By the Light of the Silvery Moon (25 page)

Q
uentin wilted back against the chair. He still smelled the ocean air on his skin. He still, too, felt the anxiety of Amelia’s presence on his soul. Anxiety because he knew that as much as he longed to grow close to her, that would be the worst thing possible for Amelia. What his heart longed for would ruin her, yet how could he stop his feelings? He didn’t know anyone like her, and that made the running away even harder.

His eyes closed as the swell of a memory rose. The day he’d walked out of his father’s home. It had been easy to run at first, to get caught up in the women, the parties, the drinking. The problem was, he’d poured himself into the very thing that had taken away his mother—wanting attention and doing whatever he could to receive it, including putting himself in danger. He’d done that as a boy at the end of that dock. He’d done that as a young man, wasting money on his friends, on women, on luxuries instead of investing it where it mattered.

Things had been good in their home growing up until his father had made all the right deals at the right times. They’d lived in a small but sufficient house. Their mother had spent time with them daily, but with the wealth came new friends, new outings. A larger house had drawn her attention and her heart. More than once he’d gotten lost in the corridors of their new and expansive home. He’d cried as he searched for his mother. He usually found her before she found him, but her mind was often focused on choosing the right fabric for the drapes or picking out the menu for an upcoming dinner party.

He’d been a freckle-nosed boy of five when she died. Not only did he have to learn how to live without his mother’s presence, but he had to live with the fact that it was his fault she was gone.

His father had told him it wasn’t his fault, but he knew better. His father hadn’t treated Quentin differently after his mother’s death, yet he could see a difference in his brother’s eyes. Childhood allies, they seemed more like strangers—enemies—as they grew, and being around the house and the pond where she drowned was too much for him. So instead, he ran, but before he did he asked for one thing—his inheritance, the chance to do things his way.

Quentin hadn’t desired to approach Damien in all these years, but it took all his willpower to stay within is stateroom now and not to go to the first-class deck and find him. He had a feeling he knew what caused Damien to find Amelia so attractive. It wasn’t that he cared for her. Well, maybe he did care in his own way, but Quentin had a feeling it was the
pursuit
that fueled his steps. Damien loved the chase more than the accomplishment, and since Damien saw Amelia as Quentin’s friend, his efforts would no doubt be full-force. His brother pleasured in stripping away every bit of Quentin’s happiness. How else would Quentin pay for his misdeeds?

Most of the pleasures Quentin had lost himself—by his own foolishness—but by winning Amelia’s heart, Damien could take away something good from Quentin’s life, just as Quentin had stripped something good from his.

Amelia dressed in a simple lavender gown and felt every bit the lovely lady as she entered the A La Carte Restaurant for supper. The fine restaurant was located aft on the bridge deck. And as Amelia looked around, she could tell it was where the loftier people in first class ate.
So much for trying to spend time with Damien in common settings.
If only he’d joined her in the second-class dining room. Amelia knew she could get to know him by seeing him around his friends, but she could also get to know him better seeing him around strangers, especially strangers of a lower social standing.

Damien was seated at a center table. Amelia walked to him. He rose as she neared, and a smile filled his face. From the looks of it, he’d already ordered their first course—a plate of lush berries and cream.

“Fresh strawberries in April, in the middle of the ocean.” Amelia laughed. “Damien, I do believe you’re trying to show off.” Still, she sat, dipped a strawberry in cream and then took a big bite. Sweet juices flowed into her mouth, and she couldn’t help but smile. “This is the best thing I’ve tasted so far on this ship.”

“Glad you approve, my dear.” He winked.

She took another bite and glanced around at the room’s French style. It was decorated in Louis VI furniture with red carpet and arched windows. The walls were set off by swags and festoons. The same swag design decorated the plaster ceilings and the borders of the china plates and cups. Overhead, crystal chandeliers swayed ever so slightly with the movement of the ship. Potted plants were perfect final touches to the room, as were the decorative lamps that sat in the middle of each table, casting a romantic glow.

“So have you seen my brother today?” Damien asked. He took a bite of a strawberry, but his eyes fixed on hers.

“Yes, I did. I wish I could say he sent you greetings, but he did no such thing.”

Damien nodded, and she could tell he wanted to again warn her about his brother’s ways, but instead he held his tongue.

When the dining steward came by, Amelia made a point of asking his name.

“William, ma’am.” He offered a slight bow.

“William, has it been a good day for you? Did you get out to get some fresh air?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise then straightened his shoulders, standing a little taller. “Yes, ma’am. I served hot drinks on the decks. It was a wonderful day to breathe in salt air. The sun was lovely.”

Damien offered a patient smile. “Yes, yes it was a lovely day. Now I’m hungry and ready to order. Aren’t you, Amelia?”

She didn’t have a chance to answer before Damien opened his menu wide before him. “I’ll have ragout of beef with potatoes and pickles. And for you, Amelia? “

“Me? Oh the quail with cherries sounds lovely.”

Damien nodded and then ordered salads and soups to complement their meals.

After supper, they moved to a reception room just outside of the A La Carte Restaurant, where a violin, cello, and piano played. It was the large room where the grand staircase descended and small groups of tables and settees were scattered.

The small band started with Irving Berlin’s “Alexander’s Ragtime Band” and followed with “Waiting for the Robert E. Lee.” When the song “Shine on, Harvest Moon” started up, Damien rose.

“Amelia.” Damien extended a hand. “Would you like to dance?”

She felt like a princess as she placed her hand in his. She followed Damien to the dance floor, stepping into his arms, the most eligible man on the
Titanic.
And although she’d attempted to keep any emotions toward him at bay, when he pulled her closer, her heartbeat quickened. He smelled wonderful, and she couldn’t keep her eyes off the soft curl of dark hair than lay on his neck just behind his ear. His dance steps were smooth, and he glided her around the room with little effort. She stepped slightly closer, enjoying the warmth of his presence.

Being in his arms like this was far more intimate than last night’s kiss.

“You’re a fine dancer, Amelia.” His breath was warm on her ear. “Do you attend dances often? Did you take lessons?”

“Oh, no.” Soft laughter bubbled up. “But there was a dance studio a few blocks away. My cousin Elizabeth and I would sit outside the large glass window and watch. Then we’d go home and practice, dancing along to our neighbor’s gramophone that we could hear through our apartment walls. Lucky for you, Elizabeth always wanted to lead.”

“Lucky for me, indeed,” he said as his fingers splayed across her back.

“Although I have to say you are a far better dancer than Elizabeth.” She laughed again, waiting for him to join in.

When he didn’t laugh along, she looked up into his face and understood why. His attention was no longer on her. Instead his eyes swept the room as smoothly and precisely as his feet led them around the dance floor.

They danced three dances and then returned to their seats. Amelia took a long drink of iced water. Her face felt hot but not because the room was warm. In fact, the air held a bit of a chill. There were many things she didn’t like about Damien, but there was no denying he was a handsome man and being in his arms had an effect on her.

Around them, the party grew livelier, and Amelia chuckled as an elderly couple drew everyone’s attention with their precise steps on the dance floor. In their younger years, she guessed, they’d been professional dancers. She enjoyed watching them, and as she sat there, she found herself growing more comfortable. The only thing that still put Amelia on edge was the way Damien scanned the room.

After ten minutes of his eyes moving from table to table, she leaned close to his ear. “You’ve been on your best behavior all evening,” she whispered. “You can stop trying to seek their approval now.”

Damien’s head jerked back slightly. “What are you talking about?” He cleared his throat.

“The way you watch everyone. You did it last night and now tonight. It’s as if you’re trying to make sure you’re doing everything right. And making sure they notice you doing so.”

“That’s not the case.” He forced a smile, trying to act as though her words didn’t bother him. “I just enjoy seeing that everyone’s having a good time, that’s all.”

She nodded. “Yes, of course.” She studied his eyes, wondering if he honestly believed that. He looked around again then caught himself and focused on her with a smile. Since Amelia had already overstepped her bounds and his feathers hadn’t gotten too ruffled, she dared to ask one more question.

“I’m not trying to pry, and you don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but why are you so against seeking out your brother?”

“I told you. I’m afraid he’s going to hurt my father’s heart. He’s made a habit of running away. It would be worse for my father to see him again—lose him again—than it would be for him not to see Quentin at all.”

She nodded. “That makes sense, and if I were in your shoes, I’d be worried about the money situation, too. I mean, what if your father offers him more only to have Quentin lose that? Then there wouldn’t be any money if you needed it.”

Damien sat straighter. His eyes narrowed into a fierce gaze. “I have not asked anything of my father.” His voice trembled as he held his emotion in. “Unlike my brother who robbed what did not belong to him, I haven’t even asked for two pennies that are rightly my own.”

She attempted to pick up her water glass. Her hand quivered, and she lowered it again. “Who needs money when you have approval?”

“Excuse me?”

“I am sorry if I am overstepping my bounds. We have just met a few days ago, but I know what it’s like to be looked down upon. I heard the whispers of those around town, being the daughter of an unmarried woman and all.”

“I’m sorry about your experiences, but what does this have to do with me?”

“No one is talking unkindly about you. Your brother has ensured that. They approve of you, and as long as you continue in all you do—“

“How dare you?” Damien interrupted. “Do you know me? You think I do all that I do to seek others’ praise?” He glanced around, as if making sure no one noticed his outburst, and then focused back on her. Amelia took a deep breath and then blew it out slowly. “In the short time I’ve known you, I’ve noticed how carefully you watch your words. And even from our first dance tonight, your eyes were not on me. You looked more to those gathered around the room. I should be thankful, I suppose, that they smiled and nodded in approval. They accepted me, even though I’m from second class. And because of their approval of me, I received a second dance, and a third.”

Damien combed his fingers through his hair and then shook his head. “Amelia, you’ve missed your calling. You should write fairy tales for as much as your mind lives in the world of make-believe.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. You don’t need my input. You don’t need anything from me. I can see you lack for nothing.”

He was silent for a moment, but she read something in his eyes. It was as if he was trying to decide whether to agree with her or to speak of a deeper truth.

“I have no need of anything. I live a very satisfactory life, filled with art and culture.” Then he sighed and his voice softened. “What I want is to have someone to share that with. To find a companion like my father found in my mother.” He offered a sad smile. “I was hoping that was you.”

“If that were true, maybe you would have looked into my eyes,” she whispered, leaning close. “I’ve been looking into your face, Damien, dreaming, hoping. If you would have looked at me … connected with me … Who knows what would have happened?”

Damien leaned forward, taking her hand in his. It was then she noticed his eyes weren’t dark brown as she thought. They were rimmed with green, and they sparkled as he looked at her.

“Like this?” His words were barely a whisper.

A tingle started in her chest and grew, radiating out. “Yes,” she managed to say. She tried to think of something else clever to add, but under his gaze she could only repeat the word again. “Yes.”

“Tell me this, Amelia.” He grasped her hand tightly. “Is there even a small piece of your heart that wants to give me a chance?”

She stroked his fingers with her thumb. “There is a part of me that thinks a man like you would be the perfect type of man to choose.” She smiled. “Your devotion to your father captures my heart.” She stared into the depths of his eyes, wishing she could be lost there. Telling herself to try. It would be so much easier. She’d get her aunt’s approval and no doubt Elizabeth’s, too, because, really, how could Mr. Chapman compare with a man like Damien Walpole?