Chapter Thirty-Four
Thirty-Four
Captain Reggie Sharpe stands in the doorway, staring at me with his deep brown eyes narrowed and a smug little smirk on his face. He’s adopted a casual pose, leaning against the doorjamb with one leg bent. But I know him far too well, and his limbs are just a bit too stiff for him to convince me.
He wears the blue silk ribbon in his hair once more, and my heart skitters excitedly at the sight of it. I told Thomas to give it to him, or at the very least to leave it with the innkeeper for him, and that he’d know what it meant. I’m so glad he did.
I let out a breath and wipe tears from my cheek. “I was afraid you weren’t coming.”
“And miss the chance to watch the bastard Prince of Wales turn to a life of piracy, on purpose this time, right before my eyes?”
I laugh at that, and then he steps forward, and I surge into his embrace, throwing my arms around his neck.
I don’t give him the chance to ask me permission, nor do I concern myself with Thomas’s sensibilities.
I lean in and crush my mouth to his, and my captain gives a startled little moan but cups the back of my head and deepens the kiss, holding me tight to him.
When we finally break away, we are both panting—and though I am crying, Sharpe is laughing softly. He wipes my cheek with his thumb and kisses my temple. “Your kohl is smudging,” he murmurs.
“Is that what it’s called?” I ask with a laugh.
“Yes. And you aren’t wearing it correctly.” Then we both laugh, and he kisses me again, before leaning back to look me over. “Your mother’s earrings,” he notices, and I love him for remembering them from her portrait. I nod, and he combs his fingers through my hair. “Very dashing.”
“They hurt terribly,” I say, laughing through my tears.
“That’ll pass,” he promises with a smile.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, drawing in a breath that hitches in my throat. “I should never have—”
He brushes my hair back off my forehead, silencing me. “You’ll do better.”
I give a stiff nod. His faith in me is undeserved, but I love him for that, too.
“Reggie.”
With me still in his arms, Sharpe turns to face Mr. Tydes, who looks annoyed that we’re wasting so much time.
“What’s our heading?”
“Portsmouth, to get our men,” Sharpe says.
Mr. Tydes nods and glances at Thomas, lifting a brow and then rolling his eyes, before he steps out of the cabin and begins to bark orders at the ship’s skeleton crew.
I turn in Sharpe’s arms to glance back at Thomas myself. He’s standing beside the bed, holding one of my jackets and just staring at Captain Sharpe and myself. Maybe I was wrong to ignore his sensibilities. I carefully pull away from Sharpe and turn to face Thomas.
“There’s still time for you to disembark,” I tell him.
Sharpe follows my gaze, as if he hadn’t noticed him there before. He says nothing, though—just waits for Thomas to answer.
Thomas straightens his back and squares his shoulders into perfect posture. “I have no intention of doing that.”
I make my way over to Thomas and take the jacket from him. “I won’t consider it disloyal if you do,” I say to him, my voice low. Though it would pain me to see him leave now, I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. I don’t want him to hate this choice.
He looks at Captain Sharpe and then back to me. “Your Highness, if you think I am shocked by your inclination towards men… I must tell you that you are a great deal less discreet than you think you are.”
Captain Sharpe laughs from behind me, and I whirl to shoot him a silencing look.
He smirks at me and saunters farther into the room, instead of cowering away like he should.
I turn back to Thomas, ignoring Sharpe as he begins to rifle through my things.
I can see Thomas is staring at him, and I tap his arm.
“Ignore him,” I say. “He’s trying to get a rise out of you. ”
“It’s working,” Thomas says.
I smile at that. “If you really aren’t bothered by it, I would very much like for you to stay. But I’m not sure you should keep calling me Your Highness.”
“I won’t call you Kit.”
“We can do battle later,” I say with a chuckle. “For now, I think Captain Sharpe owes us a tour of his new ship. And we’ll need to find you a room.”
“My new ship?” Sharpe asks with a smirk.
“As if I could competently captain a ship.”
He chuckles. “Then as Captain, let me remind you, rooms are for officers.”
“Thomas is my valet. He’ll have a room. And my trunk from Falmouth—he can keep his things in it.”
“You aren’t a prince on this ship, Kitten,” Sharpe says with an amused smirk. “You don’t get to give orders.”
I lift my brow and smile slowly. I have no intention of backing down, and he knows it. “Watch me.”
Of course I win the battle for Thomas’s room. He’s given the first one belowdecks, so he can come and go from the captain’s cabin with ease. It isn’t large, but he’s happy with it. My old trunk is brought down and secured to the floor at the foot of his bed.
This ship is smaller than the Deliverance, and though the officers’ staterooms are a bit cramped, there are more of them. Mr. Tydes, Billy, and Cook, of course, will each have their own rooms. I’ve given the twins one to share as well—and the joint responsibility of boatswain.
Captain Sharpe lets me do all this, likely only because he agrees with me.
As I stand on deck and rattle off my decisions with the sunrise at my back, he lounges on the stairs to the quarterdeck, looking amused.
I can tell Mr. Tydes is annoyed by Sharpe allowing me to give orders like this, but he must agree with my decisions as well, for even though he’s scowling at me, he’s also nodding along.
It will take less than a day to sail to Portsmouth.
It might be quicker had we more than eight men on board.
Thomas and I don’t count, so six able-bodied men are currently sailing this ship.
We take our time, but it is a short journey, and the weather is cold but clear.
When we port at Portsmouth, it’s sunset, and Thomas, Sharpe, and Trevor are the only three to disembark.
Thomas to buy provisions for himself and me—whatever it is he thinks we need that we don’t already have, of course.
Sharpe and Trevor to gather the men, who will each do their own due diligence in stocking the ship.
I don’t see the Deliverance at port. I look out at the ships, but although I see a few damaged ones, she isn’t one of them.
“Where is she?” I ask Tristan as we stand together at the rail.
“Destroyed,” he says with a sigh. “We got what we could off her, ’n’ then we sold her for parts. Mr. Tydes sold the sugar ’n’ silks.”
I nod and look at him. “Was anyone hurt?”
Tristan shakes his head and crosses his arms with a shiver. “The navy didn’t bother with us once they had ye. Cap’n agreed not to follow ’em, ’n’ so they agreed to leave us be. I guess they didn’t feel like dealin’ with us, ’n’ they likely thought we’d sink anyway.”
“Renard is probably imprisoned at Newgate,” I say, staring out at the docks for any glimpse of a familiar face. “I’m sure they’ll hang him, if they haven’t already.”
“That’s the easy way out,” Tristan says sharply. “He’s lucky the navy took him ’n’ didn’t leave him with us. We have ways of dealin’ with mutineers.”
It sounds so harsh—but I suppose when you live at sea, you have to be. “Do you think I’ll have any trouble with the men?”
Tristan’s mouth turns down into a quizzical frown. “ ’Cause yer a prince?”
I shrug.
“It’s not much different than ye bein’ a viscount,” he offers with a shrug.
I laugh at that. “It’s quite a great deal different, I assure you.”
Tristan squints at me, like he’s trying to decide whether what he has to say will offend me. “Words are words,” he says. “Ye don’t have a kingdom er land er a crown. They call ye a prince, but ye aren’t really. Just like ye weren’t really a viscount. Yer just Kit.”
I chuckle a little and lean against the rail. “I suppose you have a point. What about Thomas?”
Tristan grins. “Oh, I ’spect he’ll have as easy a time as you did the first few months.”
Poor Thomas. “Go easy on him.”
Tristan shrugs a bit. “We’ll see. Ah! There!” He points to the docks. “It’s Billy ’n’ Naeem! And Trev!”
I look where he’s pointing and see that he’s right.
Billy, Naeem, and Cook are coming towards the ship along with a few other men, Trevor leading the way, each carrying various sacks and crates.
Soon enough the deck is alive with the noise and chaos I’ve grown used to, with men coming and going as they set up rigging to haul things up on deck.
I greet the men as they board, and they slap me on the back or bow to me to try to make me uncomfortable. I let them. Because even if they are making fun of me, this is what I missed the most: being one of them.
The men, myself included, don’t seem to relax entirely until we see the sliver of land that is England drop into the horizon.
Even so, I may never truly relax again. Though my father has no way of knowing where I went, someday someone will recognize me, and word of where I am will get back to him.
No one has said it out loud, but I’m sure the crew know that the threat of being found hangs ever-present in the air.
Well. I suppose it’s an occupational hazard.
The night crew is at work on deck now, and Thomas has already come to serve me evening tea and undress me for bed, even though I insisted that it’s not necessary. I sip my tea as I sit in the wingback chair by the stove. Thomas has built a small fire in it, and its warmth radiates into the room.
“If I may, Your Highness,” he says after carefully sealing the stove and rising to his feet.
I look up at him, and the serious expression on his face makes me set the cup of tea back onto the saucer. “Thomas?”
“I must confess something,” he says. “I’ve committed a crime against the Crown, and therefore against you.”
“Christ, Thomas,” I say, getting to my feet. “What are you on about?”