Chapter 14
“Another swell!” Percy shouted, rainwater spraying from his lips.
He widened his stance slightly to accommodate the movement as the Pandora tilted bowsprit-first into the approaching wave. His grip tightened on the helm’s handles, slippery though they were with rainwater and the ocean’s spray.
“Direction?” he asked his second helmsman nearby.
The man gazed into one of the compasses set into the binnacle and shouted, “Five degrees west-southwest, Captain!”
A wave crashed against the side of the ship, spraying water through the air. The ship groaned, and Percy cursed. They’d been tossed about in this storm for hours. Now he and his pirates were battling against each wave deep into the darkness of night.
Another swell appeared before them, and he spun the wheel toward it.
“Brace yourselves!” he hollered.
Up they went, tilting toward the dark clouds pouring water down on them. They crested the wave, and Percy braced as the Pandora tipped down. Bwoosh! They landed hard, the spray reaching across the planks of the quarterdeck before being sucked back into the ocean.
Wave after wave tossed them about like a leaf upon a river, all while Percy fought to keep the Pandora upright.
A smaller swell tipped them forward, and he once more tightened his grip on the helm as seawater crashed over them.
The next was yet smaller. Gradually, the whipping wind died down, and with it, the tempestuous waves.
The rain didn’t abate, nor did the sky clear, but at last the ship settled into a gentle, steady rocking.
He stood thusly for long moments, braced for the storm potentially gathering strength once more. But, as time passed, the waves continued to gentle.
Percy loosened his grip on the helm’s handles and adjusted his stance, his muscles aching with tension. “Direction?” he called to the second helmsman.
The shorter man wiped back his dark locks and examined the compass. “Five degrees north-northeast, Captain.”
Percy cursed and turned the wheel, trying to get them back on course.
A crate wobbled with the turn, its movement catching Percy’s attention not for the first time that evening, and his mind once again strayed to Heather.
Christ, but he hoped that she’d weathered the storm well enough.
Her cask of water would do her plants little good, however, if it was full of salt from the ocean.
“You, there!” he called to one of the pirates, ensuring the cannons remained secured. “Empty that cask and refasten it to the bulwark.”
“Aye, Captain.” The man tugged on his forelock and hurried to do as he was bid.
Despite himself, Percy warmed at the thought of Heather’s joy at having the water to feed her beloved plants. It bewildered him, his reaction to her. He desired her, of course, but this…attachment he felt for her was veritable tosh. Nothing could come of it, and he knew that, damn it.
While he would grant that the women of Bow Street were unlike others of the haut ton, Heather was still a lady.
For all he knew, she might well desire children—which he would never wish to provide.
She was above his station—which was entirely unavoidable, as he was the bastard son of a pirate—and…
sod it, she deserved better than him. He had no intention of saddling any woman with the burden of his name, and he most certainly had no desire to do so to a woman that he actually—
He cursed. Why, damn it? He was so sodding attracted to the woman, with her melodious voice, sunny hair and disposition, and fiery determination.
Hell, but she was braver than most men he knew.
And every bit of her, every new facet of her personality that he discovered, all tugged at him, drawing him closer to her when he damned well ought to leave her to her assignment.
Shaking himself, he called to his second helmsman, “Direction?”
“Southwest.”
Percy stayed the wheel and barked orders at the crew, while Donovan appeared beside him.
“Shift change, Captain,” he said.
Percy nodded. “Report?”
“One man injured—fell getting out of his hammock and landed on the table—and three seasick. One member of the crew from the Sapphire was stabbed and bears a blade wound. No complaints from your woman.”
My woman.
“Wait.” Percy frowned. “Someone was stabbed?”
Donovan nodded. “He and others approached your woman with lewd intentions. I’m told she defended herself admirably.”
Hot fury shot through Percy’s veins, and he bit back a dark curse. “Noted. We are travelling to San Luis and are currently directed southwest.”
The man’s eyes lit at the mention of the pirate port—and the prospect of drink, gambling, and women.
“Aye, Captain!” he replied enthusiastically, taking the helm.
Percy bid the man good night and, with a wave, withdrew down the companionway and slipped into his dark cabin.
At last, the storm had eased, and Heather was able to curl herself between the bedclothes, her mother’s journal clutched tightly to her chest as the ship gently rocked and rain splattered the wall of windows.
Exhaustion pulled at her, but her mind wouldn’t quiet enough for her to slip into sleep.
She was grateful, though, that her seasickness hadn’t returned.
Compassion filled her at the sound of the animals’ distress. There hadn’t been animals on the Sapphire, but it made sense why they would bring them aboard, particularly for long journeys.
She sighed.
She’d spent the majority of the storm saving her plants from tipping over, guarding her mother’s journal—and, within it, the earl’s documents—or clinging to the bed as it swung wildly back and forth.
But so much had happened in just one day, it was as though her brain was determined to analyse every action she’d taken.
A tremor of trepidation and revulsion shook her from head to foot as she recalled the encounter on the mess deck…
and the battle of that morn. She’d intentionally injured those men.
And she would do so again. The shock of that truth rippled through her every time it crossed her mind.
Yes, she’d been trained in such combat, but she’d not truly considered what that might mean.
The cabin’s door slid open on silent hinges, and Heather pulled her dirk from its sheath and held it at the ready, poised to attack.
It was only when she heard a thump and Percy’s muted curse that she relaxed and put the weapon away.
She’d intended to lock the door, but didn’t know if Percy would be able to enter if she fell asleep.
His boots sloshed, and his clothes made wet slapping sounds as he moved about the space. He cursed softly again, and a smile quirked her lips, the awful wobble in her abdomen being gradually replaced by the warmth of familiarity and affection.
Snick.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Snick.
“Fuck,” he repeated.
Heather’s chest seized, all pleasant feelings fleeing at once. Fire. With her heart and mind still veritably besieged with worry and fear, she could not countenance yet another added atop it.
“No,” she breathed, sitting up abruptly.
“Hell’s tits, Heather!”
His dark, shadowy figure stood frozen near the chest of drawers, dim moonlight glinting off the glass enclosure of the lantern he’d been attempting to light.
“No fire,” she repeated, her voice quavering. “Please.”
“Very well.” He set something aside—no doubt the flint and steel—and withdrew an item from his satchel.
“How do you fare?” she asked.
He huffed a breath. “Sore. And wet. You? Any seasickness?”
“No. Merely tired.”
He grunted in return, then pulled his drenched shirt over his head.
Heather’s core gave a throb as instant desire swelled, and her heart hiccoughed.
Privacy, Heather’s mind whispered. The man required it.
But her gaze would not be deterred. Instead, it was transfixed on the movements of his dark figure: carefully removing his sodden clothing, scrubbing his body dry with a towel, and donning a pair of breeches.
And there she sat, boldly eying him through the dim, hazy light from the window at her back. And he let her.
Her pulse sped, and she fought to keep her breathing steady.
He padded several steps toward the bed before he hesitated, the broad expanse of his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was, no doubt, deliberating on where he might sleep. Heather’s stomach dipped.
If they shared the bed, their proximity might encourage touching…
might lead to sex. Her core throbbed with want at the thought, and she swallowed convulsively.
Hell, but her body was flooded with desire.
She’d been intimate with the man before, and her maidenhead was gone.
What would additional trysts with the man do apart from bring pleasure and delight?
She would ensure that they took precautions—whatever that entailed—and she would enjoy every moment that she could with Percy while she had him. If he wished to, of course.
Her heart hiccoughed, and her pulse sped yet further, no doubt flushing her skin.
And, without hesitation, she flicked up the bedclothes beside her, offering a silent invitation.
“Are you certain?” he asked, his voice rough, likely from hours of bellowing orders through the storm.
“Yes.” She lay back against her pillow and patted the space next to her at his continued hesitation. “Come along, then. You needn’t touch me if that makes you uncomfortable. But you require rest, Percy.”
He moved, then, the bed swaying and dipping with his weight as he joined her.
The dim light was better nearer the window, and she drank him in.
His skin was half in shadows and half coated in the milky blue light of the storm, the raindrops sliding on the glass panes creating a pattern upon his skin.
His tattoos were only inky splotches in the obscurity.
She turned on her side to face him, not bothering to hide her perusal as he settled himself.
“It doesn’t,” he murmured.
“Mmm?” she hummed in question.