Page 17 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

D ice bounced down the length of the table and plunged off the edge as the ship tipped. The movement drove me into Frank’s side.

“Rather flirtatious tonight, aren’t we, Miss May?”

I groaned and readjusted my position, futile as it was.

The Marianne could throw me back into Frank’s lap in a few moments.

I hadn’t been the flirtatious one. His renditions of “Adieu, Sweet Lovely Nancy” and “Spanish Ladies” had put him in an odd mood, or so I thought.

I’d hoped Shelby’s pulling out the dice for a game of Hazard would have distracted him, but clearly, his flirtatious mood hadn’t been from the singing.

Was there any water in the mug of grog before Frank, or was it straight rum?

“I like a girl who can reel you in and toss you back out the next breath.” Frank stretched, then dropped his arm around my shoulders.

I stiffened and pulled back, but his arm stayed in place.

Mr. Shelby gave no notice to Frank’s actions. “Think we’ll make it to Malta this week like Merkley told us?”

“If this fog doesn’t clear out, it will add to our journey,” Mr. Catterick said, dumping the dice back on the table.

Fog had rolled in off the coast of Portugal that afternoon. Now, nearly time for the hammocks to come down, the conditions had held, much to the crew’s disgruntlement. With little wind to blow it away, the Marianne hadn’t made good progress.

“Merkley doesn’t know what he’s talking about half the time,” Frank said, drumming his fingers on my arm. “But that’s most of the Marianne ’s officers, isn’t it?”

Shelby and Catterick glanced about nervously but didn’t contradict him.

In their silence, I couldn’t help myself. “Captain Peyton is a good captain. And Lieutenant Roddam is ...” I recalled his sternness after I’d butted heads with Mrs. Hallyburton. “Worthy of his position.” Even if he’d made me want to spit on his boots that day.

“Is he, now?” Frank’s suggestive tone made me grimace. What had he consumed tonight? He spoke too openly, even for him. “Well, I do hope their worthiness does not slow our voyage. I’d much rather have experience than nobility.” The other mates snorted.

A pair of shoes stepped carefully down the ladder, followed by tan breeches and a green coat. Mr. Doswell. I squirmed, but Frank did not have the consideration to let go of me.

“At least there’s good company to keep us warm,” Frank said. I couldn’t tell if he meant the company of friends or me specifically, but the way he squeezed my shoulder suggested he didn’t refer to Catterick and Shelby.

Mr. Doswell halted by the gun room partition. Lantern light reflecting off his spectacles made it difficult to tell where he looked, but I sensed his gaze. Suddenly, this sea chest was unbearably small and its other occupant stifling.

“Shove off, Frank.” I jumped to my feet, freeing myself from under his arm.

“Pity’s sake. What’s the matter with you?” Frank asked. I didn’t like the grin he gave me. “Off to reassure your chaplain?”

Words spoken from jealousy, clear as morning. I crossed my arms. “I am not—”

A thundering boom rent the air. I clutched the thick cluster of rope that held up the table. Frank jumped to his feet. The crew looked around, tensed and waiting. My stomach tied itself in knots. That sound had become too familiar after two weeks of gun drills.

The screech of a boatswain’s call followed and then drums. A deluge of vulgarity erupted as the seamen cursed everything from Boney to the ocean and rushed for the ladders.

“What is it?” I asked, knowing full well the answer.

“We just found ourselves a little company.” Frank dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “You’d best get your mistress and hurry below.” For once, no teasing tainted his voice.

Mr. Doswell stood frozen in the doorway as sailors began breaking down the bulwark. His jaw was taut, his posture stiff.

I hurried over to him, trying to stay out of the way of the men working. “Are you well?”

He gave a nod. “I’ll see you below.” He turned on his heel, more abrupt than he’d ever been with me, and for a moment, I frowned after him. That didn’t seem like Mr. Doswell at all, to be so curt.

How could I blame him though? This wasn’t a gun drill.

A chill ran down my spine. When the ladders had cleared, I raced up to the great cabin.

They’d already cleared the partitions, leaving the captain’s quarters open to the gun deck.

I slipped past marines and made for Mrs. Peyton.

She stood by her husband and the lieutenant as Captain Peyton shrugged into his coat.

“Did she even post her true colors before the shot?” Captain Peyton grumbled.

“We didn’t see her in time to know,” Lieutenant Roddam said.

I leaned toward Mrs. Peyton. “Are you going below, ma’am?” I asked quietly so as not to disrupt the officers.

Captain Peyton paused and glanced at his wife. She returned his gaze for several moments, as though silently discussing.

“We’ll help étienne,” she finally said, and the captain’s shoulders relaxed. She motioned toward the hatchway, now in full view with the walls removed. The lowest deck was as safe a place as one could find on a fighting ship, but it would not save us from seeing the carnage.

I reached up and felt my wrinkled nose. Blast. Mr. Doswell was right.

Mrs. Peyton walked briskly toward the ladders without another word, but the captain grabbed her about the waist. He whipped her around and kissed her fiercely.

I expected a brief display, a parting affection, but after a few moments, Lieutenant Roddam and I shared a confused look.

Had he lost his senses? Such tenderness against a backdrop of preparations for battle felt out of place.

Never mind they were in plain sight of half the crew readying the guns.

Mrs. Peyton pushed the captain away with a huff. “I expect a full report.” Then she turned on her heel and marched away unaffected.

I hurried to catch up. As we rapidly descended, I nearly tripped when my skirts tangled with my legs.

The image of my employers’ intimate exchange moments before stayed at the forefront of my mind.

The disgust I wanted to feel didn’t come.

What would it be like to have someone to kiss as the world turned against you?

Someone to draw courage from when faced with the unthinkable.

The blast of another cannon didn’t let me consider it long.

Elias

I rubbed my hands together, pacing from one end of the cockpit to the other. Battle. Again. It never grew easier. Even from the belly of the ship, far removed from the scenes of battle.

“Ah. Welcome, ladies.” étienne’s greeting made me halt. Miss Byam and Mrs. Peyton entered. The latter had a hand over her nose and mouth. Mrs. Peyton had experienced the foul bilge stench countless times before, but now her shoulders raised and fell in shallow breaths.

“Are you certain this is where you wish to be, madame?” étienne raised a brow, throwing Mrs. Peyton a knowing look.

She nodded slowly.

“I cannot help but notice you are looking rather green.” He moved a few tools to one side of the table we’d dragged into the center of the cockpit.

“I’ll be right in a moment.” She looked ready to keel over.

Miss Byam retrieved the bucket near the door.

“We’ll bring in a barrel for her to sit on,” the surgeon said, throwing me a wry grin. “I leave that bucket there on purpose. In case someone’s stomach disagrees with them.”

He was referencing our last battle together on the Deborah , when I hadn’t been able to handle the aftermath of cannon fire. My neck heated. I’d sat in the corner, images from the past and the present crashing into each other until I couldn’t breathe, much less help étienne and his mate.

Too cowardly to even tend to the wounded. Typical for you.

I wouldn’t allow myself that weakness tonight. I’d asked, practically begged, Peyton to bring me on. I knew what duties came with it.

“Harvey, help Miss Byam find a barrel. Mr. Doswell, if you’d help me fix these hammocks.”

We shook out the canvas and secured the ends to beams. Three hammocks wouldn’t be enough for a vicious battle, but we couldn’t know the need now.

Deep blasts. Distant shouting. My mouth went dry.

Everyone in the cockpit stilled. Above us, our shipmates stood in range of those cannons.

Friends, acquaintances, kin. étienne stared toward the upper decks.

We were fighting his countrymen, possibly his friends or family.

How many on both sides wouldn’t see tomorrow?

I fumbled with the next hammock as scenes from a different battle, a different time, filled my waking eye. The helmsman, Mr. Riddley’s, final words rang in my ears— Hold steady. It’ll pass.

Battle always did, but it never passed without leaving scars.

We’d just finished with the hammocks when a pair of seamen limped into the cockpit. In the orange light, I recognized the smaller one, a young midshipman named McDaniel.

“Mr. Sanchez was hit in the head,” the youth said. “He’s bleeding terrible.”

“Head wounds always do,” étienne said. “Harvey, help us get him on the table.”

I moved forward to assist, keeping my eyes away from the wide and growing stain across Sanchez’s collar, but Mr. McDaniel stopped me.

“Captain Peyton asked that I fetch you. Lieutenant Roddam’s manning the helm with Sanchez down.

We’ve got all the other helmsmen captaining gun crews. Captain said you could do it.”

I opened my mouth but couldn’t get words out. I hadn’t touched a ship’s wheel in nearly fourteen years. Peyton knew that.

“She’s turning to engage us,” the youth said. “We must hurry, sir.”

I nodded, glancing at Miss Byam. She clasped her hands before her, face pinched. Worry for Mr. Walcott, no doubt. With my luck, I couldn’t hope it would be for me.