Chapter 12
“Ithought we’d thrown all of the dead overboard,” Arnold Fitton, the Earl of Hanley, groused, gazing down at the deceased crewmate in distaste.
The man’s neck had been broken, and lay twisted at an ungodly angle.
“We had, your lordship,” replied Sir Rigsby, former officer and new captain of the Sapphire. “I don’t know what has befallen Grimsby, but he’s the second member of the crew to perish since the pirates sailed away.”
Arnold shrugged one shoulder, stepped around the fellow, and continued on his way to his cabin.
“Mayhap he tripped. The ship rocked rather a lot while the America was drawing up next to us.” At last their partner ship had reached them, and they were able to begin boarding.
He could finally set sail after all of this sodding waiting.
The new captain huffed a breath. “That is unlikely, your lordship. Grimsby, like the rest of the crew, was accustomed to life at sea.”
Arnold cut him a sharp sideways glance. “What are you trying to say, man? Spit it out, would you?”
“I’m saying that I believe him to have been murdered.”
The earl stopped walking and spun around. Anger flared in his chest at the prospect of another mutiny on board. What the devil?
“Additionally,” the captain continued, “as the crew was gathering and transferring what few supplies we have left, we could not help but notice that more of our medical supplies have gone missing.”
“What?” Arnold grunted. “What do you mean? Have we not accounted for what the crew required after the battle?”
Sir Rigsby nodded. “We did, your lordship. But more has since disappeared. I’ve questioned the crew and your servants, and we don’t know where the items have gone.”
“If they were taken by someone among the crew, we’ll uncover the truth. We shall search everyone’s personal belongings as they’re transferred, and the culprit shall be keelhauled.”
The captain’s eyebrows rose nigh to his hairline. “Keelhauling is an extreme punishment that I could never justify, your lordship. And, even if I could, once we’re aboard the America, the other captain shall be in charge.”
Arnold grew still, his gaze boring into Rigsby’s until the latter squirmed with unease.
“I shall—just this once—grant you leniency, as this is a new position for you,” Arnold said, his voice low and gruff.
“But, I assure you, if you read through your predecessor’s journal, you will find that per a certain royal’s authority, I am in command of this vessel.
” Arnold leaned close, his patience for this man’s weakness as a captain entirely gone. “We shall keelhaul him.”
With that, he turned and stalked toward his cabin to gather the last of his personal items. He might be older than these young fools, but he was just as ruthless as any man. He was not one to underestimate. No matter what his feckless bride-to-be had done.
The bitch had left him!
The anger that had been simmering in his chest pressed behind his breastbone, threatening to crack his sodding ribs. The heat of his fury spread down his arms and up his neck.
“Your lordship.” His valet appeared at his elbow.
“Fuck, where did you come from?”
“My humble apologies, your lordship.” The man bowed deeply. “I came to gather your things.”
Arnold grunted. “Very well. Get on with it, will you?”
The man scuttled past and filled his arms with Arnold’s things, then made to exit. But Arnold halted him when he realized so many pirates had been in the hold.
“Wait,” he said, his voice deadly calm despite the fury burning inside him. “Have my chest of boots brought to my cabin on the America, will you?”
“Of course, your lordship.” The man bowed again, his arms still laden with items, before scurrying out the door.
Arnold had to be certain his documents were safe. He also had to ensure he reached the Americas with a wench on his arm.
Without a woman to wed, Arnold would never be granted his cousin’s land and wealth.
And the old arse hadn’t much time left—which gave Arnold no time in which to search for a new betrothed.
His course, therefore, was clear. With the additional crew from the America, they had to engage bloody Baxter’s pirates and take the woman back.
No one embarrassed him. No one left him. Indeed. Calluna had made a deal with him. She’d agreed to the arrangement, just as her family had. There was no backing out.
With a nod at the pirates, who were making repairs along the gun deck and soothing and feeding the fucking animals—of which he was now in charge—Percy closed the cabin door behind him and slumped forward against the cool wood. Hell. What was he going to do?
The pressure that had been building in his chest felt nigh on solid, and his skin was flushed, despite the chilled water droplets that raced down his body. He shifted his feet, the gentle sloshing of his boots echoing in the large cabin.
“Good gracious,” Heather said from behind him. “You’re entirely soaked through!”
He nodded and turned, and his response about the rain all but died in his throat.
“What…” he croaked. What the devil was she wearing?
His eyes must have been the size of sodding cannon shot, for the woman was dressed like…
Well, like a pirate. She wore buckskin breeches and a billowing white muslin shirt that, due to the lack of a cravat, hung open indecently low to reveal the upper swells of her large breasts, which were lifted by the stays that she’d fastened over the shirt.
Hell’s teeth. How had she managed to fasten it by herself?
His gaze was drawn back to the fawn-coloured breeches that hugged her deliciously thick, muscular thighs to perfection, and he salivated.
Salivated, for Christ’s sake. What was bloody well the matter with him?
And she wore no stockings. Her calves and feet were entirely bare as she sat upon a chair and… What the hell was she doing? Darning stockings?
“Why have you changed?” he ground out at last. He stepped closer, his feet squelching in his boots.
She looked down at herself and shrugged one shoulder. “My dress was ruined in the battle, and I had naught else to wear. I assumed that a woman of my presumed experience would be comfortable making such concessions.”
“I commend your quick thinking—” In an unintentional slip, his gaze dropped to her breasts, and the words stopped. His throat clicked as he swallowed. “Jesus, Heather. Your nipples are visible through the muslin of that shirt. You’re veritably nude!”
“Oh, drat.” She glanced down at herself once more, then wrapped an arm across her chest to cover the…
indecency. “I’d hoped I was wrong. There is a black shirt in the chest of drawers, but I’m afraid it’s just large enough that it slips off both of my shoulders.
I’d hoped to avoid exposing more skin around the pirates. I’ll have to alter it to fit my size.”
Her skin was flushed a delicious pink, drawing his gaze up her neck.
“In…” He coughed. “Indeed.”
Blood was flowing in a decidedly southern direction, his cock growing heavy with desire and his curst mind filling with thoughts and…memories.
Memories of a night that had very likely led to a pregnancy for which he was ill-prepared.
A sudden burst of fear and nerves set his feet into motion, his boots squishing with each step as he paced the width of the cabin.
For years he’d not considered his fears of fatherhood particularly noteworthy, for he’d always been so certain that he would never be faced with the circumstance. But—hell.
He raked his fingers through his dripping hair.
“Are you well, Percy?”
His head shook before he’d even considered the question. “No.”
She stood and came forward, one arm still covering her breasts. “Can I do something? Have they any tea aboard? Shall I fetch you some?”
All at once, a fear leapt from his mouth. “Your stays are too tight.”
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your stays.”
“Yes, I heard you. But I do not believe it is your place to—”
He gestured agitatedly at her abdomen. “You could harm the…the…”
She lifted a brow. “My stomach? While your concerns are noted, they’re a bit late. I daresay women across England would have choice words for the creator of the corset and stays—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Percy interjected.
“Then what?” She huffed a breath. “I acknowledge that I’m a larger woman, Percy. Lacing my stays will always create a bit of a…a bulge.”
“The baby, Heather,” he burst out. “Your stays could harm the baby.” And fuck if he didn’t find all her bulges erotic as hell.
A cough escaped her, and the flush on her cheeks deepened to a fetching crimson. “The what?”
The now-familiar unpleasant swirling began in his gut once more. “The baby. It has been several weeks since our tryst, and this morning you were nauseated—”
Her loud, abrupt laugh cut him off. “Pardon. But I’m not pregnant, Percy.”
Hope fluttered in his chest. “Truly?”
If it were possible, her blush deepened yet further. But she maintained contact with his gaze. “I had my courses aboard the Sapphire.”
A gusty breath left him in a whoosh, his shoulders sagging as profound relief rushed through him. There is no baby.
“Thank fuck,” Percy breathed on a laugh, the lightness in his chest making him feel almost giddy. “I cannot tell you just how worried that’s made me. Even the thought of it…” He gave a little shiver.
Heather’s expression puckered in a frown before it cleared.
“As for our sleeping arrangement,” Heather began, then hesitated.
“We’ve already established a fictional romance between us for the benefit of the crew, but, despite my warnings, I don’t trust these men.
They are dangerous and accustomed to quick gratification and getting everything they desire.
While I trust your skill with a weapon, we cannot risk your being set upon in your sleep an entire deck below me.
For that reason, I think it best that you and I share this cabin. ”
Heather nodded, her arms still crossed over her breasts.