Turning back around, Kate gazed up at him. “Thank you. It was extremely thoughtful of you.”
Deverill smiled. “You wanted a romantic gesture. This small token of affection is something a proper suitor would give the lady he is courting.”
Trying to keep the moment light, she gave him a smile in return. “There might be hope for you yet.”
And yet…she was conscious of a distinct need to remain on guard with the new Deverill. Chances were, this was his more devious way of winning her over—with tender, intimate displays of kindness. He might have left off trying to seduce her body, but now he was intent on seducing her heart, which could be even more dangerous, Kate thought, recalling Maura’s warning.
She wished he could have meant the gesture as a token of his love, but she would be wiser to count his gift as just another step in his plan to compel her surrender.
And unlike six years ago, this time she was determined to be wise.
Gray skies threatening rain seemed a poor omen for a voyage when Kate arrived at the bustling London docks with her uncle and aunt the next morning. The din of activity did nothing to soothe her anxiety at the prospect of boarding a ship, either.
With her stomach in knots, she searched the throng for any sign of Deverill. The quay teemed with drays and wagons transporting merchandise and produce to and from the numerous boats and seafaring craft anchored on the River Thames, while odors of tar and fish accompanied the raucous cries of seagulls.
Miraculously, though, Deverill somehow found them in the crowd and ordered their luggage transferred to his ship by two strapping sailors. Then, taking Kate’s arm, he escorted her toward a sleek, schooner-rigged vessel. Negotiating the gangway, she wanted to turn and flee, but Deverill swung her down the last step, onto the polished wooden deck, before assisting Rachel and Cornelius.
“Welcome aboard the Galene,” Deverill said.
Her scholarly uncle’s ears pricked up. “Named for one of the Greek sea nymphs, the Nereides, I presume?”
“Exactly.”
Deverill then introduced them to the ship’s captain, Benjamin Halsey, a weathered but jovial-looking fellow.
“You couldn’t be in better hands,” Deverill claimed, no doubt to reassure Kate.
Kate felt slightly comforted. She had to remember that Captain Halsey was an expert seaman, as was Deverill himself. The crew also looked supremely efficient as they scurried over the ship, checking lines and raising sails for the three tall masts.
Shortly, Deverill led them down a ladder to a lower deck and along a companionway to the cabins assigned to them.
“You are in luck. The Galene is a passenger vessel rather than a merchantman, built by my shipping company for speed, not cargo. You will have your own quarters, albeit small and spartan.”
He opened a door for her uncle and aunt, then indicated the next door for Kate.
Preceding Deverill into her cabin, she saw that it was sparsely equipped with a narrow bunk, a washstand with commode and basin, a rack of pegs for hanging clothing, and a cabinet for storage.
Kate went directly to the porthole window, however, and bent to look out.
“Not luxurious,” Deverill added, “but adequate enough I trust.”
“Yes, thank you. It is more than adequate.”
“Our voyage to France will only last two days and nights, three at most,” he reminded her as if he understood her phobia about being trapped on a sinking ship.
That is two days too many. Scolding herself, she took a breath, trying to steady her nerves.
“Would you care to remain here and settle in?” Deverill asked.
Kate turned back to him. “I would rather go above deck with you. It feels a bit oppressive here, as if the walls are closing in on me—although I suppose they are properly called bulkheads.”
He flashed her an encouraging smile. “I commend you on knowing the correct terminology.”
“Quinn spent the last year designing a sailing ship powered by steam, so I took it upon myself to learn about his passion. He hopes to launch it this summer.”
“Your brother told me about your cousin’s venture. I certainly would like to see it.” Putting a hand at her back to guide her from the cabin, Deverill suggested lightly, “Feel free to indulge in a fit of hysterics if you wish.”
“I am sorry,” Kate said, flushing. “I am not usually the hysterical sort.”