certainly hoped he would not expect her to hoist sails or man the tiller.
She started to giggle. She could not seem to stop. The silly thought of her frantically pulling ropes to raise the huge sails while Mr. Henderson shouted orders struck her very funny. Her laughter rang high into the air to be lost in the wind sighing through the rigging.
Mr. Henderson suddenly set her on her feet. She clung to his arm, her other hand pressed across her mouth, trying to stifle her hysteria.
They stood before a door set into the side of the quarterdeck above them. At least, she thought it was called the quarterdeck. She only knew ships from the books in her father’s library. She had never actually been on one.
Mr. Henderson rapped on the door. After a long moment, it scraped open. Beyond it stood a very ugly sailor, short and bulky. Alexandra stared at him in shock; then her strange laughter bubbled up and came bursting out.
Mr. Henderson dragged her past the sailor and into the cabin. She found herself inside a square room, built the width of the quarterdeck above. From the low ceiling’s painted beams hung two iron lanterns. The entire back wall was lined with windows that looked out into darkness. A lantern hanging outside glittered crookedly through the facets of the glass.
The other two walls of the room were lined with cabinets that fitted around twin doors, one in each wall. The wall behind her held more precisely built cabinets. In the middle of the room stood a long table, and behind it, under the windows, a varnished wooden bench ran from wall to wall. At the table, in a low, square chair, like a prince on his throne, sat the gentleman she’d seen depart Grayson’s house the night she’d run to the rescue.
James Ardmore. She had only glimpsed him in the darkthat night, the length of pavement from her front door to Grayson’s. Now here he was.
He wore a dark blue coat stretched over shoulders as broad as Grayson’s. He had no shirt; the coat was buttoned over his bare, bronzed torso. His breeches and boots were black and his hair was dark as night. His face was swarthy, his tan rendering his lips and cheeks the same color. From this monotone face blazed his eyes, which were chill green like layers and layers of ancient ice.
Here was the man who had put a rope around Grayson’s neck and left him to die. The man Grayson had told her was one of the most dangerous in the world.
She clapped her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. His green gaze scrutinized her, a gaze that probed her, wanting to know everything about her. She should be so very afraid. She leaned on Mr. Henderson and shook with laughter.
A door to one of the inner rooms opened, and a woman emerged. She was tall, and her dyed red hair, dressed unfashionably high, nearly touched the top of the doorframe. She was neither pretty nor ugly, having a square, plain face and pale eyes that held sharp intelligence. Her mouth was thin, a little severe. Her figure, on the other hand, was the kind Alexandra’s husband Theo had favored. Her bosom rounded nicely, and her hips curved under the clinging skirt.
Ardmore glanced at her and extended his hand. She came to him and twined her fingers through his.
Ardmore returned his slow green gaze, colder than January ice, to Alexandra. “Mrs. Alastair. Won’t you sit down?”
Mr. Henderson more or less dragged her to the long bench. She plumped to it, holding herself unsteadily. Her giggles shook her.
“I think I gave her too much,” Mr. Henderson said worriedly.
Ardmore gestured to the sailor. “Get her some water.”
The man ducked into the room from which the woman had emerged, and came back holding a dripping dipper. He brought it to Alexandra.
She’d never drunk from a dipper before. She stared at the thing, mystified. The sailor gave a grunt, lifted the dipper to her lips, and poured the water into her mouth. She spluttered, coughed. Half the water fell in a wet splash to her silk
She started to giggle. She could not seem to stop. The silly thought of her frantically pulling ropes to raise the huge sails while Mr. Henderson shouted orders struck her very funny. Her laughter rang high into the air to be lost in the wind sighing through the rigging.
Mr. Henderson suddenly set her on her feet. She clung to his arm, her other hand pressed across her mouth, trying to stifle her hysteria.
They stood before a door set into the side of the quarterdeck above them. At least, she thought it was called the quarterdeck. She only knew ships from the books in her father’s library. She had never actually been on one.
Mr. Henderson rapped on the door. After a long moment, it scraped open. Beyond it stood a very ugly sailor, short and bulky. Alexandra stared at him in shock; then her strange laughter bubbled up and came bursting out.
Mr. Henderson dragged her past the sailor and into the cabin. She found herself inside a square room, built the width of the quarterdeck above. From the low ceiling’s painted beams hung two iron lanterns. The entire back wall was lined with windows that looked out into darkness. A lantern hanging outside glittered crookedly through the facets of the glass.
The other two walls of the room were lined with cabinets that fitted around twin doors, one in each wall. The wall behind her held more precisely built cabinets. In the middle of the room stood a long table, and behind it, under the windows, a varnished wooden bench ran from wall to wall. At the table, in a low, square chair, like a prince on his throne, sat the gentleman she’d seen depart Grayson’s house the night she’d run to the rescue.
James Ardmore. She had only glimpsed him in the darkthat night, the length of pavement from her front door to Grayson’s. Now here he was.
He wore a dark blue coat stretched over shoulders as broad as Grayson’s. He had no shirt; the coat was buttoned over his bare, bronzed torso. His breeches and boots were black and his hair was dark as night. His face was swarthy, his tan rendering his lips and cheeks the same color. From this monotone face blazed his eyes, which were chill green like layers and layers of ancient ice.
Here was the man who had put a rope around Grayson’s neck and left him to die. The man Grayson had told her was one of the most dangerous in the world.
She clapped her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her giggles. His green gaze scrutinized her, a gaze that probed her, wanting to know everything about her. She should be so very afraid. She leaned on Mr. Henderson and shook with laughter.
A door to one of the inner rooms opened, and a woman emerged. She was tall, and her dyed red hair, dressed unfashionably high, nearly touched the top of the doorframe. She was neither pretty nor ugly, having a square, plain face and pale eyes that held sharp intelligence. Her mouth was thin, a little severe. Her figure, on the other hand, was the kind Alexandra’s husband Theo had favored. Her bosom rounded nicely, and her hips curved under the clinging skirt.
Ardmore glanced at her and extended his hand. She came to him and twined her fingers through his.
Ardmore returned his slow green gaze, colder than January ice, to Alexandra. “Mrs. Alastair. Won’t you sit down?”
Mr. Henderson more or less dragged her to the long bench. She plumped to it, holding herself unsteadily. Her giggles shook her.
“I think I gave her too much,” Mr. Henderson said worriedly.
Ardmore gestured to the sailor. “Get her some water.”
The man ducked into the room from which the woman had emerged, and came back holding a dripping dipper. He brought it to Alexandra.
She’d never drunk from a dipper before. She stared at the thing, mystified. The sailor gave a grunt, lifted the dipper to her lips, and poured the water into her mouth. She spluttered, coughed. Half the water fell in a wet splash to her silk
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