waves like the saintly paragon Cole was so eager to describe.
If, that is, Captain Sparhawk decided to show himself at all this morning. From the bells that rang to mark the changes of the watch, she guessed the hour must be close to noon, and he'd yet to come on deck. Though after what had passed between them last night, she still wasn't sure what she'd say to him if—or when—he did. As furtively as she could, she glanced around again toward the companionway that led to his cabin.
"If you're looking for the captain, you're likely to have a good long wait," said Gideon, reading her thoughts with such ease that she blushed. "Concerns of the ship kept him from his sleep until late, and I don't expect him to appear any time soon."
"I wouldn't think Captain Sparhawk would be so plagued," said Rose.
She
had managed to rise at a decent hour, she thought crossly, no matter how many sleepless hours he'd given her thanks to his foolishness about Lily. The least he could do was the same. "This ship seems to be run quite effortlessly without him."
That, at least, was true. Especially considering the
Angel Lily
had belonged to the Americans for such a short period of time, the ship and her crew appeared in perfect harmony. Every rope was coiled in exact loops, every unused sail furled with precision, and each sailor seemed almost to be able to anticipate the lieutenant's orders, so effortlessly did they move to execute his wishes. Beneath the cloudless sky the
Angel Lily
sliced through the waves with an easy assurance that Rose had never seen before.
"Thank you, miss." Gideon beamed and touched the front of his hat in acknowledgment.
" 'Tis one of the reasons the cap'n's been so successful. Twenty-two prizes, miss, more than any other Yankee captain."
"Twenty-two!" This time her amazement was real. From her father, she knew even the most successful English privateers in this war had captured no more than a half dozen American and French merchant ships.
"Twenty-two," said Gideon with obvious satisfaction. "Makes for a pretty piece of ciphering, figuring all those shares among two hundred men! When we finally pay out, he'll send every last jack home a rich man, and that makes for a happy crew. But that's only part of it. He had his pick of the best seamen on the coast, and he knows enough to treat them like the gems they are. Respect and tolerance, miss, that's his secret. Be firm, but treat every man in the crew like you'd want to be treated yourself. But coming from King George's England, you can't be expected to understand."
Automatically Rose opened her mouth to protest, only to swallow her defense unspoken. If the red-haired lieutenant had just set her down as she suspected, then she deserved it. He was right. She didn't understand the reasons behind this American war, and she dutifully parroted the views of her father and his friends. Respect and tolerance were supposed to be English virtues, too, but the men on board the
Commerce
had grumbled at their minuscule wages and cowered beneath their officers' discipline. Even on her launching day
the
Angel Lily
hadn't had this same spark and dash to her under Captain Fotherill that she so obviously had under Captain Sparhawk, and certainly none of the Americans' success.
"Does he—Captain Sparhawk, I mean—often have difficulty sleeping?" she asked tentatively. Insomnia seemed a far safer topic than politics. "I can suggest a receipt for a special powder given me by my aunt that's guaranteed efficacious."
"Ah, now, we'd best leave that to the surgeon," said Gideon. "But I thank you for your concern, Miss Everard. I do thank you for that."
Gently he took her arm, holding her by her elbow alone as lightly as if she were made of porcelain. He would never be as handsome as his captain, but there was a certain offhanded charm to his freckled face that made Rose forgive his forwardness when he brought his face close to hers to speak to her alone.
"You are a lady of breeding and
If, that is, Captain Sparhawk decided to show himself at all this morning. From the bells that rang to mark the changes of the watch, she guessed the hour must be close to noon, and he'd yet to come on deck. Though after what had passed between them last night, she still wasn't sure what she'd say to him if—or when—he did. As furtively as she could, she glanced around again toward the companionway that led to his cabin.
"If you're looking for the captain, you're likely to have a good long wait," said Gideon, reading her thoughts with such ease that she blushed. "Concerns of the ship kept him from his sleep until late, and I don't expect him to appear any time soon."
"I wouldn't think Captain Sparhawk would be so plagued," said Rose.
She
had managed to rise at a decent hour, she thought crossly, no matter how many sleepless hours he'd given her thanks to his foolishness about Lily. The least he could do was the same. "This ship seems to be run quite effortlessly without him."
That, at least, was true. Especially considering the
Angel Lily
had belonged to the Americans for such a short period of time, the ship and her crew appeared in perfect harmony. Every rope was coiled in exact loops, every unused sail furled with precision, and each sailor seemed almost to be able to anticipate the lieutenant's orders, so effortlessly did they move to execute his wishes. Beneath the cloudless sky the
Angel Lily
sliced through the waves with an easy assurance that Rose had never seen before.
"Thank you, miss." Gideon beamed and touched the front of his hat in acknowledgment.
" 'Tis one of the reasons the cap'n's been so successful. Twenty-two prizes, miss, more than any other Yankee captain."
"Twenty-two!" This time her amazement was real. From her father, she knew even the most successful English privateers in this war had captured no more than a half dozen American and French merchant ships.
"Twenty-two," said Gideon with obvious satisfaction. "Makes for a pretty piece of ciphering, figuring all those shares among two hundred men! When we finally pay out, he'll send every last jack home a rich man, and that makes for a happy crew. But that's only part of it. He had his pick of the best seamen on the coast, and he knows enough to treat them like the gems they are. Respect and tolerance, miss, that's his secret. Be firm, but treat every man in the crew like you'd want to be treated yourself. But coming from King George's England, you can't be expected to understand."
Automatically Rose opened her mouth to protest, only to swallow her defense unspoken. If the red-haired lieutenant had just set her down as she suspected, then she deserved it. He was right. She didn't understand the reasons behind this American war, and she dutifully parroted the views of her father and his friends. Respect and tolerance were supposed to be English virtues, too, but the men on board the
Commerce
had grumbled at their minuscule wages and cowered beneath their officers' discipline. Even on her launching day
the
Angel Lily
hadn't had this same spark and dash to her under Captain Fotherill that she so obviously had under Captain Sparhawk, and certainly none of the Americans' success.
"Does he—Captain Sparhawk, I mean—often have difficulty sleeping?" she asked tentatively. Insomnia seemed a far safer topic than politics. "I can suggest a receipt for a special powder given me by my aunt that's guaranteed efficacious."
"Ah, now, we'd best leave that to the surgeon," said Gideon. "But I thank you for your concern, Miss Everard. I do thank you for that."
Gently he took her arm, holding her by her elbow alone as lightly as if she were made of porcelain. He would never be as handsome as his captain, but there was a certain offhanded charm to his freckled face that made Rose forgive his forwardness when he brought his face close to hers to speak to her alone.
"You are a lady of breeding and
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