Page 29 of Only By Grace
When he saw her smile, it both warmed his heart and terrified him. She looked at him with such tenderness and warmth and he knew he had best be careful or she would no longer have a choice in whom she married. He felt compelled to warn her, but they still had a few days until they reached Ireland and he told himself he’d behave in the way he would to Maeve.
“What has Cook prepared today?”
“Roast pork, if I’m not mistaken.”
Ronan stepped inside the cabin, balancing the trays carefully before setting them down on the small table. Grace had already begun clearing a space, her movements graceful and efficient. He watched her for a moment, taking in the way her hair caught the light filtering through the cabin window and the way her lips curved slightly as she worked. She turned to him, catching his gaze, and raised a brow.
“Do I have smudge on my face, or are you merely pondering some great naval strategy?”
“Neither,” he replied smoothly, though he felt a smile tug at his lips. “I was merely admiring your remarkable ability to make even the simplest of tasks appear graceful.”
Grace laughed softly, the sound warm and infectious. “Is this the flattery for which you earned your sobriquet?”
“Who said anything about flattery?” he countered, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m merely stating facts, Miss Whitford. Would you rather I resort to naval strategy for conversational inspiration?”
She gave him a mock serious look as she began to lay out their meal. “I suppose that would depend. Would it involve roast pork?”
“Not unless the Admiralty has developed an appetite for Cook’s fine culinary skills,” Ronan replied, stepping forward to help. His fingers brushed against hers as he passed her a plate, and for a fleeting moment, the cabin seemed to grow warmer.
Grace met his gaze, but she did not look away. “It would seem that you are determined to be charming today.”
“Charming?” he echoed, his brow lifting. “Now that, I assure you, is not deliberate. I save my charm for disarming mutinous crews.”
“Then I shall consider myself honoured to be subjected to your unintentional efforts.”
“Woe be to you when I use it on purpose.”
Ronan glanced at Grace, noting the shift in her expression. Her brow furrowed and her lips pressed together as though weighing her next words. He braced himself, sensing the direction of her thoughts even before she spoke.
“What of Kilroy?” Her question was careful but insistent. “What will become of him after what he did?”
Ronan’s jaw tightened at the mention of the man’s name. He looked away out of the window where darkness was falling. “He’s in chains,” he said at last, his voice even. “Confined below deck where he can do no more harm.”
Grace nodded, though her expression betrayed no satisfaction. “And once we dock?”
Ronan met her gaze. “He will be dismissed from my service permanently. Men like Kilroy have no place aboard my ship, nor in my trust.”
“But will that be enough?” she pressed, her tone tinged with unease. “He might find his way onto another crew, where he could harm others, or back to you for revenge.”
Ronan sighed in frustration. “It is possible. But I can see to it he’s no longer a danger to my men. Beyond that, justice will find him soon enough.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded, her faith in him evident despite her lingering concerns. “I trust you will do what is right.”
He hoped her faith in him was not misplaced.
CHAPTER 10
The days passed with a strange sense of suspension for Grace, each one merging with the next as the ship cut steadily through the waves under fair winds. The crew seemed to have swallowed their spleen, and had settled into their work with solemnity. It appeared they had decided to tolerate her presence—or, at the very least, ignore it. She dared not venture near them, preferring instead to keep to the cabin that Lord Carew had graciously surrendered for her use, even though it seemed as though he himself avoided her. She could hardly blame him. How he must be ready to be rid of her!
Within the close quarters, she busied herself as best she could, though the hours stretched long and tedious. She had retrievedPersuasion,and Grace now found herself grateful that Miss Austen had spared her readers the details of life at sea. The reality was less romantic than her imagination had envisioned when first hearing of Captain Wentworth’s occupation.
The book offered some solace from her restless thoughts, though she read only in fits and starts. Her mind often wandered, straying to the events that had brought her aboard and to the uncertain future awaiting her. She tried toconcentrate on Anne Elliot’s struggles, drawing some comfort from the heroine’s quiet strength, but it was difficult to immerse herself fully when the sound of creaking timbers and the rocking motion of the sea reminded her constantly of her surroundings.
At least she was not entirely alone. Paddy had less time since he was helping with the injured Barry’s chores. Barry was convalescing in her cabin, and Grace made it her duty to check often how he did. Though her knowledge of medicine was limited to household remedies, she brought him simple comforts—playing cards or reading him snippets of books to distract him. Barry had taken a liking to Theodore, and he delighted in coaxing the kitten into chasing the feather on a string Paddy had fashioned.
If Barry had not been there to keep her company, she might very well have gone mad thinking of how she had made of mess of everything, even if unwittingly. It had been three long days since the storm and all that had happened with it. Three long days in which her imagination had gone quite wild. It had begun its love affair with Carew again. However, this time it was out of respect for his depth of character—his calm strength and command—his duty to his family. Her sense of unworthiness grew. What had she ever done to earn such an epithet? The most worthy thing she had ever done was knit mittens for the poor.
As if she’d conjured him merely by thought, Lord Carew knocked at the door. She opened it to see his imposing frame filling the narrow doorway. He regarded her with a measured expression that Grace had come to recognize as his version of concern.
