even higher. “Really?”
“That’s right.” She nodded firmly. “I’m not coming back without him.”
“I can understand that,” Beau replied. “If I had a brother who was in trouble, I’d go to the ends of the earth to save him, too.”
Marianne lifted the glass and eyed the amber liquid. “You said you don’t have a brother. Do you have any sisters?”
“Yes, a younger sister, Annabelle. She’s quite safe in London, however.”
“How old is she?” Marianne asked, trying to picture a sister who looked and acted anything like Beau.
“Twenty-two.”
“Is she married?”
“Not yet. Annabelle’s a bit…spirited. At least that’s the word my mother likes to use. To date, she’s refused all offers—and there have been over a dozen.”
“Are you close to her?”
“Not especially. She’s a wonderful young lady, it’s just that I’ve been…distracted.”
“With your work?” Marianne prodded.
“Precisely.” Beau sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face.
Marianne lifted the glass to her lips and finally took a tentative sip of the brandy. As soon as it touched her tongue, she frowned. “Ugh. It’s just as awful as I remember it.”
Beau smiled and shook his head.
Still clutching the glass, Marianne glanced around. The only other place to sit in the small room besides the bunk was the chair in front of the desk, but instead of pulling it out, she stepped over to the bed and sat a pace away from Beau. “Have you ever tried brandy before?” she asked, lifting the liquid up to the light.
“No.” He shook his head. “I can honestly say the stuff has never touched my lips.”
“What about port?” she asked next.
“Never,” he replied.
“Really?” Marianne blinked and took another sip. Another frown followed. “That’s surprising. I thought all gentlemen of the ton liked brandy and port.”
“Not me.” His voice was tight, and he was staring straight ahead at the wooden wall above the desk with a faraway but determined look in his eye.
“Why is that?” Marianne ventured.
Beau shook his head and quickly stood. “I need to go speak to the captain before we’re underway.”
Marianne lowered the glass to her lap and blinked at him. “What? Why? General Grimaldi said we should stay in the cabin.”
“I’ll be careful,” Beau replied stoically before quickly opening the door and disappearing into the narrow passageway without another word.
Staring after him, Marianne took a hefty sip of her brandy. Just as she remembered, it tasted better after a few sips. Or, more precisely, her tongue was numb enough not to notice after a few sips. Much better that way.
She sloshed the dark liquid around the short glass. Why was Beau still so reluctant to tell her his reasons for not drinking? He hadn’t answered her when she’d asked at the servants’ dinner at Clayton’s house. She’d assumed it was because he’d got jug-bitten too many times. But apparently, he’d never even tasted the stuff. That was interesting. Whatever his reason, he clearly was uneasy about it; she’d never seen the man leave a room so quickly as he just did.
She stood and set her brandy glass on the desk before opening the small wardrobe that was built into the wall. Her things and Beau’s were intermingled. A pang of some unexpected emotion reverberated through her chest. They were pretending to be a married couple. Something that could never truly happen. But seeing their clothes hanging in the wardrobe together, it felt real. If only for a moment.
Glancing at the door to ensure he wasn’t coming back right away, Marianne leaned into the wardrobe and sniffed his shirt. Ah, it smelled like him. A mixture of soap and man and something indefinable that was unique to only Beau.
Confound it. She was sniffing shirts. She’d clearly gone mad. Sighing, she closed the wardrobe doors and turned back to stare at the tiny bunk. How in the world would they manage to sleep in that thing together without her wanting to rip off his clothing?
She giggled as she picked up the glass again and finished off the brandy. She was already feeling light-headed. Perhaps if she kept drinking, she wouldn’t keep herself from ripping off his clothing. Perhaps.
Beau didn’t return until it was dark outside. Marianne had spent the day convinced he’d either been found by Baron Winfield or tossed off the ship by the captain for some reason. She was just about to go in search of him when he came barreling through the door with a tangle of rope and some books in his arms.
“Where’ve you been?” The question flew from her mouth. Oh, she was doing