Cyrus jolted, slamming the book shut in haste, shoving it down the side of his thigh. “I did not hear you come in.”
“I know,” she said, approaching. “What were you reading?”
He covered the spine with his arm. “Nothing that would interest you.”
“I have many interests,” she protested, trying to take a peek at what he seemed so determined to hide. “Come now, do not be shy. What were you reading? I shall not judge.”
“A history of the Roman legions, the second volume,” he replied, getting to his feet.
As he did so, he stuffed the book into the lapel of his tailcoat, holding it tight against his chest and out of her view. He could not have known how much that intensified her curiosity, positivelydesperateto know what the book was. Still, she was certain it had nothing to do with the Roman legions. Every gentleman she had ever met liked to read about the Roman legions, her brother included.
“I shall leave you to your afternoon’s entertainment,” he said, bowing his head. “I assume that is your new chapter?”
She glanced down to the folded pages she had clutched toherchest, and blushed. “It is. I am about to discover if Miss Savage is going to drown, or if the Captain will rescue her in time. Although, I fear there will be no helping Whittaker.”
“Whittaker?” Cyrus squinted at her.
“One of the crew,” she replied, shaking her head sadly. “He had a terrible fever in the last chapter, weakened by the affliction, and the water is rising.”
Cyrus stepped away from the reading chair he had just vacated and, to her confusion, settled down in the other. “Would you mind reading it aloud?”
“What?” she coughed, wondering if she had misheard.
“I must know what happens to Whittaker,” he replied, gesturing to the opposite chair. “You have made me invested in his fate. Please, do read it.”
Her throat suddenly tightened, her heart pounding faster than it should, anxiety creeping through her veins. “I am not very proficient at reading aloud. I fear I would do no justice to the words.”
“I do not believe that,” he said firmly.
“But you would not like the story,” she urged, panic becoming a living, breathing creature within her that was attempting to hold her body hostage.
He paused, meeting her gaze, his expression unreadable. “If you do not want to, you do not have to.” He got up. “Please, do enjoy your afternoon of peace.”
He dipped his head and walked away, not stopping to deposit the book that was still hidden inside his tailcoat. Indeed, it appeared he was taking it with him, and as Teresa watched him go and heard the library door close, she was struck by a small smack of regret. Wishing she had just sat down and begun to read, after all.
That was my opportunity for a great stride, and I let it slip through my fingers…
Sitting down alone in the empty chair, she folded out the pages of her latest chapter, smoothing them reverently. But as her gaze began to flit across the words, her mind faltered, drawing her attention back to the door that Cyrus had departed through. Puzzled by his sudden interest in her favorite story.
By the time she had read the first sentence of the new instalment six times, she realized that she was not going to have an afternoon with the Captain and Miss Savage, after all.
“Did Miss Savage survive?” Cyrus asked over dinner that evening.
Teresa looked up sharply from her plate of fish, drizzled in a parsley sauce. “Pardon?”
Cyrus repeated the question, keeping his voice even. He had no intention of telling her that, instead of spending his day poringover contracts and ledgers, he had been doing his best to catch up to where she was in the story of Captain Frostheart and Miss Savage. He still did not know if he liked the tales, finding them a little too sentimental and farfetched, but he was certainly learning a great deal from the Captain.
“Oh… um…” Teresa set down her cutlery and dabbed her mouth with the corner of her napkin. “In truth, I do not yet know. I began to read it and found myself with something of a headache, so I shall have to read it tonight instead.”
He cut into his fish, nodding. “You shall have to tell me how everyone fares at breakfast.”
“At… breakfast?” Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape.
“Yes, if that is not inconvenient to you.” He chewed a mouthful of the succulent cod, and though he could not get his face to comply with a smile, he hoped his expression was kind.
“No… no, not at all,” she blurted out, clearly stunned by the invitation. “I should… um… like that very much. Although, can we agree not to breakfast too early? I do not rise with the birds like you do.”
He tilted his head to one side, a smirkjustlifting his lips. “And how do you know when I rise, if you are not yet awake?”
