Beautiful Tempest
Page 38
She picked up one of the two remaining plates and sat down across from Mortimer, then ignored him. He was more likely there to protect Damon while he was in a weakened state, though the captain bloody well ought to seem weakened if he actually was.
And then Damon was standing next to her, picking up the third plate. He started to take it to his desk as he did last night at her insistence, so she said grudgingly, “You can eat here—on the other end of the table. I don’t want to crane my neck if we’re going to talk.”
“Are we?” He sat down. “You actually want to?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t we been?”
“I seem to recall the only thing you had to say to me before was how many different ways your father was going to kill me.”
He shouldn’t have mentioned that, or was he just testing the waters, so to speak, since she hadn’t yelled at him once since he’d returned to the cabin. She was probably being too cordial. She’d be suspicious herself over such a complete about-face.
So she gave him a nasty glare before saying, “That was then, this is now.”
“And what’s different?”
“The bloody length of the trip, that’s what!”
“Ah.” He smiled. “Worried about boredom?”
“It crossed my mind,” she mumbled.
Mortimer had finished his food by then and stood up to tell Damon, “I’d rather use a hammock tonight.”
“It won’t fit in front of the door.”
“Is that really necessary? I can hold the key for you.”
“You sleep like a log,” Damon replied. “You’re merely a fail-safe.”
“You two bicker like old hens,” Jacqueline put in with a tsk. “A full day has passed and I’m not stupid. Jumping ship is no longer an option.”
“And we’d believe you why?” Mortimer asked as he spread his bedding in front of the door.
“D’you think I care if you do or not?” she retorted caustically.
“And now who’s bickering?” Damon said.
Nothing else was said after that, so she regretted inviting Damon to sit at the table, especially when she felt his eyes on her whether she looked his way or not. And she was getting tired. Who knew boredom could be exhausting.
It wasn’t quite dusk so no lanterns had yet been lit and might not be when she wasn’t the only one who’d had an exhausting day. Finished eating, she stood up, but glanced at Damon when he mentioned, “You might be feeling a bit salty from your swim last night. I meant to offer you a bath earlier but got distracted. Would you like one now, Jack?”
Before she could reply, Mortimer said, “Bloody hell, Damon, I’m already bedded down. Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”
Damon ignored his friend and was looking at her, awaiting her answer. This was something else he’d never offered her before, and yes, she would dearly love a bath, just not tonight with the two of them in the cabin.
“Do I get to hold the key while you two are on the other side of the door?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Smart girl,” Mortimer mumbled.
She ignored the blond and headed to her cot, tossing back at Damon, “I do still hate you.” She just wished it sounded more convincing.
After she’d hit her pillow a few times and curled on her side facing the bulkhead, she heard Mort say in a near whisper, “Does she think you’re not sure?”
“There’s always room for doubt.”
Mortimer snorted. “You’ve got stitches to prove otherwise.”
“But they’re such nice stitches.” Damon chuckled.
“I can bloody well hear you!” Jacqueline snarled back at them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JACQUELINE WOKE WITH THE sound of hammering and shot out of bed with a growl, but then just stared when she saw what Damon was doing. Putting a latch on the door? On the inside of the door? “Do you always oversleep?” He’d turned about to give her a curious look. He was wearing a white shirt again, opened halfway down his chest. No blood was on it. He’d even tucked it into his buff-colored pants and tucked those into his long Hessian boots. And his hair was still damp. He’d bathed or had seawater dumped on him, as some sailors did. Was he still getting dressed outside the cabin? She’d like to be awake one morning to find out.
She sat back on the edge of her cot. “I’m still on my London schedule, late-night parties, nothing needing my attention in the morning. And no maid to wake me any sooner.”
He grinned. “But I just did that.”
“So you did,” she mumbled.
He finished what he’d been doing, then opened the door wide before he left it and went to his desk. That must have been a signal for Jackie, because the boy immediately entered the room and set the food tray on the table. Jacqueline got no greeting from the nervous lad and he left rather quickly, so she went to the table and sat down facing Damon. Only a single plate of eggs and sausage was on the tray, along with a pot of tea and a basket of muffins.
“You’ve already eaten?”
“Unlike you, I’m an early riser.”
It bothered her that he could stand by her bed and watch her sleep in a room filled with sunlight. Did he? No, why would he?
He added as an afterthought, “It’s too bad you can’t be trusted, Jack. You might otherwise have the freedom of the deck.”
Her brows shot up. He’d never tempted her with that sort of freedom before. Why would he now? Bloody carrots again. He did like dangling them. But they both knew he’d never trust her on deck by herself, so saying something like that was cruel of him. Yet he wasn’t, she realized, and was a little surprised how sure she was about it. He was many things, but he’d never been cruel to her. Did he mention it because he wished he could trust her? That was an interesting thought. Her strategy of being nice to him might be paying off.
Before she could ask him why he was treating her differently on this voyage, Jackie returned with a fresh bowl of water that he set on the desk in front of Damon. A little steam was coming out of it. Damon had already reached into his drawer for the shaving apparatus he kept under lock and key: razor, tin shaving cup, a short-bristled brush, and a can of soap chips that could be whipped into a lather.
And then Damon was standing next to her, picking up the third plate. He started to take it to his desk as he did last night at her insistence, so she said grudgingly, “You can eat here—on the other end of the table. I don’t want to crane my neck if we’re going to talk.”
“Are we?” He sat down. “You actually want to?”
She shrugged. “Haven’t we been?”
“I seem to recall the only thing you had to say to me before was how many different ways your father was going to kill me.”
He shouldn’t have mentioned that, or was he just testing the waters, so to speak, since she hadn’t yelled at him once since he’d returned to the cabin. She was probably being too cordial. She’d be suspicious herself over such a complete about-face.
So she gave him a nasty glare before saying, “That was then, this is now.”
“And what’s different?”
“The bloody length of the trip, that’s what!”
“Ah.” He smiled. “Worried about boredom?”
“It crossed my mind,” she mumbled.
Mortimer had finished his food by then and stood up to tell Damon, “I’d rather use a hammock tonight.”
“It won’t fit in front of the door.”
“Is that really necessary? I can hold the key for you.”
“You sleep like a log,” Damon replied. “You’re merely a fail-safe.”
“You two bicker like old hens,” Jacqueline put in with a tsk. “A full day has passed and I’m not stupid. Jumping ship is no longer an option.”
“And we’d believe you why?” Mortimer asked as he spread his bedding in front of the door.
“D’you think I care if you do or not?” she retorted caustically.
“And now who’s bickering?” Damon said.
Nothing else was said after that, so she regretted inviting Damon to sit at the table, especially when she felt his eyes on her whether she looked his way or not. And she was getting tired. Who knew boredom could be exhausting.
It wasn’t quite dusk so no lanterns had yet been lit and might not be when she wasn’t the only one who’d had an exhausting day. Finished eating, she stood up, but glanced at Damon when he mentioned, “You might be feeling a bit salty from your swim last night. I meant to offer you a bath earlier but got distracted. Would you like one now, Jack?”
Before she could reply, Mortimer said, “Bloody hell, Damon, I’m already bedded down. Can’t that wait until tomorrow?”
Damon ignored his friend and was looking at her, awaiting her answer. This was something else he’d never offered her before, and yes, she would dearly love a bath, just not tonight with the two of them in the cabin.
“Do I get to hold the key while you two are on the other side of the door?”
“No.”
“Then no.”
“Smart girl,” Mortimer mumbled.
She ignored the blond and headed to her cot, tossing back at Damon, “I do still hate you.” She just wished it sounded more convincing.
After she’d hit her pillow a few times and curled on her side facing the bulkhead, she heard Mort say in a near whisper, “Does she think you’re not sure?”
“There’s always room for doubt.”
Mortimer snorted. “You’ve got stitches to prove otherwise.”
“But they’re such nice stitches.” Damon chuckled.
“I can bloody well hear you!” Jacqueline snarled back at them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
JACQUELINE WOKE WITH THE sound of hammering and shot out of bed with a growl, but then just stared when she saw what Damon was doing. Putting a latch on the door? On the inside of the door? “Do you always oversleep?” He’d turned about to give her a curious look. He was wearing a white shirt again, opened halfway down his chest. No blood was on it. He’d even tucked it into his buff-colored pants and tucked those into his long Hessian boots. And his hair was still damp. He’d bathed or had seawater dumped on him, as some sailors did. Was he still getting dressed outside the cabin? She’d like to be awake one morning to find out.
She sat back on the edge of her cot. “I’m still on my London schedule, late-night parties, nothing needing my attention in the morning. And no maid to wake me any sooner.”
He grinned. “But I just did that.”
“So you did,” she mumbled.
He finished what he’d been doing, then opened the door wide before he left it and went to his desk. That must have been a signal for Jackie, because the boy immediately entered the room and set the food tray on the table. Jacqueline got no greeting from the nervous lad and he left rather quickly, so she went to the table and sat down facing Damon. Only a single plate of eggs and sausage was on the tray, along with a pot of tea and a basket of muffins.
“You’ve already eaten?”
“Unlike you, I’m an early riser.”
It bothered her that he could stand by her bed and watch her sleep in a room filled with sunlight. Did he? No, why would he?
He added as an afterthought, “It’s too bad you can’t be trusted, Jack. You might otherwise have the freedom of the deck.”
Her brows shot up. He’d never tempted her with that sort of freedom before. Why would he now? Bloody carrots again. He did like dangling them. But they both knew he’d never trust her on deck by herself, so saying something like that was cruel of him. Yet he wasn’t, she realized, and was a little surprised how sure she was about it. He was many things, but he’d never been cruel to her. Did he mention it because he wished he could trust her? That was an interesting thought. Her strategy of being nice to him might be paying off.
Before she could ask him why he was treating her differently on this voyage, Jackie returned with a fresh bowl of water that he set on the desk in front of Damon. A little steam was coming out of it. Damon had already reached into his drawer for the shaving apparatus he kept under lock and key: razor, tin shaving cup, a short-bristled brush, and a can of soap chips that could be whipped into a lather.
