Gentle Rogue

  She was a mystery, all right, and one he meant to solve. But first he was going to amuse himself with her charade by installing her in his cabin and letting her think his cabin boy always slept there. He would have to pretend he didn’t recognize her, or let her assume he simply didn’t remember their encounter. Of course, there was the possibility that she might not remember it, but no matter. Before the voyage was over, she’d share more than his cabin. She’d share his bed.

  Chapter Ten

  The galley was not exactly the most brilliant place to hide, not with summer still hanging on and the ocean breezes still a far way off. Once they were out to sea it wouldn’t be so bad, but now, with the huge brick ovens radiating heat since before the dawn, and steam rolling out of cauldrons on the stove for what promised to be a tasty evening meal, it was hot as the devil’s welcome.

  The cook and his two helpers had discarded most of their clothes by the time the crew started wandering in for a quick breakfast, a man or two at a time as could be spared, since the hours before castoff were the busiest time aboard. Georgina had watched the activity dockside for a while as the last of the ship’s supplies and equipment were delivered and carried to the hold and galley. But it was a familiar sight and so didn’t hold her interest very long. And besides, she’d seen enough of England to last her a lifetime.

  So she stayed in the galley, out of the way and out of notice, perched on a stool in the opposite corner from where the food supplies were being stacked, barrels and casks and sacks of grain and flour, so much that there was finally no room for any more, and the rest had to be stored in the hold.

  If it weren’t for the heat, Georgina would really have liked it there, for it was certainly the cleanest galley she’d ever seen. But then the whole ship had a spanking new look to it, and, in fact, she’d been told it had just undergone refurbishing from top to bottom.

  Between the ovens and stove was a deep coal bin, full to the brim just now, A long table in the center of the room was barely scarred, with a butcher’s cleaving block at the end of it waiting to drip blood from one of the many live animals penned in the hold—a great many animals actually, just about guaranteeing fresh meat for the whole voyage. The room was as cluttered as any galley, with its hung spices and pots, chests and utensils, and everything was carefully secured to the floor, walls, or ceiling.

  The lord of all this was a black-haired Irishman by the doubtful name of Shawn O’Shawn, who didn’t suspect Georgie MacDonell was other than what he seemed to be. Shawn was a friendly fellow of about twenty-five, with merry green eyes that were constantly surveying his domain. He’d given Georgina permission to stay, though with the warning she might be put to work if she did. She didn’t mind that, and every so often she was given a task to do when his helpers were both busy. He was a talkative sort and didn’t mind answering questions, but he was a new man himself, and so there wasn’t much he could tell her about the ship or her captain.

  She hadn’t met too many others of the crew yet, even though she and Mac had slept aboard the ship last night, or tried to. What with being wakened repeatedly as the men drifted into the forecastle at all hours from their last night in port, and drunkenly tried to find their hammocks in the dark, sleep wasn’t part of the agenda unless you were topsided with drink.

  The men were a motley bunch of different nationalities, from what she had seen so far, which wasn’t unusual for a ship that traveled far and wide, losing and picking up new men in ports all over the world. Of course, that meant there would be a few Englishmen included in the motley, and there were.

  The first mate was one, Conrad Sharpe, known affectionately as Connie, though she’d heard only one man so far dare to call him so. He spoke with a precise accent, almost like a blasted aristocrat, and there was no nonsense about the man. Quite tall and narrow of frame, with red hair shades darker than Mac’s and a host of freckles on both arms and hands—suggesting he had them all over. Yet his face was deeply tanned, without a freckle in sight. And his hazel eyes were so direct, there’d been several heart-stopping moments when Georgina had thought she wasn’t fooling anyone with her disguise. Yet she was signed on. He had taken her at face value. In fact, there’d been no bargaining with the man, as Mac had found out. Either they worked or they didn’t sail with the Maiden Anne, which suited Georgina, but Mac had given in only grudgingly.

  She could find no fault with Mr. Sharpe—at least not yet. It was on principle alone that she didn’t like him. Which wasn’t fair by any means, but Georgina didn’t care to be fair just now where Englishmen were concerned, placing them all into the category shared with rats and snakes and other detestable creatures. She’d have to keep those feelings to herself, though. It wouldn’t do to make an enemy of the man. One tended to watch one’s enemies too closely. She’d just avoid him as best she could, him and any other Englishmen aboard.

  She hadn’t met Captain Malory yet, since he still hadn’t arrived before she came down to the galley. She knew she ought to go and find him, introduce herself, discover if there were to be any duties above those she anticipated. All captains were different, after all. Drew demanded a bath be waiting for him in his cabin every day, even if it had to be salt water. Clinton liked warm milk before he retired, and it was his cabin boy’s duty to bring it and also tend the cow that produced it. Warren’s cabin boy had to do no more than keep his cabin neat, since he liked to fetch his own food and eat with his crew. Mr. Sharpe had named all the normal duties expected of her, but only the captain could tell her what else he would require.

  Just now he’d be busy, getting them under way, but that would be to her advantage. Yet she kept dillydallying. He was, after all, the one she had to worry most about fooling, since she would be in his company more than that of any of the other men. And first impressions were the most important, since they tended to stick and affect all other judgments. So if she got through their first meeting without his finding anything amiss, she could pretty much relax.

  But she didn’t get up to go search him out. There was that very great “if” that kept her in the hot galley long after her clothes began to cling and her hair became a wet mat under the tight-knit stocking and woolen cap that concealed it. If the captain saw nothing unusual about her, she’d be fine. But what if he was the one discerning eye aboard that she couldn’t fool? And if he unmasked her before they reached the channel, she could well find herself put ashore rather than locked up for the duration of the voyage. A worse possibility, she could be put off ship alone. Mac, after all, was needed a lot more than a cabin boy. And if the captain refused to let Mac go with her, actually detained him until it would be too late for him to follow, there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

  So Georgina stayed in the galley where she was already accepted as Georgie MacDonell. But she stayed too long, as she realized when Shawn dropped a heavy tray of food on her lap. Seeing all the silver domes and fine cutlery on the tray, she knew it wasn’t for her.

  “He’d be in his cabin then? Already?”

  “Lord love ye, where have ye been, laddie? Word’s gone ’round hisself has a head poundin’ worse’n the rest of us. It’s in his cabin he’s been since he came aboard. Mr. Sharpe’s cast us off.”

  “Oh.”

  Double-damn, why hadn’t someone told her? What if she’d been needed, looked for? What if he was angry because no one was there to tend him? That would certainly get them off to a fine start.

  “I guess I’d better…yes, I’d better—”

  “Aye, and quickly. Jesus, careful with that now! Is it too heavy for ye, then? No? Well, never ye mind, boyo. Just remember to duck if it comes back at ye.”

  The dishes clattered again as Georgina stopped on her way out the door. “Why would it…for God’s sake, he wouldn’t throw it at me, would he?”

  Shawn shrugged, grinning widely. “Now how would I be knowin’ that? I’ve yet to clap eyes on the cap’n myself. But when a man’s got hisself an achin’ head, ye never know what
to expect, do ye now? Anticipate, laddie. That’s me advice, and good advice it be.”

  Wonderful. Get the green lad even more nervous than he already was. She hadn’t realized Mr. Shawn O’Shawn had such a fine sense of humor, rot him.

  It was a long walk to the sterncastle, where the captain’s cabin and those of his officers were located, especially long with England still visible off port and starboard. Georgina tried not to look at the riverbanks and how really close they were, tried to look for Mac instead, needing a boost in confidence that a few words with him would give her. But he was nowhere in sight, and the heavy tray was beginning to drag at her arms, so she couldn’t delay to look for him. A delay wouldn’t be wise anyway. Cold food would not appease a surly, pain-ridden man.

  And yet, when she stood outside the captain’s door, precariously balancing the tray with one hand so she could knock with the other, she couldn’t do it, couldn’t make the tiny sound that would gain her entry. She stood rooted, paralyzed except for the trembling in her hands and knees, the tray slowly rocking side to side, all those “what ifs” converging in her mind.

  She shouldn’t be this nervous. If the worst happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She was resourceful enough to find another way home…alone…eventually.

  Devil take it, why hadn’t she found out something about this captain other than his name? She didn’t know if he was young or old, mean or kind, liked or merely respected…or hated. She’d known some captains who were real tyrants, the godlike authority they had over their crews going to their heads. She should have asked someone else when Mr. O’Shawn hadn’t been able to answer her questions. But it wasn’t too late. A few more minutes’ delay, a few words with whomever was nearest on deck, and she might learn that Captain Malory was the nicest old softy you could ever hope to sail under. Then her palms would stop sweating and she could forget those “what ifs”…but the door opened just as she turned to leave.

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgina’s heart plummeted. The food she was carrying almost did the same as she swung back around to face the captain of the Maiden Anne. But it was the first mate who stood there filling the doorway, his hazel eyes moving over her in what seemed close scrutiny, yet it was no more than a brief glance.

  “Why, you’re just a little squirt, aren’t you? Surprised I didn’t notice that when I signed you on.”

  “Perhaps because you were sit—”

  The word was choked off when he took her chin between thumb and finger and slowly turned her face this way and that. Georgina blanched, though he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Not a single whisker,” he remarked in what was clearing a disparaging tone.

  She started breathing again, and only just managed to tamp down the indignation she felt on Georgie’s behalf.

  “I’m only twelve, sir,” she pointed out reasonably.

  “But a small twelve. Damn me, that tray’s as big as you are.” His fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Where’s your muscle?”

  “I’m still growing,” Georgina gritted out, getting mad under so much examination. Her nervousness was forgotten for the moment. “In six months you won’t recognize me.” Which was perfectly true, since she would have cast off her disguise by then.

  “Runs in your family, does it?”

  Her eyes turned wary. “What?”

  “The height, lad. What the devil did you think I meant? Certainly not your looks, since you and your brother don’t take after each other a’tall.” And then he laughed suddenly, a deeply resounding sound.

  “I don’t see what you find amusing in that. We merely have different mothers.”

  “Oh, I gathered something was different, all right. Mothers, is it? And would that explain your lack of a Scottish burr?”

  “I didn’t realize I had to give my life’s history for this job.”

  “Why so defensive, squirt?”

  “Give over, Connie.” Another deep voice was heard with very clear warning in it. “We don’t want to scare the lad off, now do we?”

  “Off to where?” The first mate chuckled.

  Georgina’s eyes narrowed. Had she thought she didn’t like this redheaded Englishman on principle alone?

  “This food is getting cold, Mr. Sharpe,” she said pointedly, her tone stiffly indignant.

  “Then by all means take it in, though I seriously doubt it’s food he’s in a mood for.”

  Back came the nervousness, in spades. It had been the captain’s voice that had interrupted. How had she been able to forget, even for a minute, that he was waiting inside? Worse, he had likely heard everything just said, including her impertinence with his first officer—provoked, but still inexcusable. She was a lowly cabin boy, for God’s sake, yet she’d answered Conrad Sharpe as if she were his equal…as if she were Georgina Anderson rather than Georgie MacDonell. Any more mistakes like that and she might as well take off her cap and unbind her breasts.

  After those last cryptic words, the first mate waved her inside and then left the cabin. It took a concerted effort to get her feet to move, but when they did, she nearly flew through the door to the dining table of Tudor oak in the center of the room, a heavy piece of furniture long enough to accommodate more than a half dozen officers comfortably.

  Georgina’s eyes fixed on the tray of food and stayed there, even after she set it down. There was a large shape beyond the table, standing in front of the wall of mullioned windows that were beautifully framed in stained glass and filled the room with light. She was just barely aware of the large shape blocking some of the light, but it told her where the captain was.

  She had admired the windows yesterday when she had been allowed to familiarize herself with the cabin and make certain it was ready for occupancy. It was that, and fit for a king. She’d never seen anything quite like it, certainly not on any Skylark ship.

  The furnishings were all extravagant pieces. At the long dining table sat a single armchair in the newest French Empire style, with bronze mounts on mahogany, and bouquets of colorful flowers embroidered on an ivory background on the thickly cushioned seat, back, and sides. Five more of these chairs were about the cabin, two before the windows, two in front on a desk, one other behind it. The desk was another heavy piece of finery, with large oval pedestals rather than legs, painted in classical scrollwork. The bed, however, was truly a piece of art, an antique of the Italian Renaissance, with tall, deeply carved posts and an even taller headboard in an arched column effect, the mattress covered in white quilted silk.

  Instead of a sea chest there was a tall teakwood Chinese cabinet similar to the one her father had given her mother on his first return from the Far East after their marriage, this one decorated with jade, mother-of-pearl, and lapis lazuli. There was also a Queen Anne highboy in burl walnut. Between them and standing just as tall was an ebony and brass clock in the modern style.

  Instead of shelves built on the wall, there was an actual mahogany bookcase with gilded and carved decorations and glass doors revealing eight shelves completely filled with books. She recognized the Riesener style in the commode, with marquety, floral decorations, and ormolu moldings. And behind the folding screen, with its painted English countryside on supple leather, that concealed one corner of the room was a porcelain tub that had to be special-made, it was so long and wide, but thankfully not very deep, since she would probably be lugging water to it.

  The clutter, what there was of it, consisted of nautical instruments mostly, scattered on or near the desk; a two-foot-tall nude statue in bronze sitting on the floor; and a copper kettle near the washstand behind the screen. Lamps, no two alike, were permanently affixed to the furniture or hung from hooks on the walls and ceilings.

  With large and small paintings, thick carpeting from wall to wall, it was a room you might find in a governor’s palace, but certainly not on a ship. And it had told her nothing about Captain Malory except that he might be eccentric, or that he liked fine things around him, even if in a hodgepo
dge order.

  Georgina didn’t know if the captain was facing her or looking out the windows. She hadn’t looked yet, still didn’t want to, but the silence was lengthening and stretching her nerves to the breaking point. She wished she could just leave without drawing his attention to her—if his attention wasn’t already on her. Why didn’t he say something? He had to know she was still there, waiting to serve him in whatever capacity he required.

  “Your food, Captain…sir.”

  “Why are you whispering?” The voice came to her in a whisper as soft as her own.

  “I was told you…that is, there was mention that you might be suffering the effects of overindul—” She cleared her throat and raised her pitch to amend briskly, “A headache, sir. My brother Drew always complains about loud noises whenever he…has headaches.”

  “I thought your brother’s name was Ian.”

  “I have other brothers.”

  “Don’t we all, more’s the pity,” he remarked dryly. “One of mine tried to drink me under the table last night. Thought it would be amusing if I wasn’t fit to sail.”

  Georgina almost smiled. How many times had her brothers done the same thing—not to her, but to each other. And she did get her fair share of pranks, rum in her hot chocolate, bonnet strings tied in knots, her drawers flying from the weather vane, or, worse, strung up the mainmast of another brother’s ship, so the guilty one wouldn’t get blamed. Obviously, rascally brothers were universal, not confined to Connecticut.

  “I sympathize, Captain,” she thought to offer. “They can be quite tedious.”

  “Quite so.”

  She heard the humor in his tone, as if he found her remark pretentious, and so it was, for a twelve-year-old boy. She really was going to have to weigh her words more carefully before she let them out. She couldn’t forget for a single minute that she was supposed to be a boy, and a very young one. But it was extremely hard to remember just at that moment, especially since she had finally noted his accent was decidedly British-sounding. It would be the worst luck imaginable if he was an Englishman, too. She would have been able to avoid the others on the ship, but she couldn’t very well avoid the captain.