Chapter Twenty
Twenty
It’s less than a week before we reach Port Royal.
In that time I have seen Renard only twice, and each time he has avoided looking directly at me.
I do hope this isn’t going to be a permanent thing.
I don’t love the idea of remaining trapped in close quarters with such animosity brewing between us, and I refuse to beg anyone for an apology.
It all feels like a recipe for disaster.
What will I do if he decides to tell other members of the crew, twisting the story in his favor?
Would they turn on me? Despite everything Sharpe has said about my being one of them, I can’t help but hear my father’s voice in my head, reminding me of my curse and how unlovable I am.
Does the crew’s loyalty surpass the strength of my curse?
As much as I joked with Digby Hale about pirate ships being a hotbed of buggery, I know this isn’t actually true.
No one else is acting strange around me, though, as far as I can tell.
Or if they are, it’s because they’ve taken to calling me “lordling” again and making snide comments about my father’s title.
Snide comments are fine; I think most of them stem purely from a mislike of the peerage, rather than true animosity.
That’s understandable—I mislike the peerage too.
I have noticed the new blue ribbon tying back Captain Sharpe’s locs, however.
And unfortunately, so have the men. He thanked me the next morning for the surprise of pastries in his desk drawer.
I thought that was that, but then I saw the damned ribbon…
and to make matters worse, whenever someone teases him about it, his gaze locks straight on to me. Whatever happened to subtlety?
Most of the men assume it was a gift from a harlot on Nassau, which he’s neither confirmed nor denied, so none of them seem to suspect me.
Except for the twins.
They stared at me with wide eyes the moment they noticed it, and I could do nothing but shake my head and insist, “It’s a good-quality ribbon. He’s just being pragmatic.”
I don’t think they’re convinced. And truly, neither am I.
Now every time I’m alone with Captain Sharpe, I’m far too aware of how my skin is too tight and my clothes too garish.
As much as I flirted with him before, it seems dangerous to do so now.
Dangerous because it feels tangible—and I’m not actually sure it would be wise to climb into bed with a pirate captain while I’m a member of his crew.
“Are you ready, Kitten?”
I jump and look up from the ledger at the sound of Captain Sharpe’s voice directly beside me. The blue ribbon is there, teasing me as it hangs over his shoulder—a sharp, beautiful contrast to the sun-bleached brown of his hair.
“Not at all,” I say.
He laughs and leans against the desk. “You’ll do just fine. You’re more capable than you think.”
“I’m exactly as capable as I think,” I insist as I slip the ledger into his desk and stand. “But not nearly as capable as you think.”
“I must think very highly of you,” Captain Sharpe says with a smile that’s too gentle.
“It’s easy to do.” I shrug into my jacket and smooth out my waistcoat. I’ve dressed today in one of my finest ensembles: a pair of sky-blue trousers with a gold waistcoat, white shirt, and navy-blue jacket. It’s a combination that screams, I’m a helpless dandy with too much money to spare.
I can see him assessing me as I slide my cravat under my collar and begin to tie it. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re frowning at me.”
Sharpe has the good grace to look abashed. “You look very handsome,” he says.
There’s a “but” in there somewhere, so I raise my brows and tilt my head expectantly. I won’t take the bait.
“But I don’t like seeing you rigged up like this.”
“There it is,” I murmur.
“Have I insulted you?”
I chuckle and slide my purse into my jacket pocket. “No. But I like that you’re worried about insulting me.”
“Don’t take your purse with you,” he says. “You’ll get robbed.”
I let him reach into my pocket and remove the purse.
He drops it into his desk drawer and pulls out another purse, then hands it over to me.
It’s just as heavy as mine. He locks the drawer and takes the key as I open the new purse to peer into it.
Inside is mostly stones, rubbed smooth from the sands and tide.
Mixed with it is a small amount of coin, but nothing substantial.
It’s smart. This way, I come across as wealthy but don’t risk losing more than a few shillings.
“Meet me at the Three Crowns Inn once you’ve found him. I’ll have a room there. If you don’t see me, tell anyone there you’re my guest. They’ll be waiting for you. Arrange a meeting there with Reuter tomorrow morning to go over your books.”
I very carefully do not think about the last time I was in a let room with another man.
I’m most definitely not thinking about Renard kissing me, or touching me, or the way he slid his fingers along my belly before I realized it was going all wrong.
And I certainly am not taking a single breathless moment to consider how differently that night might have gone had it been Captain Sharpe climbing into bed with me, with his gentle hands and his low voice rumbling in my ear as I gave myself entirely to him.
I clear my throat and nod, forcing myself to smirk up at him. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Jamaica, for what it’s worth, doesn’t hold quite the same charm as Nassau.
It lacks the color and allure of the marketplace.
There is more order here—more gentry. Christopher-Henry would have preferred this place, but Mr. Kit isn’t so sure.
The air, however, tastes of spices and cooking meat, and it’s making my mouth water.
Searching for Jeffrey Reuter isn’t nearly as fun as I made it out to be in my head.
I should have had one of the twins dress up in livery of some kind and pretend to be my servant.
At least then I’d have someone to talk to…
and to watch my back. My legs are getting tired, and my feet are beginning to hurt.
What was I thinking wearing these heels on the cobblestone street?
I am not used to this much movement in one day, and especially not in this heat.
I’ve visited three taverns already, asking for suggestions of a local man to keep my books for me. I’ve had plenty of names written down for me, but not one of them is the name I’m seeking.
I have little hope as I push my way to the bar inside the fourth establishment of my search and wave the barkeep over to order myself an ale.
“Your kind usually port in Kingston, where all the gentry are,” he notes as he fills a mug for me. “What’s brought you to Port Royal? It’s a rough place to be.”
I wet my dry tongue with a few sips of the ale, then drop some coin onto the counter. “My father is commissioned by the king in the war on piracy.”
There’s a glint in the man’s eye that could be either fascination or downright unfriendliness.
I try to appear bored at the idea of it.
Then I slam my hand down onto the bar top.
“Actually, perhaps you can help me! You see, I come into my majority soon, and Father wants me to start minding my own part of the family business.” I roll my eyes for dramatic effect.
“I’ve a terrible head for numbers and am in desperate need of a man to keep my books…
” I glance over my shoulder and lean in close. “Without my father knowing.”
The barkeep seems scandalized, but he grins at me and leans in close. “I have just the man for the job. Reuter is the name.”
For a moment I panic. It takes me longer than it should to remember to inhale. “Reuter, you say? That’s a strong Prussian name. Where might I find this man? Is he nearby?”
“Oh yes,” the man says with a nod.
I pretend to search my pockets for something to write with, and he holds up a finger and steps away from the bar. A moment later he is back with a small, torn piece of parchment that has an address jotted down on it. “It’s not a far walk.”
“High Street?” I ask, squinting at his writing as I take the paper.
“Past the school. The house with the red roof.”
“Much appreciated,” I say, dropping a few more pennies down for his trouble. “You’ve positively saved my neck.”
I finish my pint in a few gulps and push the piece of parchment into my waistcoat pocket. My heart is racing all over again, but this time with excitement. I am so close to finding this Jeffrey Reuter and making Captain Sharpe proud.
The strange thought gives me pause, but then something else catches my attention. Stepping out of the tavern just in front of me is Renard. Did he see me and hurry away to avoid me? I frown and follow him. “Renard,” I call.
He stops and turns, grimacing. “Kit…”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“Aye.”
“I don’t want there to be a problem between us, Renard. We aren’t children—”
“Kit!”
I clamp my mouth shut and turn to see Martel behind Renard. Ah. That explains the absolute death glare Renard has been giving me since I opened my mouth. “Martel,” I say in greeting. “I didn’t see you there.”
“What’s got you wandering about on your own?”
“Just… looking for a hot meal,” I lie. “Care to join me?”
Martel opens his mouth, only for Renard to jab him in the side and give him a look. What’s that about? I frown as I watch them.
“Sorry,” Martel says, though he looks confused. “We’ve a few things to do before we leave.” He points to a building nearby. “That place there’s the best if you are wanting something to fill your belly, though.”