Chapter 11
The once glistening surface of the water had grown muted, and the sky was a furious shade of grey.
Percy eyed Heather beside him. She was blinking against the sharp turn of the wind as it pulled more of her hair free from its pins to blow wildly in front of her face.
A lock caught on her lip, and she absently curled it behind her ear. His gut flipped.
Bong, bong, bong, bong.
This is it. Percy took a slow, deep breath through his nose in an attempt to calm his riotous nerves.
But all the while, he was exceedingly aware of Heather’s presence at his side.
Before this assignment, they’d known each other well enough as an instructor and student, as friends, and even—after the masque—as lovers.
This, however, was so much…more. With every truth, every revelation of his life, his very identity, left him feeling exposed.
Beside him, Heather gave an excited gasp, then leaned in close to Percy. “Duncan the surgeon came aboard!”
Grateful for the small diversion, he followed her line of sight. “Delightful. Now you may discuss the apothecary and plants with someone who has knowledge of it.”
Her smile fairly glowed with zeal, and a responding quiver jolted through Percy. Seeing her happy brought a new sort of pleasure he’d not expected. That bore further rumination, but now was decidedly not the time.
A muscle twitched in Percy’s jaw as he eyed the crew gathered before him.
“Men!” Percy boomed, his arms held aloft as he addressed the crush. “As you’ve no doubt noticed, I selected my second in command: Donovan.” The pirates murmured as Donovan inclined his head.
“I see some familiar faces among the crowd, but many that I don’t yet know,” Percy continued, his gut flipping again.
What must Heather think of me? “I’m aware of the notoriety of my name, and while it mightn’t carry the same influence as ‘Butcher,’ you’ll be just as respected by the world as members of my crew.
I shall ensure that you’re fed, paid, and feared, precisely as a pirate ought to be.
And I will keep you from the noose. But do not mistake my generosity for weakness.
I mightn’t be the sort of man to murder you while you sleep, but if you openly defy me, I’ll keelhaul you. ”
His pulse skittered as another wave of fear danced up his spine. While he could engage in combat with these men individually, he was greatly outnumbered. If anyone chose to form a mutiny, or if—perish the thought—one or more of the men attempted to harm Heather…
He cleared his throat of the thickness that had settled there.
“That brings me to my companion. The fearsome Miss Morgan is not here for your enjoyment.” A chorus of groans swept the crew, and Percy resisted the possessive snarl that threatened.
“As a deadly runner sent on a quest of infiltration from London to unearth the earl’s perfidy, she is extensively trained and lethal with or without weaponry.
Do not make the mistake of attempting a tryst with her. ”
Satisfied with the sudden wariness in the men’s gazes as they eyed Heather, Percy barked, “Dismissed!”
The pirates dispersed as the first sprinkling of rainwater fell. But while they might have resumed their tasks, Percy felt their curious scrutiny burning into his rain-splashed skin.
“Lethal, Percy?” Heather murmured.
He grunted. “Is that a problem?”
Hell, he couldn’t think of another way in which to keep her safe. He trusted her training, knew she was skilled, and yet, like him, she was outnumbered on this ship.
“No,” she returned. “Not a problem.”
Her gaze grew distant, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth as she worried the tender flesh. What is she thinking? Just the knowledge that she was now exposed to a new side of him was decidedly unnerving.
“Are sailors in the habit of collecting fresh rainwater?” she asked abruptly.
He blinked, adjusting to the change in topic. “For many things, yes.”
“Might I request a cask be set out to collect rainwater for my plants? They are in dire need of proper care after being so sorely abused in the hold of the Sapphire. Many of them perished, and I cannot abide the rest following suit.”
Despite himself, a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I shall give it my best.”
He stepped closer to whisper in her ear, and a frisson of awareness shot straight to his cock. Fuck. Resisting the urge to adjust his falls, he muttered, “We must resume your fighting lessons, Heather. While we are aboard this ship, neither of us is safe.”
She audibly swallowed. “Very well.”
He pulled back and eyed the sharp blade in her hand. “I’ll procure a sheath and holster for you soon.
“Donovan,” he called to the man, who had taken to the helm. “Please see Miss Morgan to my cabin.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Something akin to confusion—pain?—flashed in her eyes, and hell if Percy wasn’t confused by it. Alarm, and a feeling that he daren’t examine too closely, spread across his chest, and before he gave it a moment’s thought, he swept forward, cupped her jaw in his hands, and drew her lips to his.
Fuck.
All at once, his skin grew taut and his breath stuttered as need spread like a turbulent wave across his body. He shuddered and angled his head to deepen the kiss. The tip of her tongue touched his, and all his blood flowed downward, making him dizzy with the sudden force of his desire.
Heather lifted on her toes with a soft moan and pressed her free hand to his side.
Her skin was hot against his, soft and trembling ever so slightly.
Gooseflesh spread over his ribs, extending from beneath her palm, and he desperately wanted to lean into it, to beg her to touch him everywhere.
Hell’s tits, what this woman does to me!
But beneath the tempest of need building within him was the keen awareness of his crew watching them—and of the possible bairn in her womb.
That reminder doused his ardour nigh instantly, and he released her. “Be good. Keep your dirk always at the ready, and I shall see you later.”
The cabin door closed behind Donovan with a heavy thunk, and despite wanting to venture into the gun deck to learn more about the animals she’d noticed in an enclosure, Heather turned to observe the spacious accommodations.
She blinked. It was obscenely decorated, with nude paintings and statues sporting enormous erections or impossibly hefty breasts.
She snorted a laugh. “Blimey, Butcher.”
At a glance, she took in the rest of the room. The furniture was a mixture of styles and themes and screamed confusion—or, perhaps pirate, for it seemed obvious that the items had been purloined from different locales.
Atop the shining, checked floor was an enormous burgundy brocade rug and a long dining table surrounded by chairs that filled the centre of the room.
On one side of the space stood an aged, white-painted desk and chair, and on the other stood a gilt-flaked chest of drawers topped with a marble washbasin and pitcher.
Against the bay of windows at the rear of the ship was a large bed hung suspended by chains from the ceiling, gently swaying with the movement of the water.
Draped above it were red velvet privacy curtains.
She made an internal note to ensure the bedclothes were laundered, even while her abdomen quivered with nerves.
Putting a hand to her chest, she leaned back against the cabin’s door.
She’d just kissed Percy. Twice. And she’d had sodding sex with the man!
A frisson of desire shot through her, and heat gathered low in her belly at the memory of his intimate touches, the snarl on his lips, and the flush of his skin as he came undone.
She resisted the urge to clench her thighs together. Blimey.
And now she was to share a cabin with him! What would their sleeping arrangement be? Her gaze swung toward the hanging bed, and a flush raced across her chest.
Diversion. Indeed. Diversion was required.
She forced her attention to the ten potted plants placed in a slapdash manner on the floor near the door, their leaves and petals in varying states of wilt or decay.
“Oh, my darlings,” she croaked. “I’m so sorry for what has befallen you.”
A sob escaped her throat as she reached for her mother’s Trifolium pratense, now brown and shrivelled.
The dear little red clover grew in many places in England and was easy enough to replace, but this had been her mother’s.
She picked up the pot, brought it to the window and, ensuring she did not obstruct the path to the bed, set it down.
Doing the same with the other pots, she organized them by size so that the tallest plants did not block the sun’s rays from the shortest.
“There you go,” she cooed. “Now you all shall have some sunlight.”
The ship tilted in a swell, rain splattering the window beside her, and a thought occurred to her. Would her plants not require fastening somehow?
She glanced around the room for inspiration and grinned when she spotted a long length of coiled rope hanging on the wall beside the painting of a nude woman caressing her own breasts. Thank you, Butcher.
Using hooks already anchored into the wall beneath the window and along the side wall, Heather secured the plants. Lord, but they needed to be watered. She would need to test the soil as well. How much water would the cask that Percy had set out have collected by now?
Percy…
She sighed as she gave one last tug of the knot and sat back on her heels.
There was more to Percy and his life at sea than she’d initially assumed.
Of course, she’d known the man had seafaring experience—it was precisely why he’d joined her on assignment—but the reaction of the crew, both pirate and naval alike, was… shocking.
Percy.
Her tryst—her anonymous tryst—had been with the very man who’d been training her and her friends in combat for months. How had she not recognized Percy that night? Only half of his face had been obscured, for pity’s sake. Even in the darkness, she ought to have recognized him. And his voice…
Now that she thought on it, though, she recalled that they’d spoken only in whispers. Additionally, she’d been distracted by the man’s impressive musculature. And his cock.
She snorted at herself, mirth and another healthy wave of arousal sweeping through her.
Percy couldn’t be faulted for withholding the secret. Hell, mayhap he’d recognized her from the first. They’d both been eager for the encounter, regardless of their reasons and pretences.
Her fingers toyed absently with the torn hem of her frock, and she grimaced down at it.
Browning blood stained the bodice and skirts in both arched and sprayed patterns.
Gripping the material in both hands, she tore a length of the material, folded it, then used the clean inside to gently dust the flagging leaves of her plants.
“I wish I had something cleaner with which to dust you,” she muttered. “But this dress is ruined, and I haven’t my things.”
Nor had she anything to wear.
She glanced over her shoulder at Butcher’s chest of drawers. “Do you suppose he has anything in my size? Would a ‘deadly runner from London’ wear the attire of a pirate?”
Her heart gave a little flutter once more at the reminder of Percy’s words. They were meant as a warning to the crew, but they’d felt like praise, nonetheless.
Turning from her beloved plants, she made her way to the washbasin and poured a draught of water from the pitcher.
She removed her ruined frock and made quick her wash with what appeared to be a clean cloth and some unscented soap situated nearby.
She then slid open the bottom drawer in the chest and searched in earnest for something to wear.
The pirate she’d seen had been a rather large man, so it would stand to reason that his attire would be as well. He was, however, in the habit of pilfering his clothes, so there might be something among his things that had yet to be altered to fit his frame.
She ran her fingers over a fine pair of well-worn buckskin breeches.
Soft. She held them up against her legs and realized with astonishment that they might actually fit.
They would be a bit snug in the hips, but they were designed to move and stretch with the body, so they were truly a lucky discovery.
What else would a piratical woman wear? Surely if she was expected to be an experienced runner, she ought to be at ease with taking on a character and fitting in where she mightn’t ordinarily.
And she was an experienced runner, drat it.
She would make this work. She would take on the role of “dangerous woman” in order to continue their charade and protect her life.
Now, to complete the ensemble.