AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She smiled at him, her first genuine smile in days. “You have been the one generous soul on this ship and I thank you for that, Des.”
“You’re extraordinarily kind, Lady Apton.”
“It is because you’re an extraordinary gentleman, Des. So much so, I find it hard to believe this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself.” She watched the tip of his blade, the skill with which he whittled what looked to be the face of a lion. “I’ve lived in the Scottish countryside and in London—and when we were young, my cousin, Sloane, and I were sent to finishing school near the city so we would lose our Scottish accents.”
He glanced up at her. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like that took?”
“Aye. It did for the most part. Living in London for the past five years has also helped. But my point is that my speech is a learned thing. And you sound exactly like the gentlemen in London—far more than a sailor,” she said. “You had to learn that, or be brought up in it. And you conduct yourself as a gentleman as well, which tells me you are no stranger to society. So much so that I’m surprised you’re on this ship. Are you perhaps a younger son of a peer?”
His blade on the chunk of driftwood stilled and his clear blue eyes darkened for a long moment, lost to the world around him. With a slight jerk, his gaze lifted to pin her. “Why would you say that?”
“Nothing—I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I’m no one, Lady Apton.” He pushed off of the railing, pulling himself to his full height. “No one. Just a sailor that got lucky under Captain Roe.”
She set a crooked smile on her face and inclined her head. “Of course. I certainly wished no offense.” With a flick of her wrist, she motioned to the rope curled on the deck by his feet. “Please, I do not wish to hold you from your work.”
With a curt nod, Des shoved the driftwood into his boot and the blade into his scabbard. He stepped forward to heft the bulk of the heavy rope onto his shoulder and then moved away from her.
Unsettled, Torrie turned her back to the deck, her gaze solidly on the smooth sea as her hands wrapped along the worn wood of the railing. She had just lost the one friendly face on this ship and she wasn’t sure exactly how that had just come to be.
“What did you say to Des?”
Roe’s deep voice in her left ear made her jump. He’d snuck up on her and she hadn’t the slightest clue. She looked down next to her. No boots. Damn the devil.
Or damn her—she wasn’t sure his bare feet were by choice or by the necessity of letting his boot dry out from her retching into it.
Her gaze avoiding him, she kept her concentration on the low undulating waves. “I said nothing of importance to him.”
“I saw how he stalked away from you, Torrie. I’ll not have you disparage my men. Not on my ship.” He leaned slightly over her, far closer than she ever wanted him to be, but she refused to take a step away.
She glared up at him. “I didn’t disparage him. I merely asked him if he was of the aristocracy—a second or third son, perhaps.”
His hard look softened and the overbearing set of his shoulders eased as he pulled away from her. “Ah, yes.” He turned alongside her, resting his forearms on the railing and looking out to the water. “That would do it. I imagine you’ve gathered that’s not a topic to bring up with him?”
“I have now.”
“Good.”
He stared out at the sea, silent, in no apparent hurry to move from his position next to her. For how quickly he had approached her after Des left her, it was clear he was loyal to his men. She had to give him that due.
Her fingers clasped in front of her and the question came to the tip of her tongue, the one that had been gnawing on her mind during the past three days—ever since she’d been inundated with conversations all around her about Captain Roe. Cap’n Roe this. Cap’n Roe that. Roe said. Roe did. Roe wants. The man’s name was said so much by the crew it was now impossible to think of him as Mr. Lipinstein.
She looked to him. “How did you do this?”
“Do what?”
“Become captain of this ship? Make money at it? You’ve not been out of prison that long—two years—certainly not long enough to make captain of your own ship.”
He glanced at her, then shrugged, his gaze going back to the sea. “When I stepped onto theFirehawkI was nothing. Didn’t want to be anything. I just wandered aboard. But Captain Folback watched me—tested my mettle—far too many times. I came aboard for death, but he was quite happy to be alive and to keep his crew the same.” He gave a soft chuckle. “I expected I would sink, and sink fast out here on the sea, but he never expected it of me. He expected me to rise to the occasion of whatever task he asked me to do. Slop buckets. Risking life and limb again and again on slippery spars to untangle rigging in the middle of storms. Covering his back when he got out of control in waterfront taverns. I cannot count the number of times I should have broken my neck or had a blade slip between my ribs.”
“A blade? Why would you be attacked?”
His eyebrow arched as he looked to her. “You do know what kind of a ship this is, don’t you, Torrie?”
She shook her head.
“This is a privateering ship.”
