TT Jenny Lykins Distant Dreams

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be a short story. The marriage was a mistake. An accident. It will be over as soon as I get this ring off and
Alec sees his attorney."
Molly scooted from the rock and strolled beside Shaelyn, ignoring her words.
"Perhaps I shall write how he will sweep you off your feet at the masquerade ball. You cannot help but
swoon when you see him in costume. And balls are so romantic, especially when everyone's identity is
hidden."
Shaelyn rolled her eyes while Molly blissfully wove a fairy tale. Had she ever been that na?ve?
"I'm not going to the ball, Molly."
"Not going to the ball? But you must!"
"Why? I don't know anyone. No one will know me. I'll just be an embarrassment to your father and
mother."
"But if you do not " Molly turned and grabbed Shaelyn's hands. "Please say you'll come! No one will
know you anyway. You'll have on a mask. I shall procure a costume for you. You can be the mystery
woman who never removes her mask!"
Shaelyn couldn't help but smile at such enthusiasm. And, heaven help her, she was actually considering
it. What a chapter it would make when she made it home to write down her experiences. Alec wouldn't be
there anyway. When he'd informed her yesterday evening of his business trip, he hadn't sounded like he
would be home any time soon. Although, she thought to herself, the ball might be eminently more
entertaining if he did get back in time.
Molly sensed her weakening. "Please say you'll come!"
She thought about it for a moment more, picturing the article. A firsthand account of a
nineteenth-century ball!
With a grimace, and a prayer that she wasn't making one more harebrained mistake, she nodded.
Alec stood on the bridge of the three-masted ship while the deck beneath his feet rolled and pitched,
swelled and ebbed, soared and fell. As always, his queasy stomach matched the movements, and once
again he turned to the varnished wooden rail and emptied that stomach over the side. The night sea looked
more like a black abyss than an expanse of ocean.
Jimmy, the slip of a cabin boy, appeared beside him with a ladle of fresh water. While the towheaded
youth rose and fell with the deck, Alec growled a thank you, rinsed his mouth, then spit the water into the
dark rolling waves. With the back of his sleeve, he wiped the sweat and salt water from his face.
"The Puking Puffin, perhaps." Griffin strolled up, whipped a linen handkerchief from his pocket, then
presented it with all the finesse of Beau Brummel before his fall from grace.
Alec turned and glared, knowing his face, undoubtedly a sickly green hue, looked only slightly more
healthy than a corpse.
"One more comment about any kind of puffin, and I will beat you to within an inch of your life."
"Ah. The Pugilistic Puffin."
With a strangled roar, Alec grabbed two fistfuls of Griffin's pristine white shirt and hauled him up onto
his toes.
"Mr. Hawthorne, sir, the cap'n says there be a ship sighted off the port bow."
Alec cursed at his smirking friend. "Lucky bastard," he growled, before shoving him away and stalking
to the helm. On his way, his roiling stomach forced him to make another deposit over the heaving side of
the ship.
"Ah, laddie. In the light of day, I'd wager you're as green as the coat of a wee leprechaun." The captain
slapped Alec on the back when he finally arrived at the wheel.
Though his tendency toward mal de mer was well known to all of the crew, Alec was in no mood to
trade witticisms about his malady.
"Where's the ship?"
Captain Finley handed him the spyglass and pointed due east. The faintest pale shadow of ghostly gray
sails skimmed across the black waters.
"She be the one we're looking for, laddie. Do we take her now or wait till she drops anchor?"
Alec raised the glass to his eye, then handed it back to the captain. His stomach tightened, but this time
the sensation had nothing to do with the peaks and valleys of the waves.
"We wait."
Chapter
6
SHAELYN STOOD IN the shadow of a huge potted plant, trying to make herself invisible while she
watched dozens of kings and queens, fools and fairies, Caesars and Cleopatras circling the room in one of
the intricate dances of the nineteenth century. Chandeliers threw rainbows of light around the room,
reflected a thousand times in the matching mirrors on opposite walls.
She had already given more lame excuses to potential dance partners than she could count, and now [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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