by Shana Galen
“My brothers a time or two,” she said. What she did not say was that she had not found the activity nearly as fascinating when they had done it. Nick seemed to make an art of it. His wrist and his hand moved swiftly and surely and before long she could see the clean skin on one side of his face.
She liked seeing him clean-shaven. He looked younger and not as dangerous, though with the bandana and cutlass, she could not quite forget that he was indeed dangerous in this new role. “I don’t usually shave with my shirt and coat on,” he said as he finished. “But I did not want to upset your delicate sensibilities.”
“My delicate sensibilities? Yes, you are quite the gentleman.”
“I am a gentleman,” he said, taking the last clean strip of linen and drying his face. “Which is why I am above being ogled.”
“Ogled? I was not—” But she broke off when she saw what he was about to do. He’d taken the basin and the jug with the last of the hot water and crossed to one of the large windows along the wall of the cabin. Before she could cry out to stop him, he dumped the contents out. She stared at the sea outside the window, now dark blue in the light of the rising sun.
“You didn’t want that hot water, did you?” he asked, setting the pitcher and basin on the washstand, which like the rest of the furnishings had been nailed to the floor. “I believe it was you who wished to be left to your own devices. Far be it from me to do you any favors.”
She glowered at him, but as the only words she could think to say were not fit for a lady, she said nothing at all. Only when she realized he was leaving her alone in the cabin, did she cry out. “Wait! I will not be held prisoner in the cabin all day again.”
He paused at the doorway and looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll tell Mr. Fellowes to escort you about the deck. And Lady Nicholas?”
“My name is Ashley!”
He grinned. “Very well. Ashley Martingale, if you wish for hot water, all you need to do is ask me for it.” He strolled through the cabin door, leaving her alone. She stood for a moment, and when she didn’t hear the key in the lock, she rushed toward it. But as soon as she reached the wooden door, she heard the telltale grate and click. Had he been teasing her? Making her think she had a chance to escape?
That was laughable. Escape where? Through the rectangular windows all she could see was water. There was land out there somewhere, but it was miles from where she was in the middle of the ocean. And she couldn’t go traipsing about the ship on her own. She’d only ever been on a ship once, for a pleasure cruise on the Thames. That had been a small vessel compared to what she remembered of this one.
She knew nothing of ships or sailing or pirates—except she was married to one. She sat down on the bed and put her head in her hands. Since she and Maddie—poor Maddie, where was she now?—had embarked on this journey, Ashley hadn’t had but a few moments to contemplate the ramifications of the choice she’d made to accompany Maddie. Someone had to look out for Maddie when she decided to elope. It had taken Ashley no more than five seconds to realize that dog-breeder—what was his name?—would probably weep like a babe if the couple encountered any sort of trouble, like highwaymen or angry fathers. Maddie had needed Ashley, and it wasn’t as though Ashley was doing anything interesting at the time. An elopement to Gretna Green was infinitely more exciting than Josie’s wedding breakfast.
But what Ashley had not considered was the possibility Maddie’s adventure might take a wrong turn. In fact, Maddie’s adventure had taken several wrong turns, one so wrong it meant Ashley was now wed to Nick. But even before the ridiculous farce of a wedding, her life had been irrevocably changed. One day into the trip, and she’d realized she would never be able to return to her old life. In a way, she was glad, but she was also beginning to mourn what she would no longer have.
She missed her family—her blustering father and her tired mother, and most of all, her five boisterous brothers. Would they ever live under the same roof again? Would they ever be together as a family? What of her clothing and her favorite books and paintings and gifts she’d received and treasured over the years? They were all safely put away in her room at home. Would she ever go home? Would she ever see her things again? She was eighteen, almost nineteen, and she’d thought she was ready to strike out on her own. But if that were so why did she wish so desperately that she was once again a little girl with nothing more to fret over than which game she would play that day.
She supposed things might be worse. She might be seasick or there could be a storm battering the ship. She took a deep breath and forbade herself of thinking about storms any longer. The last thing she needed were visions of sinking ships and herself at the bottom of the ocean.
She needed out of this room. She stood and crossed to the wardrobe, opening it enough to examine herself in Nick’s mirror. She had to stand on her tiptoes to see, and what she saw did not please her. She’d never been vain. She didn’t think much about what she looked like most of the time. She didn’t have to. As the only daughter in a family with five sons, she’d been petted and doted on. Plus, she knew she was pretty. She’d been told so every day of her life—except one.
She did what she could to tame her hair and pinch color into her cheeks so the circles under her eyes were not so apparent, and then she sat on the berth again and pulled her skirts to her thigh. Other ladies wore sheer silk stockings that were risqué and expensive. Ashley always preferred coarse, heavy cotton stockings. They hid her deformity completely.
She loosed the garters holding the ugly and, after the events of the last few days, quite shabby stockings and rolled them down over her right leg. The scarred skin looked redder and angrier than usual. She massaged it, which only seemed to make it ache more. If she’d been home, her lady’s maid would have brought her a calming compress. Even though she’d been burned years before, the injury still pained her the morning after a ball or after she’d physically exerted herself a bit too much. Her leg hurt now, but there was nothing for it. She would rather die before asking Nick for anything to help.
He knew about the injury, of course. He had to know. He’d never asked her about the ugly scar covering the length of one thigh and extending down to her calf. And that had to be why he’d rejected her after the night they’d spent together. He’d been disgusted by her. He couldn’t bear the thought of touching her again.
The scar was ugly, and she had no one to blame but herself. She’d been fourteen, old enough to know to be cautious around fire. But she hadn’t been paying attention. She’d been teasing her younger brothers George and Devlin. She’d grabbed something away from Devlin and had been holding it so he could not reach. They were only a year apart, but she was taller than he—at least that year. She’d been having so much fun with her game, she’d not realized how close to the fire she stood, and when she twirled around, like the silly ninny she’d been, her skirts had caught fire.
The boys and one of the footmen had quickly doused the flames, but the thin muslin gown had not protected her skin from damage. She’d been in unbelievable pain for months and forced to stay in bed. Her family had kept the disfigurement a secret, and when she’d finally been healed enough to dress and resume her normal life, her mother had been the one to say what Ashley had been thinking.
“It’s too bad. You were such a pretty girl.”
She’d floundered after that, lost some of her confidence, but then she realized that no one need ever know or see her secret shame. Everyone would go on treating her as though she were perfect. No one need ever know how twisted and ugly she was underneath the beautiful skirts.
There were days she forgot about her imperfection. When she and Maddie had been running from the Duke of Bleven’s men, she’d done the only thing she could think of to distract them—run naked out from the woods. But, of course, it had been dark and no one had been looking at her leg. When Nick had found her, he’d wrapped his coat around her until they located her gown. As they walked through the forest, she’d thought they
might have time to speak alone of what had happened between them all those months before, but then Mr. Dover—that was the dog-breeder’s name!—had appeared, and everything had remained unsaid.
It wasn’t unsaid now, although he still hadn’t mentioned her scar. And how foolish had she been to convince herself that the scarring didn’t matter? She didn’t plan to marry—leave it to Martingale to ruin that plan—and so she need never worry a husband would discover her secret. And then she had been naïve enough to believe that if a man truly loved her, he would love her regardless of her imperfections.
Nick Martingale had disabused her of that fantasy. She’d given herself to him, given him her virginity, and the very next day, he’d discarded her. She should have never believed he truly loved her. What was more, she should have never believed he would not care that she was not perfect.
She would not be that stupid again. She would never let a man see what she really looked like or who she really was.
A tap on the door sent her scrambling to tug her stocking into place and toss her skirts over her offending leg. She needn’t have rushed as no one barged in. When she was suitably covered, she said, “Who is it?”
“Mr. Fellowes, miss—er, my lady.”
“Oh, good. Come in, Mr. Fellowes.”
The man was short with blond hair and sun-darkened skin. He had a round head and a round form, making him stand out somewhat as most sailors were quite lean and hungry-looking—Lord Nicholas aside. He stood in the doorway and doffed his hat. He gazed at her warily, and she did not blame him. She had been less than cooperative the day before. But today she thought sweetness might serve her better. If Nick intended to employ his barbaric manners, she would have to rely on charming his crew in order to achieve her goals.
Today her goals were quite simple: a bath and out of the cabin.
“I am terribly sorry for my rude behavior, Mr. Fellowes,” she said with a dimpled smile she knew few men could resist. Unfortunately, Nick was one of them. “I was not myself and quite distraught at my new…situation. You understand, don’t you?” She fluttered her lashes, and Mr. Fellowes’s eyes widened. He swallowed.
“I understand.”
“Oh, good. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
“Of course, my lady.”
“Thank you. Can you find it in your heart to fetch me warm water so I might bathe?”
He frowned, and she almost sighed. She hadn’t charmed him quite enough to make this request, obviously. Hot water on a ship like this was probably no easy feat. Obviously, Mr. Fellowes was not eager to go to the trouble.
“A very little water will suffice,” she said. “It would be a luxury undreamed of if I could strip off these clothes and soak, naked, in a tub of water.”
His gaze rose to meet hers, his look quite shocked. Even hardened sailors were not immune to a lady speaking of undressing then. She continued, “The feel of clean water on my skin would be simply heavenly, and I can image sitting on deck to allow my hair to dry.” She paused to allow him to picture that for a moment. “But if that’s not possible, I’d adore a small pitcher of warm water so I might clean my face and my…and my other parts.”
His gaze lowered from her face and quickly jerked back up. “I—I’ll see what I can do, my lady.”
“Oh, thank you. And if you could bring me something to eat as well…”
And within the hour she had hot water and a plate with a biscuit as hard as the wood of the ship and gruel so tasteless she had to force herself to eat it. She had read about ships, and she knew this was the best she might expect until they reach their destination. Isla de las Riquezas. It sounded beautiful and exotic. What would she find there? What was Nick so eager to see? And how long would it take to reach the place? She was already sick of being stuck in this room.
She crossed to the door to the cabin and flung it open. Mr. Fellowes was standing just outside, and he jumped to attention. She gave him another smile. “I’d like to go on deck.”
“The Cap’n said I could escort you along the deck for a quarter of an hour.”
“How generous. Let me fetch a hat,” she said thinking better of going on deck without some protection from the sun. She had a pale complexion that did not freckle but easily burned. She had no hat with her at the moment. She’d worn a lovely green one with a peacock feather in it to Josie’s wedding breakfast, but she had no idea what had happened to it. She still wore her tattered day dress of green muslin with a gauzy overlay of crepe—crepe now frayed from all of her adventures. She couldn’t hope to acquire a new gown on the ship, but certainly Nick had a hat she might borrow. She spotted a black one with a wide brim and lifted it. It was Spanish in style and reminded her of a sort of cavalier hat. She placed it on her head at a jaunty angle and could not resist looking at herself in the mirror.
When she opened the wardrobe and saw her reflection, she gave the girl a wide smile. Why, she looked almost like a pirate herself. How she wished she had a feather for this hat or large gold hoop earrings or a brace of pistols. Seeing her armed would certainly strike fear into Nick’s heart.
It was then she heard the sound of a drum and the words, “Sail, ho! Dead astern!”
FIVE
Nick swore and made his way to the poop deck where Chante stood with his spyglass trained on the open water just off their starboard side. As soon as Nick was beside him, Chante handed the glass to the captain. “Three points off the starboard stern. Too far away to identify, Cap’n, but looks like they’re flying the Union Jack.”
Nick positioned the glass and found the approaching ship easily. She was headed straight for them. Chante was correct. At this distance, he could not identify her. As he watched her cut across the waves, moving at a fast clip and straight for them, he spoke calmly, “Mr. Daniels, stay on course. Mr. Chante, make sure the men are ready for a battle, if it comes to that. Tell Mr. Shanks to ready his gunners.” He lowered the spyglass. “I want the stern chasers ready as well.”
The Robin Hood was a 36-gun frigate with a crew of more than one hundred, but Nick had gone to some trouble to streamline the already fast ship and outfit it with smaller cannonades on the bow and stern. These were rifle-barreled guns that shot straight and accurate. From a distance, the stern chasers might not be spotted, therefore fooling the enemy into thinking the frigate less powerful. Sometimes that advantage ruled the day.
He lifted the spyglass again then turned abruptly, distracted by a glimpse of wheat-blond hair. Surely, his mind was playing tricks on him. They were at battle stations. Ashley was not strolling about the deck in his favorite hat as though out for a promenade.
But all he had to do was follow the gazes of every man on deck to know she was. Mr. Fellowes followed her dutifully, his look sheepish, as she approached the rail and placed her hand on the smooth oak. “What the devil,” he muttered.
“That’s something you doan see every day,” Chante said.
Nick rounded on him. “I thought I gave you orders.”
“Yes, Cap’n.” With a whistle he began to call commands, pulling the men’s attention away from the woman in their midst to their duties at the moment. Nick turned to Daniels, who was still staring openly at Ashley.
“What are you looking at?”
“Steering the ship, Cap’n,” Daniels said.
“Keep your eyes on the water and not on my wife.”
“Yes, Cap’n.”
Nick climbed down the ladder and swung onto the deck, crossing to the quarterdeck with several long strides. He addressed his third mate first. “There’s a ship out there, Mr. Fellowes. We may beat to quarters at any moment. Where is your station?”
“I heard the warning, Cap’n, but I had Mrs. Cap’n to see to.”
“Mrs. Cap’n should be in my cabin. That is her battle station until I say otherwise.”
“Mr. Fellowes, might Captain Robin Hood and I have a moment alone?” Ashley said sweetly. The tone she used with Fellowes was far more pleasant than
any she’d used with him in recent memory.
“Uh, yes, Mrs. Cap’n.” The man started away, and Nick felt hot fury well inside him. Now his men were obeying her orders?
“Get to your station, Mr. Fellowes,” he ordered, though the words were unnecessary. He turned back to Ashley. “I have nothing to say to you at the moment. We are at battle stations. I’ll escort you back to the cabin.”
“You can try it.” The look on her face gave him pause.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I have no intention of going below deck yet. I am entitled to fresh air.”
“Ash—”
She held up a hand, silencing him. He was tempted to grab it and shove it back to her side. “And if you attempt to escort me back to the cabin before I’m ready, I’ll make a scene the likes of which your men are unlikely to soon forget.” Her sea-green eyes flashed anger at him, making them look even more vibrant than usual. She was striking with his black hat and her pale skin and hair and those unusual eyes. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen—and he had seen a lot of beautiful women—but he would not be swayed by her charms. He was not one of her legion of admirers.
He folded his arms across his chest. “You think I am afraid of a little girl’s scene? Do you know what I have out there?” He pointed starboard toward the spot where he’d seen the shop through the spyglass. It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, not yet, but it soon would be if the wind stayed with them.
She followed his finger. “Water?”
“Another ship. Possibly a pirate ship. Possibly a ship-of-the-line. If we are lucky, it’s a merchant ship.”
“Why, because then you can plunder them?”
He took her arm and leaned close. “Because then they will steer clear of us, and I won’t have to blow them to splinters. I’m not interested in plunder at the moment. I’m interested in reaching my destination. Quickly.”