn’t come with words. Not that she could find.
“I know it’s not so simple for you. What with Cador.”
She didn’t wince at the name at least. That was progress. Instead, she sighed. Just now, she couldn’t solve all the bigger problems they faced—the threats and the mysteries and the injuries. But there was one ghost she could put to rest. “Tell me. I’m ready to hear it now. He married her?”
Casek granted her the mercy of a gaze set on the sails instead of her face. “He did. It was, he thought, the quickest way to what he wanted. They eloped, and then they went to London to introduce him to Fiona’s parents.”
She’d assumed as much. Still, she’d expected that if ever anyone said it outright, it would be a fresh blow to her heart. Cador, her fiancé, the man she’d planned a life with, now someone else’s husband.
Maybe it was just because of Sunday night’s very physical blow casting its shadow on her, but she didn’t feel that other at all. Not more than a twinge, anyway. “Are they happy?” She wasn’t sure she was gracious enough to hope so.
But Casek’s snort only gave her a little bit of pleasure. “Of course not. Her family didn’t approve of him, as we all knew would happen. A little nobody from a National School, trying to rub elbows with the intelligentsia?” He shook his head. “They told her it was either an annulment or they’d disown her.”
Her mouth fell open a bit. Cador had always been able to charm his way into anyone’s favor. He’d even gotten along with the Tremaynes, for goodness’ sake, becoming the only Wearne to claim that feat for generations. But there was no wiggle of hope that perhaps he was free again. Nor any devilish glee in the thought of their hasty marriage failing so quickly. “What did she choose?”
Now Casek glanced her way, a warning in his eyes. “Them, at first. Until she realized she was with child. Then she went back to him. From what I can glean from his letters, they’re living in a miserable little flat in London, and he’s working for a publisher, though not in any notable position. He maintains that it’s a start, and that the misery his nag of a wife subjects him to daily is but fuel for his muse.” He rolled his eyes at that. “The latest letter said their second child should join them by Christmas.”
He said it gently. And she could appreciate his care. But that didn’t sting either, not much. The thought of Cador as a father and his pretty, city wife at his side. Little ones that weren’t hers squalling for his attention.
She blew out a breath. She didn’t wish him misery—and not with the hope that happiness would silence his muse either. She was simply glad his little family was in London and not here. She may have, at some point in these past weeks home, managed to forgive him. But she didn’t have any desire to see him. “But you said he was published?”
“Not by the company he’s working for—just a little press that did an initial printing of two hundred copies, none of which have sold. Well, one. Mam bought one, of course.”
A chuckle tickled her throat. “As she should. And shouldn’t you have bought another?”
Casek’s eyes flashed. “I told him when he tossed you over that I was on your side, not his. That if he’d broken your heart, I’d wash my hands of him.”
He had? “Caz.” She ducked under the boom and moved to his side. “He’s your twin brother.”
“He hurt you. It isn’t forgivable.”
“And yet if he hadn’t”—she lifted a hand and let her fingertips drift over the taut muscle of his forearm—“those would be my babies he’s writing home about. Me he’d be complaining of. Is that what you’d prefer?”
His arm went even tauter. “That isn’t fair, Benna.”
“What isn’t?”
“Asking a question like that when I can’t kiss you to prove what I’d prefer. I promised you’d do the next kissing.”
She didn’t know if it was the sea air or the sunshine or him, but she could nearly forget the pounding in her skull. “Maybe I will.”
That smirk she shouldn’t like so much tilted his lips. “That isn’t fair either. You’re in no condition to fully appreciate it—and I don’t want you coming away with any negative impressions that are the fault of your injury and not me.”
She highly doubted that would happen. But then, Oliver and Libby were within sight, just behind them, and she didn’t much fancy having an audience when she kissed him. For that matter, she liked the thought of his arms coming about her, which they couldn’t do while his hands were tangled with the tack.
So, for now, she simply stretched up, pressed a light kiss to his lips, and settled at his side. “There. To free you from the promise. So that next time I say something provoking, you can prove whatever you need to.”
Even that light touch sent a tingle through her. One that made her think everyone had been wrong five years ago. And Libby had been right—flying would be a good thing indeed.
Libby. A bit of the elation fluttered away at the thought of her. She looked behind them to where the Adelle skimmed along on the same breeze. She and Oliver were talking, her arms gesturing in demonstration of whatever she was saying. Ollie was grinning down at her, happy in that moment despite it all.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
She faced forward again and leaned her aching head against his shoulder, in the place that she’d come to think of as hers the other night when he’d cradled her there for hours while they waited for the doctor to return from a birthing. “I’ve a few bridges to mend, that’s all. I upset her the other day. Made her question whether we’re friends. Maybe because I wasn’t certain myself, she being my employer.”
“She won’t be that for long though, will she? If you’re staying?”
There were more questions there than the ones he asked—a probing of whether she’d meant her offhanded agreement earlier. But she had. And he had a point now. “You’re right. Without that between us, things will be different. In a good way.”