Page 6 of A Sea Captain and A Stowaway (Gentleman Scholars #7)

“Well, you’ve taken something from me,” Captain Peters countered, anger evident in his voice, more so this time, causing tension to tighten in Docila’s midsection.

Perhaps his mild initial reaction had been due to his own self-control.

He began to pace, his boots striking the wooden floor with sharp, angry steps. Docila watched him warily, noting the tight set of his shoulders and the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

“Mr. Fletcher,” he said to the older sailor, “explain how this... person... came to be on my ship without my knowledge.”

“Found her hidden in the cargo hold, sir,” Fletcher replied. “Tucked away behind the navigation equipment. Looks like she’s been there since we left port.”

Captain Peters stopped his pacing to stare at Docila incredulously. “You’ve been hiding in the hold for over two days? In that cramped, damp space?”

Docila straightened her spine, ignoring the protest of her stiff muscles. “I have.”

“Why?” he demanded. “What could possibly drive a young woman of obviously good breeding to stow away on a merchant vessel bound for God knows where?”

“My reasons are my own,” Docila replied, unwilling to share her desperate circumstances with these strangers, especially with Jenks still hovering near the door with his unnerving gaze.

The captain ran a hand through his hair in frustration, dislodging several strands from his queue. “Do you have any idea of the danger you’ve put yourself in? A woman alone on a ship full of men?”

“I was managing quite well until I was discovered,” Docila pointed out, her chin still raised defiantly.

“We cannot have a woman aboard,” Captain Peters said.

“Throw her overboard, then,” Jenks said without hesitation.

“Of course, you ought to allow the men to have some fun with her first,” he added with a chuckle that sounded quite evil to Docila’s ears.

Captain Peters turned to the fellow who had made the vile suggestion, and Docila suspected he was going to use equally foul language on the fellow, but he managed to merely glare at him, uttering the words, “You’ll be the first overboard if you make such a suggestion in my hearing ever again, or in anyone’s hearing while on my ship, for that matter. ”

Docila relaxed slightly at those words, knowing the captain would insist upon her safety.

“Get out, Jenks,” Captain Peters added, his voice cold. “And if I hear you’ve been spreading tales about our... guest... to the rest of the crew, you’ll find yourself swimming home. Is that clear?”

Jenks’s face darkened, but he nodded stiffly before exiting the cabin, closing the door with more force than necessary behind him.

“You ought to be locked up,” Captain Peters said to Docila, surprising her by his sudden turn of attention. “We cannot have a woman aboard,” he repeated.

He ran a hand through his already tousled hair. Docila, having been hidden in the dark for so long, couldn’t help but admire how the light glinted off the chestnut waves, even in its dishevelled state. Clearly, she was crazed with hunger, she thought as she shook her head.

She had made great effort to preserve her few supplies to ensure she remained hidden as long as possible. She wanted it to be too late to turn back. She needed to be far enough away from Uncle Hugo before she was discovered and put ashore somewhere.

“We’re only three days out,” the second man said. “We could take her back.”

“We’ll lose our lead, then,” Captain Peters said, anger clear in his hard tone as he glared at her. “How could you have been so reckless as to steal onto my boat without asking a by-your-leave?”

“Would you have let me come aboard, if I’d asked?” Surprise loosened her tongue.

“Of course not,” Captain Peters said immediately.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask, isn’t it?” she said with a bright smile that only earned her another scowl from the fierce-looking captain.

Despite his obvious anger, Docila couldn’t help noticing that his scowl did little to diminish his handsome features.

If anything, it added a dangerous edge to his appearance that she found strangely compelling.

The thought startled her. She had more important concerns than admiring the captain’s looks, no matter how fine they might be.

“What’s your name?” he finally thought to ask her.

“Docila,” she answered.

“Docila what? And why are you here? What could be so dire in your life that you thought running away to sea was going to be better?”

“There was plenty going wrong in my life,” she said carefully.

The man’s gaze swept her from head to toe.

“You’re obviously well cared for,” he said. “A bit on the scrawny side, so perhaps you haven’t been fed properly, but your clothes are of good quality, and your speech gives away your well-born background.”

Docila nearly smacked herself in the head.

She should have thought of disguising herself, but it hadn’t even occurred to her.

Clearly, she was not cut out for a life of subterfuge.

But it mattered little; she could not marry Cragswell, therefore she could not remain with Uncle Hugo.

Anything else that was at least somewhat under her control would surely be better than what she had faced at home.

She stood her ground, lifting her chin defiantly and staring at the fierce man before her.

“I’m Docila Archer,” she said finally, deciding that honesty might serve her better than continued evasion. “My father was William Archer, a merchant who traded along the American coast. He died six months ago, and I’ve been living under the... care... of my uncle, Hugo Archer.”

A flicker of recognition crossed Captain Peters’ face at the mention of her father’s name. “William Archer? I knew of him by reputation. A fair businessman, from what I heard.”

“He was,” Docila agreed, a pang of grief tightening her throat. “He was also a good father.”

Captain Peters studied her with slightly less hostility now. “And your uncle? I take it he’s not as fair as your father was?”

Docila’s hands clenched at her sides as she thought of Uncle Hugo and his vile plans for her.

“He arranged to marry me off to a reputably vicious, lecherous man three times my age in exchange for half my inheritance,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue.

“I overheard them discussing the arrangement. My uncle planned to force me to comply by... by threatening harm to those I care about.”

Fletcher shifted uncomfortably by the door. “That’s a hard situation for a young lady, to be sure.”

Captain Peters did not respond immediately. He turned to look out the windows at the ocean beyond, his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. Docila watched him anxiously, unable to guess what he might be thinking.

“Mr. Fletcher,” he said finally, “would you escort Miss Archer to the small storage cabin next to the surgeon’s quarters? It’s the only space with a lock that might be suitable for a lady. And have the doctor look in on her. I want to ensure she’s suffered no ill effects from her time in the hold.”

“Aye, Captain,” Fletcher replied with a nod.

“And bring her some proper food,” Captain Peters added, not turning around. “Something light to start with, after days of whatever scraps she brought aboard.”

Docila bristled at being discussed as though she weren’t present. “I don’t need to be locked up, Captain Peters. I’m not a prisoner.”

Now he did turn, his sea-coloured eyes meeting hers directly. “You’re not a prisoner, Miss Archer, but neither are you a guest. You’re a stowaway on my ship, and I’ll decide what’s to be done with you.”

“You can’t take me back to Portsmouth,” she said, panic rising in her throat at the thought of being returned to her uncle’s clutches.

“Please, Captain. By the time we returned, my uncle would have alerted the authorities. He’ll have me declared mentally unfit, or worse.

He’s already spread rumours in town to that effect. ”

A muscle twitched in the captain’s jaw. “I’ve no intention of returning to Portsmouth. As you so helpfully pointed out, we’re already two days out, and I have... business... that cannot wait.”

Relief flooded through Docila, though she tried not to let it show on her face. She had gambled everything on this escape, and it seemed at least one part of her plan had succeeded.

“What will you do with me, then?” she asked.

“I haven’t decided,” he replied tersely. “For now, you’ll stay in the cabin I mentioned, where you’ll be safe from certain members of my crew. When we reach our first port of call, we’ll revisit the situation.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than being thrown overboard or locked in the brig — if the Seraphim even had such a thing. Docila nodded her acceptance of these terms.

“There’s one more thing,” Captain Peters said, his voice hardening again. “While you’re on my ship, you’ll earn your keep. I’ll not have anyone aboard who doesn’t contribute, especially not someone who snuck aboard without permission.”

“What would you have me do?” Docila asked, lifting her chin. “I’m not afraid of work, Captain.”

A hint of surprise flickered across his face, as though he had expected her to protest. “We’ll find suitable tasks. Nothing that would compromise your... situation... but nothing that would coddle you either.”

“I don’t expect to be coddled,” she replied with quiet dignity.

Captain Peters studied her for a long moment, and Docila had the uncomfortable feeling that he was seeing more than she wanted him to — the fear beneath her bravado, the exhaustion lurking behind her steady gaze.

“Mr. Fletcher will show you to your quarters now,” he said finally. “We’ll speak again tomorrow, when you’ve had proper rest and food.”

Docila picked up her small bundle of possessions, still clutching her dagger in her other hand. Captain Peters eyed the weapon with a mixture of annoyance and reluctant respect.

“You may keep your knife,” he said, “though I give you my word that you’ll have no need of it aboard my ship. Any man who troubles you will answer to me directly.”

“Thank you, Captain,” she said softly, surprised by this concession.

He nodded curtly, then turned back to his desk, effectively dismissing her. As Fletcher opened the door to escort her out, Captain Peters spoke one final time.

“Miss Archer,” he said, his back still to her. “Don’t make me regret my decision to allow you to remain aboard. The sea is no place for a woman, especially one running from her troubles rather than facing them.”

The rebuke stung, but Docila held her tongue. She had achieved her immediate goal — she would not be returned to Uncle Hugo. Everything else could be dealt with in time.

As she followed Fletcher through the narrow passages of the ship toward her new quarters, Docila replayed her encounter with the captain in her mind.

His anger had been expected, but there had been something else in his manner that intrigued her — a reluctant concern, perhaps, or simply the natural protectiveness of a gentleman toward a lady, despite the unusual circumstances.

Whatever it was, Docila had the distinct impression that Captain Sidney Peters was not a man easily swayed from his purpose, nor one who tolerated disruptions to his plans. And she had most certainly disrupted his plans by stowing away on his ship.