“Are you sure? Those bruises look quite painful. Liniment would speed the healing process, make you more comfortable. They must be paining you.”
Nick shook his head. “Hardly noticed them,” he lied. He shrugged into a clean shirt, knowing she watched his every movement. He briefly debated, then decided against opening the fall of his trousers to tuck it in. If she had been in such shock just at the sight of his chest, no telling how she might react to inadvertent exposure to other parts of his anatomy. When he pulled out a chair at the table for her, she dutifully sat down and they ate in companionable silence.
“I must confess I’m a little surprised,” she said after they’d taken the edge off their hunger.
Nick raised his brows in reply but kept chewing.
“I’ve counted nearly a dozen members of your crew so far, and not once have I seen anyone make the sign of the cross or otherwise convey a superstition about having a woman on board. They all seem to either like me or are indifferent, but none seem to resent my presence.”
“Superstitious old dogs don’t sail with me. They get used to women on board or they get off my ship.” He ate another spoonful. “If any still harbor any superstitions, you’re the lesser of two evils.” Before she could sputter with indignity, he went on quickly. “Since we left London so quickly, I didn’t have time to replace my cabin boy. You prevent us from having only thirteen souls on board.”
She seemed somewhat mollified.
“You may have earned respect from some of them by helping with the gun carriage yesterday. And not letting go of the rope.”
She sat a little straighter in her chair but showed remarkable restraint in not preening, as he would have done in her place. “How silly of me to have forgotten. You must have females on board often, what with having five sisters.”
Nick choked. Miss Chase patted him on the back. “None of my sisters have even been to the docks, let alone on board Wind Dancer.”
“Never? Then who … er, never mind.”
No doubt she thought he had lightskirts aboard at every port. Should he set her straight as to the nature of his usual female passengers? “Charlie, er, Charlotte, may have helped them get accustomed to females. The first time she and her brother sailed with me, she was in pigtails. My grandfather had let me take the ship out while I was on holiday from school, and she hid in the hold until we were well out to sea.” Upon reflection, it was eerily similar to how he’d been duped by Miss Chase. Really, he should have learned his lesson the first time.
She had the grace not to mention it either, and they continued to eat in quiet, with the gentle rocking of the ship, the slap of water against the hull, and the soothing creak of wood and rope for accompaniment. They were steady on course, with no changes in helm due for a while. He could relax.
“Quite a Heliopolis you have on board,” she said after a bit. “An Italian cook, American purser, Scottish sailmaker, Chinese gunner, German carpenter. And I think Jack said Winston is from Jamaica. I couldn’t place his accent. I thought an all-British crew was typical.”
“Boring.” Nick took a sip of tea. Ah, the reward for suffering through a miserable rainstorm—once the waves settled, the rain barrels were set out, and the influx of fresh water made it possible to have a good cup of jasmine tea brewed from his special stash. If he ever had to abandon ship, he was taking his logbook and instruments and tea chest.
“Though I suppose an international crew often comes in handy for your pirate, er, privateer activities. During the war it did, I mean.”
Nick smoothly set his cup back in its saucer and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. “I’m a merchantman.”
Miss Chase patted her mouth with her serviette, and her tone was excruciatingly polite when she spoke. “As you say.”
“An honest merchantman.” Since protesting further would only prove he was lying, he decided to give her a different truth. “My grandfather was a smuggler.”
She leaned forward in her eagerness. “Do tell.” The lantern light caught the sparkle of interest in her brown eyes, her rosy lips curved in a half-smile, and for a moment Nick forgot what he was going to say. She continued to look at him expectantly.
“With this very ship.”
She glanced around, as though seeing the cabin anew. He could almost see her reviewing every inch of the ship she’d seen. “So there are secret compartments? A hidden hold?”
“Wouldn’t be very secret if I told you.”
She gave a conspiratorial grin. “Silk? Brandy?” She tapped her bottom lip in thought. “No, I’ll bet it was tea he smuggled. Am I right?”
“We Langstons do appreciate our tea.” He inhaled the flowery aroma before taking another sip, and savored the light floral taste with smoky undertones. “But Grandpapa smuggled whatever would pay well or would stock Grandmama’s pantry.”
“A practical man.”
“A trait I inherited from him, along with this ship.” Nick glanced at her sharply. Whatever had made him reveal that personal tidbit? Was he succumbing to the intimacy of dining with a female alone in a small space? Often, he was attracted to tall blondes with long legs—the better for wrapping around his waist—whose tops’ls threatened to spill from their bodice. Certainly not little brown wrens whose modest bust could be hidden by a masculine shirt and waistcoat.
“Oh. I would have thought you inherited it from your father first, like your title.”
“The only ships that interested my father were His Majesty’s men-of-war.”
Something in his tone must have warned it was a sore subject. Though she looked like she wanted to press him further, she dug into her meal again with uncalled-for gusto. Luigi’s stew wasn’t that good.
