Channing had greeted each one of them as if they were members of the town council. She neither shrank back from their licentious glances nor took offense at their snide comments. Lud, instead of passing them by with a lift of her nose as he had expected, she’d even asked them questions that went beyond her interest in them as an investment.
“Will you show me the armament you purchased, Mr. Heaton?” Her smile reached her eyes, and at that moment he believed he’d show her anything she wished.
“Armament, ha!” Mr. Crane tugged on his cravat. “I doubt you could have procured anything decent for this waterlogged tub.”
Luke gave the man one of his most imperious gazes, the kind that sent men cowering in the taverns. It had the same effect on Mr. Crane. Clearing his throat, he moved to the other side of Miss Channing.
Luke waved at the carronades mounted on the starboard railing. “As you can see, I purchased eight carronades, four on each side.” He pointed toward the other group lining the port side of the ship. “And one lone nine at the prow.”
“Is that all?” Mr. Crane snorted with disdain. “Hardly enough firepower to catch a fishing boat, let alone a merchantman.”
Enough was enough. Luke’s gaze landed on the broken railing, and he found himself suddenly glad the lazy crewmen had not followed his orders to fix it.
“No, Mr. Crane. We also installed two eighteen pounders belowdecks. You can see their muzzles jutting out from the gun ports if you look over the starboard railing.”
“Eighteen pounders! Preposterous! On a schooner?” Mr. Crane snorted.
“See for yourself.” Luke shrugged one shoulder and gestured with his head toward the railing.
Stomping toward the spot, Mr. Crane peered over the edge. “You taunt me, sir. There is nothing there.”
Miss Channing’s brow furrowed.
“Of course there is.” Taking a spot beside the buffoon, Luke pointed over the side. “Can’t you see them?”
Mr. Crane leaned on the faulty piece of railing. With an exasperated sigh, he angled the top half of his body over the side.
Crack! Snap!
A chunk of the wood broke from the railing and dropped into the bay.
Mr. Crane’s arms flailed before him. His eyes bulged. He let out a broken shriek as he toppled over and splashed into the dark water below.
CHAPTER 9
C assandra stepped inside the captain’s cabin and took in the masculine furnishings. A sturdy oak desk guarded the stern windows. Charts, a logbook, quill pens, a quadrant, and two lanterns spread across a top that was marred with divots and stains. Rows of books stood at attention on two shelves to the right, a mahogany case filled with weapons lined the opposite wall, and one velvet-upholstered chair stood before the desk. The smell of tar and whale oil and Mr. Heaton filled her nose as he ducked to enter the room behind her. Mr. Abbot followed on his heels, wearing a smirk that had lingered on his lips ever since Mr. Crane had fallen overboard.
And though Cassandra tried to stifle her laughter, another giggle burst from her mouth at the vision of Mr. Crane being pulled from the bay by a fisherman. Afterward, he had simply stood there, dripping like a drowned possum and shaking his fist in the air before he turned and marched away.
“You really should have tossed a rope over for him.” Cassandra turned to face Luke.
A mischievous glint flashed in his blue eyes. “Why? He had overstayed his welcome.”
“You are incorrigible,” she huffed.
“So I am told.”
Mr. Abbot chuckled. “I fear you have made another enemy.”
“A growing list.” Mr. Heaton rubbed his right palm. Pink scars lined the skin, making Cassandra wonder what had happened to cause them.
“The men are asking when we will set sail,” Mr. Abbot said, lingering at the open door. Thunder shook the ship as the
tap tap
of rain pounded on the deck above.
“As soon as it’s dark.” Mr. Heaton stomped toward the shelves as if looking for something
“Will you show me the armament you purchased, Mr. Heaton?” Her smile reached her eyes, and at that moment he believed he’d show her anything she wished.
“Armament, ha!” Mr. Crane tugged on his cravat. “I doubt you could have procured anything decent for this waterlogged tub.”
Luke gave the man one of his most imperious gazes, the kind that sent men cowering in the taverns. It had the same effect on Mr. Crane. Clearing his throat, he moved to the other side of Miss Channing.
Luke waved at the carronades mounted on the starboard railing. “As you can see, I purchased eight carronades, four on each side.” He pointed toward the other group lining the port side of the ship. “And one lone nine at the prow.”
“Is that all?” Mr. Crane snorted with disdain. “Hardly enough firepower to catch a fishing boat, let alone a merchantman.”
Enough was enough. Luke’s gaze landed on the broken railing, and he found himself suddenly glad the lazy crewmen had not followed his orders to fix it.
“No, Mr. Crane. We also installed two eighteen pounders belowdecks. You can see their muzzles jutting out from the gun ports if you look over the starboard railing.”
“Eighteen pounders! Preposterous! On a schooner?” Mr. Crane snorted.
“See for yourself.” Luke shrugged one shoulder and gestured with his head toward the railing.
Stomping toward the spot, Mr. Crane peered over the edge. “You taunt me, sir. There is nothing there.”
Miss Channing’s brow furrowed.
“Of course there is.” Taking a spot beside the buffoon, Luke pointed over the side. “Can’t you see them?”
Mr. Crane leaned on the faulty piece of railing. With an exasperated sigh, he angled the top half of his body over the side.
Crack! Snap!
A chunk of the wood broke from the railing and dropped into the bay.
Mr. Crane’s arms flailed before him. His eyes bulged. He let out a broken shriek as he toppled over and splashed into the dark water below.
CHAPTER 9
C assandra stepped inside the captain’s cabin and took in the masculine furnishings. A sturdy oak desk guarded the stern windows. Charts, a logbook, quill pens, a quadrant, and two lanterns spread across a top that was marred with divots and stains. Rows of books stood at attention on two shelves to the right, a mahogany case filled with weapons lined the opposite wall, and one velvet-upholstered chair stood before the desk. The smell of tar and whale oil and Mr. Heaton filled her nose as he ducked to enter the room behind her. Mr. Abbot followed on his heels, wearing a smirk that had lingered on his lips ever since Mr. Crane had fallen overboard.
And though Cassandra tried to stifle her laughter, another giggle burst from her mouth at the vision of Mr. Crane being pulled from the bay by a fisherman. Afterward, he had simply stood there, dripping like a drowned possum and shaking his fist in the air before he turned and marched away.
“You really should have tossed a rope over for him.” Cassandra turned to face Luke.
A mischievous glint flashed in his blue eyes. “Why? He had overstayed his welcome.”
“You are incorrigible,” she huffed.
“So I am told.”
Mr. Abbot chuckled. “I fear you have made another enemy.”
“A growing list.” Mr. Heaton rubbed his right palm. Pink scars lined the skin, making Cassandra wonder what had happened to cause them.
“The men are asking when we will set sail,” Mr. Abbot said, lingering at the open door. Thunder shook the ship as the
tap tap
of rain pounded on the deck above.
“As soon as it’s dark.” Mr. Heaton stomped toward the shelves as if looking for something
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