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Authors: Ava Bradley
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at the feet of the rich?
He glanced skyward, listening to fading snippets of Adriana's lovely voice and wondering what kind of silly act she was putting on for her chaperone. Perhaps she was truly averse to Preston
Weiss, but Adriana was a pampered flower and refined society was her hothouse. She would wither and die outside its protective embrace. He wagered that in a week, possibly as little as a few days, he would even see her grow bored of sailing.
"No, she's not some innocent angel. This is merely some game of hers."
To Christian, a game meant a challenge.
He glanced through the hatch again. "Rest assured, heiress, this is a challenge I intend to win."
Chapter Six
Edmund Montague missed food almost as much as he missed his daughter.
What he wouldn't give for a single bite of creamy Pasta Alfredo with mushrooms. One sugary sliver of fruit from an apple pie. A single tender chunk from a medium-rare filet mignon in shallot jous. Even a mouthful of Mrs. Ling's unusual specialty: spicy red pepper chicken and sautéed vegetables over rice.
"Come now, Mr. Montague, one more time." Miss Reynolds leaned back, causally sliding the goblet of gelato out of reach. Skillful she-devil, she was. "Repeat after me. Lady Luck lists leisurely on her leeward side."
What a ridiculous phrase. If the Lady Luck were listing, it certainly wouldn't be leisurely, it would be a damn problem.
Edmund blasted an angry sigh. "'ady 'uck 'ists 'eesure-y ah 'er 'ee-erd side."
The nursemaid smiled and offered him another tiny bite of gelato. "Better," she lied. "One more time."
"I can fee' 'yshelf." He took the spoon, and before she could stop him, carved a bigger spoonful out of the gelato. The loose flesh he saw dangling from his thin arm angered and disgusted him. Five months of sipping puree-of-glop had taken its toll. He could hardly stand to see his own gaunt reflection, and not just because of the horrible scars maiming the left side of his face.
The mouthful of gelato was cold, but bland. If I am ever to eat real food again, will I even be able to taste it ?
The bullet that had torn his cheek nearly to shreds and destroyed six of his teeth had taken half his tongue with it.
He smacked the spoon down. "Whee' me over 'o the win-ow."
"Why don't you get up and walk there? There isn't anything wrong with your legs, Mr. Montague." The stodgy old dowager scowled. "You should not sit around in this chair all day."
"B-oo-y herr! This ins-i-u-on wi' be uh 'eaff of me!" He grabbed the wheels and turned his infirmary chair.
Miss Reynolds grabbed the gelato goblet off his tray before it toppled over. "And we so enjoy having you as a guest." She set it down on the table beside the bed and helped him roll the rest of the way to the window. "Don't get comfortable. There will be dancing later in the main hall, and I fully expect you will be there."
The old bat pursed her lips together and gave him a convincing "hmmm?" before starting off.
Edmund hated missing Adriana, hated being away from the shipyard. Mostly, he hated being here. His famously dependable luck had abandoned him when he'd been assigned the crossest marm in the sanitarium as his private nurse.
He stared out the window at a heavenly masterpiece of lavender brushstrokes in the sky. If he squinted his eyes enough, the window frame and the steeple across the garden disappeared from his vision, and he could imagine himself out on the Lady Luck on a calm, New England summer evening.
He missed Adriana terribly. He knew it was for the best that she stay far away from him until his assailant was either caught, or finished the job, but a secret part of him was glad he would see her again soon.
She would surely return to Baltimore when she found Lady Luck missing. Edmund thought of what he would tell her when she came to him. Adriana would be horrified at the loss of her ship, but by the time she arrived he would have thought up a convincing story to appease
He glanced skyward, listening to fading snippets of Adriana's lovely voice and wondering what kind of silly act she was putting on for her chaperone. Perhaps she was truly averse to Preston
Weiss, but Adriana was a pampered flower and refined society was her hothouse. She would wither and die outside its protective embrace. He wagered that in a week, possibly as little as a few days, he would even see her grow bored of sailing.
"No, she's not some innocent angel. This is merely some game of hers."
To Christian, a game meant a challenge.
He glanced through the hatch again. "Rest assured, heiress, this is a challenge I intend to win."
Chapter Six
Edmund Montague missed food almost as much as he missed his daughter.
What he wouldn't give for a single bite of creamy Pasta Alfredo with mushrooms. One sugary sliver of fruit from an apple pie. A single tender chunk from a medium-rare filet mignon in shallot jous. Even a mouthful of Mrs. Ling's unusual specialty: spicy red pepper chicken and sautéed vegetables over rice.
"Come now, Mr. Montague, one more time." Miss Reynolds leaned back, causally sliding the goblet of gelato out of reach. Skillful she-devil, she was. "Repeat after me. Lady Luck lists leisurely on her leeward side."
What a ridiculous phrase. If the Lady Luck were listing, it certainly wouldn't be leisurely, it would be a damn problem.
Edmund blasted an angry sigh. "'ady 'uck 'ists 'eesure-y ah 'er 'ee-erd side."
The nursemaid smiled and offered him another tiny bite of gelato. "Better," she lied. "One more time."
"I can fee' 'yshelf." He took the spoon, and before she could stop him, carved a bigger spoonful out of the gelato. The loose flesh he saw dangling from his thin arm angered and disgusted him. Five months of sipping puree-of-glop had taken its toll. He could hardly stand to see his own gaunt reflection, and not just because of the horrible scars maiming the left side of his face.
The mouthful of gelato was cold, but bland. If I am ever to eat real food again, will I even be able to taste it ?
The bullet that had torn his cheek nearly to shreds and destroyed six of his teeth had taken half his tongue with it.
He smacked the spoon down. "Whee' me over 'o the win-ow."
"Why don't you get up and walk there? There isn't anything wrong with your legs, Mr. Montague." The stodgy old dowager scowled. "You should not sit around in this chair all day."
"B-oo-y herr! This ins-i-u-on wi' be uh 'eaff of me!" He grabbed the wheels and turned his infirmary chair.
Miss Reynolds grabbed the gelato goblet off his tray before it toppled over. "And we so enjoy having you as a guest." She set it down on the table beside the bed and helped him roll the rest of the way to the window. "Don't get comfortable. There will be dancing later in the main hall, and I fully expect you will be there."
The old bat pursed her lips together and gave him a convincing "hmmm?" before starting off.
Edmund hated missing Adriana, hated being away from the shipyard. Mostly, he hated being here. His famously dependable luck had abandoned him when he'd been assigned the crossest marm in the sanitarium as his private nurse.
He stared out the window at a heavenly masterpiece of lavender brushstrokes in the sky. If he squinted his eyes enough, the window frame and the steeple across the garden disappeared from his vision, and he could imagine himself out on the Lady Luck on a calm, New England summer evening.
He missed Adriana terribly. He knew it was for the best that she stay far away from him until his assailant was either caught, or finished the job, but a secret part of him was glad he would see her again soon.
She would surely return to Baltimore when she found Lady Luck missing. Edmund thought of what he would tell her when she came to him. Adriana would be horrified at the loss of her ship, but by the time she arrived he would have thought up a convincing story to appease
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