Ah, God.John swallowed down the rising emotion in his throat. “Does it hold special meaning for you?”
“The moon is a friend.” Such sadness surfaced in her stormy-blue eyes that he wanted to bundle her in his arms and protect her from the world. “I watched it from my window at the asylum.” Her words were slow, precise. “It was always there for me when no one else was. Constant. Unfailing. Many nights I sketched it.”
“I understand that. While onboard ship in my navy days, I often contemplated the moon, marveled at it, really. That same moon is seen by every living thing the world over. It boggles the mind to think of how many thoughts and dreams it has collected since its creation.”
“Yes.” Her eyes lit and she smiled again. This time the delicate skin at the corners of her eyes crinkled. The gesture brightened her face, made her beautiful in a way many women couldn’t achieve, and quite frankly, he gawked at her. “We looked at the same moon.”
“Quite possibly.” The knowledge she’d spent her formative years shut away from everyone, to say nothing of the years where she could have been courted, known romance, possibly had a family of her own, left him low. Anger against the people who’d been in control of her life curled through his gut. How could someone do that to another person merely due to differences? How could they not have tried to understand her or how she saw the world? Needing to connect with her, he dug into the pocket of his waistcoat and brought forth a battered brass pocket watch. “I carry this with me always.”
“Why?” She leaned forward to trace a fingertip along its surface when he handed it to her. The dents and dings in it gave it character; the etchings of a world map on the front faded over the years.
John blew out a breath. Outside of Brand, no one knew this story. “It once belonged to the man who tried to kill me years ago during a fight at a tavern when we put into port in Jamacia.” He wasn’t proud of those days, but without them, he would never have met Brand, his best friend and the man who’d helped turn his life around. “I was hot-headed as a young man, given to anger, and when that fight blew up, I knew it would end in either my death or the Frenchman’s.”
Her eyes rounded as she gave him back the watch. “Did you kill him?”
“No.” He shook his head. “I walked away after landing him a facer that put him out cold.” A ghost of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Though I did take this watch.” As he tucked it back into his pocket, he continued. “It now serves as a reminder to never lose my temper or my humanity, my compassion and understanding for others, no matter how angry I am or how trying life gets.”
“That is a good story.” She held his gaze for the space of a few heartbeats. “Sometimes, I sense anger you still have. Why? You don’t look like it.”
Heat crept up the back of his neck. She was quite observant. “I either shove down those feelings or find an outlet to release them.” When she quirked an eyebrow in confusion, he grinned. “When I was in the navy, I’d often indulge in fisticuffs with Brand and some of the others. Now, I like to walk whenever I can. And sailing is good physical activity.”
Would she consider him a risk? With everything else, would he not be a good influence?
Instead of shying away, she offered him a smile. “You and I are the same.” Caroline touched her chest with a hand. “In having rage here, burning all the time.”
“Perhaps.” That might prove a perfect storm later in their relationship, but it was too late now. “I’ve seen said emotion in your eyes.” But he wanted to know why.
“Why you are angry?”
He blew out a breath, for it was difficult to explain and he wasn’t in the habit of talking about himself, but she was his wife, and they were together through thick and thin. “Due to my father, mostly. You met him.”
“I do not like that man.”
“Aye, neither do I, though I try to understand why he is how he is.” John chuckled. “He’s a drunk, usually. Has been for years. Used to beat my brother and me with his fists or whatever was handy.” Those were not good memories. Long ago he’d made peace with that, which had helped him move past them. “We prayed that he would die of a pickled liver as his father did.”
“He didn’t.” Caroline shook her head.
“No, he did not.” The hot wave of anger rose in his chest, but he tamped it. “The horrid ones never do. They stick around and make life difficult for everyone.” A muscle in his cheek twitched from the force of his control. “He’s impossible to talk to or reason with.”
“Your anger simmers. A part of you.”
“Yes.” She was adorable in her single-minded determination to discover his secrets. “It is a part of me, unfortunately, no matter how I wish it otherwise. No matter that I’ve forgiven my father for what he did, forgiven the violence and disappointment.” John shrugged. “During this trip to London, I wanted to confront my father about his declining health, but he won’t hear advice, refuses to change his ways. Once he dies, my whole damn life will become upended, and I want no part of that.”
There would be time enough to reveal all of that to Caroline once she’d come to know him better.
“Because you love him?” Confusion had surfaced once more in her eyes.
“No.” He bit off the word. “He killed any love I had for him years ago, and his actions now will ensure it will never return.”
“Anger is a prison.” A swath of silence fell between them. “It is mine as well. There is no escape. Always there. Waiting.”
“Ah, Caroline.” He rubbed a hand along the side of his face. “We must both make a conscious effort to not let that anger eat away at us else it will destroy us. There has to be a moment of letting go, of knowing we can only do so much, but others need to be accountable too.” How could he help her do just that when he was like the pot calling the kettle black?
“I like the countryside, yet I also wish to visit the seashore.” The change in subject matter made his mind reel. Perhaps the natural break made sense to her. In her mind, if she was finished with a subject, she might assume others were as well.
John’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Truly?”
“Yes.” She nodded with a new grin. “With you, safe I am. We are angry together.” Caroline caught up her sketchbook, flipped to a page, and then showed him. Two whirling vortices were side by side on the page, shaded in charcoal. The background was somewhere in Hyde Park. Had she felt that emotion from him when they’d met in the rain? With a forefinger, she pointed. “You. Me. Storms.”