Montgomery’s boots skidded on the dock, as if the parasol had been a six-foot iron fence and not just a few bits of wood and lace. His eyes met mine. Everything felt wrong, so wrong. He should have been apprenticing himself to some craftsman back in England, meeting girls after church. Instead he was a slave to some madman’s whims.
With a growl, I lunged at the parasol and wrestled the flimsy thing from my father’s hand. To my surprise, he surrendered it easily with an amused chuckle that made me shiver. I knelt at the edge of the dock and held it out to Edward. His fingers grazed at the handle, but he was too far away. The last thing I saw before he slipped under was the gold glint of his eyes, fixated on Father.
“To hell with it,” Montgomery muttered. He dived into the water.
For a painfully long moment I was alone with my father. The late-afternoon sun crept over the dock, casting long shadows. I was afraid to look behind me. I’d come so far, only to find that the rumors must be true—only a monster would patiently watch a man drown. What happened to the father I remembered, the father who sneaked me chocolates when Mother wasn’t looking, whose warm tweed coats blanketed me when I fell asleep on the sofa? Were those memories nothing more than fantasies?
I realized I had no idea who the man in the white linen suit was. Fear slipped out of me in little gasps, the only sound except the slap of the waves against the piles. Farther down the dock, the hulking islanders loaded cargo into a horse-drawn wagon. They might as well have been in a different world, though they were only paces from us.
Montgomery surfaced at last with his arm circling Edward’s waist, shattering the awful spell. I threw aside the broken parasol and reached out to help him as he paddled to the dock.
“Hold on to him while I climb up,” Montgomery said. I clutched Edward around the shoulders while Montgomery pulled himself up; then he dragged Edward out of the water and onto the dock. I leaned over Edward, touching him cautiously, afraid the episode would bring back terrible memories of his shipwreck.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
He leaned to the side and coughed, and then his hand found mine. He squeezed the life out of it. “Juliet . . . you looked even more beautiful when I thought I was dying.”
I stared at his hand holding mine, not sure how to answer. Thank you?
Father offered no assistance. “You should have let him drown,” he observed.
Montgomery only tore at the laces of his dripping boots, trying to get the heavy things off. His knuckles were white. He’d been raised to never question one’s master—but I hadn’t.
I snatched the broken parasol and thrust it at Father’s own chest, not hard enough to push him, just hard enough to show my anger. “How could you?” I cried. An amused look played on his face.
I raised the parasol to jab him again, but he grabbed it and wrenched it from my hands. “Calm down,” he said. The smile was gone, along with his patience.
I heard a watery choking behind me. Edward leaned over the dock, coughing out more seawater. Father grabbed my chin and turned my eyes to meet his. “He doesn’t belong here, Juliet. He isn’t one of us.”
I jerked out of his grasp. “Then maybe I don’t belong here either!”
My chest rose and fell quickly with troubled breath. I ached to rip off the corset. The starched lace collar of the white dress scratched at my neck, and I cursed myself for being such a fool that I ever wanted to impress a man I barely knew, father or not.
The sound of wood striking wood made us all turn. A sailor was back in the launch with more trunks. The second launch followed with the caged panther, which hissed and let out a high-pitched, eerie growl.
Father picked up the parasol. He opened it, observed the shredded and soiled white lace, and then folded it back carefully. The three hulking islanders approached in their odd, lumbering gait and secured the launches. Their startlingly fair eyes threw nervous glances at my father, their master. I could barely stand to look at them. Balthasar’s deformities were unfortunate, but these brutes were the things of nightmares.
Father turned to Edward. “Mr. Prince, is it?” His lips pursed. “It seems my daughter has an interest in your welfare. As I have an interest in hers, I suppose you may stay with us.” He pointed the tip of the parasol at the waves. “Though I would advise you to learn to swim.”
He muttered a command to the islanders, and then smoothed his wild gray hair. “Come, Juliet. Balthasar will stay and see to the unloading.” He extended his hand to me.
I stared at Father’s waiting palm. It was surprisingly small, with a pink glow and soft, delicate curves. It was the hand of a gentleman, unused to wielding any tool larger than a surgeon’s scalpel.
I hesitated, still unsure of what I’d seen.
His lips twitched in that calculating way of his that made my own feel dry. Then he laughed. “You thought I’d really hurt the boy.” He clapped his hands together. “Juliet, you’ll have to forgive me. I am aware my sense of humor veers toward the black. I only wanted to put the fear of God in him, to show him who runs this island.” He tilted his head at Edward, whose head was bowed, shoulders slumped as he wiped the seawater off his face. “You see, it worked.”
I glanced at Montgomery, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. He was suddenly a servant again in front of my father. He finished unlacing his boots and kicked them off. Water seeped out and dripped through the wooden slats of the dock.
Dark clouds began forming overhead. Tension cracked in the air like lightning. Father’s hand still waited for mine. His black eyes drew me to him like an anchor to sea. I placed my hand in his, cautiously. His fingers closed around mine with surprising strength.