Free A Candle in the Dark by Megan Chance Page B

dropped his bags and mopped his brow sheepishly. “Sorry about that, D’Alessandro. Didn’t see you there.”
    “Everyone’s in a hurry,” Cain said wryly, rubbing his shin as Jeb rushed past. He looked about the deck, strewn now with trunks, valises, and canvas bags, and piling higher with every passing minute. Passengers thronged the deck, chattering with excitement, their hurry to leave the anchored ship vibrating in the air.
    In fact, Cain thought dryly, the only thing that kept everyone from rushing forward was the mile of water that stretched between them and the mouth of the Chagres River. And for some men, even that wouldn’t remain a problem for long. If the canoes spreading from the shore didn’t reach the
Delilah
soon, Cain fully expected to see them jumping into the shallow bay and swimming for shore.
    He stared at the wild green mountains, letting his gaze travel from the plant-choked ravines to the old, brown battlements of San Lorenzo, the castle that guarded the point.
    It was unlike anything he’d ever seen, foreign and primitive, and it only increased the trepidation he’d felt since they anchored outside of the narrow river mouth this morning.
    The native canoes were swarming closer to the ship, moving so frenziedly he kept expecting them to crash into each other. Men crowded the rails, shouting, pushing, each one wanting to be first.
    Yet Cain found the very idea of leaving the ship terrifying.
    He stepped back, letting the others vie for his place, wishing he was drunk. He’d deliberately stopped drinking yesterday, wanting to be feeling well—or if not well, then at least sober—for their arrival in Chagres. As a result, he had a splitting headache, he was sweating profusely in the tropical heat, and his stomach lurched at every movement.
    He blamed the Duchess for all of it.
    Cain frowned sourly and sank onto a nearby trunk. It was all her fault. If she hadn’t managed to make him feel slightly lower than a snake, he wouldn’t be feeling this absurd urge to prove himself to her. If she hadn’t made it so clear that he was somehow incapable of being a man—if not a human being—he would be too numb to care if he drowned falling out of one of those damn canoes.
    She had this way with words… He winced, remembering how she’d told him that she expected Casteñeras to take care of everything. The Panamanian was younger than Cain by at least ten years, he’d bet his life on it. Jiméne was more a boy than a man, still caring more about polishing his boots than learning to survive, spending his life flirting with women instead of loving them.
    In short, he was a gentleman. And around Casteñeras, Cain was all too aware of how he didn’t measure up—at least in her eyes.
    He sighed, raking his hand through his hair. The last few nights had hammered at his self-esteem. He’d buried himself in cards and conversation, trying to ignore the way Jiméne was always by the Duchess’s side: solicitous, charming, entertaining. Christ, Cain hadn’t even known she
had
the kind of bright, sincere smile she turned on the Panamanian.
    And he told himself he didn’t care. He wanted—God, how he wanted—to leave her to Jiméne, to go back to his existence of traveling aimlessly, trading medicine for drink. He wanted to be free to drown in the failure that had haunted him his entire life. He buried his face in his hands.
    But there was that damned agreement. He’d said he would pose as her husband, and regardless of what she thought that meant, he knew part of the job was to keep her safe.
    Because of that responsibility, he’d vowed to himself that, in spite of what she’d told him about Castañeras, he would take charge once they arrived in Chagres, he would prove to her that her money was well spent.
    Footsteps echoed on the deck beside him, then stopped. Cain peered through his fingers at the pair of boots stopped before him. Shiny boots.
    “¿Estás enfermo?”
    Cain lifted his head.