She rushed into the galley so quickly, the three men there stopped what they were doing to gawk at her. “The captain’s tray, is it ready, Mr. O’Shawn?”
He pointed a flour-coated finger. “Been ready—”
“But is it hot?”
He drew himself up to his medium height in an affronted manner. “Sure and why wouldn’t it be, when I’ve just now filled it for the third time. I was going to send Hogan…here…”
His words trailed off as she left as quickly as she’d entered, the heavy tray, much larger than the one she’d delivered earlier, weighing down her arms but not slowing her down. Three men called to her on the way that the captain was looking for her. She didn’t stop to answer. She just got more anxious.
He said he won’t box your ears. He said he won’t
. But she had to keep reminding herself of that all the way to his door, once again before she knocked and heard the curt command to enter, and still one more time before she did.
And the first thing she heard as she stepped inside
was the first mate’s voice saying, “Ought to box his ears.”
Oh, she did hate that man, she truly did. But instead of revealing to him the flash of heat in her eyes, she bowed her head, waiting to hear James Malory’s opinion, which was the one that counted.
She heard only silence, however, tortuous silence, since it told her nothing of the captain’s mood. And she refused to look at him, imagining his expression to be at its most intimidating, which would only increase her trepidation.
She jumped when he finally asked, “Well, what have you to say, youngun?”
Reasonable. He was going to be reasonable and listen to whatever excuse she had to offer. She hadn’t expected that, but it brought her head up to meet those bright green eyes. He was sitting at his table, his
empty
table, with Conrad Sharpe, and she realized suddenly that because of her tardiness, both men had had to wait for their dinner. And yet she was feeling relief because the captain wasn’t looking like thunder held over. He was still intimidating, but then he always would be, big ox that he was. But there was no hint of anger about him. Of course, she had to remind herself, she didn’t know how this man would look when he got angry. He might look just as he did now.
“Maybe a flogging, too,” Conrad suggested into the continuing silence. “To teach the brat to answer when he’s asked a question.”
Georgina didn’t hesitate to blast him this time with a fulminating glare, but all it got her was a chuckle from the tall redhead. A glance back at the captain showed he was still waiting, his expression still inscrutable.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said at last, putting as much contrition into her tone as she could manage. “I was sleeping…as you told me to do.”
One golden brow crooked in what she decided was a very irritating affectation. “Imagine that, Connie,” the captain said, though his eyes never left her. “He was only doing what I told him to do. Of course, as I recall, I told him to sleep here, in that bed yonder.”
Georgina winced. “I know, and I tried, really I did. I was just too uncomfortable in…What I mean is…Devil take it, your bed was too soft.” There, better that lie than admitting the only reason she couldn’t sleep there was because it was
his
bed.
“So you don’t like my bed?”
The first mate was laughing, though she couldn’t imagine why. And the captain’s irritating brow actually rose up a bit higher. And was that amusement in his eyes now? She should be relieved. Instead she felt she was the butt of some joke that had no punchline, and she was really getting tired of being a source of entertainment without knowing why.
Patience, Georgina. Indifference. You’re the only Anderson besides Thomas who doesn’t have a temper. Everyone says so
.
“I’m sure your bed is nice, sir, the best there is, if you like things soft and cushiony to sleep on. I prefer firmer stuff myself, so—”
She broke off, frowning, as the first mate burst into another round of hearty laughter. James Malory had apparently choked on something, for he was bent over in his chair, coughing. She almost demanded to know what Sharpe found so funny this time, but the tray was getting heavier to hold up. And since they were thought
lessly forcing her to stand there with it while she explained her late arrival, she would rather get it over with.
“So,” she continued, throwing the word out sharply to regain their attention, “I thought to collect my hammock, as you also told me to do. But on the way to the fo’c’sle, I…well, I saw my brother, who wanted a word with me. So I followed him below for just a minute, but then…well, my stomach acted up again suddenly. I was only going to lie down for a second or two, until it passed. But the next thing I knew, Mac was waking me up and giving me a blistering scolding for falling asleep and neglecting my duties.”
“A blistering scolding, eh? Is that all?”
What did he want, blood? “Actually, I got my ears boxed. They’re likely twice as big now.”
“Are they? Saves me the trouble, then, don’t it?” But then he added in a softer tone. “Did it hurt, Georgie?”
“Well, of course it hurt,” she retorted. “Do you want to see the damage?”
“You’d show me your pointy ears, lad? I’m flattered, indeed I am.”
She was glowering by now. “Well, don’t be, because I won’t. You’ll just have to take my word for it. And I know you think this is highly amusing, Captain, but you wouldn’t if you’d ever had your own ears boxed.”
“Oh, but I have, innumerable times…until I began boxing back. I’d be pleased to show you how.”
“How what?”
“To defend yourself, dear boy.”
“Defend…against my own brother?” Her tone implied she wouldn’t even consider it.
“Your brother, or anyone else who bothers you.”
Her eyes narrowed then, suspiciously. “You saw what happened, didn’t you?”
“I haven’t the faintest notion what you seem to be accusing me of. Now, d’you want lessons at fisticuffs or not?”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. She almost said yes, for it might be a useful thing to know, at least while she was on this ship. But lessons from him would only mean more time spent with him.
“No, thank you, sir. I’ll manage on my own.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But, Georgie, the next time I tell you to do something, see that you do it as I tell you, not as you might prefer. And if I ever find myself put to the inconvenience of worrying again that you might have fallen overboard, I’ll bloody well confine you to this cabin.”
She blinked at him. He said it without the slightest raised inflection, but that was a dire warning if she’d ever heard one, and she didn’t doubt for a moment that he meant it. But it was ridiculous. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she likely knew her way around a ship better than half his crew, that the chances of her falling overboard were nil. But she couldn’t say that when she’d pretended ignorance of ships previously. Of course, his having worried over her she didn’t believe at all. Inconvenience said it all, no worry but an empty belly, which he meant to see never happened again. He was a blasted autocrat, was all, but she’d already known that.
Into the silence came Mr. Sharpe’s dry inquiry, “If we’re not going to have the cat-o’-nine sent for, James, d’you mind terribly if we have our dinner instead?”
“You always were ruled by your gut, Connie,” the captain retorted dryly.
“So some of us are easy to please. Well, what are you waiting for, brat?”
Georgina thought how nice the tray of food would look dumped in the first mate’s lap. She wondered if she dared pretend to trip. No, better not, or he’d fetch that cat-o’-nine-tails himself.
“We’ll serve ourselves, Georgie, since you’re running late tonight in your duties,” the captain said as she shoved the tray on the table between them.
She looked at him in mild inquiry. She wasn’t about to feel guilty about forgetting to do something she hadn’t been told about. But he got a rise out of her anyway when he wasn’t forthcoming with an explanation, wasn’t even paying attention to her now as he examined the meal that was quickly being revealed by his loathsome friend.
“
What
duty have I overlooked, Captain?”
“What? Oh, my bath, of course. I like it directly after dinner.”
“With fresh water or sea?”
“Fresh, always. There’s more than enough. Hot, but not scalding. It usually requires about eight buckets full.”
“Eight!” She dropped her head quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her dismay. “Yes, sir, eight. And will that be once a week or every other?”
“Very amusing, dear boy,” he said with a chuckle. “That’s every day, of course.”
She groaned. She couldn’t help it. And she didn’t care if he heard her or not. The big ox
would
have to be fastidious. She would love a bath every day, too,
but not when it meant lugging heavy buckets all the way from the galley.
She turned to leave, but was arrested by the first mate’s comment. “There’s a bucket rail housed on the poopdeck, squirt. You can try it, but I doubt you’ve the muscle to tote four buckets at a crack. So use the water cask at the top of the stairs for the cold fill. It’ll save you a bit of time, and I’ll see it’s replenished for you each evening.”
She nodded her thanks, the best she could do at the moment. So what if he was actually being nice, in making the suggestion. She still didn’t like him or his
clean
captain.
Once the door closed behind her, Connie wanted to know, “Since when d’you bathe every evening when you’re aboard ship, Hawke?”
“Since I acquired that darling girl to assist me.”
“I should have known.” Connie snorted. “But she won’t thank you for it when she counts all the blisters on her hands.”
“You don’t think I mean to have her tote all those buckets, d’you? Heaven forbid she should develop muscle where she doesn’t need it. No, I’ve already arranged for Henry to show what a kindhearted chap he is.”
“Henry?” Connie grinned. “Kindhearted?” And then, “You didn’t tell him—?”
“’Course I didn’t.”
“And he didn’t ask you why?”
James chuckled. “Connie, old man, you’re so accustomed to questioning every bloody thing I do that you forget no one else dares.”
G
eorgina’s hands were trembling a bit as she piled the dishes back onto the tray and cleaned up the captain’s table, and not because they’d been put to heavy use. No, she’d had to do no more than carry all those buckets from the door to the tub, thanks to a blustery Frenchman who’d gotten all upset when she sloshed water on the deck. His name was Henry, and he wouldn’t listen to her protests when he ordered two crewmen, not much older than Georgie was supposed to be, to carry the buckets for her. Of course, the boys were a lot bigger than she was, and certainly stronger, and she had only protested because she felt she ought to, and because she figured they would grumble at having to do her job for her.
But they didn’t protest, and Henry’s last testy word on the subject was that she should grow a little before she attempted to do a man’s job. She almost took offense at that, but wisely held her tongue. The man was helping her, after all, even if he didn’t see it that way.
She’d still had to do some carrying, since her helpers dropped their load outside the door, refusing to enter the captain’s cabin. She didn’t blame them at all. She wouldn’t enter his domain, either, if she didn’t have to. But the little bit of carrying she did wasn’t responsible for her trembling hands. No, they trem
bled because James Malory was behind the bath screen taking his clothes off, and just knowing that was making her more nervous than she had been at any other time today.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to stay in the cabin. She had the dishes to return to the galley, and she still had her hammock to collect from the crew’s quarters in the forecastle. But she wasn’t out of the room yet. And she was still there when she heard the water splash.
She tried to force it away, but an image came to her mind of that big body easing into the hot water, steam coming up to surround him and wilt that thick mass of golden hair. Beads of moisture would form across his massive chest until his skin reflected the light of the lantern hanging over him. He would lean back and close his eyes for a moment as his body relaxed in the soothing heat…and there the image ended. Georgina simply couldn’t picture that man relaxed.
Her eyes flared wide when she realized what she’d been doing. Was she crazy? No, it was the stress and strain of a perfectly horrid day, and the day wasn’t even over yet. Angrily, she tossed the last dish on the tray and swiped it up, heading for the door. But she didn’t quite reach it before the captain’s deep voice floated out to her.
“I need my robe, Georgie.”
His robe? Where had she put it? Oh, yes, she’d hung it in the cabinet, a thin piece of emerald silk that likely wouldn’t fall past his knees. It certainly wouldn’t offer any warmth. She’d wondered when she’d seen it earlier what it was even used for. But
when she couldn’t find any nightshirts in the captain’s belongings, she decided he must sleep in it.
She returned the tray to the table, quickly grabbed the robe out of the cabinet, and nearly ran across the room to toss it over the screen. But she’d no sooner pivoted back toward the table when she heard from him again.
“Come around here, lad.”
Oh, no. No and no again. She didn’t
want
to see him relaxed. She didn’t want to see the glistening skin she had just pictured in her mind.
“I have to fetch my hammock, sir.”
“It can wait.”
“But I don’t want to disturb you setting it up.”
“You won’t.”
“But—”
“Come
here
, Georgie.” She heard the impatience in his voice. “This will only take a minute.”
She glanced wistfully at the door, her only escape. Even a knock just then would save her from having to go behind that screen, but there was no knock, no escape. He’d made it an order.
She gave herself a mental shake and stiffened her spine. What was she afraid of, anyway? She’d seen her brothers at their baths, and at all ages, too. She’d fetched towels for them, washed their hair for them, even washed Boyd entirely that time he burned both hands. Of course, he’d only been ten and she six, but it wasn’t as if she’d never seen a man unclothed. With five brothers under her roof, it was a wonder she hadn’t had more than just one or two embarrassing glimpses in all these years.