Dunham

Part II: Chapter 23

PART II:

23

April, 1780

Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie

Dutch East India Company

Rotterdam, Holland

Celia swayed against Judas where they stood on the wharf, the Silver Shilling having been granted a mooring as close to his warehouses as he could get.

"Will you meet me in London?" Judas asked softly, brushing his mouth across her knuckles.

"No," Celia murmured, looking at him whilst her heart broke. It was a familiar pain, but not a welcome one, a hazard of how easily she gave over her affections. "There is no future in it for me."

"You who will return to Ottoman waters to fulfill a blood oath and expects only to die victorious have no right to speak of a future."

She feigned a scoff. "I would never die defeated."

"Which is one reason I do not want to let you go."

"Judas," she muttered, exasperated. "Please do not make this more difficult for me. Train your virgin bride to bite and swing a cat 'cross your arse, and you will forget me by the time she bears your heir." He dropped her hand with an angry huff, his disgust undisguised. Her brow wrinkled. "You really do not comprehend, do you?" she asked wonderingly. "Of everything you know of me, of every conversation we have had, what in God's name makes you think I would ever agree to be your second no matter how you hound me?"

"You are the one who does not understand," he spat. "You would be first."

Her eyebrow rose. "If you cannot wed me, I will never be first."

His mouth tight, he swallowed, but did not answer.

She smiled wryly. "I would give up the sea for a faithful husband and a home. I begged for it at twenty, but was refused. I did it—gladly—at twenty-five, but lost it not even six months after the vows were spoken. I would do it now did you ask."

"I ... can't."

"Then that is that."

"Fury—"

"You will not even give me your name!" she cried, now hurt beyond anything she should have felt, considering her short time with this man. "If I cannot have even such a small part of you as that, why would I think you would give me anything else?"

"JACK!" She turned at Maarten's roar to see him dockside with a speaking trumpet. "I want to catch this tide to London, so we must depart now and we await only you. I need to get back to my offices and months of neglected paperwork."

"What did he say?" Judas demanded, and only then did Celia realize Maarten had spoken in Dutch.

"Ja!" she called back likewise. "Weigh anchor! I'll be along shortly."

He gave a curt nod and disappeared into the crowd of busy sailors, vendors of pickled herring and overly sweet cookies, worn-out doxies of all ages.

"Well?"

"I must go," she muttered, attempting to step around him, but he took the step to block her passage, as she had known he would. He wrapped his hands around her arms, but she looked down at the wood beneath her feet to keep him from seeing her tears. She was resolute, but he would take her weeping as some sort of silent request to pursue her.