days, where was her head, that she’d even entertain such an idea?
“Is it too late for me to try my hand at fishing?” she said, hurriedly pulling away and pretending an interest in the contents of the tackle box before she showed herself completely lacking in good judgment and wrapped her arms around him.
“Sure you want to try?”
She inspected the wicked-looking hooks and grimaced. “Not if I have to use one of these. They’re instruments of torture.”
“You can use a barbless hook,” Hank said. “Lots of folks do if they can’t stand the sight of blood.”
She ventured a glance at Edmund. “I suppose you think I’m ridiculously squeamish.”
“You suppose wrong—again. We’ve already got one salmon in the cooler. We don’t need another.”
“Well,” she said doubtfully, “if you’re sure you don’t mind…?”
“I’ll make you a deal. You can throw back anything you catch if you’ll come with me to The Dungeness Trap tonight.”
“Dungeness Trap?”
“Don’t look so suspicious. It’s a restaurant in town that serves the best crab you’ve ever tasted, not the local den of iniquity!”
“I don’t know….”
“I’m not asking you to sign over your firstborn, Jenna,” he said persuasively. “I’m simply inviting you to have dinner with me.”
“But I can’t keep imposing on your time like this. You’ve already done so much and been so…kind.”
“Hey, I’m no Boy Scout, if that’s what you’re thinking! The way I have it figured, you owe me. I’ve had to listen to your tale of woe and it’s your turn to listen to the grisly details of mine.” He extended his palm. “So what do you say? Do we have a deal?”
She placed her hand in his and tried to dismiss as indigestion the little spurt of pleasure churning her stomach as his fingers closed around hers. “We have a deal.”
“Sweet pea,” he said, his grin so disarming that she went slightly weak at the knees, “you just made my day!”
From the outside, the restaurant looked like little more than a dimly lit shack perched on pilings over the water. Inside, though, it was cosy and comfortable, with oil lamps on the tables, heat blasting from the big open hearth, and fishing nets strung with glass floats anchored from the ceiling. A wine rack covered one wall. At the rear of the room, a woman played a guitar. Beyond a serving hatch was the kitchen with a brick bread oven and huge stainless steel pots simmering on a gleaming range.
“Just as well I made a reservation,” Edmund said, after they’d been shown to a table overlooking the harbor. “The place is packed.”
None of the men wore ties, though, and for the most part, the women were in slacks and sweaters. “I’m afraid I’m very much overdressed,” Jenna said, nervously smoothing the full skirt of her velvet dinner dress.
Edmund looked up from the wine list he’d been perusing and frowned. “Didn’t you hear me, this morning? It’s what’s underneath the surface that matters.”
“Mark felt appearances were critically important.”
“Mark sounds like an ass.”
Determined to be fair, she said, “No. It’s just that his family is well-known and he has a reputation to uphold. He was brought up to believe that since he’s handling other people’s money, it’s important to project the right image. Clients like to feel they’re in capable hands.”
“And you bought that load of rubbish?”
She looked away, embarrassed. What would he say if she admitted that, after they became engaged, Mark had gradually taken over picking out her wardrobe for her, right down to the shade of her stockings? As an Armstrong wife, you’ll be scrutinized from head to toe every time you appear in public. Slip up and your photo will be plastered all over tomorrow’s newspapers.
“Hey, I’m sorry!” Edmund reached across and covered her hand with his. “You’ve got enough to deal with, without me getting on your case. I’ve never met the guy and have no business passing judgment on him. But just for the record, what you’re wearing now is stunning. Blue suits you.”
“It’s part of my trousseau. The only clothes I brought with me were those I’d packed for my honeymoon.”
He leaned back and gave her such a thorough inspection that she practically squirmed. “Mark doesn’t know what he’s missing, Jenna. If he did, he’d surely be here now, instead of me.”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, more rattled by his compliment than she cared to admit. “This isn’t his kind of place at all!” Then, realizing what she’d said, she clapped a horrified hand to her mouth.
“Too upscale, you mean?” Edmund’s eyes danced with mischief.
“Oh!” she gasped. “You must think me so ungracious!”
His face took on a sober cast and he rearranged his cutlery before finally saying, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What was it about this Mark person that made you decide to marry him?”
She lifted her shoulders, mystified that he couldn’t figure that out for himself. “I loved him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t understand what you mean. Love doesn’t have to have a reason.”
“Sure it does, Jenna. We might like a lot of people, but as a rule, we love very few. What made him special?”
She thought about that for a minute, then said, “At first, he was interesting and fun and exciting…and…”
And a little bit insecure. Too much under his father’s controlling thumb. Too much in thrall to the family name and reputation.
“Go on.”
“He seemed to need me.” I made him feel important in his own right. With me, he was somebody other than the son who always did his father’s bidding. “We became friends.”
“And lovers?”
“Eventually, yes.” Silly to feel uncomfortable with the admission. She was twenty-seven, after all; well past the age of consent. “We were compatible. Comfortable with each other. His family accepted us as a couple. So, when he proposed…”
I couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.
“…I accepted. I was ready for marriage and I thought we’d be happy together.” Irritated to find herself trying to justify a decision which, at the time, had seemed absolutely right, she flung out her hands. “What does it matter? He obviously didn’t agree, and now I have to accept that, too.”
“How
