Every fellow worth his salt had a weakness for women, didn’t he? Especially the beautiful ones? Doubly so for the ones who gave him the time of day and made willing conversation?
It was only natural.
Simply animal. It meant nothing.
All the same, he adjusted the blanket over his lap.
“Libba?” he croaked, flinging his hand out for the carafe of water some kind soul had left behind for him, on the low table between all the seating options in this room.
“Oh,” she said, blinking, but not bothering to look him in the eye. “Right. I’m not going to tell Mal. But the whole stupid farce did give me an idea.”
“You’re not?” he managed, surprised, carafe hovering over the glass it intended to bless with its bounty. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, sighing and slumping back in the chair, stretching her legs out in front of her like a cat with a little, baiting sigh. “It will only distress him. He knows they say those things, but he doesn’t need to be reminded. We already know what they see when they look at us. It doesn’t bear reminding.”
“What they see when they look at you?” he repeated, heat creeping up his throat. Had he been that obvious?
“People like that,” she clarified, waving a hand. “I thank you for what you did. I wish I could punch a sod now and then, especially in defense of my brother. But I cannot, and so I am very pleased that you did. Very pleased.”
He blinked, the water falling into the glass.
He could picture it, upsettingly enough. He could see her lurching into the melee perfectly well. He could see the delight of the dockyard jack tars catching her waist as she flew into them.
He hated it.
“Why is your hair like that?” he demanded, gesturing with his glass of water, swinging it so that a bit slipped out over his fingers. “You sleep in such a fancy hat?”
She paused, her fingers half twined around that loose curl, and gave a little laugh. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her cheeks flushed in the low light. “It is more a wrap than a hat; it is just a bolt of fabric so my curls stay safe in the night. I’ve always wrapped my hair. You’ve seen it before.”
He frowned. “No. You’ve always just worn an ugly, white bonnet like every other lady.”
“I never have,” she told him, holding up a finger. “You are just forgetting.”
He leaned forward to flick her finger away. “No,” he repeated, stubborn to the last.
She laughed again. “Yes! And what about you? With that chest hair. I didn’t even think you could grow a mustache.”
He narrowed his eyes, looking down at his own bare torso and the sparse clustering of golden-red curls that amassed at the center of it. “Well,” he said, “I can.”
“Indeed, you can.” She observed the general area of his bared torso again, making his stomach drop worryingly low. “Say,” she breathed softly, “are you still wearing that cologne?”
“No!” he shouted, throwing his arms out like a barricade, his stomach still dropping, but his heart leaping right up into his throat to make up the difference. “No! I’m sure I sweated it all off due to this damned fire. Positive, in fact. What’s your idea?”
“Sweat often just modifies the scent,” she said thoughtfully, toying with that curl by her ear as she watched him. “Ruby’s concoctions don’t come off without soap and a scour. Now I’m curious.”
“Stop being curious!” he begged. “What’s yours? Your… Yourconcoction?”
“Oh,” said Libba, a grin curling up at the corners of her lips. “Mine is special. Only a single-scent note. Night-blooming jasmine. I’m the only one she’ll make something so simple for.”
“I thought that was your hair oil,” he said, desperate to keep her over there and distracted.
She looked surprised, those dark eyes widening a touch. “It is. As well. Do you want to hear my idea or not?”
“Yes, please, God,” he said, dropping his arms and heaving a sigh. “It must be two in the morning and you are relentless.”
“It’s about a quarter past midnight,” she replied, with a twist of her lips. “And I’m just sitting here.You’rethe one who keeps shouting and flailing about.”
He released a long, sustained groan, almost musical in quality, and kicked himself to the side, draping the blanket up over his body and face, which set her off giggling in a way that he enjoyed entirely too much.
