The Titan Drowns: Time Travel Romance by Nhys Glover (you can read anyone .txt) 📖

or you are content with this one. Although I must warn you that this one may be short-lived,’ Max said.

‘I will lose my position?’

‘I am afraid so. Do not make your decision based on your current situation because that will change quite dramatically shortly, and not for the better.’ Max hated being cagey, but he could see why Eilish was taking this line. It was all true, but it also left out major aspects that they could not afford to have out if Hughes decided against their offer.

‘I will let you know in the morning then, sir, madam. I will say goodnight now, unless there is anything else?’

‘No, Hughes, that will be all. If you can be here at half-past six to take Eilish back, I would be most appreciative.’

‘Certainly, sir. Goodnight to you both.’

When the stateroom door closed softly, Eilish walked into his arms. ‘Well that went well, except for Marco. His disapproval of the antics of Mary O’Reilly was in every line of his body.’

‘How do you know him?’

‘We walked to the docks with him the first day and he has captured the heart of a member of our team. Pia. I think I have mentioned her. She was upset because she thought he would be left behind, but we assured her we would not leave anyone she cared about behind.’

‘So the lad will be coming with us? I am glad. He and his young assistant are a jolly pair.’

‘Not the assistant, I’m afraid.’

‘No? That is unfortunate.’

‘Our list is not limitless.’

‘I know, but he is not even a man yet. To be cut down so young…’

‘Max…’ Her tone was cautionary.

‘I know, I know. Come to bed my love. I think sleep will have to wait a little longer. I find the idea of you in my arms has awoken my carnal desires once more.’

Eilish giggled and began to unbutton the silk, dressing-gown dress she wore. ‘You are a mind-reader, sir. You should run séances in your spare time.’

The dress dropped to the floor at her feet, revealing her naked body beneath.

‘Oh woman, you will be the death of me!’

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Marco

 

Saturday, 13 April 1912, TITANIC

 

Dawn was lightening the sky along the straight, blue line of the horizon. The chill breeze on his overheated face was pure pleasure, but it did nothing to cool his roiling emotions. He hoped that these few moments on deck alone might calm him, bring him back to centre. However, instead, his mind turned back to the memory of Petra standing on this very spot as she watched the sun rise.

It felt like a hundred years ago. And yet it was only two days past. Still, when every moment of every minute of every hour of those two days had been focused on her, time became skewed somehow. Elongated like melted taffy.

He loved her. That was the decision he had come to after she had dashed away from him the other night. Why else would he propose to her like that? He had never considered courting any girl, no less offering marriage. He wasn’t in a place for marriage he had told himself many times over the years. But in reality, his financial situation had never been the reason he had never made the offer. The real reason was always that he had never been in love. And now he was. And wasn’t that an agonising, ridiculous situation, because the girl he loved did not care for him.

No, that was not entirely true. He knew she felt something for him. She wouldn’t have kissed him the way she did if he revolted her. But instead of being pleased by the thought of him courting her, she was horrified. It was probably because he was not good enough for her and she knew her family would not approve. He understood that. What did he have to offer her but a few pounds in his pocket and a lot of dreams? Foolish dreams that would come to nothing, just as they’d always come to nothing.

Going to America would change nothing. He was the problem. If he had any potential, he could have made a good life for himself in any of the cities he had lived in over the years. If he had potential, he could have become another Gardi and owned his own chain of restaurants by now. Instead, he was a penniless, pretty-boy waiter with only worthless dreams to call his own.

She was right to reject him. She was better off without him.

But no matter how he argued against the foolishness of loving someone who didn’t love him back, his feelings wouldn’t co-operate. And every thought and every breath belonged to her.

And now there was an even heavier weight on his shoulders. He knew something about her cousin’s wife that he wasn’t sure what to do about. He almost dropped the plates in his hands when Mary O’Reilly had walked into the restaurant, dressed in a fine silk gown on the arm of the distinguished Maxwell Ingham. And she had acknowledged him as if it was an everyday thing to see a waiter she knew from third class while she hobnobbed with those in first.

Mr Ingham had called her Eilish all night. He had even introduced her to the young couple at the table as Eilish something… not O’Reilly, certainly. And several of the other men at the table seemed to know her well. Was she a high-class lady of the night? Men often came into the restaurant on the Strand with such women.

But she couldn't be doing something like that with her husband down in steerage. Surely he would know. And Luke O’Reilly didn't strike him as the sort to share his wife with anyone. And what about her son, Micky, who everyone called Bart, who knew a very young doctor in second class and could call on him at will. What about him?

And now that he thought about it – Luke looked way too young to have a son Bart… or Micky’s age. He looked a lot younger than his wife, Mary… or Eilish.

It made his head spin, trying to work out what was going on and what part Petra played in it all.

As if thinking of her had drawn her into being, he saw Petra coming toward him out of the corner of his eye. He spun to face her, his eyes searching her face for some sense of what had brought her here. Was it an accident, or had she intentionally come in the hope of seeing him?

‘I hoped to find you here. I waited on deck last night but you did not come, so I thought to try again this morning,’ she said, in answer to his thoughts.

This was a dream. His sleepless nights had finally resulted in hallucinations. Surely, she wouldn't have gone to such trouble to find him?

Even so, he answered the hallucination, just in case she was real. ‘I… did not know you would be there. I would have come if I had known. I thought you did not want to see me again.’ He sounded so needy, even to his own ears.

‘I wanted to see you. I… have to talk to you, to explain. But first, I need to know if you were serious about wanting to court me.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper and he had to strain to hear her over the sound of the wind and the rumbling engines.

‘Yes. I know I am not good enough for you, but I am a hard worker, and I will prove myself to your family if I have to.’ Marco edged toward her, needing to be close to her after all this time. Needing to prove to himself that she was really here.

Much to his delight, she didn’t back away when he reached out to stroke her cold, wind chaffed cheek.

‘Will you kiss me then? I need you to kiss me again.’

Her words seemed too good to be true and he didn’t need to be asked twice. He drew her into his arms and placed his lips tenderly on hers, afraid to be too anxious, too rough with her, in case he scared her away again. However, instead of drawing back as he expected, she deepened the kiss, opening her mouth so that he could delve deep into her hot sleekness, tasting her with his eager tongue.

When she moaned, he worried. But instead of stiffening, she seemed to melt into him even more, until he was going crazy with desire for her. Kissing was not enough, touching her wasn’t enough. He could breathe her familiar, tantalising scent into his lungs, but he wanted more.

And because he didn’t know how long he could go on before he tried to take more, he drew away from her and set her at arm's distance until he could get himself under control again.

‘Petra, sweet Petra, what does this mean?’ he asked raggedly.

‘My name is not Petra it is Pia. I am not Swedish. I am a citizen of the Gaian Confederacy, although I was born and raised in Norway.’

‘I do not understand. Why tell me your name was Petra if it is not? Is this like Micky, who is really Bart, and Mary who is really Eilish?’

‘Yes, exactly. And Karl Langman, the doctor from second class who is really Karl Ontario. And Carter and Finn, who had dinner with Eilish last night. You will not find their names on the passenger list. None of us are who we said we are. And because of that I could not be with you.’

‘But now you can? I do not understand. Why would you all use different names? How can Luke’s wife be in first class having dinner with another man?’

‘Eilish is not Mary, and she is not Luke’s wife. Luke’s wife is at home waiting for him to finish this mission.’

‘This mission? What mission? The more you tell me the more confused I become. Tell me straight. What is going on? What are you doing on this ship with these people?’

‘Let’s sit down in our little spot and I will tell you everything. I am cold.’

Instantly, he drew her into his arms to lend her his warmth. Then he guided her to their little nook, sat her down in the corner and joined her there on the deck, sealing her in to the corner as he had two nights ago.

‘Tomorrow a very terrible thing is going to happen to this ship. Tomorrow night the Titanic will hit an iceberg and sink, and many, many people will go down with her because there are not enough lifeboats. And even those there are will mostly be half empty because of mishandling.’

‘What? No, this ship cannot sink. They say it is unsinkable. How do you know this?’ His mind was reeling and he couldn't take in all she was saying. And he certainly couldn't believe it.

‘I know this because it is history. I have read the accounts; I have seen the press clippings – the newspaper reports. I know everything about the sinking of this ship from history.’

He sat quietly, trying to take in her words. Did he misunderstand the word “history”? He thought it meant events in the past. But such an event would have to be in the future, if it were to happen at all. Was she a fortune teller, a diviner? How could she know what was going to happen in the future?

‘What does history mean?’ he asked tentatively.

‘It is the record of events in the past.’

‘That is what I thought. How can you know it as history if it has not happened yet?’

‘Because I come from the