Chapter 9
It was daytime when Darcy woke. The clothing he had left to dry at the end of his hammock was gone.
Rising, careful not to entangle himself in the hammocks above or hit his head on the low ceiling, he stretched, enjoying the effortless movement all the more because he knew it would not last. Beckett would make certain he worked, and Alexandra would love to see him suffer in as many ways as her first mate could imagine.
He had planned to wake during the night, when there were sure to be fewer sailors to catch him snooping for clues of their location. If only he knew where the charts were kept.
Smoothing the wrinkles from the lawn shirt and rough trousers, he made his way to the upper deck, peeking inside every cabin he passed along the way.
Jaffa found him.
Darcy looked around for listeners. Lowering his voice, he said, “Thank you. If not for your advice, I would have perished last night.”
Jaffa shook his head firmly. “Cap’n Alex knew you would survive.”
Darcy frowned. “How can you say that? She tried to kill me.”
A string of pearly white teeth widened. “If she wanted to kill you, we would not be speaking right now.”
“Pardon me, but I remain unconvinced.”
Jaffa pointed at his eye and winked twice. “That is what this means.”
There was nothing Jaffa could tell Darcy which would alter his opinion of Alex.
But Jaffa was loyal. He must have sensed Darcy’s disbelief, for he continued, “You told her you could swim. And the ship was careened and cleaned of barnacles recently. She knew you would survive. Just like Cap’n Nick would.”
“Who is he?” Darcy was sick of hearing how similar they were in appearance, but he was curious.
“That is for the cap’n to tell you. Not me.” With no further word, Jaffa turned and motioned for Darcy to follow.
The breeze felt different. Where it had been at his back the night before, it was now blowing against his face. “Have we altered course?” he asked.
Jaffa did not answer. He walked in silence until he stopped at the door next to Alex’s cabin. “The cap’n expects you.”
Darcy peeked inside. Aside from Alex, there was another man sitting at the table, which was nailed to the floor in the middle of the room.
She saw him and motioned with her knife for him to join them. “Mr. Darcy, ye’re up early. I had da Silva slip some of his sleepin’ medicine in yer cider. Knocks most men out for a full day.”
So she was responsible for his deep slumber. Why was he not surprised? The woman was a plague.
She motioned with her knife for Darcy to join them, but he had no desire to share a meal with her, so he stood at the foot of the table.
If his superior position bothered her, she gave no indication of it. She continued, “Mr. Darcy, this is Quartermaster Boone. He’s the Fancy’s Civil Magistrate, trustee, record keeper, and accountant. When we take a prize, he’s the one who counts up and divides the spoils.”
The quartermaster was tall and solid with a shock of blonde hair tied in a queue. “The right-hand man,” Darcy surmised, addressing Boone. He could not bring himself to speak to that woman.
Boone’s chest puffed out, and his appraising look turned to one of approval. “That I be, Mr. Darcy. ‘Tis a pleasure having ye aboard, though I daresay the pleasure’s all ours.”
Darcy liked Boone’s honesty. “You are not wrong.”
Alexandra stabbed a chunk of meat, tearing a piece off with her teeth, her cheek bulging as she chewed and spoke. “I hear ye have a young lady on land.”
Darcy's blood ran cold. He would allow himself to be dragged over the hull of the ship a hundred times before he spoke of Elizabeth to the she-devil with a wad of masticated cow lodged in her cheek. “Should that be true, I would not share my confidences with you.”
She shoved the ball of meat to her other cheek. “Then ye’d better learn not to speak her name in yer sleep.”
He felt his heartbeat all over his body.
Taking several gulps from her wine glass, she added, “Elizabeth. It’s a fine, strong name. Is she a fine, strong woman?”
The disdain in her tone made Darcy snap. “You do not deserve to utter her name.”
Alex stabbed her knife into the table, looking at Boone and gesturing at Darcy. “That! What’s a woman gotta do for that?”
Boone held his peace, an impossibility for Alex, who did not know the meaning of the word. “If Nick loved me like Mr. Darcy loves his Elizabeth, he never would’ve—” she cut her sentence off with a fiery scowl. Whoever Nick was, Alex would make him pay for whatever it was he had done.
Taking another gulp of wine and wiping her chin against the back of her hand, Alex asked, “What’d she do to make ye love her?”
“Nothing. I gave her my heart willingly, not under duress.” Something he doubted the woman sitting beside him could comprehend.
She mulled that over for a bit, then asked, “How long did that take?”
“From the moment I first saw her until now, ten months.”
She twisted her lips. “I’ve loved Nick these ten years.”
Boone offered, “He couldn’t do anything with yer brothers nearby. But, now that ye’re away, ye have a clean slate. A fresh start.”
“But ten months? I’m not that patient. Is there a way to hurry things along?” She looked at Darcy expectantly.
A pushy pirate asking him for romantic advice? Elizabeth would appreciate the humor in that. There had to be a way he could gain the upper hand here. Some way to convince Alex to let him go. Maybe if he played along…
Swallowing down his reservations, Darcy spoke before he could take back the offer.
“I could teach you how to act like a lady if you will let me go. One week should suffice.” A lifetime would not be enough for a woman such as Alex to transform into the crudest lady.
She made Elizabeth’s younger sisters look saintly.
Alex laughed. “I’m not that na?ve, Mr. Darcy. I’ll need much longer than a week. I’ll take yer week and up ye three more. If I’m happy with me lessons, I’ll leave ye at the nearest port after the fourth week.”
“London port.”
“And here I was thinkin’ of droppin’ ye at A Coruna or Amsterdam. Ye ever been to Boston?” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Darcy was not amused. “Four weeks,” he mumbled, weighing his options (of which, in reality, he had none).
His family would tear England apart, searching for him.
They would leave no stone unturned. His uncle had friends in high places, and his cousin had many sources who would be eager to return a favor.
They might find him before the passing of a month.
Then again, they might not. In which case, Darcy could guarantee his own release in four weeks. It beat being stuck on this godforsaken ship or left marooned on some uncharted island.
Still, Alex enjoyed all the leverage. Darcy needed more.
His lack of knowledge was his greatest disadvantage.
If he only knew the workings of a ship, he could better formulate a plan for escape.
To do so now would be the height of stupidity.
He could not even find the chart room. “Teach me the skills I need to be a worthy sailor during the twenty-eight days starting from my abduction, and I shall teach you how to be a lady.” He held out his hand.
“Hey, ye’s tryin’ to cheat me. One month.”
“Twenty-eight days from the time Bauer and Cotton struck me over the head outside the tavern. That leaves you twenty-five days.”
“Not countin’ today.”
“Counting today.” He pushed his hand closer to her.
With a marked scowl, Alex tugged her dagger free of the table, slicing her palm and handing him the knife. Blood dripped from her palm onto the edge of her plate. “Ye’ve a deal.”
Darcy stared at the knife, the edge still wet with her blood.
“It’s a blood oath, Darcy. When I give me word, I keep it. This is yer guarantee.” She shoved the dagger toward him.
Taking the weapon, he wiped it with a clean-looking linen napkin and pulled it over his hand.
Alex gave him a funny look, but they shook.
Twenty-five days. Twenty-five days to freedom.
Boone handed Darcy a flask and a length of cloth, and Darcy pondered how best to begin their lessons as he cleaned and wrapped his wound.
Handing the flask back to Boone, he saw Alex stab another chunk of meat, and Darcy decided what the theme of their first lesson would be.
“A lady cuts her meat into small bites, which she eats with a fork.” He sat on the bench across from her and showed her on the plate of food that had been set out for him there.
“Does it have to be so small?”
“Yes.”
She ate her first bite in one swallow.
Darcy exhaled. “You must chew”—he adjusted the number to one more manageable for a complete savage—“thirty times.”
Her eyes widened. She sliced another small piece and began chewing. “With all these little bites and all this chewin’, how long does it take to eat a meal?”
Darcy raised a finger. “A lady never speaks with her mouth full.”
She opened her mouth and pointed at the tiny blob on her tongue. “Ye call this a full mouth?”
To call her savage was to insult the word. Darcy had always considered himself a patient man, but Alex required the forbearance of a martyr. “You are the one who requested lessons.”
“How long?” she insisted, swigging down the contents of her glass.
“Sip. Do not gulp.”
She slammed the glass down on the table. “How long fer a meal, blast ye!”
“Three hours.”
“Three hours! D’ye think I’ve nothin’ to do with me time?
I’ve charts to study, sails to mend, lines to splice, decks to have swabbed, men to order, attacks to plan, and treasure to plunder.
Some nights, I don’t sleep a wink, and ye’re tellin’ me that a lady spends three hours of her day eatin’ dinner? ”
Darcy had no pity for her. “You really must learn to be more patient.”
She scowled. “I’d sooner stab me eyes out with a fork than endure that slow torture.”
They finished their meal in silence, Darcy clearing his throat every time Alex took too large of a bite or swallowed without chewing, and taking diabolical delight in her every glare in return.
Boone stood, a grin on his face. “Really, ‘tis a pleasure, Darcy.” He took his leave, the stiff breeze carrying his chuckle back to the table from the walkway.
Alex tapped her knife against her chin, and Darcy considered it prudent not to correct her just then.
Slowly, her lips curled up, and a calculating gleam spread up to her eyes that troubled Darcy a great deal more than the dagger she held so deftly in her hand. “Ye’re quite the hoity-toity gent, aren’t ye, Darcy? Ye must think ye’re mighty clever. Mighty proud. Well, I can cure a man of pride.”
That gleam in her eye bode ill for Darcy.