Gentle Rogue (8 page)
“But Regan makes him pay for it,” James said with a gloating smile.
“How’s that?”
“He ends up sleeping on the sofa each time he crosses words with one of us and she happens to overhear it.”
“The devil you say.”
“It’s true. Told me himself. You’ll really have to visit those two more often while I’m gone.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Anthony laughed. “Eden on the sofa. Gad, that’s rich.”
“No more amusing than the muddle you’re in with your own wife.”
“Now don’t start in on me again.”
“Wouldn’t think of it. But I do hope you’ll have smoothed the waters before I return in a few months, since I’ll be taking Jeremy off your hands then, and
that
, dear boy, will leave you no buffer. Just you and the little Scot…alone.”
Anthony’s smile was quite confident and a little bit wicked. “You will hurry back, won’t you?”
T
he whole family had turned out to see James off—Jason and Derek, Edward and his whole brood, Anthony and his little Scot, who was looking quite peaked, but understandably so, since Anthony had recently been told he was to be a father. That scamp, Jeremy, was in high spirits, despite the fact this was the first time he would be separated from James since he’d been found six years ago. He was probably thinking he’d be getting away with murder now, with only his Uncle Tony to keep him in line. He’d find out soon enough that Jason and Eddie boy would be keeping an eye on him, too. He’d be reined in as tight if not tighter than he had been under James and his first mate Conrad’s supervision.
The tide put an end to the goodbyes. James’s hangover, which he could blame Anthony for, wouldn’t take much more back-pounding anyway. But it had also almost made him forget the note he had jotted off for the little Scot, explaining to her about the barmaid she had accused her husband of bedding. He called Jeremy up the gangplank and handed it to him.
“See your Aunt Roslynn gets this, but not when Tony’s around.”
Jeremy pocketed the note. “It’s not a love letter, is it?”
“A love letter?” James snorted. “Get out of here, puppy. And see you—”
“I know, I know.” Jeremy threw up his hands, laughing. “I won’t do anything you wouldn’t.”
He ran back down the gangplank before James could take him to task for his impudence. But he was smiling as he turned away, and came face-to-face with Conrad Sharpe, his first mate and best friend.
“What was that about?”
James shrugged, realizing Connie had seen him pass the note. “I decided to lend a hand after all. At the rate Tony’s going, he’d be floundering forever.”
“I thought you weren’t going to interfere,” Connie reminded him.
“Well, he is my brother, isn’t he? Though why I bother after the dirty trick he played on me last night, I don’t know.” At Connie’s raised brow, he grinned, despite the slow throb in his head. “Made sure I’d be feeling miserable today to cast off, the bloody sod.”
“But you went along with it, naturally?”
“Naturally. Couldn’t have the lad drinking me under the table, now, could I? But you’ll have to see us off, Connie. I’m afraid I’m done for. Report to me in my cabin after we’re under way.”
An hour later, Connie poured a measure of rye from the well-stocked cabinet in the captain’s cabin and joined James at his desk. “You’re not going to worry about the boy, are you?”
“That rascal?” James shook his head, wincing slightly when his headache returned, and took another sip of the tonic Connie had had sent from the galley. “Tony will see Jeremy doesn’t get into any serious
scraps. If anyone will worry, it’s you. You should have had one of your own, Connie.”
“I probably do. I just haven’t found him yet like you did the lad. You’ve probably more yourself that you don’t know about.”
“Good God, one’s enough,” James replied in mock horror, gaining a chuckle from his friend. “Now what have you to report? How many of the old crew were available?”
“Eighteen. And there was no problem filling the ranks, except for the bo’s’n, as I told you before.”
“So we’re sailing without one? That’ll put a heavy load on you, Connie.”
“Aye, if I hadn’t found a man yesterday, or rather, if he hadn’t volunteered. Wanted to sign on as passengers, him and his brother. When I told him the
Maiden Anne
don’t carry passengers, he offered to work his way across. A more persistent Scot I’ve never seen.”
“Another Scot? As if I ain’t had enough to do with them lately. I’m bloody well glad your own Scottish ancestors are so far back you don’t remember them, Connie. Between hunting down Lady Roslynn’s cousin and running into that little vixen and her companion—”
“I thought you’d forgotten about that.”
James’s answer was a scowl. “How do you know this Scot knows the first thing about rigging?”
“I put him though the paces. I’d say he’s had the job before. And he does claim to have sailed before, as quartermaster, ship’s carpenter, and bo’s’n.”
“If that’s true, he’ll come in right handy. Very well. Is there anything else?”
“Johnny got married.”
“Johnny? My cabin boy, Johnny?” James’s eyes flared. “Good God, he’s only fifteen! What the devil does he think he’s doing?”
Connie shrugged. “Says he fell in love and can’t bear to leave the little woman.”
“Little woman?” James sneered. “That cocky little twit needs a mother, not a wife.” His head was pounding again, and he swilled down the rest of the tonic.
“I’ve found you another cabin boy. MacDonell’s brother—”
Tonic spewed across James’s desk. “Who?” he choked.
“Blister it, James, what’s got into you?”
“You said MacDonell? Would his first name be Ian?”
“Aye.” Now Connie’s eyes flared. “Good God, he’s not the Scot from the tavern, is he?”
James waved away the question. “Did you get a good look at the brother?”
“Come to think of it, no. He was a little chap, though, quiet, hiding behind his brother’s coattails. I didn’t have much choice in signing him on, what with Johnny only letting me know two days ago that he was staying in England. But you can’t mean to think—”
“But I do.” And suddenly James was laughing. “Oh, God, Connie, this is priceless. I went back to look for that little wench, you know, but she and her Scot had disappeared from the area. Now here she’s fallen right into my lap.”
Connie grunted. “Well, I can see you’re going to have a pleasant crossing.”
“You may depend upon it.” James’s grin was decidedly wolfish. “But we shan’t unmask her disguise just yet. I’ve a mind to play with her first.”
“You could be wrong, you know. She might be a boy after all.”
“I doubt it,” James replied. “But I’ll find out when she begins her duties.”
He slumped back in his comfortably padded chair when Connie left him. He was still grinning, still marveling at the incredible piece of chance that had led the little wench and her Scot to pick his ship out of all those available, especially when it made no sense a ’tall.
Connie said they’d tried to buy passage first, so they must have money. Why not just find another ship? James knew of at least two English vessels that would soon be departing for the West Indies, and one of them had ample accommodations for passengers. Why go to the trouble of disguising the girl and taking the risk she’d be discovered? Or was it a disguise? Hell and fire, the last time he’d seen her, she’d been done up the same. It could be her normal way of dress…no, he was forgetting her upset when Tony had announced that she was a woman, not a man. She’d been hiding her sex then, was hiding it now—or hoped to do so.
His cabin boy. What nerve she had! James shook his head, chuckling.
It was going to be interesting indeed to see how she planned to get away with it. A poorly lit tavern was one thing, but on a ship, in the bright light of day? And yet she’d obviously fooled Connie. Maybe she could have gotten away with it if James hadn’t met her once before. But he had, and he hadn’t forgotten the meeting, remembered it quite well, in fact;
her cute little backside that had so intrigued him, a tender breast that had fit so nicely in his hand. Her features had been exquisitely delicate: the perfectly molded cheekbones, the pert little nose, the wide, sensual lips. He hadn’t seen her brows, nor a bit of her hair, but for those few moments when she’d finally looked up at him outside that tavern, he had become lost in velvety-brown eyes.
He’d gone back not once but half a dozen times trying to find her in the last month. He realized now why he’d had no luck. No one knew anything of the pair because they’d never been in that area before, likely never even been to London before. It would be a safe bet to assume they were from the West Indies and now returning home, rather than the other way around. MacDonell might be a Scot, but the wench wasn’t. James hadn’t been able to place her distinctive accent, but English it wasn’t, of that he was certain.
She was a mystery, all right, and one he meant to solve. But first he was going to amuse himself with her charade by installing her in his cabin and letting her think his cabin boy always slept there. He would have to pretend he didn’t recognize her, or let her assume he simply didn’t remember their encounter. Of course, there was the possibility that
she
might not remember it, but no matter. Before the voyage was over, she’d share more than his cabin. She’d share his bed.
T
he galley was not exactly the most brilliant place to hide, not with summer still hanging on and the ocean breezes still a far way off. Once they were out to sea it wouldn’t be so bad, but now, with the huge brick ovens radiating heat since before the dawn, and steam rolling out of cauldrons on the stove for what promised to be a tasty evening meal, it was hot as the devil’s welcome.
The cook and his two helpers had discarded most of their clothes by the time the crew started wandering in for a quick breakfast, a man or two at a time as could be spared, since the hours before castoff were the busiest time aboard. Georgina had watched the activity dockside for a while as the last of the ship’s supplies and equipment were delivered and carried to the hold and galley. But it was a familiar sight and so didn’t hold her interest very long. And besides, she’d seen enough of England to last her a lifetime.
So she stayed in the galley, out of the way and out of notice, perched on a stool in the opposite corner from where the food supplies were being stacked, barrels and casks and sacks of grain and flour, so much that there was finally no room for any more, and the rest had to be stored in the hold.
If it weren’t for the heat, Georgina would really have liked it there, for it was certainly the cleanest
galley she’d ever seen. But then the whole ship had a spanking new look to it, and, in fact, she’d been told it had just undergone refurbishing from top to bottom.
Between the ovens and stove was a deep coal bin, full to the brim just now, A long table in the center of the room was barely scarred, with a butcher’s cleaving block at the end of it waiting to drip blood from one of the many live animals penned in the hold—a great many animals actually, just about guaranteeing fresh meat for the whole voyage. The room was as cluttered as any galley, with its hung spices and pots, chests and utensils, and everything was carefully secured to the floor, walls, or ceiling.
The lord of all this was a black-haired Irishman by the doubtful name of Shawn O’Shawn, who didn’t suspect Georgie MacDonell was other than what he seemed to be. Shawn was a friendly fellow of about twenty-five, with merry green eyes that were constantly surveying his domain. He’d given Georgina permission to stay, though with the warning she might be put to work if she did. She didn’t mind that, and every so often she was given a task to do when his helpers were both busy. He was a talkative sort and didn’t mind answering questions, but he was a new man himself, and so there wasn’t much he could tell her about the ship or her captain.
She hadn’t met too many others of the crew yet, even though she and Mac had slept aboard the ship last night, or tried to. What with being wakened repeatedly as the men drifted into the forecastle at all hours from their last night in port, and drunkenly tried to find their hammocks in the dark, sleep wasn’t
part of the agenda unless you were topsided with drink.
The men were a motley bunch of different nationalities, from what she had seen so far, which wasn’t unusual for a ship that traveled far and wide, losing and picking up new men in ports all over the world. Of course, that meant there would be a few Englishmen included in the motley, and there were.
The first mate was one, Conrad Sharpe, known affectionately as Connie, though she’d heard only one man so far dare to call him so. He spoke with a precise accent, almost like a blasted aristocrat, and there was no nonsense about the man. Quite tall and narrow of frame, with red hair shades darker than Mac’s and a host of freckles on both arms and hands—suggesting he had them all over. Yet his face was deeply tanned, without a freckle in sight. And his hazel eyes were so direct, there’d been several heart-stopping moments when Georgina had thought she wasn’t fooling anyone with her disguise. Yet she was signed on. He had taken her at face value. In fact, there’d been no bargaining with the man, as Mac had found out. Either they worked or they didn’t sail with the
Maiden Anne
, which suited Georgina, but Mac had given in only grudgingly.
She could find no fault with Mr. Sharpe—at least not yet. It was on principle alone that she didn’t like him. Which wasn’t fair by any means, but Georgina didn’t care to be fair just now where Englishmen were concerned, placing them all into the category shared with rats and snakes and other detestable creatures. She’d have to keep those feelings to herself, though. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the man. One
tended to watch one’s enemies too closely. She’d just avoid him as best she could, him and any other Englishmen aboard.
She hadn’t met Captain Malory yet, since he still hadn’t arrived before she came down to the galley. She knew she ought to go and find him, introduce herself, discover if there were to be any duties above those she anticipated. All captains were different, after all. Drew demanded a bath be waiting for him in his cabin every day, even if it had to be salt water. Clinton liked warm milk before he retired, and it was his cabin boy’s duty to bring it and also tend the cow that produced it. Warren’s cabin boy had to do no more than keep his cabin neat, since he liked to fetch his own food and eat with his crew. Mr. Sharpe had named all the normal duties expected of her, but only the captain could tell her what else he would require.
