Page 21 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

“We are grateful for your service, Miss Byam,” the captain said.

I curtsied briskly. I didn’t do this work for praise, but hearing the gratitude softened the tension that had taken up residence within me that night.

“We’re finished here,” étienne said. “I’ll have the crew help me transfer these men to the sick bay, if the ladies would like to retire.”

The fatigue hit like a squall, my eyes suddenly dry and eyelids heavy. What was the hour? The bells hadn’t resumed yet. “If you are certain,” I said.

I followed the Peytons to the ladder and up to the mess deck, clenching my jaw against the yawns that came in quick succession. I didn’t want to draw in deep breaths of this bilge-tainted air.

Captain Peyton offered me his hand and helped me up through the hatchway in the same manner he had his wife, with care and courtesy.

“Doswell seems a little dazed,” he said before releasing my hand. “Would you talk to him? He always perks up after speaking with you.”

Me? I wished to talk to him more than anyone, but what good could I do?

His vacant stare when he’d helped Fitz to the cockpit had stayed with me through my work, the fear of not having the chance to speak with him again a constant throbbing in my heart.

I hoped Frank was also well, of course. I couldn’t rest easy until I knew they were both unharmed.

I nodded to the captain. I’d do my best.

The carpenter’s crew hadn’t come below yet, so when the Peytons ascended to their cabin, I hurried into the gun room.

They’d set it to rights quickly, a feat I’d doubted after seeing the crew’s first attempt during the first week of gun drills.

Mr. Doswell’s door was closed, but his lantern glowed within.

I tapped on the door, then shifted so I couldn’t be tempted to peek through the bars.

He opened the door, eyes bloodshot, as though he’d just rubbed them.

“Mr. Doswell, I ...”

He’d removed his coat and cravat. His unbuttoned waistcoat hung loosely from his shoulders.

The undone collar, which left his shirt open halfway down his torso, made me swallow slowly.

I’d seen him in such a situation two weeks ago, though with how far we’d come, it seemed forever since I’d discovered that crack in the bulwark.

Mr. Doswell so carefully presented himself that seeing him in this state felt strange.

I forced my eyes to lift and lock on his face.

He hastily fastened his collar. “Miss Byam. How may I be of service?”

I couldn’t remember. I’d had an assignment. Mouth open like a caught fish, I stood there racking my brain. The captain had put me up to this. He’d said Mr. Doswell perked up after speaking with me. A sudden urge to pivot and hide in my cabin welled within. What had Captain Peyton meant by that?

“Are you well?” Mr. Doswell asked.

I needed to say something. “Your coat,” I blurted. “I came for your coat.”

“My coat?” He still had that distant look. Tonight had muddled his mind—it had all of ours, as evidenced by my odd disposition—but this battle’s effect on him seemed deeper. The usual thoughtfulness in his pale-green eyes had given way to this despondency.

“I know it must have been dirtied tonight.” I’d seen stains from Fitz’s blood. And étienne had mentioned his queasiness. “I can clean it for you.”

“Oh, you needn’t bother yourself.” He withdrew a step.

“I will clean the captain’s coat tomorrow, and I might as well do yours too.” I put my hand on the door lest he try to give a quick goodbye and close it between us.

“That is very kind of you.” His desire to refuse still tainted his words.

“I can fetch it.” I made to squeeze through the door. He needed a little nudging.

“Oh, no. I’ll get it.”

I paused in the doorway as he took the coat from the lid of his trunk. He moved stiffly, haltingly, as though he’d just set foot on the frigate and needed to learn the motion of the waves.

“You shouldn’t have been above,” I said softly so the rest of the gun room didn’t hear.

His hands jerked in and out of pockets, removing his spectacles, a little book, and a pencil. “We all have our duties. Peyton needed me there.”

And it had taken all the strength of his mind to obey those orders. “That was very brave of you,” I said.

He dropped his gaze. Then he held up the coat. “Really, you do not need to exert yourself for my sake.”

I gathered the fine green wool into my arms. He hadn’t appreciated my offer of comfort. It made me want to give it all the more. “How is your hand?”

He drew it back, pulling the cuff of his sleeve down to hide the wound. “Much better.” Another attempt at enthusiasm. “Nothing to worry about. Thank you very much, Miss Byam. If you’ll excuse me.”

I backed up until he could close the door, scrambling to find something more to say. I couldn’t think of anything as his door clicked shut.

Hugging his coat tightly, I slipped into my cabin.

I wasn’t usually so at a loss for words.

A night of battling the French had muddled my thoughts.

I held up the coat to the faint light coming through the canvas nailed across my window, trying to find the bloodstains, but I couldn’t see well enough. I would try again tomorrow.

A light whiff of cologne tickled my senses. I held the coat to my nose and drew in the scent of jasmine, both deliciously sweet and deeply musky. A little like him.

Mr. Doswell’s downcast face tore at me. Why, if he found this life so difficult, had he agreed to it? Surely a little country vicarage with a thatched roof, encircled in hedgerows suited him better. Someplace he could lead a quiet life doing good to his fellow man.

I draped the coat over my trunk and crouched by the crack between our cabins.

He stood near the wall, so close I could only see his untucked shirt and breeches.

A moment later, the cabin went dark as he blew out the lantern.

Faint light from the gun room lit his back as he trudged to his cot and fell into it. He sighed, long and wearily.

And for some inexplicable reason, my heart sighed with him.