Chapter 5

Aboard the Petrel

Two Weeks Later

Io looked around the luxurious cabin, amazed that such a place existed on board a ship.

On one of Zeus's ships, in point of fact.

In the last three weeks, Io had learned just how wealthy her oldest brother really was. If there was something in the Western world that Zeus Constantine Jonathan Hale did not own at least part of, Io had yet to discover it.

In addition to his immense wealth and power, he was also an English peer. Not just any peer—not a mere baron or viscount, oh no—but a duke.

Io hadn't really understood what being a duke meant when she'd come to New York City with her siblings almost a month ago. Eva had tried to explain to all of them, but it had not gained purchase in her brain until she had actually witnessed the way people—Americans!—treated her brother.

She had also learned that Zeus had a hereditary seat in Parliament, four estates scattered about the country, a London house, and dependents in the hundreds, if not thousands.

And that wasn't counting all the property, employees, and wealth he was leaving behind in the United States.

It was obscene and beyond unjust for one person to have so very much when so many others had so little.

And it was beyond maddening to think of Edith at Zeus's side and enjoying all that wealth and privilege, a sly mental voice suggested.

Yes, that was, Io had to admit, the worst part of it.

The connecting door flew open, and Eva burst into Io's stateroom, her violet-blue eyes sparkling. "Is it not beautiful, Yoyo?"

Io smiled because it was impossible not to smile when a person was near Eva. "It is beautiful," she agreed, keeping her thoughts on the matter of her brother's wealth to herself. Her gaze flickered over her sister's elegant gown. "As are you."

Eva grinned and glanced down at her person. "I am so glad I insisted on this color. I know Edith means well"—Io snorted, and Eva rolled her eyes and clarified. "She means well in the sense she does not want us to bring shame on her and Zeus—that much is true. I know she advised me against deeper colors because she legitimately believes it is unfitting for a woman my age." Eva pulled a face. "But I so hate white. And pastel shades make me look insipid." Her magnificent eyes turned dreamy as she stroked the silk gown. "And this shade of mauveine is just too delectable for words."

Trust her sister to know the aniline dye name for purple. "Too delectable for words, Eva? Tsk, tsk. I know you are in a state of bliss when you can't come up with a word, my dearest lexicographer."

Eva laughed. "You look lovely, as well. That sort of gown is magnificent on you and shows off your figure to perfection. You really do look like a goddess, Yoyo."

Io's face heated at her sister's compliment. "Are you ready to go to dinner?"

"Will you wait while I fetch my reticule?" Eva asked.

"I will be right here," Io promised. Once her sister had gone, she turned to look out of the small window into the darkness, absently stroking the rich velvet of her gown, which was what many called artistic dress, an offshoot of the Reform Dress movement.

Artistic dress followed the natural lines of a woman's body, the style reminiscent of gowns worn during the medieval era. The luxurious fabric had been dyed using ancient methods rather than modern, man-made chemicals. It was elegant and comfortable and something Io felt confident wearing in public.

It had also scandalized Edith.

In fact, she had been so outraged that Io refused to engage in tight lacing—or even wear a corset—that she had taken the matter to Zeus.

When Zeus summoned Io to his study she had been ready to pack her bags if her brother tried to dictate her clothing.

Instead, Zeus had said, "The clothing you wear is your own affair, Io. I have instructed Miss Barrymore to refrain from doing anything other than suggesting other fashion choices."

Io had been stunned and momentarily speechless as she'd stared into Zeus's cold blue eyes—the eyes of a stranger who was suddenly not just her brother, but in charge of her future and that of everyone she loved.

Io did not dislike Zeus, but she found him unfathomable and did not entirely trust him, or his judgment. For example, why in the world would her brother marry a woman as unpleasant as Edith? She knew Edith was the heiress to some bank or other, so a marriage would join the two fortunes. That was the only reason Io could see for Zeus's betrothal. Which was no reason at all, in her opinion. How much wealth did her brother need? Did he not have enough already?

Of course, Io had not said any of that to her brother that day. Instead, she had shoved down her natural inclination to freely air her opinions and had said, "Thank you, Zeus. I am sorry to take up your time with something so trifling as my clothing."

He had escorted Io to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob and looking down at her, making her aware of how very tall he was.

She'd been standing close enough that she could not help staring at his eyes, which really were arresting, the color an almost inhumanly pale blue.

"I hope you know that I want you to be happy, Io. It is not my intention to stifle who you are."

Io had been too startled by his pronouncement to do more than nod.

That episode took place only a few days after Io's clash with Masterson. If the stern secretary had told her brother of Io's idiotic journey to Five Points, the duke had given no sign that he knew.

Io hadn't been sure what to make of that. She had been positive that Masterson would sprint to tell her brother about her—admittedly—foolish behavior.

She had avoided Masterson like the plague in the weeks that followed that hair-raising event.

The haughty secretary had been right about one thing he'd said that day: Io had promised Zeus to at least try to fit into his world.

So here she was, dressed like a fashion plate for dinner, trying.

The door opened and Eva entered. "I am ready!"

They were halfway down the corridor when they encountered Bal leaving his room. He smiled at them. "You look beautiful, sisters. I would offer you both an arm, but I'm afraid we'd never squeeze down the corridor."

"Eva will walk with you," Io said, giving her twin a reassuring smile when he shot her a questioning look.

It was true that she had been rather subdued since that near catastrophe in the Five Points Area. Not that she had abandoned her cause. Indeed, Io had gone for a second visit to the Ladies Aid Association. That time, she had done as Masterson all but ordered and took along one of the housemaids, a brawny footman, and two grooms. She had felt silly and conspicuous with such an entourage and had been glad that at least Zeus's carriage was unmarked to avoid advertising Io's ducal connections. The visit had not ended in violence, nor had any of the journalists who haunted her brother's Fifth Avenue mansion published an expose about her activities. That had been miraculous considering how closely journalists watched poor Zeus—and the rest of them by association.

As apprehensive as Io was about leaving the country, she would be glad to escape the rabid fascination the city of New York had with the new Duke of Hastings.

Io had to admit her handsome, austere, and dignified older brother looked just like one of Eva's fairy tale princes.

It wasn't only Zeus's attractive person, but also his behavior—he was a moral, upstanding man in a world that was peopled by plutocrats like Vanderbilt and Morgan—made him even more appealing.

And to top it all off, Zeus had rescued an injured three-legged street cur several years earlier, whom he had named Mr. Clemens. To the city's vast amusement, and Edith's chagrin, Zeus took the ugly but charming hound everywhere with him. Stories about the handsome, wealthy duke's devotion to his dog delighted readers not just in New York, but across the country.

The fact that Zeus kept such an unprepossessing pet gave Io hope that her brother might wake up in time to avoid a truly horrid marriage.

Io pulled her thoughts from Zeus as the three of them entered the dining room, which was just as draw-droppingly elegant as their cabins. The black and white floor appeared to go on forever and the crystal chandeliers that swayed from the gilded and vaulted ceiling were impossibly huge.

The ma?tre d greeted them by name—without them having to tell him who they were—and led them directly to the captain's table.

Io was aware of the eyes of the other guests on her as they crossed the elegant, cavernous dining room. Every single person on this ship knew who they were.

Io hated the attention, but was happy for Eva, who relished it and sparkled, more beautiful than ever. She didn't begrudge her sister her enjoyment. After all, going to England was Eva's dream.

The men stood to greet them when they arrived at the table. In addition to their family and the captain, two other couples joined them. Zeus had told them beforehand that four of the guests at their table would rotate in order to keep the peace with all the other wealthy people who yearned to be in the spotlight and dine not only with the captain, but also the ship's owner.

Io would have much rather eaten in her room but could imagine the trouble such a request would cause.

A servant seated her between Ares and Apollo, both of whom mooed quietly at her.

Io snorted. "Oh, that never gets old. One would think the two of you could come up with something new after fifteen years."

"Why fix what isn't broken?" Apollo murmured.

"We just want you to feel at home, Yoyo," Ares added.

Io grunted skeptically and narrowed her eyes at the remaining empty seat. "Where is Masterson?" she asked before she could help herself.

"He is unwell," Apollo said, giving Io a knowing look that made her cheeks heat.

"What?" she demanded sharply.

Pol shrugged. "Nothing."

"I last saw Masterson shooting the cat over the portside railing," Ares said with cruel casualness.

"Shooting the cat?" Io repeated. "Let me guess, Eva's contribution?"

"Of course," Ares said. "Hard to believe the indefatigable Masterson is brought low by something so mild as sailing. Especially on a great cow like this where you can barely feel the pitch and roll."

"Yes, how unmanly of him," Io agreed. "Almost as bad as getting carriage sick."

Ares, who hated traveling in an enclosed carriage and always became ill, scowled at her.

Apollo chuckled and grinned at his red-faced twin. "Touché, Yoyo."

Why Io had felt the urge to defend Masterson in any way was beyond her.

The chatter around the dinner table flowed much easier than it had at Zeus's Fifth Avenue home and Io could only assume it was the addition of the five strangers at the table. Hopefully, rotating the guests would make it difficult for Edith to dictate acceptable subjects and control the conversation as she was wont to do.

In any case, Io barely listened, her thoughts, for some annoying reason fixing on Masterson and the reason for his absence. Since that day in the Five Points, she had felt guilty about how churlishly she had treated him after he'd rescued her.

And then she had felt furious at him for making her so angry that she had not behaved more gratefully.

Yes. Io knew how illogical that was.

A week ago, she had been on the verge of swallowing her pride, seeking out Masterson, and apologizing when Apollo had invited her down to the basement to watch the men spar early one morning.

Physical pursuits and naked bodies were not things to be ashamed of at Canoga. Certainly, a shirtless man would not give any Canoga woman the vapors.

But when Io had walked into that basement—where Zeus and Corbin had been beating on each other, their muscular torsos glistening with sweat and red marks showing they were well matched—one would have thought she had stripped off her own clothing and asked to fight.

It had been Masterson who had noticed her first. He'd dropped his jaw, and then his guard, allowing Zeus to pop in what Eva would call a proper facer.

"Hell! I'm sorry, Corbin," Zeus had muttered when he'd noticed what had so distracted his opponent. "Is something wrong, Io?" he'd asked, hastily snatching a shirt off a peg and shrugging into it.

"You mean other than Masterson dropping his left like a debutant dropping a handkerchief?" Io had retorted.

Ares and Apollo had laughed. And for a second Io had thought her stern brother might actually smile.

But she must have imagined it, because the next second he'd said, "What brought you down here this morning?"

"Ares and Pol brought me down here," she'd retorted, even though she knew exactly what he was driving at.

Zeus had looked pained. "I'm afraid this is not a place for a lady."

To say her hackles had gone up would have been an understatement. "Oh? Why is that?" she'd asked sweetly.

It had been fun to see the great duke speechless.

Naturally, Masterson had not been so tongue-tied. "What His Grace is too polite to say is that this is a masculine refuge."

Io's face had scalded and their eyes had locked, the room around them deadly quiet.

In the next instant, Ares and Apollo had closed ranks, one on either side. Surprisingly, it was quiet, reserved Pol who'd spoken first. "If Io isn't welcome here, then Ares and I will—"

"No," Io had said quietly, her gaze finally breaking with her nemesis.

She'd turned to Apollo and forced a smile. "Mr. Masterson is right. All of us deserve a refuge from the outside world. I do not box, hence there is no reason for me to be here." She'd squeezed Pol's arm and turned to leave.

When she got to the door, it was to find Zeus had somehow beaten her there. "Just because we have never had women here before does not mean we cannot now. You are welcome to stay and watch, sister."

Io had appreciated his lie. It had been kind. "Perhaps some other morning."

And that day had been the last exchange she'd had with Masterson.

He had avoided her every bit as sedulously as she'd avoided him.

Io wanted to feel vindicated at the thought of him succumbing to weakness and vomiting over the side of the ship. But as sharp and outspoken as she could be, she could not take pleasure in anyone's pain.

Not even Corbin Masterson's.

***

Corbin wanted to die.

The thought was not hyperbolic. Never in his life had he felt such unrelenting misery.

And he could not even characterize exactly what was causing it. Well, except for the vomiting.

He just felt awful, his body, his brain, his skin, his bones, his organs, his toenails, for pity's sake.

His misery had started a few moments after the massive ocean liner had set sail. He'd spent the first few hours being sick in his cabin. Then Hastings knocked on his door, observed his condition, and advised him to go up on deck. "The fresh air is better for seasickness. Trust me."

"Has this happened to you?" Corbin had asked, having to puke before he could listen to the other man's answer.

The duke's smile had been wryly embarrassed. "Yes. Once."

"I will go up when you have all gone to dinner." It had been all Corbin could do to get the words out and he'd been relieved when Hastings had not argued.

And so, he'd waited until dark and then slinked out of his cabin like a rodent.

Hastings had been marginally right in that Corbin had stopped puking when he'd reached the deck. But part of him wondered if that was just because he had nothing left to bring up.

He shivered as the wind blew over the unprotected deck. Out here on the open water, it was hard to believe it was summer.

"Ah, here you are." It was the last voice on earth that Corbin wanted to hear. The same one he heard in his nightmares.

Liar. You hear her voice in your dreams. In those dreams.

Corbin shoved away the mortifying thought and turned to stare up at his tormentress. "So, you've come to gloat at my misfortune."

Lady Io's full, shapely lips twitched at the sight of him, which he was sure was pitiful. "Perhaps a little."

Corbin snorted. And then immediately had to hurry to the railing. Nothing but clear bile came up.

"You need to drink something, or you will get dehydrated, Mr. Masterson."

Ignoring her obvious suggestion, he replaced his sodden handkerchief in his pocket, turned, and croaked, "What can I do for you, my lady?"

"I brought you this." She held out a bottle of Vernor's ginger beer. "Ginger will settle your stomach and it is also helpful with seasickness."

Corbin adored ginger beer. But right now…well, he could only imagine how unpleasant the fizzy liquid would be coming back up.

Still…to not accept it would be boorish.

"Thank you," he muttered, awkwardly holding the cold bottle and wondering what the hell she wanted.

"Sit," she ordered.

Corbin sat down before he fell down.

Lady Io lowered herself onto the deckchair beside him. Even in his diminished state he could admire the gown she wore.

Ever the iconoclast, Lady Io Hale had adopted artistic dress and the style flattered her voluptuous curves like no other—not even the shorter gown and bloomers she'd worn almost a month ago when she'd arrived in New York.

Christ. Could it really be less than a month since I met this woman? I feel like she's been tormenting me all my life.

"Drink the ginger beer, Mr. Masterson."

Corbin sighed, too tired to argue, and took a tiny sip from the bottle she'd had the sense to bring uncapped. Encouraged when it didn't make him rush for the railing, he took another, larger, drink.

"I brought you something else, too."

Corbin turned his head slowly toward her, but even that much movement made him clench his teeth. "What?" It was all he could force out.

She reached into the pocket of her pale green velvet cloak and brought out something.

Corbin squinted at the brown lump in her palm and then at her face. "What is that?"

"It is raw ginger and proven to help with seasickness. It is better to take it before you get onboard, but it can still work now." She paused and then said, "My siblings and I all took it."

"The duke ate that?" Corbin asked in open disbelief.

She smiled. "I should have said four of my siblings."

"Who told you this works against seasickness? Perhaps you are all just good sailors."

"A physician I know from the Ladies Aid Association gave me this information when I told her I would be on a long sea voyage."

"A doctor?"

"Yes, a doctor—a woman doctor."

Corbin frowned. "I thought Elizabeth Blackwell opposed the distribution of co-condoms. Why would she join your organization?" Corbin was annoyed at himself for stumbling over the word condom, but he felt indecent speaking it aloud in the presence of a gently born female.

"It is true that Doctor Blackwell is not a member of the LAA." She cocked her head, an expression of genuine amusement on her face. "Do you think she is the only female doctor in the nation?"

Blackwell was the only woman doctor Corbin had ever heard of, but he suspected her question was a trap. "I have no idea," he answered, his voice weak and querulous, like that of an old curmudgeon.

"There are over five hundred female physicians in the United States, Mr. Masterson. More than the rest of the world combined."

Corbin gave a huff of disbelief and immediately regretted it, nausea roiling in his stomach like grease mixed with broken glass.

"Breathe, Mr. Masterson. Slowly, deeply. Resist the urge to vomit—it will only weaken you."

He did what she suggested, but only because his legs were too bloody weak to stand and run to the railing.

After a moment, the nausea passed.

"Do you want this?"

He turned and saw she was still holding the vile-looking lump. "No." And then, because courtesy was bred into him, he added, "Thank you."

She snorted and shook her head. "You don't believe what I'm saying because the information came from a woman."

"That's not true." At least not completely.

"Then why?" she demanded.

"Because I resist all quackery, whether it originates from male or female quacks."

Rather than get offended, which is what Corbin had hoped for—maybe a rousing argument would take his mind off his misery for a few minutes—she merely laughed and deposited her offer back in her pocket.

Her easy compliance—which made Corbin feel like a rude, ungrateful idiot—just irked him. "You should not be up here alone," he snapped.

Her expressive eyebrows shot up. "I am not alone. I'm with you."

Corbin ground his teeth. "You know what I mean. It is nighttime. You are an unmarried female and I am an unmarried male who is not related to you. It is unseemly."

"Unseemly?" She laughed. "Why? Am I in danger of ravishment?" The scornful look she gave him told him just how pitiful he looked.

"Because it will cause talk, my lady. Talk that will follow you and haunt you after you make your entrée into society." There. That should provoke her.

But she only smiled, amused rather than angered. "Who will talk? The fish you've been puking on? The whales I saw in the distance earlier?"

"How about the crew—of which I've seen at least five of since you've been sitting here."

"The crew? So what if they talk, Masterson? Or do you believe the ship's bursar or one of the porters is going to pop up at a ton ball and tell everyone how I offered a very stubborn, ill man a solution that he rejected out of hand? Maybe that is what you are worried about—that people will hear what a stubborn ass you are." She no longer looked amused by the time she reached the last word. "Have a lovely evening, Masterson." On that note, she pushed up from her chair and left in a swirl of green velvet.

Corbin opened his mouth to shout after her—although he had nothing pithy in mind. Instead, he clamped a hand over his lips, lurched to his feet, and scrambled toward the railing.