Chapter Thirteen #2
Jamaica. Why does that sound familiar? “Should that mean something to me? I feel as if you’re hinting at something, but I’m not sober enough to follow. I hardly even know what day it is.”
“Port Royal is where Jeffrey Reuter vanished. We haven’t been back since. The men’re spooked by it.”
A chill slithers down my spine as I recall what Renard told me about the previous scribe’s mysterious disappearance. All at once I remember last night’s conversation with Captain Sharpe, about the possibility that Mr. Reuter may have been stealing from him.
“An’ it’s July the thirty-first.”
This addition is a direct blow to my gut. I am not sure I can keep from retching much longer. “Ah,” is all I manage as I pull myself to my feet. “I… I’ll see what I can find out.”
“Ye do that,” Renard says as he watches me. “Let me ken when ye do, I’m dyin’ ta ken.”
I take up my quill and the ledger and nod without looking back. I need to find Captain Sharpe and get him to fill in some of these blanks. But first I need to get out of this sun—and out from under Renard’s watchful eye.
“All right there, Kitten?”
No, I am most assuredly not all right.
I move my arm from my eyes and open them to blink blearily up at Captain Sharpe as he leans over me. Haloed by the orange light of the sunset, he’s more beautiful than ever.
Sunset?
The last thing I remember, I was sitting down on the settee to resume my deep dive into the disreputable misadventures of one Mr. Jeffrey Reuter.
How has an entire afternoon passed so quickly?
I push myself into a sitting position, and regret washes over me as my head spins and my stomach does a terrible little lurch. I groan and lie back once more.
“Apparently not…,” Captain Sharpe mutters as his shadow crosses over me. I don’t watch where he’s going; I am too focused on not retching all over the rug under the settee.
Then a warm hand cups the back of my neck, and he draws me up into a sitting position once more before I can protest. Moments later there is a cool glass against my lips, and the sweet taste of port flows over my tongue.
Reason dictates that juice or water might be better for sobering me up, but I am not reasonable and this is a pirate ship. I take the glass and drink down more than I should in one gulp, before lowering it with a sigh. “Is it still July the thirty-first?”
Captain Sharpe laughs as he sits beside me on the settee. “Since this morning.”
I frown and turn to him. “Today is my nineteenth birthday.”
He isn’t expecting that. Truly, I hadn’t even meant to say it out loud, but at the moment, I am so grateful for the glass of port in my hand that I might just tell him anything.
“Is it, now?” he asks. He’s too clever to make the mistake of wishing me well.
“Strange, isn’t it?”
“Not that strange.”
“I’m supposed to be married.”
“What… right now?” he asks. I see he’s poured himself a glass as well, and he leans back as he sips from it.
“The day I boarded your ship.”
He chokes a bit and sits upright. “You jilted your bride on her wedding day?”
I nod and don’t even have the good grace to grimace or look ashamed. I’m not ashamed; I still think I did right by her in leaving that day. “She’s better off.”
“I’m sure she is,” Captain Sharpe says. I can tell by the smirk on his face that he isn’t trying to insult me, and I offer him a reluctant laugh in response. “This answers quite a few questions I had about your unusual decision to board my ship.”
“Not all of them, I’m sure.”
“No,” he agrees. “Not all. But many. Well… since you’re drunk already—”
“Nearly sober,” I correct, though he ignores me.
“—and it’s your birthday, we may as well keep drinking and celebrate.”
I’m not opposed; truly, the promise of a few hours of oblivion on the most cursed day of the year is enough to convince me. I take another sip of my wine and set the glass down. “Very well, but if we’re going to drink all night, this time let’s get some food in our bellies first.”
Sharpe laughs and pats me on the back before getting to his feet. “I’ll have something brought up,” he says as he makes his way across the cabin to open the door. I watch as he leans out, shifting his weight until he sees someone. “Trevor, bring up a plate for me.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” I hear Trevor say, then the captain is back inside the cabin, the door shut behind him.
I work loose the knot on my cravat and slide it off, then drop it onto the settee beside me. The room slowly brightens as Captain Sharpe moves around his cabin lighting candles one by one. By the time he returns to the settee, I have slid out of my jacket.
“By all means, make yourself comfortable,” he says with a smirk.
“If I’m to get drunk, I won’t be doing it in a fine silk jacket,” I point out as I pick up my glass and sip from it once more.
Two hours later I am warm and drunk as I lounge on the settee.
The platter of meat, cheese, and stale bread Trevor brought up has been reduced to mostly crumbs.
I have stripped off my shoes and stockings, and my waistcoat hangs open as I cradle a fresh glass of port, swirling it to admire the legs of the liquor (even if I can barely see them in the dim candlelight).
This is our second bottle. We promised each other that the first bottle would be all—and then Captain Sharpe popped the cork on yet another and refilled my glass.
He, too, is tipsy. He’s still in shoes and stockings, but his jacket is on the floor, and his shirt is no longer tucked into the waist of his trousers.
He sits in the armchair across from his settee, where I am comfortably lounging.
He’s also been making eyes at me for the last hour. Or perhaps it is I who has been making eyes at him. I’m not sure, but I’m enjoying it all the same.
“Tell me more about your betrothed.”
“Why?” I ask, knowing the whine in my voice makes me sound like a petulant child.
Captain Sharpe chuckles and brings his glass to his lips. “Because you’re making eyes at me, so either you’re thinking about her or you’re too drunk to think straight… or you’re thinking about me, which would mean you are too drunk to think straight.”
I laugh, and we both drink. “Yes,” I agree, before bringing my glass to my lips again and finishing off the last sip. I lick my lips and set the glass down, then move to lie across the settee once more. “There isn’t much to say about her.”
“I’m sure that isn’t true.”
“Well… I don’t know much about her.”
“Ah. That’s more honest,” Captain Sharpe says.
I squint, beginning to suspect he is far less drunk than I, but I am too drunk to be sure. I wrinkle my nose and shrug. “She’s pretty—a few years my junior. Honestly, I think I’d rather talk about how you think I’m making eyes at you.”
“I’m sure you would.”
“I believe it’s you making eyes at me, Captain Sharpe.”
His eyes glimmer, and the smile on his face changes somehow. “I’m sure you do.”
“Aren’t you?” I ask, grinning. “I wouldn’t blame you. I’ve been told I’m very nice to look at.”
He laughs again, but it’s a quiet sort of laugh, deep in his chest. “That you are, Kitten…”
“Good. Let’s talk more about that. I love hearing about how pretty I am.”
“You’re drunk.”
“I’m very drunk,” I agree.
“You’re too drunk. Tell me about your betrothed.”
I groan a little, draping a theatrical arm across my forehead. “You’re no fun.”
“I may be a pirate, but I’m a gentleman,” he insists.
“How dull.”
He scoffs under his breath and leans against the arm of his chair in a way that is lazy, controlled, and beautiful. God, how I wish he weren’t a gentleman in this moment. I wish he would take advantage of my drunkenness and just kiss me. I bet his lips are softer than they appear.
“Stop.”
“Stop what?” I whine.
“You know exactly what you’re doing, Kitten.”
I shiver a little but pout as I lower my arm from my forehead. “I can’t look at you?”
“You can look, but I can tell by the expression on your face you think you’ll get much more than that.”
I sigh dramatically and sit up, then haul myself to my feet so quickly, I sway and stumble into the table, just barely catching myself on it before I hit the floor.
Perfect.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce.
Captain Sharpe is on his feet behind me; I can tell by the way his shadow moves as I stumble towards the door.
“You aren’t leaving my cabin in this state,” he says as he comes up behind me to take me by the shoulders. His hands are firm and strong, and I am even more aware of how much drunker I am than him.
“You can’t change your mind now that you’ve rejected me.”
He laughs as he guides me back towards the settee.
“I haven’t changed my mind. You’ll fall overboard and drown.
” I stumble, and he hooks an arm around my waist to stop me from going down.
“On second thought, I’ll sleep on the settee.
I fear you’ll roll off and smack your pretty head on the floor. You can have my bed… just this once.”
“Such a gentleman,” I say in a mock-swoony voice. Or maybe I really am swooning; it’s hard for me to tell my own mind right now.
“I told you so.” His voice is soft beside my ear, and I shiver against him. I know he feels it, for his body goes rigid and he tightens his hold on my waist just a little bit. “Get into bed, Kitten.”
I’m losing control of the situation somehow.
I reach out for his bed and allow him to help me climb up into it.
It’s a struggle to sit on it without face-planting into the blankets, and I’m sure that when I turn to face him, it’s with as much grace as a newborn colt, but I manage it without retching in his face or falling off the bed—which is a small sort of accomplishment.
“Don’t complain to me if you regret turning me down in the morning.”
He smiles at me as he draws the lower curtain closed. “I won’t.”
“You won’t regret it?”
“I won’t complain.”
“Good. I’d much prefer that you did regret it, but I daresay listening to you complain about it would be so very unattractive.”
He laughs and leans against the bed frame with his arms crossed. “Would it, now? How unromantic of you.”
“Romance is for ladies and children’s stories,” I point out as I struggle to get under the blankets.
“Is it? What kind of love story do you prefer, then, Kitten—if not arranged marriages or forbidden romance?”
“I think we’re talking about two very different things, Captain.” I sigh once I’m under the blankets. I decide it’s far too hot in my trousers. I wriggle out of them and toss them onto the floor.
Captain Sharpe watches this with brows raised and eyes wide, then looks back to my face. “Are we?”
“You’re talking about love. I’m talking about lust. You’re too romantic for your own good.”
“Maybe I am,” Captain Sharpe says, his voice softening as he smiles at me. “Sounds like you aren’t interested in love at all. Are highborn lads not allowed to fall in love?”
“We’re allowed, I suppose. Not many of us do. But either way, it doesn’t matter.”
“Why’s that, Kitten?”
“I’m unlovable,” I say matter-of-factly as I lie back against the pillows.
“What makes you say that?” he asks. I can hear the frown in his voice even as I close my eyes, but I can’t understand why he’s frowning.
“Because…” I trail off as sleep begins to pull at me. “I killed my mother when she gave birth to me, so I’m cursed to live a loveless life.”
There is a long stretch of silence, and I’m quite sure I have fallen asleep, until I hear Captain Sharpe speak again.
“Who told you that, Kitten?”
“My father,” I sigh. “People don’t love pretty boys like me. They use us up and leave us when they’re done. I’m no good.” I open my eyes then and turn my head to gaze up at him.
I can’t make sense of the look on his face as he stares at me.
It’s an unfamiliar expression—one I have never seen before on anyone.
I swallow hard, because the way he’s staring at me somehow makes it hard to breathe.
I can’t make sense of that, either. Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “He’s never touched me, you know. Not once.”
“Your father?” Captain Sharpe asks, and his voice sounds nearly as strangled as mine.
I nod, because I can’t seem to speak. Not until I’ve taken a few shaky breaths. “Not even in anger.”
The captain’s jaw tightens. I know by the set of his mouth, even though I cannot see his skin pulled taut under his beard. I can tell he’s having some kind of inner struggle, but that, too, doesn’t make sense.
“Kit—”
“As a child, when I reached for him… he would pull away, like I might burn him, and call for the governess.” There is something hot and wet sliding back into my hair, creating a puddle under my ear on the pillow. “Why would he do that?” I ask in a whisper.
I don’t know why I’m asking him. I don’t know why my chest aches like I cannot breathe. I don’t know why my throat is so tight and sore. It’s all so unusual, and the way Captain Sharpe is staring at me makes me feel ridiculous and small…
And seen.
“Go to sleep, Kitten,” he whispers.
I nod, because what else can I do? I roll onto my side and close my eyes, a wet heat dampening my lashes as I do.
I can hear his breath hitch beside me, but if Captain Sharpe says anything after that, I don’t hear it. I do hear the curtain beside my head slide closed, and then… nothing.
Until the cannon fire.