Page 43 of Lady Tempts a Rogue

She would approach the union with reason and clarity, as one entering a mutually beneficial business arrangement would. No feminine histrionics or tears. She was not the first female to make the best of a bad situation, nor would she be the last.

The ship dipped violently again, and Trinity slapped a hand atop the papers to keep them from skidding off the makeshift table and onto the floor.

The captain had not breathed a word about an impending storm earlier. An experienced seaman would not be caught unaware. Had he not wanted to upset the passengers or thought to outrun the weather? Or, had this tempest, indeed, come upon the ship with such swiftness and stealth that he had been unprepared?

Not one to panic or give herself over to unhealthy and unproductive fears, Trinity, nevertheless, could not stifle the stirrings of unease. Still, there was no sense dwelling on the storm. She had a task to finish, not that she truly expected that anything in Mrs. Peagilly’s bag would make a difference one way or the other.

After wrapping the shawl tighter around her, she glanced at the door.

Stop it, goose.

He is not coming.

With a determined shake of her head, Trinity turned her attention back to inspecting the contents of Mrs. Peagilly’s bag.

So far, Trinity had found a hotel receipt—Riad Les Zarabel—from a man named Zarif Yassine, a few correspondences from Mr. Omar Salmi—the man making the arrangements for the sojourn—a small leather purse containing a few coins, a blue leather-bound journal with EU stamped in gold, and Mrs. Peagilly’s itinerary.

They were to have gone to Greece next.

A weak half-smile swept Trinity’s mouth upward.

They would’ve had a grand time. Of that, she had no doubt.

Sighing, she fished out the last papers: a map, more correspondences, a bank receipt for a substantial sum, an address list, and…

Trinity gasped as she finished unfolding the final document.

Mrs. Peagilly’s Last Will and Testament, along with a letter from her London solicitor and a letter to her nephew, Vicar Wilfred Howard.

So, Mrs. Peagilly had considered that she might die on this journey.

Why, for heaven’s sake, hadn’t she said anything to Trinity?

A wave of anger stronger than the winds battering the ship buffeted her but receded after a couple of seconds. As reason surfaced, her irritation melted away as swiftly as snow on a hearth.

In the short time Trinity had known her employer, she had learned the woman was thorough, efficient, and organized. She had likely traveled with a copy of her will since becoming widowed three and forty years ago.

There wasn’t so much as a note for Trinity.