the sight of his captain decorating the wooden post, while Theo rolled along the railing, hiccuping and holding his sides.
Carly pressed one finger to her lips. “Hush.”
Gibbons waved feebly and coughed, and Theo tried to muffle his hiccups with both hands.
Andrew stood, hooking his thumbs behind his belt. Those adorable dimples of his never failed to send her resistance into a nosedive. “Finished, I believe. Do you agree, milady?”
“I honestly do. It looks great.”
He inclined his head slightly, cleared his throat, and drew himself up to his full height, something several inches over six feet. “My ship will be the laughingstock of the seven seas.”
“Laughingstock!” Carly aimed a playful punch at his stomach.
He caught her fist easily. With his other hand, he curled one finger under her chin. “I earned that remark, milady. ‘Those who help get to criticize.’ As I recall, those were your words, more or less.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before walking off, whistling one of the more popular chanties.
She touched the place where his warm finger had rested under her chin. “Something will have to be done about him,” she murmured.
“Milady, you’ve done a great deal of good already,” Gibbons said. “He may not know it yet, but his men do.”
“He says a king’s ransom couldn’t make up for the trouble I’ve caused him.” She shrugged. “The sourpuss does laugh more, though.”
“Aye, he does at that.” Gibbons flashed her a broad, white-toothed grin.
Carly settled to her knees. As she slid a length of ribbon from her shoulders, she hummed the tune Andrew had begun, some ditty about a wayward mermaid. Theo and Gibbons joined her. Within minutes, they were singing the bawdy song aloud.
The
Phoenix
spun in languid circles atop a glassy sea. Ribbons dangled from the railings and rigging, and near the bow, the men had strung lanterns.
Glad to leave the stifling cabin, Carly strolled outside toward the bow of the ship. The party was well underway. She leaned over the railing, propped her chin on her hands, and paused to absorb the tranquil peace of a tropical evening. The air was thick, primeval. Here, atop the earth’s equator, far from any rocky shore, the ship was nothing more than a speck on a vast sea. Gooseflesh raised on her arms. She savored the beauty of the ocean a while longer before leaving the stern.
Her skirt fluttered over her bare legs, brushing her ankles as she walked. She’d dried her hair in braids, creating a myriad of waves that hung to her waist. When she reached up to fluff her hair, one of her cap sleeves slipped down her shoulder. She tugged the sleeve higher, cursing the fact that no one had thought to invent elastic yet. What made it such a difficult concept? Her other sleeve sagged. She gave up, letting it fall. There wasn’t much to reveal anyway. She’d spent her teenage years wishing for cleavage, or at least enough on top to hold up a dress. Nevertheless, her body matured late. Not until her twenties had she developed a more womanly figure. Too bad her hips had outpaced her chest!
Food was a sore subject with Andrew these days. They’d gone past the six weeks he’d originally calculated it would take to reach the island. The winds had eluded them, he’d said, making the crossing unusually slow. It might take as long as another month to drift south to the trades. If supplies ran low, they’d beforced to sail to a port on the African mainland to buy more beer, flour, and beef—further delaying their arrival home. Still, it gave her more time to figure out her options before she was forced to leave the
Phoenix
and the only people she knew in this century. Once the duke saw she was little more than a pauper, she figured he’d let her go. Yet, being flat broke in a strange century presented a problem all its own. Short of urging someone to invent an airplane she could fly, she’d be forced to earn her living from the most basic of
Carly pressed one finger to her lips. “Hush.”
Gibbons waved feebly and coughed, and Theo tried to muffle his hiccups with both hands.
Andrew stood, hooking his thumbs behind his belt. Those adorable dimples of his never failed to send her resistance into a nosedive. “Finished, I believe. Do you agree, milady?”
“I honestly do. It looks great.”
He inclined his head slightly, cleared his throat, and drew himself up to his full height, something several inches over six feet. “My ship will be the laughingstock of the seven seas.”
“Laughingstock!” Carly aimed a playful punch at his stomach.
He caught her fist easily. With his other hand, he curled one finger under her chin. “I earned that remark, milady. ‘Those who help get to criticize.’ As I recall, those were your words, more or less.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before walking off, whistling one of the more popular chanties.
She touched the place where his warm finger had rested under her chin. “Something will have to be done about him,” she murmured.
“Milady, you’ve done a great deal of good already,” Gibbons said. “He may not know it yet, but his men do.”
“He says a king’s ransom couldn’t make up for the trouble I’ve caused him.” She shrugged. “The sourpuss does laugh more, though.”
“Aye, he does at that.” Gibbons flashed her a broad, white-toothed grin.
Carly settled to her knees. As she slid a length of ribbon from her shoulders, she hummed the tune Andrew had begun, some ditty about a wayward mermaid. Theo and Gibbons joined her. Within minutes, they were singing the bawdy song aloud.
The
Phoenix
spun in languid circles atop a glassy sea. Ribbons dangled from the railings and rigging, and near the bow, the men had strung lanterns.
Glad to leave the stifling cabin, Carly strolled outside toward the bow of the ship. The party was well underway. She leaned over the railing, propped her chin on her hands, and paused to absorb the tranquil peace of a tropical evening. The air was thick, primeval. Here, atop the earth’s equator, far from any rocky shore, the ship was nothing more than a speck on a vast sea. Gooseflesh raised on her arms. She savored the beauty of the ocean a while longer before leaving the stern.
Her skirt fluttered over her bare legs, brushing her ankles as she walked. She’d dried her hair in braids, creating a myriad of waves that hung to her waist. When she reached up to fluff her hair, one of her cap sleeves slipped down her shoulder. She tugged the sleeve higher, cursing the fact that no one had thought to invent elastic yet. What made it such a difficult concept? Her other sleeve sagged. She gave up, letting it fall. There wasn’t much to reveal anyway. She’d spent her teenage years wishing for cleavage, or at least enough on top to hold up a dress. Nevertheless, her body matured late. Not until her twenties had she developed a more womanly figure. Too bad her hips had outpaced her chest!
Food was a sore subject with Andrew these days. They’d gone past the six weeks he’d originally calculated it would take to reach the island. The winds had eluded them, he’d said, making the crossing unusually slow. It might take as long as another month to drift south to the trades. If supplies ran low, they’d beforced to sail to a port on the African mainland to buy more beer, flour, and beef—further delaying their arrival home. Still, it gave her more time to figure out her options before she was forced to leave the
Phoenix
and the only people she knew in this century. Once the duke saw she was little more than a pauper, she figured he’d let her go. Yet, being flat broke in a strange century presented a problem all its own. Short of urging someone to invent an airplane she could fly, she’d be forced to earn her living from the most basic of
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