Page 11 of A Siren for the Duke

“Are you alright, Captain?” Ellis asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Perfectly well,” Lionel said in a clipped tone. Behind the door, he heard Jemima thumping about.

Ellis looked past Lionel’s shoulder to see what was wrong, but Lionel quickly blocked his view and cleared his throat.

“Porthole window won’t close properly. I’ll have to fix it later,” he said hastily.

Ellis regarded him with a curious look that said he didn’t quite believe him, but he let the issue rest, much to Lionel’s relief.

“Right. Well, your father had a case delivered to the ship before we left this morning. The crew found it with the rest of the cargo.”

Lionel resisted the urge to groan. He knew exactly what the trunk was — piles and piles of papers detailing the treacherous state of the Hunt family finances. Why it couldn’t wait until he returned home, Lionel did not understand. What he did understand was that this was the Duke’s way of reminding him that he was quite serious about passing him the title.

“I’ll look through it later tonight. Can you gather the crew? I need to address them about the rest of the journey,” Lionel asked, trying desperately to distract Ellis from the noise behind the door.

His first mate nodded, and Lionel assured him he’d be along directly.

As soon as Ellis was gone, Lionel faced the door and spoke through the keyhole.

“I swear on all that is holy; if you make another sound, I will toss you overboard without a second thought. Understood?”

He heard Jemima give a small “harumph.”

With an exasperated sigh, he made his way to the upper deck to address his crew.

* * *

Jemima had never felt so uneasy in her life. It was not just the fact that she’d accidentally snuck onto her former lover’s ship or the fact that she was leaving England behind for good. She was simply unused to the sea. It always looked so calm from the harbor or the cliff side in her family’s country home. She was quickly learning that was not the case. The ship pitched and rolled with each rise and fall of the wave, and from what she could see outside the small circular window, they’d hit a storm. Thunder crashed overhead, and she even saw lightning split the sky above the water. There were storms on land, of course, but out here on the sea, she felt as though she were right in the middle of it—and it was making her ill.

Being cooped up in this small cabin certainly did not help. She felt like she was being stifled. There was no possible way she could stay there until they reached port. It was almost worse than being stuck inside a stuffy drawing room with overly perfumed women.

Jemima let her eyes drift over the room, surveying what she could possibly use to free herself. The room was so sparse, and nothing was heavy enough or sharp enough to help. And there was nothing in her satchel except… oh, there was something! She’d brought some hairpins with her. Those would certainly help her pick the lock. Sophia, her younger sister, was rather an expert in picking locks for slightly nefarious reasons. Jemima had watched her do it enough times. With her brow furrowed in concentration, her tongue between her teeth, she set to work at the lock. It was more difficult than it looked. Sometimes she’d hear a satisfying click, and then it would lock again. When the ship lurched on the fourth try, it sent her reeling backward. She landed squarely on her backside. She growled in irritation. Finally, on the fifth try, she managed to pry herself free. The pitching and rolling of the ship lunged her forward and slammed the door shut behind her. Thankfully the thunder was loud enough to cover the loud sound, but she made a note to be more mindful in the future.

She quickly realized the ship was much larger than she’d previously thought. Lionel’s cabin simply looked to be one of many. She passed through what she guessed was a dining room, finely decorated. There was another row of rooms down a narrow corridor she would explore later. But now, she needed to find Lionel and explain herself.

Her mind was whirling with thoughts of the last time they had seen each other. It might have brought back some bittersweet memories, but when she pushed open the door, she found herself on deck, near the back of the ship, where the mizzen mast stood tall and proud in the storm. The cacophony of thunder, the roar of the ocean, and the crew shouting at each other assaulted her ears. Sailors scurried about, some on the rigging, some on the deck, all clearly trying to stabilize the ship in the storm. Jemima was quite frozen to the spot. Heavy rain poured down, soaking her to the skin. Her light brown hair, once beautifully coiffed, was now wet and sticking to her forehead. It was all too much to bear; so much was happening. She backed up slowly but accidentally into a sailor passing behind her.

“Oi! Watch yer step, you—“ clearly, the man was about to say something unsavory, but then he stopped short when he realized the crew member was wearing a gown.

Jemima and the man stared at one another for a second, sizing each other up. Her heart pounded in her chest, loud as a canon.

“Look! A woman!” Someone shouted from further down the deck.

All heads snapped to look in her direction, and her presence was met with murmurs and grumbles.

Lionel had not been joking when he said that sailors thought a woman’s presence aboard ship was a bad omen — all of them looked upset, bewildered, or downright angry. Then they all began shouting and pointing at her. As much as she hated to admit it — perhaps it would have been best for her to stay cooped up in his cabin.

She took another step back, meaning to head to Lionel’s cabin, but a strong arm gripped her elbow, locking her in place. Frightened, she whipped her head to the side, expecting to see the soldier with whom she’d been caught in a staring match, but the Captain himself held fast to her elbow.

His eyes matched the weather that raged around them, and he wore a scowl so fierce it could curdle milk.

“I told you not to leave the cabin,” he growled.

Eyes wide with fear, she nodded vigorously, still in shock.

CHAPTER SIX

Storms were not uncommon at this time of year, but Lionel had rather hoped it would not happen so early. He and the quartermaster were manning the wheel when the crew began to murmur amongst themselves, all looking in the same direction. Thinking one of them might have spotted a reef, Lionel looked aft, but what he saw was worse news than a reef. Jemima was standing by the mizzen mast, entirely soaked and looking quite troubled indeed.