Chapter Fifteen
Fifteen
When I wake in my bed, I am grateful the lingering nightmare of my accidentally becoming a pirate has ended.
I roll onto my side and pull the pillows close.
There is something perfect about pressing your face into the cool side of a pillow first thing in the morning. In this moment nothing can bother me.
That is, until a hand lands on my shoulder and shakes me alert. I lift my head with a jolt and stare at the blur of red and blue in front of me. I squint, and a pair of breasts come slowly into focus.
Wait—where am I? Have I got blackout drunk in a brothel? I blink a few more times and lift my gaze to the face attached to those breasts. All at once the bliss of sleeping in my own bed on the cool side of my pillow crashes down around me. I am staring into familiar twin faces.
“Mr. Kit?”
It is Tristan who speaks first. It was Tristan whom I saw out on deck in a blue dress. It was Tristan’s breasts I was admiring only a moment ago. I sit up abruptly, throwing off the covers.
It’s a mistake.
I sway as the cabin begins to spin. Before I can turn away and retch once more, Tristan’s cool hand is on my forehead and a mug is pushed at me.
I don’t think, I just drink. And I’m stunned to realize it’s water running over my tongue.
Cool water, with a strange flavor of petrichor, that’s refreshing in a way water has never been before.
I drink it down entirely, then lower the mug and stare at the twins.
What. Is. Going. On?
“Tristan, what are you wearing?” I finally manage, my gaze dropping once more to the bodice of his dress. “Have you breasts under there?”
“We had to look the part of a merchant vessel,” Trevor says protectively as Tristan crosses his arms over his chest.
I frown and set the empty mug on the bedclothes. “And this is what you came up with?”
“No one expects a lady on a pirate ship,” Tristan says in his defense.
I suppose that’s true.
“Blue is not your color. You’re better suited to green and tan,” I grumble as I get to my feet. Tristan’s shoulders slacken, and he smiles at me in a way that is somehow both confused and appreciative.
He lets out a puff of laughter then, dropping his arms altogether. “Convincin’, though, ain’t I?”
“Aren’t you,” I correct.
“That too.”
“Mr. Kit, we haven’t much time,” Trevor interjects. “Cap’n Sharpe is gone.”
“Gone?” I ask, fairly alarmed. “Gone where?” This is a ship—where could he possibly have gone to?
“The French frigate took him as their guest.”
I frown, stepping between them to move into the center of the cabin.
They are beginning to crowd me, and I need room to think and breathe.
It is then I notice my rather marked lack of shoes.
I stare down at my stockings, and the confrontation on deck comes flooding back in a series of short flashes: Me bashing through the door of Sharpe’s cabin.
Me yelling at the French navy. Me outing myself to everyone on board as the heir to the viscountcy of Falmouth.
Me vomiting on Captain Sharpe’s cabin floor while he had his arms around me.
Oh Christ. I didn’t just vomit on the floor. No, I distinctly recall retching on his boots. How humiliating. I allow my gaze to drift to the spot, but it has been cleaned up. By whom I cannot tell, but I turn to the twins sheepishly. “Right…”
“Are ye really a viscount?” Tristan asks.
“Should we call ye Lord Davenport?” Trevor adds.
“Ah… no, and… no,” I say. “My father is a viscount, and I am just… Kit.”
“But yer not,” Trevor insists.
“What happens when we get to port?” I ask, to change the topic.
Trevor frowns. “We all hang, unless the French believed yer story.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” I ask, holding out my hand with my father’s ring still on it. “I offered them proof.”
“They wouldn’t have taken the cap’n if they had,” Tristan explains.
I deflate and sink down onto the settee. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”
“Well, only partly,” Trevor offers helpfully. I jerk my head up, and I can tell by his expression he is surprised by my surprise at his agreement.
“I beg your—”
“You said it!” he says.
I huff and look at Tristan, who is watching us both with a thoughtful frown. “Well,” he says, “they might have believed us if Cap’n had got the chance to show a letter of marque. When ye came burstin’ out on deck, he had to change course.”
“Ah.” Well, that certainly hadn’t been my intention. “Never mind all that,” I say, because I still hate being blamed for anything, even if it is my fault. “How do we get him back?”
Tristan’s eyes widen. “Get him back?”
Trevor, however, is grinning. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Not an hour later Tristan, Trevor, Mr. Tydes, and I are huddled around the low table in front of the settee.
Tristan is still in his blue dress, and I cannot help but stare at him and wonder at the wrongness of seeing him in it.
Trevor elbows me in the side—something he wouldn’t have dared to do mere hours earlier.
Still, I jerk my attention away from his twin’s bodice to look at him instead.
He raises his eyebrows in a kind of protective warning, and I am reminded once more of how much I truly like the twins. Even if he is glaring at me for leering at his twin brother, there is a camaraderie between us that did not exist before this moment. “I’m just—”
“Peerin’ down his dress,” Trevor interrupts helpfully.
I blush, dear Christ. I actually blush. An uncomfortable heat rushes to my cheeks as I sit up straight. “I was not,” I say, then turn to Tristan. “The cut of that bodice doesn’t flatter you at all.”
“I can’t change until the Frenchmen are dealt with,” Tristan grumbles through a mouthful of bread. Dress or no, he’s the same Tristan who sits beside me most mornings, learning to read my filthy novel and occasionally stealing bits of food from my plate.
“Right.” I nod and sit back on the settee. “So what are we to do?”
Mr. Tydes frowns. “I can’t stay in here much longer,” he reminds us. “They’ll start to wonder why I’m serving you tea.”
“I assure you they won’t,” I reply. I’ve been on my fair share of pleasure barges.
“It’s customary for the captain to invite the highest-ranking passengers to sup with him.
It’s only fitting you should sup with us in his stead.
” Technically, it should be Billy here and not Mr. Tydes…
but Billy has disguised himself as a servant on deck.
Mr. Tydes narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t argue.
He’s had the same irritated creases in his brow since he joined us with a platter of meat, cheese, and bread after I sent Trevor out to retrieve him.
Though, to be fair, he always seems to have those creases around me.
“Then, we need to make a plan. We’ll reach Le Cap by morning at this speed. ”
I nod and rub the tip of my finger across my lips. “It’s nearly full dark out. We need to dispatch the Frenchmen before we can do anything about getting Captain Sharpe back.”
“Yer becomin’ a true pirate, Mr. Kit,” Trevor points out, smiling like something is funny.
I narrow my eyes, not sure whether he’s poking fun at me or just pleased with this turn of events. Either way, I choose not to dignify his comment with a direct response. “Tristan can distract them. I’ve never known a Frenchman to turn down the chance to stare down a lady’s dress.”
“I’m not a lady!” Tristan snaps.
I shoot him a silencing glare. “I know that, but they don’t,” I whisper. “And keep your voice down.”
Tristan clamps his mouth shut and squints at me.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
He relaxes once more. “Fine. How am I to distract ’em?”
I consider for a moment how to explain what I expect him to do, then smile mischievously. “Page two hundred and ten,” I suggest.
Instantly Tristan reddens, and I am pleased beyond measure that he remembers exactly which scene of my filthy novel I am referring to.
“I can’t do that.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I explain. “You just have to make them think you will.”
“Got it.” He smirks. “Then what?”
“Wait,” Trevor says. “What are we talkin’ about?”
I wave him off, still looking at Tristan. “Then Mr. Tydes and Trevor will wallop them over the head from behind and knock them out.”
“I’m too conspicuous; they’re watching me,” Mr. Tydes points out. “I’ll get Renard to go with you. This is his field of expertise.”
I don’t love the way he said that, but it’s fine with me, though I see Trevor and Tristan exchange frowns. I’m just glad Mr. Tydes agrees with me for once. “Very well, then, Renard will wallop them over the head.”
“It would be easier to dispatch ’em with a knife to the throat,” Trevor suggests, and I freeze.
I’ve forgotten where I am. I’ve forgotten what piracy truly means.
Trevor, Tristan, Renard… even Captain Sharpe.
They’ve all killed men before. I’ve seen the blood on their clothes; I’ve seen the weapons they keep.
They aren’t playing at being pirates, like I am.
They are the real thing. All at once I’m not sure I can go through with this plan, not if it means murder.
Trevor must understand what I am thinking by whatever expression he sees on my face. He frowns, but not in disappointment or disgust. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Mr. Kit. Ye won’t have to look.”
I sigh and shake my head. “I… we can’t slit their throats,” I argue. Before anyone can ask me why, the reason plops into my lap and relief floods over me. “We need their uniforms to get around on the frigate. If they’re covered in blood, we’ll raise alarm bells.”
Trevor’s eyes widen as he looks at Tristan and Mr. Tydes, who are both staring at me with their brows raised, like they’re shocked I had the brains to think of that.
I scowl at them. “We’ll have to knock them out somehow so we can take the uniforms. And once we do, we can take the skiff across to the frigate in the shadow of night.”