“Perhaps I’ll join you for a bit before I have to resume my duties.”
“Your duties? Isn’t that just like Cullen? He’s such a dull Scotsman, always looking for ways to scrimp and save. Attention to duty is everything to him. He never has any fun.”
“I take my duties to the men of this ship as seriously as Dr. MacCloud does. We’re partners.” Willa returned the French woman’s inscrutable stare without blinking. She’d be damned if she’d yield any ground to the deceitful termagant.
Cullen took off his spectacles and wiped a hand across his eyes. Perhaps he’d join his wife for a few moments above on deck to clear his mental cobwebs after a morning of seeing ailing sailors followed by hours of log entries. He knew Willa would be watching for the last sight of land before they slipped out into the Atlantic, and he wanted to be with her. He wanted to see the expression in the depths of those gray eyes framed by dark, sooty lashes. He’d surprised himself when he realized he couldn’t get enough of his wife’s gray gaze, even when those eyes flashed a challenge at some wrong-headed thing he’d said.
He stood, grabbed a jacket from a hook next to the surgery entry, and headed toward the deck above.
Chapter Thirteen
Willa observed the confident expression on Monsieur Duvall’s face change rapidly to one of distress. The swells had become choppier the closer their approach to the place where the English Channel met the Atlantic Ocean.
“Mademoiselle de Santis, Madame MacCloud, I believe I will retire to my bunk until la mer…” he swept his hand toward the water before doubling over and racing to the taffrail. He removed a delicate linen handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped his mouth before turning back and waving them away.
“How long have you worked with Monsieur Duvall?” Willa turned toward Ariadne after watching the woman’s partner weave his way below.
“Too long, I think.” Ariadne took her shawl from her shoulders and in one easy movement, twisted the wrap around her hair and back around her neck to keep her wind-blown curls out of her face.
“If the two of you are diplomatic emissaries, how does he manage all the travel at sea?” Willa stared after the Frenchman’s retreating figure.
“He disappears into his cabin when we set off at sea and emerges when we arrive in port.” Ariadne turned back toward Willa and touched her face. “The sea air treats you well. It paints your cheeks like English roses after the rain. You deserve better than this.” She stretched an arm toward the surly waves surrounding the ship.
Willa whirled away, facing toward the sea, away from her husband’s former lover. She refused to react to her implied pity of her situation.
Ariadne continued. “There are things you should know about Cullen, things he wouldn’t want you to know.”
Willa was still staring toward the steps to the lower deck when Cullen appeared from below, a superior smirk on his face, and began walking toward them. He must have encountered the hapless Monsieur Duvall.
Willa turned quietly toward Ariadne and gave her an I-know-something-you-don’t smile. “How can you be sure of what he’s already told me? Have you been eavesdropping at our cabin door?”
Ariadne nodded slowly in cold recognition of a superior gambit before clapping and shouting out—“Dr. MacCloud—I’m so glad you decided to join us. Henri is not himself, and we’re bored.” She encircled Willa’s shoulders with a tight embrace as if they’d not just had a brittle stand-off.
He offered an arm to both women and asked, “Would you ladies like to accompany me for some turns about the deck before we join the captain at his table for supper?”
The two firm squeezes he gave Willa’s hand, along with a wink, made her reconsider her urge to stalk away in disgust. At that moment, a large swell lifted the Arethusa, and Ariadne, in an exaggerated reaction, leaned heavily into Cullen. Willa took a deep breath and mentally counted the days to Gibraltar when the she-devil and her partner would leave the ship.
Captain Still’s long dining table gleamed with fine china and crystal. A swinging lantern cast a rippling glow above the dinner party, along with the occasional clatter of the silver, the only sign they were aboard a Royal Navy ship ploughing through rough waters on her way to Gibraltar. All of the ship’s lieutenants were present, in honor no doubt of their passengers.
Cullen wondered whether the captain would have made such an effort if Monsieur Duvall had been the sole guest. Ariadne had spared no embellishment, the jewels at her ears, throat and wrists sparkling in the reflected light like distant stars in a night sky.
He also wondered what vile game she played at with Willa. After warning his wife repeatedly to beware of being alone with the woman, he’d found the two of them together on the upper deck that day. He wanted to trust Willa’s judgment, but he knew she was no match for the wiles of a seasoned, lethal spy like Ariadne.
Ariadne had insisted Willa sit next to her at the captain’s side. Cullen sat next to First Lieutenant Dalton, near the foot of the table. The hapless Duvall sat across the captain’s table and picked listlessly at his fish. His face was a similar hue to that of the white fish.
The officer leaned close to Cullen’s ear. “I say, Mrs. MacCloud looks the very image of her brother, Will, in this light. Don’t you think?”
“Of course, there’d be a family resemblance. They’re twins.” Cullen gripped the bench till his knuckles ached and nearly bit through his tongue in an effort to remain quiet and not slam the man against the nearest bulkhead. The captain’s hastily concocted story to the crew to explain Wills’s departure and the arrival of the newlywed Willa was hardly the most original of ideas, but it would have to
