Chapter 6

The Following Night

Ibrought you this," Io said, staring down at the mere shell of her enemy.

Corbin Masterson, a man usually with ramrod posture and so impeccably groomed and garbed that he did not look real was currently slumped in a deckchair in a rumpled suit, his unwashed hair sticking up in greasy tufts, and his big hands shaking.

His head slowly turned toward Io, until his blank eyes stared up at her. He blinked and then looked at her hands.

"Crackers and ginger beer?" he croaked, his voice was a mere husk but he still managed to broadcast disbelief.

Io sighed. Really. Was there a more stubborn man in Creation?

She deliberated just leaving him to his misery. But he looked so ill that she feared he'd roll right off the deck and into the ocean as easily as a child's marble if a swell came up.

And so, she tried again. "Can what I'm offering make you feel any worse than you are now, Masterson?"

He pondered her question for a long moment.

And then reached out two shaky hands. "Thank you."

Io lowered herself into the same chair she'd had the evening before and stared up at the night sky, which was clear. The seas were easy, which she was grateful for on Masterson's behalf. She hated to imagine what shape he would be in if they encountered rotten weather.

"Thank you."

Io turned at the sound of his voice and watched as he put the last cracker into his mouth. "Should I fetch you more?"

He shook his head, his cheeks bulging as he swallowed a mouthful of ginger beer to wash down the crackers.

Io turned back to the sky. After a moment, she said, "I was wrong to agitate you last night. Part of the remedy I was going to suggest is that you remain as still as possible and try not to talk, which is just more motion, after all."

Io turned when he made no response. He was staring straight ahead and appeared to be listening, so she continued. "There are two schools of thought about seasickness. Those who say you should try to sleep through it, not talking or moving. And those who believe a distraction will help pull your mind away from the discomfort. I can go away, or I can remain here and—"

"Talk." The word was more of a grunt. "Talk about anything. Just…talk."

After a moment of surprise, she said the first thing that came to mind. "This sky is already slightly different than the one I am used to at Canoga. I am determined to look at it every night so that I do not arrive in Southampton surprised by stars that are strangers to me."

Io slid a glance at him and saw that some of the tension had lessened around his eyes.

And so she continued to talk about the stars.

***

Her voice was like a balm on Corbin's raw nerves. Which was odd because normally Io Hale only made him agitated.

"My father was the one who taught me about the heavens and the various bodies that inhabit them. And, of course, he is the one who named me. It was Simon Marius, a German astronomer who decided the moons of Jupiter—that most libidinous and inconstant of gods—would be named after the most successful of his adulterous unions. Io, Europa, Callista—and let us not forget Ganymede." Again, she laughed, the throaty sound traveling straight to Corbin's balls. How the hell was it possible that his body could manage lust at such a time?

"I have always found Marius's notion of successful deeply amusing," she went on. "My own idea of success would have been if one of those poor mortals Jupiter pestered had managed to lay hands on a mythical, god-slaying sword and cut off Jupiter's head." She paused, and then added, "Both his heads, just for good measure."

Corbin choked on his own spit and then fell into a hacking, coughing fit. He hunched over, afraid that he might start puking again.

A hand landed on his back and rubbed in firm circles. "Breathe, Mr. Masterson." Her touch even through a half dozen layers of clothing was electric. Corbin knew he could not possibly feel her warmth—that it must all be in his head—which was somehow even worse.

This woman had wormed her way into his brain—into his very being—deeply, like the tiny wood-boring creatures that had brought down the great sailing ships of old.

She would probably love that comparison, a dry voice suggested.

Corbin sat back and was relieved when her hand dropped away.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her palm, holding the same lump out to him.

"It will help you," she said quietly.

Corbin's hand reached out of its own volition.

"What you must do is take it to your cabin and—"

Corbin tossed the root into his mouth and chewed.

"No!" she yelped. "Don't—"

His head burst into flame and he spat the pieces onto the deck, gasping. When he raised the ginger beer bottle to his lips, he discovered it was empty.

Lady Io dropped to her knees, heedless of her finery, and scrabbled around on the deck.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded hoarsely when she pushed up holding the remnants of the devil root in her palm.

"If you had waited and listened you would have heard me say that you should use it to make a tea, not gobble down the whole lump. Spitting it out onto the deck was inconsiderate, Mr. Masterson. For your information, this is all I have. What if somebody else were to need it?"

She shoved the pieces into her pocket and stood. "If you want to suffer. Go ahead."

And then she whirled and left him to his misery.

***

The next night…

"Have you seen Masterson?" Bal asked Io as they waltzed around the dance floor, practicing the steps they'd spent hours learning in New York.

"Why?" she snapped.

"Because the man is truly ill. You need to give him ginger and help him, Yoyo."

"I have tried to give it to him." She forced the words through gritted teeth.

Her twin sighed.

"What, Bal?"

"Have you tried doing it kindly?He is ill, Yoyo. Zeus is very concerned about him."

"Fine. I will go to him—again—as soon as we finish this waltz. And I will be kind," she added grudgingly.

Bal grinned. "That's my twin," he praised. After a moment, he said, "Er, Yoyo, you are trying to lead again."

Io was relieved to disappear from the grand ballroom before getting roped into any more dancing. It wasn't the dancing itself she hated; it was the vapid conversation she was forced to engage in with anyone other than her brothers.

If one more man asked her if she was excited to go to ton parties, she thought she would scream.

It was chilly out tonight, so she made a detour to her cabin first, to collect the ginger and also the fur-lined cloak she'd resisted buying as an unnecessary extravagance and now appreciated.

As she approached her room, she squinted at the pile of dirty linen in front of her door.

And then the linen moved.

"Good God!" Io hastened her steps. "Mr. Masterson?" she said, dropping to her haunches to peer at him.

His striking gray eyes were sunken and rimmed with red, his skin a pasty shade that no living human being should be.

He clutched at her arm with a weak hand. "I'll try it. Please. I will try anything."

"Of course, Masterson. Here, let me help you to your cabin and I will bring you your tea."

He moaned when she tried to get him to stand. "s'too far."

Io thought so, too. "Then come into mine—no, don't protest," she said, when he opened his mouth. "Eva is in her room to serve as chaperone," she lied. "And you will only be there a short while." And you are so sick that a fly could knock you over.

It was a sign of how ill he was that he did not protest. Nor did he stand. Instead, he crawled when she opened the door. Not until he reached her sitting area did he allow her to help him into a chair.

Io immediately rang for a servant and ordered hot water, requesting that it be brought quickly, adding a generous gratuity to cover any inconvenience.

Mr. Masterson shivered in his chair, unconscious, as far as she could tell.

Io was genuinely worried by the time the water had been delivered and she had a nice strong tea ready.

She poured a cup and let it cool a bit before waking him.

"Mr. Masterson?" Io gently squeezed his shoulder, not wanting to startle him.

His eyes opened a crack and then he did the oddest thing: he smiled. Not his usual superior faint smirk but a huge, genuine grin.

Io's jaw dropped at the sight, her heart pounding, as if she'd just discovered a chest full of buried treasure.

Even in his weakened state, the expression was devastating. Who would have guessed that stern, joyless Mr. Masterson had dimples—two deep, delightful ones? Her sister Eva had a dimple on one side of her mouth, just a bit below her lips, and Io had always coveted it.

"Io," he said, for the first time forgetting her courtesy title, still grinning.

Clearly, he was very ill.

Io raised the cup. "You must drink this, Mr. Masterson."

He blinked a few times and the charming smile slid away. It was like watching a rose wither.

Just as well. You were in danger of falling for dimples. Shame on you.

Io agreed.

"Come now, just a sip," she urged.

***

Corbin woke with a start, his entire body aching as if somebody had beaten him with sticks. He blinked in the near darkness and looked around, his eyes bulging almost out of his head when he saw Lady Io Hale sleeping on the settee across from him, bundled up in a blanket.

Corbin glanced down. He was fully clothed and also wrapped in a blanket.

He sighed with relief. Clearly nothing sexual had occurred.

He immediately sneered at himself for such a stupid thought. He'd been as weak as a kitten for days. He had vague memories of sleeping outside her door. His face heated as he imagined living that down.

Well, he could deal with that later.

Right now, he felt… strange.

It took him a full minute to realize that he no longer had the urge to vomit up his internal organs.

Damnation. Her cure had worked!

And he had resisted it for days.

Corbin wanted to slap himself, but it would have taken too much effort to lift his arm. And he needed all the energy he could muster to get the hell out of his employer's sister's room.

He shakily pushed to his feet, standing a moment to make sure he could remain upright. He noticed a piece of paper on the low table between his chair and her sofa.

Clutching the chairback, he leaned low.

Mr. Masterson:

Take this ginger with you. Shave a small amount into a cup and add boiling water. Drink five times a day. Get plenty of sleep and drink lots of water.

There was no signature, just her bold, messy handwriting.

Corbin swallowed and picked up the ginger root, putting it carefully into the inner pocket of his coat as if it were a priceless heirloom. He hesitated, and then took the brief message as well, not thinking too closely about why he would want something Lady Io Hale had written to him.

And then Corbin slinked out of her room.

***

Three days later…

Io was playing whist with Eva and the twins when she next saw Corbin Masterson. He'd not been up on deck for the last few nights. At first, she'd been concerned, but Zeus had mentioned at dinner two nights before that Masterson was on the mend.

"Oh, Mr. Masterson!" Eva said, spotting him first and laying down her cards. "You must be feeling better."

He smiled stiffly and nodded, "Yes, my lady. I feel much better." His gray eyes slid to Io. "I wanted to thank you for helping me. And thank you so much for the ginger root. It effected a miracle."

"You are welcome, Mr. Masterson," she said, speaking just as coolly.

The moment he was out of earshot the twins were mooing and Eva was giggling.

"You two are idiots," Io said, hating that her face was hot, and not from the brutal sun. She glared at her sister. "And you are encouraging their juvenile behavior."

"Oh, Yoyo, you have to admit it is humorous. Mr. Masterson hated having to thank you."

"He looked like he was in physical pain," Apollo agreed with a rare grin.

Io just grunted.

"The man is actually not so bad," Ares said.

Pol's eyes widened and scowled at his twin. "Don't you recall how he tossed Yoyo out of the basement?" he demanded, his chastising tone making Ares blush.

"He was right to do so," Io said before Ares could respond.

All three of her siblings looked at her with eyes on stalks.

She shrugged. "Maybe his reasoning wasn't right, but what he wanted was. Can you imagine how much enjoyment you would have down there if you had to comply with the current female requirements for civilized behavior? You would have to box in a full suit of clothing." The twins laughed, but she ignored them and went on, pushing the memory of Mr. Masterson's magnificent naked torso from her mind. "That is true and you know it. Shirtless men are considered as damaging to the female eye as staring directly at the sun. More, probably. Eva and I—and the women from Canoga—might have been able to enjoy watching you spar without getting the vapors, but society women in New York seem eager to embrace a weaker role. They would titter and squeal and soon there would be no sparring. Mr. Masterson was right about deserving a refuge from such foolishness. And neither he nor Zeus said I could never come down there. If I decide that I want to watch you two cockerels spar, I can go any time. Right?"

Both twins nodded.

"So, it is not a tragedy," Io finished, her tone indicating this was the end of the subject. "Now. Are you going to make your bid before we reach Southampton, Ares?"

***

Later that night, after dinner, Io was dancing with Zeus and trying to pay attention to the steps rather than stare at Mr. Masterson, who was waltzing with a young woman who didn't appear to have stopped giggling since he'd led her out onto the floor.

Tonight was the first time Masterson had eaten in the ballroom. He'd dined at the captain's table, along with Miss Barclay, Edith's downtrodden cousin, who must have been relegated to eating in her room until this evening.

Io had tried to speak to the shy woman more than a few times, but Miss Barclay seemed to always be running from one place to another, her expression usually one of worry, if not outright terror.

While Masterson had looked far healthier than the last time Io had seen him, it was obvious that he'd lost some weight after his four-day purge.

Io's brothers—all of them, including Zeus—had ribbed him mercilessly about being seasick.

Masterson had taken it in good spirits, giving them his polite social smile, which she now knew was nothing like his real smile.

Indeed, Io probably thought about that slow, sensual grin he'd given her at least once an hour.

It was most irksome.

"Io?"

Io blinked and looked up at Zeus. "I'm sorry. Was I trying to lead again?"

Zeus chuckled. "You were dancing perfectly. I was just wondering how you've been enjoying your first voyage at sea?"

"I like it. At the same time, I would not want to live this way forever. I do not understand how the men who crew this ship can bear to always be floating from one destination to another. Don't they miss their homes?"

"For many of them this ship is their home." He paused, his gaze suddenly going distant.

Io watched him, feeling a bit guilty that she never bothered to make conversation with him—or get to know him—when he was always so attentive and polite.

Polite. It wasn't what she was accustomed to from her other three brothers.

Give him time. He's known you less than two months, a voice that sounded remarkably like Bal's said.

"Are you happy to be a duke?" Io asked.

He blinked at her question, rapidly returning from wherever he'd gone.

"It does not make me unhappy, but it is another responsibility. I might enjoy my new position at some point, but right now I find there to be a great deal of…uncertainty."

Uncertain? Zeus?

"I have a hard time imagining you being uncertain about anything," Io said.

He regarded her through his jewel-like eyes for a long moment, the weight of his stare almost palpable. "I am human, Io. Just like everyone else."

For some reason, Io felt a strange tightness in her throat at his quiet declaration.

***

Corbin told himself that he'd gone to the two deckchairs he thought of as theirs because he wanted fresh air, not because he hoped to see Lady Io again.

He wasn't sure when he had become such a liar—to himself.

Even now you are lying! You became a liar after meeting Lady Io. You lie to evade your feelings. You lie to avoid the truth. You lie—

"Good evening, Mr. Masterson."

Corbin shot to his feet as the woman who was never far from his thoughts arrived in person. "Good evening, my lady."

"I was impressed to see that you are well enough to be dancing."

"I was roped into it before I could think of an excuse," he said, and then because the words sounded ungallant he added, "I experienced a slight bout of nausea for my efforts."

"Yes. Ginger isn't a magical talisman—there are limits."

An uncomfortable silence inserted itself.

"It is a beautiful night," he said inanely.

"You will be pleased to hear the captain said it should be clear sailing for at least the next few days."

"Yes, that is a relief." Corbin had already decided that he would simply throw himself overboard if the ship were caught in a storm. He kept that pitiful thought to himself.

They both spoke at the same time.

"Do you want to—" he said.

"I should leave you—" she said.

"I'm sorry," Corbin said. "You were saying something?"

"I was offering to leave you to rest. Why?" she asked sharply. "What were you going to say?"

Corbin knew what he should say, which was good night.

Instead, he said, "Do you want to sit for a while?"

Lady Io looked bemused by the offer and Corbin couldn't blame her. He was more than a little bemused by the offer, himself.

She sat and he gladly lowered his still weak body into the chair beside her.

They stared up at the stars.

And stared.

And stared.

Corbin opened his mouth.

"My brother said you have only worked for him for half a year. What did you do before?" she asked.

Corbin was not eager to travel down this road, but he could hardly ignore her question. "I operated a construction company with my father."

"Did you work for him long?"

"Twenty-one years. I started when I was sixteen. I only worked on holidays from school until I finished university." He hesitated and then added, "And then there was the War, of course."

"Why did you quit working for him?"

"He died last year."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, sounding as if she meant it rather than merely uttering a social platitude.

Perhaps it was that sympathy which made him do something he never did and tell the truth, at least part of what had happened. "I did not quit working at the company voluntarily," he admitted. "My younger brother gained control on my father's death and he did not wish to associate with me." He paused and then said the words that still made him feel ill, even after all these years. "I am my father's natural son." He steeled himself for her reaction—for the way she would hastily excuse herself. And how she would look at him from now on: as if being near an illegitimate man would taint her by association.

Corbin should have known by now that Lady Io Hale neverreacted the way he expected.

Instead of scorning him or leaving, she turned her entire body toward him the way he had noticed her do with her siblings when she was completely interested in something they were saying. It was charming, although Miss Barrymore was correct in pointing out that it was not a mannerism for sophisticated society.

"You never had another job all that time?" she asked.

"Other than soldiering in the war, no."

Her eyebrows drew down into a V over the bridge of her nose, the fierce expression making him think about Valkyries, for some reason.

"How long had your brother worked for him?"

"Richard never worked there." His younger brother was a gambler and a playboy, but there was no use sharing that information.

Her eyes widened. "And yet you had to leave?"

"Yes."

"But—but why?"

"Because my brother inherited everything." At her stunned, uncomprehending gaze, Corbin felt compelled to add an explanation, although he had only ever discussed this matter with Hastings. "My father amended his will years ago but failed to have it witnessed. It was sitting in his desk, where he'd evidently forgotten it. As a result, the entirety of his fortune, including the company, passed to his legal heir."

She made a noise rather like an angry goose—yet another sound that would not be acceptable in society. And yet Corbin could not help liking her for it.

"How preposterous!" she declared. "Is there no remedy under the law?"

Her outrage on his behalf warmed him. "It is unlikely that I would prevail, even though there are arguments to be made. For example, we made a gentleman's agreement years before. But there was nothing on paper. In any case, I do not have the money to pursue a legal action."

"Would Zeus not help you?"

Corbin knew that her question was not meant to embarrass him, and yet he felt as if he had suddenly wandered into the middle of a cocktail party at Lady Astor's house, wearing only his smalls. How could he possibly tell her that to accept the duke's offer of help would jeopardize one of the two things of value left in his life—which was his friendship with Hastings—without sounding weak and pathetic in the process?

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice making Corbin look up.

Lady Io gave him a sheepish smile—the first one of its kind he had seen on her lovely face. "That was a very personal question. My twin says I tend to come at people like a herd of stampeding cattle."

Corbin thought that an apt description.

Instead of agreeing with her, however, he changed the subject, "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"What did you do to occupy yourself at, er, Canoga?" Why the hell was he blushing?

You know why. Because you were thinking of Lady Io and her many lovers…

"Are you asking because you are genuinely interested? Or because you'd like an opportunity to ridicule our way of life?"

Ah, combativeness. This was something Corbin could contend with and far better than her sympathy.

"Forgive me," Corbin said coolly. "I thought we were having a civil conversation. Is it time to commence fighting like street brawlers?"

Her eyes opened, and then, astonishingly, she laughed. "Fair enough—that was rude of me."

An apology from Lady Io Hale? Corbin was too flummoxed for words.

"I had my chores—everyone does—helping in the kitchen or the laundry. Our meals are communal, you know, so everyone takes a turn and learns how to cook, male or female."

Corbin thought that part of Canoga was quite wise. He'd had to learn how to do for himself in a hurry when he had been in the army. Knowing how to cook would have been helpful.

"We all joined in during the harvesting, and so forth. But what I did as a job—although we didn't really call them that—was teach the older children." She hesitated, and then said, "In addition to the radicalpamphlets I help produce"—she smirked at him and emphasized the word radical— "I also write books."

"What sort of books?"

"Children's books."

Therewas something the investigator hadn't uncovered. Corbin wondered if Zeus knew about this. "What are the books about?"

"They are about a barnyard and all the animals who occupy it. I only write them," she said. "Another woman does the illustrations. At first, we wrote them for just the children at Canoga, but somehow word got out and soon so many people wanted them that we had them printed and a man would sell them to the various bookstores in the area. About four years ago, a man named Mr. Putnam approached us and now we—"

"Good Lord! Are you talking about George Putnam?"

"Yes, that is his name," she agreed. "He has produced the last five and we are working on number six. Even though I am going to Britain, I have—"

"The last five? How many are there? And what are these books called?"

"They are the Take Charge series. First, there was—"

"Arnold Takes Charge," Corbin finished for her, utterly flabbergasted.

She looked pleased. "You've heard of them?"

Corbin gave a disbelieving huff. "Have I heard of them? Why, they are the most popular books for children in New York City. Perhaps the entire state, as far as I know. My—my friend's daughter is wild for them and I went to six bookshops to hunt down a copy of Lizzy Takes Charge for her."

It was her turn to look startled. "Indeed! You must like this little girl a great deal."

"Er, yes. Her family is very close." Corbin said vaguely, eager to move on. "I have read all of them. Half-a-hundred times each, I wager," he added wryly. He stared at her, trying to fit this new piece of Io Hale into what was an increasingly complex puzzle. "They are delightful books."

"Oh, well…thank you. You are very kind. I enjoy writing them a great deal."

Corbin had never seen her at a loss for words. It was dark, but he would swear that she was blushing.

"Can you tell me how many more there might be? Lizzy—er that is the little girl's name, hence the reason I hunted for that particular volume so persistently—is wild for them."

"We are contracted for three more." The look she gave him was curious.

"So, you will continue writing even though you are not at Canoga?" he asked, wanting to get as far away from the subject of Lizzy as he could. "Won't that be difficult with you in England?"

"No, not at all. You see, we have always done our parts independently."

"Tell me how this process works. Is it difficult to write a book with two authors?"

"Are you really interested?" she asked, a faint notch between her huge eyes.

"Who wouldn't be?" Corbin asked in all seriousness.

For the next half hour, they talked about writing and the relatively recent increase in demand for children's books.

While part of Corbin's mind was listening in fascination, another part was marveling at this new facet of Lady Io Hale.

Who could have guessed that a woman so opposed to marriage would write children's books?