Page 9 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)
I opened it and pulled out a bumpy strip of ... fruit? I held it to my nose and breathed in.
The cozy brightness of peach enfolded me in memories of sunlit walks along the harbor.
Dried peach? I sank my teeth into it, relishing the sweet tang.
For a moment, I was a little girl clutching tightly to Papa’s hand as we walked home from the rope yard sharing dried-and-sugared peach slices.
His favorite and mine. I could almost see his wide smile and hear his booming laugh.
Had Mama slipped these into my trunk? My heart swelled for a moment at the thought of her doing something so kind after all that had happened.
The feeling quickly dissipated. This packet was sitting outside my trunk.
I’d already done a thorough perusal of everything inside.
If she’d put the fruit in before leaving, I’d have found it yesterday.
I sat back, chewing slowly. Who would have set these here, then?
Practically no one knew me. Most of the crew hardly glanced at me.
The Peytons, while kind, were caught up in their own little world just as Agnes and John had been right after their wedding.
Mrs. Hallyburton ... I snorted, unable to even consider the thought, then clapped a hand over my mouth.
Their canvas cabin leaned against the wooden partition of my cabin.
I didn’t want the nosy woman investigating my laughter.
That left only Walcott and Doswell. I scrunched up my face.
After this morning’s altercation, I didn’t want it to have come from either of them.
Perhaps it was some sort of peace offering.
I put the half-eaten piece back in the packet and knelt, opening the lid of my trunk to bury it under my things.
The happy flavor still danced along my tongue.
I paused. It would be a shame to let the slices go to waste to satisfy my pride.
I sat back on my heels, slowly closing the lid.
Eating these didn’t mean I had to forgive the giver.
And if they hadn’t left a name, how was I supposed to know who to forgive?
They wouldn’t know if I’d eaten the gift or not, so it wasn’t as though I were depriving them of the satisfaction of my enjoyment.
I fingered the treat, tongue begging for more.
Unless they’d written a name on the packet. I turned the packet over but couldn’t make out any writing in the dim light. All the better.
I crawled over to the bulwark—the opposite wall from the one I shared with the Hallyburtons—and sat against it. I popped the other half of the first peach slice into my mouth and couldn’t help a grin. Irritating as it had started, the day was resolving itself quite nicely.
I pulled another slice from the packet, and my eyes fell on a yellow splotch across the deck. I took a bite, then reached toward the shape. The shadow of my hand made it disappear. Light from the cabin beside mine.
I scanned the panels and located a crack about waist high in the wall. A knot in the wood must have separated and fallen out when seamen had previously taken down the cabins. I went up on my knees to investigate, tracing the hole with a finger.
The opening gave me a glimpse of the cabin beside me, lit with a bright lantern against the nearest wall.
I froze, finger still on the rough wood.
In the center of the room, a man stood with his back to me in shirt and breeches.
The light caught his hair, turning it orange as autumn leaves, and passed through the fine linen of his shirt, defining his shoulder blades and trim torso.
His bare feet paced the width of a sage-green rug.
He murmured faintly to himself, a steady thrum that tickled my ear.
Lieutenant Roddam? I’d seen him on a few occasions in the last two days but hadn’t had a good look at the Marianne ’s only lieutenant.
I clearly needed to amend that, if only he’d turn so I could see his face.
If it was the lieutenant, this brassy light gave his blond hair a reddish sheen.
It was too difficult not to stare. His shirt hung in just the right way to give him that undone attraction, and his breeches were expertly tailored.
Heavens, why did the rank of lieutenant make a man so attractive?
He halted again, and my eyes strayed to the lean muscles of his calves.
Mercy. This was as treacherous as it was thrilling to have such a neighbor.
And a crevice between our cabins. Mrs. Hallyburton would flay me alive if she knew what I was doing just now.
The man turned, and my heart skipped in anticipation. For a moment, the spectacles he wore delayed my discernment. His brows sat low as he stared at a little book in his hand. The other hand tapped a pencil against his firm jaw.
“If you instead start with verse six,” he muttered, “then you could lead with an entreaty to faith.”
I blinked as recognition smacked into me like round shot dropped from the mainmast. The chaplain. I gasped much louder than I’d intended. He raised his head with a look of concern, glancing toward the partition, though not in the direction of the hole.
The packet crackled as it fell from my hands.
I scrambled back and dove for my hammock, but the cursed bed evaded me.
My hand swept down the canvas side as it swung out of my way, and the force of my efforts to jump in quickly dumped me to the deck, my cheek grating across the coarse fabric of my hammock on my way down.
My elbow thudded against the floor. Tingling pain shot up and down my arm.
“Miss Byam? Are you well?” His soft voice carried clear through the hole in the panel.
I held my breath as I grasped the side of the hammock, wanting to rip it to shreds. I carefully lifted myself into bed and lay still. My arm throbbed. My face stung. Neither hurt so much as my pride.
“Miss Byam?”
I wouldn’t respond. It appeared fate had more cards to play besides the Woodall connection. Whatever higher power I’d angered in my life surely must have been cackling at the chaos He’d orchestrated. Next door to the chaplain. Of all the cruel tricks.