Rina waited, a low tap-tapping echoing through the room. The captain turned toward her, his eyebrow arched as his focus dropped to her feet.
Or rather, her foot. Her tapping foot. She froze, a blush rising over her cheeks. The man made her nervous, but the last thing she wanted was for him to know that.
“So,” she said haughtily. “Your errand boy said you wished to speak with me.”
“Aye.”
She huffed at his infuriatingly glib reply. He continued to play with the sword and she planted her fists on her hips. “Well?”
He sheathed the cutlass in a smooth stroke and set it on his desk before propping his hip on the edge. “Well, what?”
Rina fought the urge to throw something at his head. “What did you wish to speak with me about?” she asked through gritted teeth.
He considered her for a moment. “It appears you will be my guest for a while.”
“Guest?” She rubbed absently at her wrists again. “You have a strange way of treating guests.”
The captain chuckled. “Yes, well. You can hardly fault me for being cautious. You did try to kill me.”
Rina shrugged.
“The question is,” he continued, “will you be trying again?” He watched her carefully, his blue gaze glittering and unblinking.
Rina sighed. “No,” she replied wistfully. “I’ve come to realize I’m not really the murdering type.” She spared him a pointed look, obviously emphasizing that he was—in fact—exactly that type.
The captain smirked and walked across the room, throwing open a large chest and sifting through its contents. “I know you don’t believe that I didn’t kill your father,” he said. “But I can prove it to you.”
Despite herself, Rina found herself asking, “How?”
He straightened with a mass of fabric in his hand. “Because I know who did.” He tossed the cloth her way, and she caught it out of reflex, only absently identifying it as a gown.
“It might be a bit large, but it’s better than nothing,” Tremayne said. “I can’t have you parading about my ship in breeches. It’s hardly proper.” He grinned wolfishly, and Rina doubted the man was really concerned with propriety.
“Who did it?” she asked quietly.
To his credit, Tremayne did not try to pretend he didn’t know what she was asking. “I can take you to him,” he said instead. “I’m searching for the man myself. I have my own score to settle.” His cheek twitched as he clenched his teeth, and Sarina wondered what the captain had lost to this mysterious individual.
She shook off a brief twinge of empathy and set her chin. “Why would you do that?”
He motioned toward the chest. “There are some other items you might need in here. I had water brought up so you could wash. Not a full bath, mind you, no need for such frivolity, but . . .” He dismissed her with a wave toward the opposite side of the room and returned to his desk, sitting down to huddle over a leather-bound book, Rina apparently forgotten.
She noticed a silk-covered screen set up near the far wall and approached the chest, the idea of clean skin and clothes winning out over curiosity and vengeance, at least for the moment. She tucked the gown under her arm, and dug through the contents until she found some underclothes and stockings, and even a pair of shoes that looked about her size.
“Where did you get all this?” she asked without thinking. When he didn’t respond, she glanced at him to find him regarding her with a slight smirk on his face.
Right.
Pirate.
“Never mind,” she muttered, clutching the bundle of clothes to her chest as she made her way toward the screen and ignored the faint chuckle following her along the way.
I sometimes question the wisdom of recording my thoughts and discoveries in this book, for I am quickly learning that protecting my secrets is a dangerous and difficult proposition. But as often as I fear my plans being discovered, I also realize that, should something happen to my person, this journal would be the only remaining evidence of my endeavors.
It is, in essence, my life.
- The Journal of Simon Alistair Mellick, 2 June, 1664
Rina set her little bundle of clothes on a small bench behind the screen and dipped her hand into the tub of water waiting for her.
Warm.
She held back a contented sigh, but allowed a smile to grace her lips since Tremayne couldn’t see her.
Peeking through a gap in the screen, she found the captain focused once again on the book on his desk. With only a brief hesitation, she pulled her shirt off and untied the rags binding her breasts, rubbing them slightly in relief. She loosened the leather thong tying up her hair and removed the pendant her father gave her, setting it carefully on a little table.
Dipping her hands in the warm water, Sarina ran it over her arms and neck, and wished the tub were big enough for her to climb in. A sliver of soap sat on a low table, and she sniffed it skeptically, surprised at the light floral scent that greeted her. With another glance through the screen, she undressed completely, washing her body, and then her hair as well as she could in the warm water.
It was heavenly.
Sarina dried off with a rough towel that had been left on the table, squeezing the excess water from her hair with the cloth. A sound from the other side of the room snapped her eyes back to the gap in the screen, only to once again meet the top of Tremayne’s head. She watched him for a moment, the towel clutched to her bare chest.
Her eyes narrowed, wondering if he’d noticed the same gap.
She wouldn’t put it past him. The bastard.
Stepping closer to the wall and out of range of the infamous gap, Rina dressed quickly and ran her fingers through her damp hair to remove the tangles. She smoothed the skirt of the cream and brown gown, smiling at the feel of the soft fabric, then pulled her pendant over her head and tucked it into the bodice.
It was nice to feel like a woman again, even if the gown was a little too big and gaped slightly around her less than ample bosom. Rina frowned, tugging at the bodice as she emerged from behind the screen. She looked up to find Tremayne’s eyes focused on her actions. His attention lingered for a moment, his brow creased in concentration before he returned to his book.
“The water will need to be removed,” he said gruffly.
Rina stood silently in confusion for a moment. Well, of course the water would need to be removed. She was at a loss, however, for why the captain would feel the need to voice such an obvious fact.
He glanced up at her again. “You can dump it over the side,” he said slowly, as if addressing a small child.
Rina gaped. “You can’t be serious! You expect me to haul that tub up to the deck?”
Tremayne stood abruptly and closed the book with a thwack, circling the desk to the still-open chest.
“Everyone on my ship pulls his own weight,” he muttered, fumbling through the chest and looking for something. “I am still in need of a cabin boy, and you are familiar with the position.”
“You can’t seriously expect—“
“Not to mention the fact that it will give me an opportunity to monitor your activities and ensure you stay out of trouble.”
“Trouble? The only trouble around here—“
“Unless,” he interrupted, raising his gaze to her in challenge, “you’d prefer to spend your days locked up in the hold?”
Rina clenched her jaw, resisting the urge to look away. She fought to remember her mission . . . her new, improved mission. She needed to stay close to the captain, and what better way than as his personal errand boy?
Errr . . . girl.
So, Rina swallowed her pride and turned on her heel, her spine straight as she tried not to stomp back over to the water tub. Grabbing one of the handles, she dragged it across the wooden floor, stopping every other step to keep the cooling water from sloshing over the sides. Irritated, she straightened, her hands on her hips as she glared at the now-hated washtub. She would never be able to carry th
e thing. Glancing around the room, she spied a bucket behind the screen—most likely what was used the fill the tub—and she grabbed it to dip out some of the water before turning toward the door.
Tremayne stood watching her, his lips quirked in amusement.
“Excuse me,” she said haughtily, blowing back a strand of hair dangling across her face.
The captain stepped back with a nod, but just as she started to pass him, he held up a hand.
“Take this,” he grumbled. Sarina realized he was clutching a handful of cream-colored lace in his beringed fingers. She looked up at him, confused, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Or rather, his gaze was trained below her eyes.
Rina cleared her throat and the captain’s eye snapped up. If she expected chagrin at being caught ogling her chest, she was sadly mistaken. The captain simply raised his eyebrow and pressed the lace into her free hand.
“Tuck it into your bodice,” he said, turning abruptly to stalk back behind his desk. “That dress is indecent.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I cannot have you parading about my ship with your flesh on display,” he grumbled, collapsing into his chair. “My men will be distracted, and I cannot afford to have them so.”
Rina flushed, setting down the bucket and quickly tucking the scrap of lace into her neckline. Despite her embarrassment, she noticed the captain’s accent had changed again, the vowels rounding, the consonants more crisp. “You’re doing it again,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Speaking like a gentleman.”
Tremayne’s gaze rose from the book on his desk and trailed up Rina’s body like a physical caress before settling on her face. She stiffened, silently cursing the blush she could feel creeping up her neck, and tried not to look at the patch, focusing instead on his good eye, a pool of blue-green, dark and dangerous.
“Believe me, Miss Talbot, I am no gentleman.”
Rina gaped for a moment, then snapped her mouth shut and picked up the bucket, leaving the room without another word. She took a bit of satisfaction in slamming the door behind her.
Captain Tremayne watched her go, his eye widening slightly at the vehemence with which she shut the door. The girl was stronger than she looked.
He smiled. That was good. She would need to be strong for what he had planned.
He’d almost backed down on his little plan to make the wench pay. When he’d looked up and caught a glimpse of pale, creamy flesh through a gap in the silk screen across the room . . .
Well, for a moment, revenge was the last thing on his mind.
Thankfully, it only took the woman opening her mouth to extinguish any such thoughts. He couldn’t afford to be distracted in his mission, even by a soft body.
Jonathan frowned as she re-entered his quarters and swept over to scoop up another bucket of water. It sloshed over the side of the tub, and Jonathan purposely looked down at the journal he was studying before saying crisply, “There are linens in the corner to wipe that up.”
He fought a chuckle at her irritated gasp and stomping feet, only daring a glance when he heard the rustle of fabric on the far side of the room. Sarina dropped a cloth onto the spilled water, swishing it around absently with the toe of her slipper. He forced a frown of concentration on his face.
“Once you’re finished with the tub, I’ve some breeches in need of mending.” He licked a finger and turned a page, only to be brought out of his nonchalant act by the cold smack of a wet cloth against the side of his head. He blinked in surprise, looking down at the rag now dripping on his desk, then up at a rather satisfied Sarina.
“You just . . . did you just throw a wet rag at me?” he sputtered.
Sarina smirked, picking up her bucket of water. Jonathan shot to his feet, his fingers clutching the damp linen as he waved it at her. “You’d be wise to remember your place, Miss Talbot,” he warned, rounding his desk to loom over her.
She dropped the bucket unceremoniously, more water sloshing out onto the gleaming floor, as well as his boots. “My place?” she snapped. “How dare you!”
“How dare I?” he spat. “Need I remind you that you are on my ship at my pleasure? And in my quarters for your own protection?”
“I don’t need your protection!”
“No?” he snarled mockingly, with a pointed glance directed at her bosom. “You’re on a ship of more than a hundred men, Miss Talbot, many of whom have been without female companionship for a good, long while. How long do you think you’d last on your own? Rafferty’s already drooling on his shoes each time you walk past. Do you think you’ll be able to hold him off if he finds you alone in some isolated corridor one dark night?”
Despite her anger, Sarina blanched at the thought.
Jonathan snatched at the thrill of putting her in her place. “And he’s not the only one.” He stepped even closer until his breath washed over her face and she cringed back—just a little, but enough so he noticed. “Not all of my men are discerning when it comes to women, Miss Talbot. They’ll take what’s available, whether or not the lady in question is a willing participant.”
“I can handle myself,” she said, all indignation and false bravado. “I can wield a dagger . . . shoot a pistol.”
“And I can put you in the brig,” Jonathan retorted. “I need my men—all of my men—and I’ll not risk losing one for your foolish notions of independence!”
“Foolish!”
“Yes, foolish!” Jonathan leaned in further, only belatedly realizing Sarina’s breasts brushed his chest with every inhale. He ignored an irrational surge of lust and refused to step away and risk losing his advantage, focusing instead on the task at hand.
“You have two choices, Miss Talbot. You can stay here, do your part, and find out what really happened to your father. Or you can spend the rest of the voyage contained below, and perhaps—“ He held up a finger as she opened her mouth to interrupt. “Perhaps once my mission is complete I’ll leave you on some isolated island to find your way home. If I remember, that is.”
He glared at her, and she glared back for a moment, her amber eyes flashing with anger. But Jonathan knew when she drew a deep breath, her chest brushing his again enticingly—not that he noticed—that he’d won.
“What do you expect me to do?” she asked grudgingly, stepping back in defeat.
Jonathan took a step and turned, leaning back against his desk. “What you intended all along, I think,” he said. “Fetch my food, keep my cabin tidy, that sort of thing. Whatever needs doing.”
Sarina flushed, and Jonathan knew she didn’t like that idea very much.
“I’ll need to keep an eye on you, of course,” he continued, enjoying her discomfort immensely. “So, you’ll need to stay close to me at all times.”
She looked up at him, eyes flashing. “How close?” Her eyes darted to Jonathan’s bed, but she tried to cover up the instinctive movement by crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him defiantly.
Jonathan smirked. “Rest assured, Miss Talbot, I have no interest in despoiling your person,” he said. “You’ll sleep on the cot in the corner.” Sarina followed his pointing finger to a rather uncomfortable looking pile of blankets resting on a mattress of woven rope.
“However,” he continued, “it would be to your best interest to allow the crew to think what they may about our living arrangements.” He took a seat at the desk again, and ruffled through some papers. “It would probably be wise to let them believe you’re my woman.”
“Your . . . your woman?” Sarina sputtered indignantly. “Why in the world would I do that?”
He looked up at her with a blank expression. “Because then none of them would dare touch you, of course.”
“I can’t believe this,” Sarina muttered, collapsing into a chair, her face falling into her hands. “What am I doing?”
Despite himself, Jonathan felt a bit of pity for the wench. “You’re seeking the truth about who killed your father,” he said quietly. �
��Unless you’d rather give up this nonsense altogether?”
Sarina straightened. “It’s not nonsense,” she said with a sniff. “And I’m still not convinced you weren’t responsible.”
Jonathan laughed slightly. “Why are you so certain? Surely, I couldn’t be the only one with a possible grudge against Danny?”
“My sources point to you.”
“Your sources are mistaken.”
“And you can prove that?” Sarina looked him square in the eye, as if trying to gauge his honesty.
“I can,” he said, meeting her gaze. “When I find the man I’m looking for, you will have your proof.”
“Why don’t you just tell me who it is, and I’ll be on my way?”
Jonathan laughed. “Oh, no. I know better than that. The last thing I need is you stepping into the middle of things and ruining my plans.”
“You just don’t want me to get to him first.” She crossed her arms over her chest, causing the front of her gown to dip precariously low. Only the scrap of lace prevented her from falling out of it altogether. Ridiculous, really. She was a woman. She ought to be able to sew it up or something to keep herself decent.
Sarina cleared her throat and arched a brow when he looked up.
“Well, there’s very little chance of that,” he countered, quickly returning to the topic at hand. “But I definitely don’t need you getting in the way. No, I will find him, and when I do, you will get the answers you seek.”
“I don’t need answers,” she said quietly. “I need vengeance.”
Jonathan nodded slightly, grim determination giving him clarity and focus. “As do I,” he said. “It seems we have allied purposes, Miss Talbot, at least for the moment.”
Sarina’s eyes narrowed, but she hesitated only briefly. “For the moment,” she relented.
“Good, then we’re agreed,” Jonathan said, turning back to his book. “Now take care of that tub, and see to my supper.”
He ignored the indignant huff that preceded Sarina following his orders.
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