Shipmate: A Royal Regard Prequel Novella by Mariana Gabrielle Page B

and the same
embroidered slippers she had worn the night she met Lord
Holsworthy. Her hair needn’t be artfully arranged, either, only
neatly braided and coiled in a bun at her nape. When marrying a
peer, she hadn’t thought to be spared the nuisance of a lady’s
maid, and was now pleasantly surprised at the informality inherent
in her new life. She needn’t pretend to be fashionably idle. At
least she wouldn’t after she found something to do.
    She went to her trunk and pulled out the
first of the dozen blank books she had bought and had stamped, one
for each month of the upcoming year:
     
    The Journals of Isabella Clewes, Baroness
Holsworthy
    June 1805
     
    She ran her finger across the gold embossing
on the leather, admiring her new name. No matter what happened in
the future, she never had to be a Smithson again.
    In the writing desk in the sitting room, she
found quills, ink, and foolscap in a drawer, which she would use
when composing a list of what value she might offer her husband and
his business interests. But first, she had been filled with
impressions of the ship before she became ill, but for obvious
reasons, hadn’t written one word of her first three days away from
England. It would not do to fall out of the daily habit of writing
before she had begun it.
    As she opened the cover and turned it back,
there was a knock on the door from the hallway—gangway, she
reminded herself. She called out, “Please come in,” but of course,
Myron had locked it when he left. She went to open it, and the door
let out a long, drawn-out screech. She suspected, with the damp and
salt air, a lot of creaking wood was in her future, though surely
hinges should be greased. She would make a note to have it
done.
    “My lady?”
    A scruffy sailor waited outside the door,
hat in hand.
    When will that ever sound normal? Bella thought. “Yes?”
    He was unwashed, but that was a trait to
which she would have to become accustomed, as warm, freshwater
baths would be both rarity and luxury. His greasy hair might have
been any color from dark blond to deep chestnut, now sullied to
almost black. His most obvious feature was a lack of teeth on the
right side, more pronounced because he was otherwise a
young-looking man.
    “Captain Johnson, he tol’ me to bring bath
water.”
    He motioned to the floor at his feet, just
beyond the doorway, indicating cans of water he must have carried
to accommodate more of Lord Holsworthy’s demands for her special
treatment. She had to make Myron understand that it would make
things no easier if the crew were forced to wait on her hand and
foot. She had no idea how to accomplish it, but could at least now
rise from her bed and make a start.
    Bella swung the door wide, smiling her
appreciation, but her friendliness fell away when the man pushed
her back into the cabin and shut the door with his foot, grasping
her hands and crowding her back against a wall.
    Her breath came fast and shallow as she
tried to twist away, a scream caught behind her teeth. Before she
could express more than the tiniest squeak, the man’s fetid breath
surrounded her head and his growling filled her ear.
    “No need for a pretty little dell to get
stuck with a starched old cove like Clewes.” His tongue slithered
into her ear, teeth catching her lobe, making her shudder and
struggle harder to free herself from his broad bulk. “Plenty of men
on this ship won’t mind keepin’ company when you tire of him, and
meself at the front of the pack. You and me, we come to an
understanding, and I could keep all them other dogs away from
you.”
    With every syllable, Bella thrashed harder
and choked more, until, by the time he awaited her response, she
couldn’t breathe at all, flashes of light floating in front of her
eyes, darkness starting to overtake the edges of her vision. When
he snaked his hand up under her skirt, though, her mind cleared
straightaway.
    In an instant, she remembered her brother’s
advice. She drove her