Never Tell a Soul, Damon Priest

5. the ship without a captain

"Not good," he said as he stood and planted his hands on his hips.

He frowned as if her foot had done the most terrible things. Geneva pursed her lips, dropping her skirts to cover her injury. "It shall go away."

"Along with your foot, it will." He said it with such certainty that Geneva stiffened in horror. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but it was merely because she refused to believe him. In truth, she did not know the severity of her injury. But neither did he. He was not a doctor; didn't even look like one. But she didn't tell him that. How could she? She had already spilled embarrassing things to this man she barely knew and she wasn't ready to make a fool of herself even more. If she as much as vex him, there was no telling what he would do with her secrets. He might now believe she was insane and may be inclined to do the good deed and tell her aunts. Or worse, tell someone else who would then go about town telling others.

"I will go to the doctor on the morrow," she said instead.

"Proper idea," he replied, stepping back. A long moment of silence fell between them, with just the rain outside and the gentle rustling of the trees now and then. "Did you get your letter?"

"What?"

"Your letter. Did you get it back?"

She nodded.

"Did you destroy it?"

It's in my pocket. I mean to deliver it myself. I'm quite certain is a very bad idea, and you will most definitely agree because why would someone who was given away want answers that could potentially damage her more? But, of course, the words were only in her head. She had said enough in front of this man. So in answer, she only shook her head.

He looked convinced and turned away to work on the fire again. "It's not good for you to be walking in the woods at night in your condition."

Geneva kept her silence because there was no justification to her action. She did this to satisfy a curiosity. Too many things in her life should make her grateful, should make her ignore the one secret her great aunts kept from her. They had given her more than she deserved. She should at least let them keep their secret because they did it for her for certain. Everything they did was for her.

When Damon Priest straightened and turned to her again, the frown returned. But this time, it was more curiosity than judgment. "I never reckoned you to be the silent kind."

I'm not. And it was true. Geneva had many things to say all the time. But she had found that most often, people cared very little about her words. Most would just ask questions out of habit. Not many would truly wait for what she had to say. But it seemed that Damon Priest was among those who waited. "Whatever do you mean?" she asked when he did not add more to his words.

"I've heard that you lecture my cousins quite often."

"I apologize if I had crossed the lines often than necessary."

His brows cocked high. "Often than necessary. Interesting. And what would you consider necessary?"

She blinked a few times, turning her head toward the door. She wanted to escape, return to her warm bed, rest he foot, and forget the insanity of the past weeks. But Damon Priest was waiting for her reply. He was not grabbing the chance to express his disappointment regarding her behavior toward his cousins, nor lecturing her about how a lady should act when vexed. He simply waited.

A part of her wanted to argue and justify her past actions. But that would do her no good. He was a Stratford, therefore he was inclined to side with his family. He would merely give excuses for the girls. So, with effortless resignation, she said, "None, Mr. Priest. Thus I apologize for having had the audacity to lecture your cousins."