Angie Frazier Quotes

It's all right, I got off the ship okay. I'm alive," he said again. But his voice sounded different now. "I said I'm alive, Camille. Open your eyes and look at me."
Camille's heart shriveled as her eyelids fluttered open and she saw the ceiling of Monty's shack.
"Camille?" Oscar leaned over her, his calloused hand on her cheek. "Thank God. You've been delirious for nearly an hour."
Tears slipped down her cheeks as the truth stung her with renewed vigor. Her father wasn't alive. He was truly gone. It had been nothing but a hallucination.
"Why are you crying? Does something hurt?" Oscar asked, lightly prodding her arms and then checking her head. She was lying on a cot in front of the blazing stove, blankets covering her. They were scratchy and too heavy. She tried to push them away.
"No." Oscar blocked her arms. "Don't do that."
"Why?" she asked, her throat dry and sore.
Oscar looked apprehensive as he tucked the blankets tightly around her arms and neck. "Your clothes were soaked. You were shivering and flush with fever."
"Had to take 'em off, love," Ira said, coming to the foot of the cot. "You gave us quite a scare. That lump on the back of your head worked you over something nasty."
Camille stared at Ira, then Oscar. The crushed hope of her father being alive withered under the heat of embarrassment.
"You…you removed my dress?" she whispered. Oscar backed away from her, as if he'd just slid his hand over an open flame.

Was that a wolf?" Camille asked Ira, who was bent over the fire. The echoing howl faded in the crackle of the wood.
"No wolves 'round here. Those are dingoes," he answered. "Wild dogs. Not dangerous, don't worry."
He didn't look at her, spoke too fast, and she didn't believe him.

Making good use of that room?" Lucius asked them, having a laugh with the trollop at his side. Oscar stood unwavering in the center of the hall, forcing Lucius to skirt around him.
"You're a pig," Camille replied, but he only squealed and snorted like a sow.
"Either of you figure out yet how we're going to get home?" Lucius asked. "Don't get me wrong. I'm perfectly content here for the time being."
A pair of sloppy-looking men stumbled through the front door, obviously drunk, and howling like wolves. Oscar stepped up beside Camille, blocking her from their view. His shoulders and chest were the perfect shield against whatever misguided attentions the men might show her.
"When did you become concerned about the three of us sticking together?" she asked Lucius. "We haven't set eyes on you since you disappeared into the orlop deck of the Londoner."
Lucius nodded over his shoulder. "I'm being nursed back to health, can't you see?"
She glared at him. Why someone like Lucius had survived the shipwreck instead of a worthier person like her father angered her. Maybe she really was cursed.
"You don't have a plan, do you?" Lucius asked Oscar, who continued to block Camille from the two men anxiously waiting by the front door for someone to greet them. Lucius snorted a laugh. "Should'a guessed as much."
Oscar took a step forward, pressing Camille between his chest and Lucius's.
"What do you mean by that?"
Lucius laced his fingers togethe

We probably won't arrive home in time for your wedding."
She pictured the wedding gown hanging in her closet. The veil. The shoes. Even the strands of pearls, all laid out awaiting her return. Return. The heavy word weighed on her as Ira continued to snore and Oscar continued to study her in a way that made her feel captivating and beautiful.
Camille stood up, not sure if she'd been inching toward him. His lips had certainly seemed to be getting closer.
"Randall will understand, I'm sure. He's a very reasonable person," she said, her voice rapid.
Oscar started to stand. "Where are you going?"
"No, please, sit," she said. "I…I just need to, um, use the trees." Camille jiggled her nearly empty canteen to strengthen her excuse. She turned in a circle until she spotted a copse of trees. She had to be somewhere other than hidden in the flowers with Oscar, somewhere she could try and convince herself that Randall might one day be able to look at her with the same intensity Oscar had just displayed.
Oscar sat back down, and Camille trampled the grass on the way to the safety of the trees. Another attack of guilt snuck up on her as she glanced back at Oscar, who was watching her walk away. Camille would miss her own wedding-and she didn't care one bit.

Are you sure you're all right?" Oscar asked.
"I'm sure." The sound of their voices disturbed the night, and her dishonesty disturbed her. How could she be all right? She'd been abducted at knifepoint. She'd heard the chanting again and seen the eerie black skeletal face on the bathwater's surface. What were those things, if not part of the Umandu curse?
"Are you sure he didn't touch you?" Oscar asked, the softness of his question poles apart from the anger and irritation he'd shown all day. It was obvious he didn't want to go chasing after Umandu, but she couldn't imagine the prospect of bringing her father back to life would make him so sour.
Camille sat up, holding the thin blanket around her neck. An odd thought struck her: They were on land, alone in a room, and they hadn't yet struggled with an awkward stretch of silence. Camille liked the change and hoped it stuck.
Oscar lay on the floor, beneath the double windows. He had one arm over his chest, the other behind his head. He saw her and pushed himself up, his own covers loose around his waist. He still wore his clothes, and she grinned, knowing it was for her benefit only. He'd be sweating rivers tonight in the heavy heat. Oscar wrapped his arm around one knee.
"You have no idea what went through my mind tonight when I found that bathtub empty," he whispered. "I can't let anything happen to you, Camille."
She sat up a little straighter, hoping he wouldn't pledge his protection just to hon

Do you think he even knows?" Oscar whispered.
Ira sat with a plunk on the couch. "Knows what?"
"You've obviously never had the privilege of meeting Stuart McGreenery," Camille said.
Ira snorted. "I'd certainly like to meet the bastard now, that's for sure."
The ceiling above their heads creaked with the weight of Samuel's steps. A door opened and closed lightly.
"From the looks of it"-Camille searched Oscar's face for affirmation-"you've just met his son."
Ira scooted to the edge of the couch cushion. "Holy gallnipper! You mean that McGreenery bloke and your mum pulled the wool over your father's eyes a time or two way back?

You weren't supposed to choose me," he said.
Behind them, Ira approached, stunned and speechless for what must have been the first time in his life. He helped lift Samuel, whose cheeks had blanched as well. Camille prodded Oscar's arms and stomach and face. It was truly him. The unbearable grief over losing him flipped inside out. Her joy ran so deep and strong she thought she might burst from it.
"The night the Christina went down, you rowed to me," she answered, her throat knotted as she thought of her father. She forced it down. "This time, I must have needed to row to you."
Oscar kissed her, his lips still cold but filled with life. She leaned into him and hung on as though he might disappear. Ira let out a playful high-pitched whistle. Samuel coughed. Oscar and Camille reluctantly pulled apart and blushed.
"Holy gallnipper," Ira said. Camille grinned, not minding in the least that he was using that annoying turn of phrase again. "I can't believe that little rock…I mean you were dead, mate. Dead as this bloke right here." Ira kicked McGreenery in the leg. Oscar nodded, rubbing his hand over the fading red mark, as if to feel for himself that the deadly wound was gone.
"I was in the dory," he whispered. Ira cocked his head.
"Say again?"
Camille lifted her ear from his chest, where she'd wanted to listen to the smooth rhythm of his heart. She looked up at him before hearing its strong beat.
"The dory?"
Oscar nodded again, eyebrow

Holy gallnipper, how long till we hit the magic trail? It's gloomier than my own funeral I here."
Camille adjusted the bag's rope and looked at Ira. "Don't even joke about that."
Since the moment they'd entered the forest, she'd felt like something was listening. Like they'd woken some sleeping creature, and now it followed them with silent cunning. The deafening chants had not returned to pierce her eardrums, but danger still felt close.
A few paces ahead of her, Oscar peeled away another cobweb, the octagonal spinning so massive Camille didn't even want to imagine the size of the spider that had created it.
"Mate, you got a stomach made of iron," Ira said.
A flash of orange and black swept in front of Camille's eyes and she felt an odd tug on her dress. She looked down and froze. A spider with a body the size of her first flexed its hairy legs on her skirt. It started to scuttle up. Her scream echoed through the forest as she swiped the spider off. It hit the marshy ground and scampered under a log. Oscar grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him.
"Did it bite you?"
She shook her head, arms and legs stiff with fear.
"I've never seen one so bloody big," Ira said, running past the log as though the spider would leap out at him. Oscar started walking again, his hand on the small of her back. She exhaled with more than one kind of relief. He was at least still concerned for her.
As they started to pick up their pace, another black cr

No one charged you with being my savior," Camille's voice shook, the confrontation not something she really wanted.
"No one had to charge me with it. I made the decision on my own the night the Christina went down." Oscar sealed his lips as if he'd let something slip he hadn't intended.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her boots slipping once on the moss. He avoided her by looking out at the stream. He took a few moments to answer, and when he did he still didn't meet her stare.
"Do you remember when you woke up on the Londoner? When you asked me if I'd seen your father?"
Camille nodded, and hoped their argument was over. "You said you didn't see him."
He shook his head. "I lied. I did see him in the water. He was trying to stay above the surface after I got ahold of the dory."
It was as though freezing shocks of ocean water were striking Camille in the face all over again. She jumped from the rock, the hem of her skirt nearly tripping her.
"Did you row to him? Did you try and save him?"
He shook his head again. "No."
"Why not?" she screeched. "Oscar, how could you not help him?" She couldn't blink. She couldn't do anything but stare at him in disbelief. He'd abandoned her father, the man who had given him everything.
"Because I spotted you," he answered, hardly loud enough for her to hear. "I saw you in the waves and I chose to row to you."
She loosened her fists, stunned.
Oscar sat down on the rock, the toe

Oscar, we're alive and in Melbourne and that's all that matters."
The door clicked shut behind him. He placed the bowl on the dresser and dropped the spoon into the soup. "We're alive, in Melbourne, and living in a whorehouse.

Are you William Rowen?"
Ira checked the space behind him, over each shoulder, then sorted. "Me? Her father? I'm gonna pretend you never said that.

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It's already midmorning, and we've got beasts to outrun, holes to avoid, and whopper spiders to squish before we make it back to the Lady Kate."
Camille picked up the map. Oscar took Camille's arm and helped her up the first boulder.
"Well, aren't we a sorry-lookin' lot?" Ira bellowed as they limped up the cascade, each one nursing injuries. As they climbed, their huffing and puffing and grunts of pain were both amusing and disheartening.

Do you recall where the lamps were?" Camille whispered. In the dark, in someone else's home, whispering seemed more appropriate. A clunk off to her right and the screech of table legs skittering across the floor made her cringe.
"I don't remember that being there," Oscar said.
"I'm glad we don't break into houses for a living. We're appalling at it," Camille said, laughing as the room brightened.

Is it Randall?" Oscar sounded out the name with care, as if testing dangerous waters. Camille closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, not wanting to have to see him when she said what she needed to say.
"I have a duty, Oscar, just like my mother did. She failed at hers and look what happened; she destroyed so much. My father asked me not to say anything, but if I don't marry Randall…I'm sorry, Oscar, I just have to."
Camille tried to edge by him, but Oscar held her back with his arm.
"Do you think I'm a fool, Camille? Don't try to blame marrying Randall on some duty you think you have."
She parted her lips to insist he was wrong. He cut her off.
"If this is how you really feel, then you had no right to ask me to stay with you that night. You gave me a taste of what being with you might be like, and now you're asking me to walk away. Who do you think you are?"
Camille shook her head. He wasn't listening. He had no idea how difficult it was for her, too, to have that one taste, that single moment of pure bliss to feed off of for the rest of her life.
"I don't have a choice-"
He slammed his fist against the pantry shelf behind her.
"I don't have a bank vault filled with money, or ten suits hanging in my closet to choose from each morning. I know I couldn't give you all the things he could, but I can give you something he'll never be able to. I love you, Camille," he said, his mouth so close to hers his breath moistened her

Their voices echoed over the stream and along the edge of the trees. She saw the tail end of a smile on Oscar's lips.
"I thought you didn't like to sing," she said. He'd always remained silent while the crew sang their sea chanteys.
"I don't," Oscar said. "But you have a pretty voice."
His compliment shaped a bashful smile onto her lips. She was glad for the firelight, already casting a reddish glow to her skin.
"And what 'bout me, mate?" Ira asked.
"Couldn't say. I was trying to block it out," Oscar replied.

Celebrating something?" she asked.
A wicked smile formed on his lips, showing off his dimples. "Just a good night's sleep."
She smiled, too, though not without some reservation. Just what kind of person had they partnered with? A thief and an arsonist? Camille placed a napkin in her lap and devoured a slice of buttered toast.
Oscar hadn't returned from his walk until well after dark the night before. Camille had already turned down the lamps, pulled the blankets up to her ears, and buried her head in her pillow to avoid having to speak to or see him.
"Oscar." She felt her pulse rise. "What I said to you yesterday was miserable."
He kept his attention on his eggs.
"I didn't mean to be so thoughtless. I was just trying to avoid your question."
Oscar finished chewing. "I'm sorry, too," he whispered. "So what about Randall don't you want to talk about?"
The fork slipped between her damp fingers, and she set it on the rim of the plate.
"It's just…I haven't talked about it with anyone. I don't really know how to put it."
She wanted to be desperately in love with Randall and not just fond of him. She didn't want to need to marry Randall; she just wanted to want to. It had been her father's greatest hope for her-and for the company. There was no way to explain it all to Oscar, though, without going into her father's poor finances.
As she drew her palm into her lap, it left a handprint of sweat on the lacquered cherry table. Oscar

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So you want to turn around? Give up on the chance of having him back?"
Oscar took a swig of his canteen, then capped it. He held her stare. "I just want you alive."
Camille glanced toward Ira. He sat far enough away to hear just the murmur of their voices. This was her only opportunity to clean up after the messy scene in the pantry. Where to begin baffled her. The cold manner in which they were now acting made it difficult to believe Oscar had held her so lovingly, her body curled into his. She'd felt his hot breath on her shoulder as he dipped into sleep and out again to bury his nose in her hair or race her scar from the Christina with his finger. Camille had never wanted to leave that bed.
"I don't love him," she said with little fanfare. Plain. Simple. The truth. "He's a decent man, and things would be easier if I did love him. But I want what only you can give me, Oscar."
She couldn't imagine feeling warm and safe and loved in Randall's arms the way she had in Oscar's. She didn't know what would happen once her father returned to them or how he'd react. Right then, it didn't matter.
"Good night, then," she said when he remained quiet. Camille turned onto her other side, away from the fire. The immediate cold lashed at her. A moment passed before she heard the scrape of his boots on the ground. His footsteps rounded the fire. Without saying a word, he lay down beside her. Oscar pulled her close to him without checking to see if Ira was watching.<

She was brave, wasn't she? Look what she'd done. She hadn't run back to the safety of San Francisco, but toward something dangerous and unknown. And Oscar had gone with her. He was it, the man she wanted to be with, and not just in sporadic or imagined trysts, Camille slowed her crawling as it dawned on her. She loved him. She loved Oscar Kildare. She loved him enough to give up everything she'd ever known.

Oscar's breath warmed the back of her head, his lips brushing against her hair, loosened from a braid. He drew a lock away from her neck and kissed the skin just beneath her earlobe, against the throb of her quickening pulse. Like the blackness outside the dome of lamplight, there seemed to be nothing more in the world than his lips, his touch, and the flood of heat consuming her.
With a gentle nudge, Oscar turned her toward him. He looked at her the way he had in the Grampains meadow-as if she was the most fascinating woman he'd ever seen. Under his gaze she felt fascinating, too. Capivating…wanted. He traced her jaw with his lips, kissing the angle of her neck ever so tenderly, as though he weren't certain she wanted him, too. Camille closed the inch of space left between them, her body pressing against his. The muscles in his chest and arms tightened. He was wanted, and she needed to show him how much. No one was there to watch, no one to judge, or tell her the lips caressing her were unworthy of tasting her skin.
With those very thoughts, Oscar's grip loosened. His lips retreated.
"This isn't right," he whispered, catching his breath.
Camille stared at him, her hurt and disappointment plain on her face.
"You're engaged, Camille." He looked around the room. His eyes rested on the bed. "I shouldn't be here."
All of a sudden, Camille completely and fully detested Randall. Good, sweet, well-meaning Randall infuriated her with his mere existence,

Oscar hung his jacket on the back of a chair and undid the first few buttons of his checked shirt. Camille's fingers trembled as she reached for the lamp on the dresser and twisted the knob, lowering the wick until the light it gave off was that of a small candle's flame. She sat on the bed, and the other side of the hand-rolled mattress dipped with Oscar's weight. She didn't know how to look at him, if she should lie down or just come to her senses and ask him to leave. God, she wasn't doing any of this right.
"You sleep sitting up?" he asked.
Camille smiled, thankful he'd lightened the moment enough for her to lean back onto one of the pillows. Turning on her side, she saw he'd already taken the same position. They lay without touching, without talking, only looking. His eyes grazed her body, slowly absorbing the pink skin of her neck, the slight curves of her breasts, and the arc of her hip. He didn't need to lay a finger on her for the breath to stall in her lungs.
He breeched the few inches between them by sliding his hand atop hers, his skin warm and dry while beads of nervous sweat formed hot on her back. Camille reached out and let her fingertip travel along the fullness of his lower lip and down the curve of his chin. With one sweeping movement, Oscar pulled her tight against his chest and kissed her. A sensation kindled between her hips, spreading to every nerve ending in her body. This was it, the fire and heat she'd always yearned for. All these yea

The renegade strand of hair nipped her eyes once more. With a swift, steady hand, Oscar pushed it away from her face. His fingertip left a trail of fire along her cheek. Camille reached up to help him tuck the strand back, and their fingers met. She knew for certain the flush had returned to her ears.
Oscar dropped his arm and walked to the rail, wrapping his strong hands around the carved wood.
"He is used to having things go his way," Oscar said, his voice low and only for her ears. Camille moved to stand beside hm.
"Have you always done everything he's asked of you?" She was cautious not to come off sounding snide.
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the rail tighter, as if to hold something back. Hold something in.
"No."
She hadn't expected him to give her an answer, and certainly not that one.
"No? I don't believe it. What have you done that's gone against his wishes?"
Oscar had been her father's shadow since day one. He'd watched and obeyed William Rowen with the kind of devotion any eager apprentice would show his teacher.
Oscar had been staring at the water, at the mounting churn of the waves. Now he shifted his eyes to her and fixed her with a look so strong and deep, she felt helpless beneath it.
"He asked me to stop associating with you," he answered, still hushed. Camille's eyes watered with mortification and dread. Her father had spoken to Oscar, too. She wiped her sweaty palms on the hips of her trousers.
"B

The front door swung open and a gust of wind rushed inside. Boots scuffled along the floor, and Camille turned to see what pig had shown up at Daphne's so early in the day. Her heart thumped as the door slammed. Stuart McGreenery tucked his arched captain's hat under his arm and pulled off his white gloves.
"A charming establishment," he said. He turned up his nose, and sniffed the air.
"Is that desperation I smell?"
Oscar threw his fork and knife on the table and kicked back his chair. "Did you decide to join us for breakfast?"
McGreenery lunged forward and Oscar rose to his feet.
"I came to see what you know about the hole in the hull of my ship, you insolent whelp," McGreenery said.
Oscar's cheek twitched with pleasure. "Why not just have me escorted down to it with a knife in my back?"
Camille stood and inserted herself between the two men. Daphne sat in the corner of the parlor rolling cigars, her wide eyes darting from McGreenery to Oscar.
"We heard the explosion," Camille said. "What makes you think we had anything to do with it?"
McGreenery retreated one small step and stared down the slope of his nose at her. This time he kept his icy stare level with her eyes. "Because it was not an accident. The explosion was set in a deliberate attempt to keep me from departing for Port Adelaide."
Camille tried to subdue the shake of her knees. "We certainly didn't see it. Oscar and I were in our room."
McGreenery cocked his

So the highlands?"
Ira nodded and tugged the reins, moving up the trail. Oscar swung his rifle to the back, away from Camille. She slid down the dip in the saddle; the press of her body against Oscar's was unladylike, even for her. She imagined Randall's rigid glare if he saw her right then, cradled in Oscar's protective arms. Could this be all it would take for him to call off the wedding? To pull out his investments?
"You might have more room if you rode with Ira," Oscar said softly, his chest vibrating as he spoke. Surely, Randall would agree. But the enfold of Oscar's arms and chest was as comforting and reassuring as it was improper. She pushed the image of Randall aside.
"If it's all right with you, I'd rather stay here," Camille replied. She hung on to the horn of the saddle as they started to wind through the woods once more. Oscar leveled his lips with her ear.
"I'd rather you stay here, too." He closed his arms around her a little bit tighter. She blushed, knowing she should reprimand him for being so bold. But his boldness exhilarated her more than it bothered her. In fact, it didn't bother her at all.
Ira glanced over his shoulder. She half expected one of his coy grins as he regarded the closeness of Oscar's arms, but instead she received only an intent stare and a question.
"Just what the devil does that map lead to?

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Don't look so grim. When you get home, I'm sure Randall will buy you all the rings you want. One for every day of the week," Oscar said, thick with sarcasm, as they walked back toward the harbor.
"I don't care about the ring!" Camille shouted. She stopped walking and turned to Oscar. "I'm sorry, it's just that…"
Oscar patiently waited for her to finish her sentence. Camille looked away, embarrassed. She had scraped Randall's skin with the ring, too. It had been one of their rare moments alone. He'd run his fingers down her back, nibbled on her neck, and she'd waited for her legs to turn to warm butter. She'd waited to feel the desire to kiss him. But the feelings hadn't come. Camille had swept her hand up to stop him, and the ring had left a puffy red scratch on his arm.
Oscar watched her fumble for words, his expression one of concern.
"Never mind," she said quickly and stepped up onto a raised sidewalk, out of the mud.
"Never mind what?"
"It's private."
He continued walking in the street, his head level with hers.
"Private between who?"
"Between me and Randall. You wouldn't understand," she said and lifted her skirt as she descended back down into the muddy street where the sidewalk ran out.
"And why is that?" he asked, sounding put off. Daphne's place came into view. The air smelled of bitter salt water and of wood smoke curling up from the kitchen chimney.
"Oh, Oscar, you're a man of the sea. What could you possibly

At the sound of her uncle's voice coming from the back door, Jay threw Violet off his lap.
Violet giggled as she hit the cushions on the back of the couch.
"What are you doing?" she complained. "It's just Uncle Stephen."
Jay sat up. "I know, but ever since the Homecoming Dance, I feel like he's always watching us. I just don't want him to think we're doing anything we shouldn't be."
The Homecoming Dance. It had been almost three months since that night, but the memories still made Violet shudder.
Not a day went by that she wasn't grateful Jay was still alive. Grateful the bullet from the killer's gun had only grazed his shoulder, despite the fact that the man-one of her uncle's own officers-had been aiming directly for Jay's heart.
If her uncle hadn't shown up at the dance when he did, firing the fatal shot that took the killer down, neither she nor Jay would have made it out of there alive.
Jay had always liked her uncle before then, but now it was something closer to worship.

My Camille," he said, his voice as soft and powerful as a blow from a bellows, "did you believe you'd sail with me forever?"
She wanted to say yes, just to be able to say yes. But she shook her head.
"This is all my fault," her father mumbled.
Camille sat back in the chaise longue and curled her legs beneath her. "What is?"
"I shouldn't have let you accompany me to sea all these years. I should have sent you to a proper finishing school, given you a chance to find your place here in San Francisco. Instead, I was selfish and wanted you with me every moment."
Camille relaxed her shoulders. "I don't mind your selfishness, Father."
He sent her a grin, but it was the one he used when there was a caveat attached.
"It did have to end sometime, Camille. True ladies don't belong on merchant ships, and it's high time you were a lady instead of a child."
He was right, though she wished he weren't. "True ladies" didn't sail on ships. Their palms weren't blistered from hauling line, the bridges of their noses and apples of their cheeks weren't bronzed from the sun, and they most certainly didn't associate with sailors.
Camille sighed. "Being a true lady sounds achingly dull.

I'll need a deposit, of course. I think that's where your ring comes in handy." Ira extended his open hand toward Camille. She took off the sapphire and slapped it into his palm.
"And McGreenery?" Oscar asked. Ira nodded and threw his hat back on. He pulled it tight and grinned from ear to ear.
"Leave him to me, mates. I'll meet you at the blacksmith's in town tomorrow morning, eight o'clock sharp."
Oscar took a step closer, towering over Ira. "If you're not there, I'll find you. And you don't want me to have to find you."
Ira cleared his throat and pulled the brim of his hat. "Then I better not oversleep."
He swiveled on his heel with the same lighthearted air Camille had loved about her father and strolled back down the road. The similarity to her father ended there.

Life just changes. Like a stormy headwind, Camille thought. First blowing the sails in one direction and then, without warning at all, shifting course.