Delphine was stunned. Exhausted by hunger and cold, her body was powerless, unable to wrench free from his grasp.
Perhaps it was the reality of being kidnapped and taken out to sea, their future uncertain, that triggered Jocelyn Yeager to finally let his long-suppressed emotions pour forth. Here, they were not in the East Indies; there was no oppression from power or status, no pressure from societal judgment—there was only the two of them.
"Since I was young, everything I did revolved around watching over you from a distance, seeing you sink deeper bit by bit into an abyss of pain, and feeling utterly powerless. Delphine, we've grown up now. It's different. Do you trust me?"
The man's voice trembled faintly. In the dim, oppressive darkness of the small cabin, all other sounds had disappeared; only the sound of their breathing remained.
Delphine bit her chapped lips, dry from dehydration, her voice hoarse and cold as she murmured softly, "I'm sorry."
