Page 9 of Go, Rogue

She leaves her slippers where they are, lying ruined in the cabin. Just as she left her reputation lying ruined in the country church in Surrey from which she’d fled her nuptials yesterday morning.

But if ruination is the going price of freedom and a life lived on her own terms, so be it. She’ll willingly, if somewhat impulsively, pay it.

She’s never again going to be beholden to anyone but herself for her security and her happiness. From this point forward, Lady Catherine West is a woman in charge of her destiny, even if her feet happen to be bare and really quite cold.

She makes her way out of McGann’s cabin—my cabin now, thank you very much—and toward the sound of yelling. Below deck, where the captain’s cabin is located, it’s dark, and the passageways are confusing, but she finds the ladder to the upper deck she used last night. Or she thinks she does. They all look confusingly alike.

But any of them, she reasons, will get her where she needs to go. She climbs up, wincing from the feel of her bare feet and ankles exposed to the frigid air, until she reaches a hatch door with a large wheel protruding from it that seals off the top of the ladder.

Hmmm.

That’s not a detail she recalls from last night. But it had been dark and raining, and she’d been rushed. Much like fleeing one’s wedding, stowing away requires a certain amount of hurry.

She reaches the top and places her hands on the large, wooden wheel. She turns it slowly while it creaks in protest. After she feels it loosen, she pushes open the hatch door, her muscles flexing and straining with the effort. She manages, though, and heaves herself up, wriggling first her arms through and then her head. The cold wind from above immediately slaps her in the face and brings tears to her eyes. For a moment, she can’t feel her nose. But then she inhales, taking all that cold, fresh air into her chest. It’s hers to breathe, and she revels in it.

The sun, shining brightly after last night’s storm, reflects off the blue of the water and the skies. It makes her squint, but she shields her eyes and endeavors to pull herself up the ladder a little further.

If only… she could… well…

She seems to be stuck.

I should have removed the crinoline, she thinks. The thing is as wide as the Thames.

Double drat.

She squirms, trying to get herself out, to no avail. She really is stuck. She frowns but then realizes her skirts are the least of her worries as a shadow falls across her face. She looks up to find Andrew McGann looming over her with a scowl unlike any she’s ever seen before.

His emerald-green eyes hold a kind of… confounded fury. If such an expression is even possible. She looks again; it does seem to be possible.

“Good morning,” she says cheerfully, hoping to get the conversation off to a good start.

Catherine isn’t clear on how he even knows she’s aboard, but she hopes they can sit and have a conversation like two regular people of business.

She is now a person of business. She’s made herself into one. He just doesn’t know it yet.

She tries again to pull herself up out of the hatch, but she can’t. She’s wedged halfway between the decks. Head, arms, and shoulders above. Hips, legs, and overly-wide skirts still below. It’s utterly preposterous, and yet, the more she moves, the more entangled she becomes.

Well, then.

Argh. Ridiculous.

“What in hell are you doing on my ship, Menace?” McGann’s scowl deepens further, as if he means to frighten her.

Catherine West will not be frightened. Not by him, nor by anyone.

“Could you please lend a hand? I seem to find myself in a pickle.”

Her request is all politeness with a brilliant smile. Is that because she’s ignoring his question? She is for the moment, yes.

Just as she’s ignoring his emerald-green eyes and golden brown skin and curly, slightly too-long hair, thank you very much.

“You’ll stay exactly where you are until you answer me.” McGann glances up at the clouds as they dance across the blue sky. “And you better hope the weather holds, because if it rains again, I don’t think you’ll survive the exposure.”

“Really, McGann. There’s no reason to threaten me. As your investor, I’ve every right to be on board. In fact, from what I’ve gathered on the nature of investment, and I have done my due diligence, it’s just as much my ship as it is yours. Now, tick-tock like a clock, let’s move this along, shall we?”