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B eatrice paced the cramped cabin, her skirts brushing against the wooden floorboards with every agitated step. The small porthole did little to illuminate the room, but it didn’t matter. Her indignation flared, hot and unrelenting. Matthew lounged in the corner, smirking as he watched her pace.

At last, unable to bear his complacency, she stopped mid-stride and turned to him, hands on her hips. “Are you just going to sit there while we are effectively kidnapped?”

Matthew shrugged, leaning back against the wall. “It is not every day I am treated to such entertainment. Do carry on. Your righteous fury is delightful,” he said, reaching into his coat and retrieving a silver flask.

“Delightful?” she sputtered, her gaze narrowing dangerously. “You think this is amusing? We are trapped on a ship bound for America because of you!”

“Oh, no,” he corrected, raising a finger. “This is most assuredly because of you, my dear.”

She let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a huff, then stormed to the cabin door and banged on it with the flat of her palm. “Captain! I demand an audience with the captain!”

Her voice echoed down the narrow corridor, but no immediate response came. She turned to Matthew, who was now chuckling openly. “What?” she snapped.

“You are making quite the impression, Miss Sinclair. I am sure the crew is quaking in their boots.”

Before she could retort, the sound of heavy footsteps approached. The door swung open to reveal a sailor, his towering frame filling the doorway. His expression was as unimpressed as it was weathered, a testament to years spent at sea.

“What’s all this racket?” he barked, his sharp eyes darting between Beatrice and Matthew.

Beatrice straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “Are you the Captain? I must insist you turn this ship around immediately. There has been a grave mistake. I am not supposed to be here.”

The sailor crossed his massive arms over his chest, his expression as unyielding as the sea itself. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice firm. “This entire situation is the result of a misunderstanding. I arranged for Lord Lorne’s passage to America, not mine.

I paid for his fare and...” She cringed at her actions finding it suddenly hard to admit what she had done.

“to have him escorted aboard…But somehow, I ended up on this ship as well.”

Matthew’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of incredulity. “You are mad,” he exclaimed, his voice tinged with outrage. “You orchestrated my abduction and act as if you have done nothing wrong.”

Beatrice shot him a withering glare. “Do try to keep up, my lord. Yes, I arranged for you to be sent away. It was no less than you deserved.”

“Sent away?” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. “You had me abducted and shipped off like cargo, and now you dare to be angry because you became tangled in your own web?”

“Oh, do not be so melodramatic,” she snapped. “You would have been comfortably housed, and more importantly, far away from England, where your presence is nothing short of disastrous.”

“Enough!” The sailor’s booming voice cut through their bickering.

Both Beatrice and Matthew turned to face him, their squabble momentarily forgotten.

“I don’t give a bloody damn how you came to be aboard this ship.

The captain is busy, and I was paid to take passengers to America.

That is precisely what I intend to do. Neither of you is going anywhere until we dock.

If you insist on causing further ruckus, I will see you rendered silent. ”

Beatrice’s jaw tightened. She turned back to the man offering what she hoped was a sweet smile. “I am willing to compensate you handsomely if you turn this ship and take us back to England.”

“No amount of coin will turn this ship around.” His eyes narrowed, his tone uncompromising. “This ship is bound for America, and it will not stop until we reach port. Once we’re there, you and your companion are free to do as you please. Until then, you will remain on board.”

“Surely there is something that can be done,” she pressed, though the sinking feeling in her stomach told her she had already lost this battle. “Perhaps—” Beatrice began, only for the sailor to raise a hand, silencing her.

“I have no interest in further protestations,” he said, his voice cold. With that, he stepped back into the corridor and shut the door firmly behind him. A key turned in the lock, sealing their fate.

Beatrice stared at the closed door, her chest heaving with frustration. She turned to Matthew, whose expression was a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Well, Beatrice,” he drawled, “it seems you are indeed stuck with me. Care to explain what exactly you hoped to accomplish?”

She glared at him. “I hoped to rid myself and the rest of London from your roguish presence, if you must know. But clearly, fate has a sense of humor.”

“Indeed it does,” he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Now, thanks to your machinations, we’re both trapped on this ship for weeks. Splendid work, truly.” He tipped his flask to his mouth, taking a long drink.

Beatrice let out a huff of annoyance and turned away, surveying the cabin. The space was scarcely large enough for one person, let alone two. A narrow bed, a small table, and a single chair comprised the furnishings. The thought of enduring such close quarters with him made her stomach churn.

“Fine,” she said, crossing to the bed. “I intend to make the best of this unfortunate situation.” She grabbed a pillow and a blanket, then tossed them toward Matthew, who caught them with a bemused expression.

“And what am I to do with these?” he asked.

“Make your bed, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly, climbing into the bed and settling herself with an air of finality.

Matthew stared at her, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a retort. Finally, he shook his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

He spread the blanket on the floor and lowered himself onto it with a theatrical sigh. “Do not think for one minute that I will spend the entire journey on the floor,” he grumbled.

From the bed, Beatrice’s voice floated softly through the cabin. “And you are quite daft if you think I will share the bed.”

Matthew let out a bark of laughter, despite himself. “I will remember that when your back aches from sleeping on this infernal floor.”

Beatrice smirked into her pillow, satisfaction curling through her.

As much as she loathed their predicament, she could not deny that sparring with Matthew was oddly exhilarating.

Perhaps, she mused, this voyage would be more bearable than she initially thought—assuming they did not kill each other first.