Page 18 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

Heat rose in her cheeks but she refused to quail. “I can look after myself. You do not have to fear for my security. But since I have made myself a member of your crew, I expect you to keep me, not pawn me off onto someone else.”

The captain’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Docila thought he might actually confide in her. But then the familiar wall descended over his features, that careful mask of authority he wore so well.

“It is not your concern,” he said finally.

“Not my concern?” Docila echoed, incredulous. “You were attempting to arrange my passage back to England — back to my uncle and the fate I fled — and you claim it is not my concern?”

Captain Peters ran a hand through his hair, a gesture she had come to recognize as a sign of his frustration. “I would not have sent you back to your uncle. I would have found a suitable arrangement, perhaps with a respectable family or —”

“Or what? A position as a governess? A companion to some elderly lady? You know nothing of the world I come from, Captain, if you think such positions are easily obtained without references or connections.”

“I have connections,” he replied stiffly.

“And you would use them for me? Why? Out of guilt? Pity? Or simply to rid yourself of an inconvenience?”

Her words struck home; she could see it in the tightening of his shoulders, the slight wince he could not quite suppress. Good. Let him feel the sting of her disappointment.

“You misunderstand my intentions,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now. “I am not trying to abandon you, Miss Archer. I am trying to ensure your safety.”

“I was not safe in England,” she reminded him. “I will not be safe there now.”

“And you believe you are safe here? On a ship bound for dangerous waters, with a crew who, however respectful they may have become, are still men at sea with all the roughness that entails? With the threat of pirates, storms, and —” He stopped himself abruptly.

“And what, Captain?” she pressed, sensing he had been about to reveal something crucial.

He shook his head. “It does not matter. The point is, a merchant vessel is no place for a young woman of your breeding, regardless of your unusual skills.”

“My ‘breeding,’ as you call it, has not prevented me from surviving thus far,” Docila pointed out.

“I have adapted to circumstances that would have broken many others. I have learned to make my way in a world that was never designed for women’s independence.

And I will continue to do so, with or without your approval. ”

They stared at each other in the dim light, an impasse stretching between them as tangible as the wooden planks beneath their feet.

Docila could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, her breath coming faster than it should.

She was not merely angry; she was hurt in a way that surprised her with its intensity.

Somewhere during these weeks at sea, Captain Peters’ good opinion had come to matter more than she had realized.

The silence stretched, broken only by the creaking of the ship and the distant sounds of activity from above. Finally, Captain Peters spoke, his voice betraying a weariness she had not noticed before.

“You are remarkably stubborn, Miss Archer.”

“I prefer to think of it as determined,” she replied, not giving an inch.

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, there and gone in an instant. “Indeed.”

He stood then, brushing off his trousers with an almost absent gesture.

“Very well. It seems I cannot be rid of you without causing more trouble than keeping you aboard. But understand this — if at any point I determine that the danger to you has become too great, I will not hesitate to put you ashore at the nearest safe port, with or without your consent. Is that clear?”

It was not the victory she had hoped for, but it was better than being shipped back to England. Docila nodded reluctantly. “Perfectly clear, Captain.”

“Good.” He turned as if to leave, then paused. “There is something else you should know. I believe we are being watched.”

The sudden shift in topic caught her off guard. “Watched? By whom?”

“That is what I intend to find out.” His expression was grave now, all traces of their personal argument set aside in the face of this new concern.

“In the marketplace, there was a man — well-dressed, not a sailor by his look — who seemed to take an unusual interest in our movements. When I approached my contact about arranging passage for you, I noticed this same man lingering nearby, straining to overhear our conversation.”

A chill ran through Docila that had nothing to do with the relative coolness of the hold. “Do you think he was following me? Could my uncle have sent someone to find me?”

Captain Peters considered this, his brow furrowing. “It’s possible. But there are other explanations that concern me equally. I have...competitors who would be very interested in our current voyage. This could be related to my business rather than your situation.”

Docila stared at him. “So it might not be me putting the ship in danger, then.”

To her surprise he offered her the ghost of a smile.

“Perhaps not, but you could be in danger from other quarters. My competitors will not hesitate to use any advantage they could find, including you.”

“Me?” Docila asked, puzzled. “How could I possibly be of use to them?”

“Information,” he replied simply. “What you know, what you’ve overheard, anything about our destination. Or as a hostage to force my cooperation.” His voice grew harder at the thought. “I’ve seen what men like Blackwell are capable of when large sums are at stake.”

“Blackwell?” The name was unfamiliar to her.

Captain Peters shook his head. “A story for another time. For now, we must determine whether we are indeed being watched, and by whom. I need to know if we’re dealing with your uncle’s agent, Blackwell’s spy, or some new threat altogether.”

The conversation had shifted so completely from their earlier argument that Docila felt almost disoriented. One moment they had been debating her future, and the next, discussing mysterious observers. It was as if they had moved from one chapter of a novel to another without warning.

“How can I help?” she asked, setting aside her lingering resentment. If there was genuine danger, it affected them both.

He seemed surprised by her offer, his eyebrows rising slightly. “You’re still willing to assist, after I attempted to arrange your departure?”

“My willingness to help isn’t contingent on your treatment of me, Captain,” she replied with dignity. “If there’s a threat to this ship or its crew, I want to be part of the solution.”

Something shifted in his expression then — respect, perhaps, or a new understanding.

“Very well. For now, act normally. Return to the deck, engage with the crew as usual. But keep your eyes open for any strangers paying undue attention to our ship or our movements. If you notice anything suspicious, inform me or Fletcher immediately.”

“And what will you do?”

“I need to speak with my contact again, discover if he knows anything about this observer. And I’ll make arrangements for us to depart as soon as the tide allows. The sooner we’re at sea again, the safer we’ll be.”

Docila nodded, accepting the plan. As they made their way out of the hold, a thought occurred to her. “Captain,” she ventured, “if you were so concerned about being watched, why did you discuss sending me back to England in public?”

He paused on the ladder, glancing down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite interpret. “A calculated risk. I thought it might draw out anyone who was following you specifically. Your reaction, however, was not part of my calculation.”

“I apologize for complicating your strategy,” she said, not entirely sincere.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, and she was startled to see a genuine smile curve his lips. “But your instinct to hide aboard rather than flee into the town was the correct one, even if your motives were not what I might have hoped.”

It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get, and Docila accepted it with a small nod.

As they emerged onto the deck, blinking in the bright afternoon sun, she noticed the captain’s posture straighten, his expression becoming more guarded.

Following his gaze, she spotted a well-dressed man standing on the quay, apparently examining the ships in harbour but with his attention suspiciously fixed on the Seraphim.

“Is that him?” she whispered, not turning her head directly toward the stranger.

“Yes,” Captain Peters replied, his voice equally low. “And he’s not even attempting to disguise his interest anymore. Something has changed.”

“What should we do?”

“Go about your business. I’ll alert Fletcher and have the men prepare for immediate departure.” His hand touched her arm briefly, a gesture of reassurance that was gone almost before she registered it. “Stay within sight of the crew at all times.”

With that, he strode away, calling for his first mate in a voice that carried the unmistakable tone of command. Docila watched him go, aware that their argument about her future aboard the Seraphim was far from resolved. But for now, they had a more immediate concern.

The stranger on the quay had turned his full attention to her now, his gaze so intent she could feel it like a physical touch across the distance between them.

Docila resisted the urge to flee below decks, instead forcing herself to move calmly toward where young Harrison was securing newly delivered supplies.

Whoever this person was, whatever his intentions, she would not show fear. She had faced down Uncle Hugo and escaped; she had survived storms and life aboard a strange ship. She would face this new threat with the same determination that had carried her this far.

And perhaps, in confronting this danger together, she and Captain Peters might find a new understanding — one based on mutual respect rather than the constant push and pull of their current relationship.

As she assisted Harrison with his task, Docila couldn’t help glancing occasionally toward the captain.

His tall figure moved purposefully about the deck, issuing orders and overseeing preparations with the confidence of a man born to command.

Despite their disagreements, despite his attempt to send her away, she couldn’t deny the grudging admiration she felt watching him in his element.

And when his eyes met hers briefly across the deck, she thought she detected something beyond the usual wariness in his gaze — a concern that seemed personal rather than merely the responsibility of a captain for those under his protection.

The realization sent an unexpected warmth through her, one that had nothing to do with the Caribbean sun beating down upon the deck.

Whatever Captain Peters’ intentions had been in the marketplace, whatever his reasons for wanting to send her away, she could not quite bring herself to believe they stemmed from indifference.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to his concern than met the eye.