Page 36 of A Siren for the Duke

As if he’d read her mind, Lionel cleared his throat.

“I am glad you ended up on the wrong ship,” he said softly. He then motioned to Ellis, who stood up, and the two left without another word. Ellis at least looked back and winked mischievously at her.

She, too, was glad she’d picked the wrong ship.

* * *

The rest of the day was hectic, indeed. After the storm, there was much cleanup, as Ellis had promised. Some of the crew were injured. She saw everything from cuts and bruises to broken bones. No one had to be amputated, praise be, but she did grimace a little when she assisted Dr. Warren, whom she immediately started to work with, to hold a sailor and comfort him when he set an arm. Only two crew members had broken bones—one arm and one leg, and they would have to rest in their hammocks until they reached Jamaica.

When she finished assisting the physician, she made her way back to the galley to aid Mr. Coade. He was less anxious than before, back to his old grumpy self as he ordered her about. Everyone received extra portions that night since it had been such a harrowing day, and Lionel had proclaimed that the crew could have two mugs of ale instead of the customary one. After dinner, she cleaned up the galley again. Despite the insane day, she didn’t yet feel tired. There was still a rush going through her veins. She needed activity. Mr. Coade, however, did not. He was fast asleep in the mess hall across from the galley, snoring at the table.

“Is he asleep on the job?” she heard Lionel’s voice ask from the doorway. She gave him a stern look as she washed the last plate.

“He’s done enough today.”

“As have you,” Lionel insisted.

He still looked tired, but not nearly as bad as a few days before. Even after the storm, there was a light in his eyes. He’d also clearly taken the time to shave after the chaos, as his cheeks looked smooth and sharp again.

“I don’t mind. It is good to feel useful.”

“But you’ve done quite enough for today. Come with me,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the upper deck.

“You’re not going to throw me overboard or make me walk the plank?” she teased.

“I’m not a pirate, Jemima, tempting as it would be. No, I simply want to show my appreciation and hopefully mitigate my arrogant and incomprehensible behavior on this journey.”

Jemima raised her eyebrow. It was as close to a real apology as she would get, and she was intrigued. She put away the last dish, wiped her hands on her apron, and followed him. There was no one at the helm since the water was calm, so they were alone on the uppermost part of the ship.

“You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?” she said, observing a blanket and a couple pillows on deck, with a glass, a teacup, and a bottle of... something golden.

“Yes. After you assisted Ellis and Dr. Warren, I realized you’re much more capable than you look.”

“You have such a way with words and women, Captain,” she said with mock indigence as they sat down.

“To be fair, you did not give me much confidence early in the journey.”

“It is true. I barely knew what an oven looked like,” she admitted sheepishly. Lionel laughed aloud at that, and suddenly Jemima felt right at home. The last time she’d heard him laugh like that was when they had been alone together on the beach before he left.

“Here. As a little treat,” he said, pouring a little of the golden liquid into a teacup for her, then a larger amount into a glass for himself.

“More ale?” she asked, sniffing it reluctantly. This was a much more powerful smell and a little sweeter. She nearly coughed at the scent alone.

“No, it’s rum. Made in the Caribbean. It’s the good stuff, too. I was saving it for a special occasion, but this seems as good a time as any. Sip lightly—it is much stronger than ale.”

“Goodness. Only a little for me, then, as I would not like to dance on another table.”

He laughed again, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he took a sip.

“Try it,” he urged.

She took a deep breath, then sipped only a little as instructed. It was very strong, nothing like she was expecting, and she coughed and gasped. Lionel patted her on the back, trying and failing to mask some laughter.

“You like this?” she asked.

“It’s very good to me. A bit of an acquired taste for those not used to it, I suppose. It’s rather good in coffee with some milk or heavy cream.”

“Why didn’t you serve it to me like that instead?” she said, pouting but unable to keep it up.