Chapter Three #2
I can see him in the orange glow from the candles.
He is close enough that the candlelight rivals the faded sun streaming through the stained glass.
His skin is the rich brown of beach sand as the evening tide rolls out, and his hair is twisted into purposeful locs, pulled loosely back from his handsome face and falling over his shoulders.
He has a short beard that spreads across his strong jaw, with just a bit of silver streaking through it.
There are beads woven into his hair—though some of them look more like shark teeth than ivory.
All at once I am charmed by his attempts to intimidate me with theatrics. A pretty face truly can fix anything. Had he been old and unpleasant in appearance, I am ashamed to admit that I would have laughed at him. Instead I smile slowly and narrow my eyes a little.
“I have a taste for adventure,” I answer. “I want to explore the world before I have to settle down into the boring inevitability of married life.”
The captain chuckles and moves across the room.
My gaze follows the sound of his heels, and then, with a rustle of fabric, the room is flooded with light.
I squint against it. While my eyes adjust, I watch the captain as he ties back a second curtain.
Then I use this opportunity to take in his quarters.
They are richly decorated, with a bed far more luxurious than one might expect on a ship, heavy velvet curtains drawn back on either side.
In the center of the room is a settee with a black woven coat draped across the back and a tea table that might once have been beautiful but is now nicked and scratched, and covered in an alarming array of weapons.
“This is not a pleasure barge,” the captain explains as he returns to my side. “You’ll have to earn your keep on this ship.”
That pulls me out of my musings, and I turn to the captain with brows raised and eyes wide. I stare at him long enough to assess that he is not having another jest, and chuckle. “That’s unfortunate,” I say. “For I am dreadfully allergic to exertion.”
The captain smirks, and I swear I hear a subtle puff of laughter. (Who can blame him? I am exceedingly charming.) “If it’s adventure you’re after, I doubt you’ll find another ship better suited to that purpose.”
I cannot tell whether he is trying to convince me to stay or go. Or perhaps he does not care either way. His gaze moves over me, and I find myself standing taller as he takes my measure, which is a bit pathetic.
“I wouldn’t put someone like you in too physically demanding a position,” he continues, his full lips pulling back into a smile at my expense. “And I could hardly put you into the rigging. You’d fall to your death immediately—and that would leave me a man down.”
“Charming,” I mutter.
“Can you read and write?”
I blink, and my brow twitches. Is he trying to insult me? “Of course.”
“And do sums?”
“I was educated at Eton,” I say carefully. I am intrigued now. Working, dreadful and base as it sounds, might actually bring some amusement to my days while on board.
“How is your arithmetic, then?” the captain asks, stepping past me now and moving around me in a half circle.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning to watch him. Instead I smirk and stare ahead. “Oh, quite excellent,” I say. “It’s especially easy for me, as I’ve all my fingers and toes. You’ll have to promise to protect my digits so I can continue to count efficiently.”
He laughs, which is fortunate. My father has warned me on more than one occasion that my mouth will get me killed someday. At least the captain, for what it’s worth, seems to be somewhat endeared by my flagrant insubordination.
“How fortuitous,” he says, a smile in his voice. “I am in need of someone to handle my ledger. The man who previously filled that position…” He hesitates, and I cannot help but turn to read his expression. “Left.”
I mislike the way he paused to consider his words, but his face is impassive.
I am nothing if not a lover of beautiful things, and this man is beautiful indeed.
A few hours a day doing sums in exchange for escape, adventure, and a chance to occasionally admire him in the sun and wind is something I could put up with.
I grin up at him. “So long as these hands stay soft and intact,” I say, holding them up, “you have yourself a deal, Captain.”
“Hmm. What’s your name, lost little cat?” the captain asks as he pulls out the chair at his desk and drops into it gracelessly.
I clear my throat and clench my teeth. Shit—I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I can’t give my real name. That will lead to one of two things: being dragged back to my father for a reward, or being ransomed to my father and possibly killed once the sum is paid.
I decide I needn’t give my full name. “Kit,” I say at last.
If the captain is suspicious of the delay, he is instantly distracted by his own amusement. “Is that so?”
I realize my fatal error, for I have given him ammunition to tease me further.
“Kit, is it?” There is a mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he laces his fingers together across his stomach. “A lost kitten, then.”
I suck in a breath as my belly does a strange little loop. This epithet makes me feel a certain kind of way, and I dare not examine too closely what that might mean. I swear I could kick myself, were it physically possible. I grimace briefly.
“Kit Mortimer,” I amend. Though I detest the name, it is better to go by it now, as there isn’t a soul living or dead who would ever suspect me of willingly going by the name Mortimer.
The captain’s lips draw back into a toothy half grin. “Pleasure to meet you, Kit Mortimer,” he purrs. “I’m Captain Sharpe. Welcome aboard the Deliverance.”