Jeannette swallowed hard. So there was a price. She’d thought so. “I will not be your paramour—”
“Not what I had in mind, I assure you. You don’t appeal to me beyond your ability to wash and mend.” He chuckled as he pulled a basket of dirty clothes out of the wardrobe. “All my laundry will become your responsibility. And I will expect you to attend me at my bath when I require it.”
Jeannette blinked in surprise. He wanted her to be his maid? His personal servant? She felt her spine stiffen. No matter how desperate her circumstances were, her pride rebelled at allowing this particular man to exploit her weakness.
“You will enjoy making a count’s daughter fetch and stitch and do your bidding, won’t you,” she said.
“I can’t think of anything I would enjoy more …except having that same count’s daughter perform—” He grinned. “—other, more personal, services.”
“I thought I didn’t appeal to you.”
“Perhaps you could convince me that I am wrong.”
Jeannette felt a flush rise to her cheeks. “I doubt that’s an argument I will ever make.”
“Don’t speak too soon,” he said with a chuckle. “I certainly wouldn’t want pride to stand in your way.” His gaze roved over her. “So, are you willing to accept my terms of employment?”
“Do I have any other choice?”
“Not if you want to stay on board.”
“Do I have your word that you won’t ever force me to satisfy your sexual appetites?”
He gave her a disbelieving look. “Certainly. You have my word, madame,” he said with a bow.
She lifted her chin. “Then you have yourself a servant.”
“Wonderful. Now, put on these bindings and change. We’re going topside.”
Jeannette glanced at the strips of fabric he threw at her feet. “There is only one more thing,” she said. “I will be your personal servant as long as I don’t have to wear those miserable things, and only if you allow me to remain in the privacy of your cabin.”
He whirled to face her. “You are hardly in a position to dictate terms,
my lady
. Now get dressed.”
“I am not going out on deck.” Unable to abandon her pride completely, Jeannette glared at him. “The captain is there and that Cunnington fellow, and…”
Her words died as his eyes narrowed. “If I may …what exactly do you want me to call you, anyway?”
Jeannette thought for a moment before settling on the name most likely to irritate him. “Baroness,” she replied with as much disdain as she could muster.
“Oh, baroness, is it?” Treynor walked around her, circling her like a hawk.
She squared her shoulders. “That is correct.”
He stopped only inches in front of her face. “First you want to hide from your husband. Then you want to hide behind him. I think you need to decide how you want to play this game.” He braced himself against the wall, one arm over her shoulder. “After you leave me writhing in my bed, and get me flayed alive, I still come to your rescue. I’d say you owe me your utmost cooperation, Baroness St. Ives, which means we are going topside.”
Jeannette began to slide away, but he gripped her arm and held her where she was while bending to retrieve the strips of cloth he’d dropped on the floor. “Put these on, or I will put them on you myself. Is that clear?”
She tried to jerk out of his grasp. “You are hurting me.”
His eyes dipped to her bustline. “Conceal your curves or the sailors on this ship will eat you for supper. Then you will know what it means to be hurt by a man.”
“I am a baroness. They would not dare.”
“Do you think they would believe anything you said?” He let go of her.
“Every sailor cannot be as lecherous as you say.” She toyed with the fraying sections of fabric in her hands to conceal her doubt. That many sailors had been taken directly from prison, or been pressed, was a well-known fact and made her less than sure of her hastily uttered statement.
“And what about the reward?” she continued. “As soon as I tell them there is a purse of gold offered for my safe return, I doubt they would dare touch me. Do you think my husband would pay anything after I have been pawed by men like you?” She’d said it to prop up her crumbling bravado, but she regretted her words the instant she saw their effect.
“I am afraid you misunderstand.” He moved even closer, leaning down until his nose nearly touched hers. “You wouldn’t be pawed by men like me. You would be used by sailors. Filthy men. Crawling with lice.”
Jeannette tried to wiggle away, but he stopped her. “They would ride you long and hard, and they would take turns doing it.” His eyes swept over her, feeling every bit as personal as his touch. “Besides, if I remember correctly, the night we first met, I heard not a single protest to my pawing.”
Jeannette’s hand came up to push him away, but he caught her wrist. Taking hold of her chin with his other hand, he tilted it up until she could look nowhere but into his eyes, eyes that were as velvety blue as a moonlit night.
“Most of my men care for little besides their daily ration of rum and tobacco, living to see another battle, and taking their pleasure with a woman—any woman. The promise of reward at some undetermined point in the future would not deter them while the pleasure of your flesh awaits.”
He was right. Jeannette knew it and feared nothing more, except perhaps the pounding of her heart whenever Treynor touched her—and the knowledge that she wanted him to go on touching her. “You are the only man I have ever known who speaks so vulgarly to a lady.” It was a weak defense, but playing the injured aristocrat was the only card she had.
“You mean I am the only man you have ever met who is unwilling to put up with the silly pretenses of you and others like you.” Treynor laughed as he put her away from him. “At least you know to keep your distance. I promise to hold my appetites in check so long as you cooperate with my every command.”
Jeannette threw back her shoulders. In the past twenty-four hours, she had gone hungry and cold, felt abandoned, and thrown up maggots. Before that, she had lost her homeland, left her parents, and broken her vows. She was afloat on the sea with more than five hundred men and not a single friend among them, but she still had her dignity. “I will not bow and scrape, not for you or anyone,” she said and threw the strips of cloth in his face.
“Then you will accept the consequences.” Grabbing her by the waist, he began to haul her over to a chair. “Evidently, I saved you from a flogging that might have done you some good.”
She twisted and turned, trying to rake her nails across his face or grab a tuft of his thick hair. She wanted, needed to find a release for her misery, but he held her fast.
“Damn hellcat,” he cursed, taking the seat next to his cluttered desk and turning her over his knee.
“Don’t you dare strike me!”
His hand landed on her backside with a resounding
thwack
. The power behind the blow stunned Jeannette. She tried to twist around, but couldn’t escape his iron grip.
“Oh,” she cried in outrage. “Stop this instant! Stop!”
Thwack
.
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and blinked them back. She would not give Treynor the pleasure of seeing how much he hurt her, no matter how hard he spanked her.
“Have you lost your mind? Unhand me!”
Thwack
.
She clutched at his shirt, every blow stinging more than the one before. Soon, she had no more energy with which to fight him.
He didn’t stop until she lay without moving, focusing all her willpower on enduring the ordeal without succumbing to tears or breaking down and begging him to stop. She couldn’t escape; trying only made the spanking last longer.
When he finally set her from him, she moved as far away as the narrow room would allow and glared her hatred. To think she had actually admired this man! “You had better take more care with your pistol in future, Lieutenant,” she said, fighting to keep her lip from trembling. “Because if I ever come by it, I will not use the wrong end of it again.”
He stared at her for a moment, but he seemed almost crestfallen, more disgusted by his own behavior than triumphant. “I am no better than Cayle.”
“Who is Cayle?”
“Never mind.” With a rattled sigh, he jammed a hand through his hair. “I consider myself forewarned. Now conceal your breasts and put on those clothes.”
* * *
“Why must I be Jean Vicard again?” Jeannette grumbled once she was completely dressed.
Treynor adjusted the hat on her head to hang lower over her brow and wiped a smudge from her cheek. “Because, after yesterday’s flogging, the new boy who caused such an uproar will be missed if he doesn’t appear.”
“So? They won’t be able to find him. What can they do?”
“Plenty, if they decide on it. In any case, I can’t leave you to run about the ship and try to hide on your own. Anything could happen to you. And I will not risk leaving you in my cabin for Cunnington or one of the other lieutenants, or even Cruikshank, to discover. If Jean Vicard doesn’t mysteriously disappear, the next few days will pass without footnote—”
“Next few days! But it cannot take so long to reach London.”
“We are not going to London.”
Jeannette felt her knees wobble. “What? What do you mean?”
“We have received new orders. We are joining the blockade. We could be at sea for months.”
“Tell me it isn’t true! You are teasing me, getting back at me for the flogging—”
“No.” Treynor studied her closely. “But it’s not too late. You can go back, if you want. But you must tell me now.”
“Go back? To St. Ives?”
He nodded.
She felt behind her for the chair. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Forgetting the sting of her spanking along with her bruised pride, Jeannette sank down and buried her face in her hands. What to do? She was aboard a frigate that was part of the war effort against the revolutionaries of France, and she could be here indefinitely.
Peeking out from behind her hands, she whispered, “I cannot be Jean Vicard for long. The bindings hurt too badly, and with the lack of privacy aboard ship, sooner or later I will be found out.”
“Eventually, but I plan to give you away. Once the captain knows of your presence, he will look after you until we reach the next port.”
What had seemed like a brilliant plan only a day or so earlier—to escape to London on a frigate—now seemed like utter foolishness. What had she done? Her family would think something terrible had happened to her. “What might the next port be and when will we reach it?”
“That depends. I cannot say with certainty.”
“And the Hawkers? Will they go along with this?”
“They will keep our secret, yes.”
“So I will be your servant—”
“Until I pretend to find out something that tells me you are female, at which time I will go to the captain.”
“And he won’t turn back?”
“Not if we are well underway.”
Jeannette regarded the lieutenant warily. “Where will I sleep until then?”
He grinned as he eyed his hammock. “I am not completely heartless. You can sleep with me if you wish.”
Jeannette groaned. “It seems as though you have thought of everything, Lieutenant.”
He bowed. “Ever glad to help a lady in distress.”
“Except for one thing. I am not your doxy and never will be. I shall sleep on the floor.”
Treynor laughed and motioned her through the door. “Suit yourself.”
* * *
Jeannette followed Treynor past a line of doors to various cabins—those of the other lieutenants, she guessed—to the companionway and out onto the main deck. Now that he knew her true identity, she felt doubly conspicuous and worried that others would recognize her for the woman she was, if not the baroness who had escaped from Hawthorne House. But the men continued with their work, seemingly oblivious to her presence, and she let go of her fear long enough to enjoy the sea-tossed roll of the deck.
Huge, rectangular sails billowed out above her head, cracking loudly in the same strong breeze that sent an icy spray up over the bow and made Jeannette’s face tingle.
Treynor turned. She guessed her excitement showed on her face when he gave her a genuine smile instead of one of his taunting grins. “There is nothing like it, is there?”
“Nothing,” she agreed. The horizon seemed endless. In every direction, water. That their lives depended upon so little amidst the immensity that surrounded them was frightening.
A strong voice rose on the air behind her. “Steady as she goes.”
Others shouted the same words in a relay toward the bow. That everyone worked in such a cooperative manner awed Jeannette. It resulted in a smoothly running frigate despite the complexities and difficulties involved.
She studied the plethora of ropes that crisscrossed above her head. At first they appeared to be little more than a mass of tangles, but a closer look revealed how carefully they were organized. The lines that controlled the position of the sails were tied around belaying pins, which passed through holes in the rail behind the mainmast. Pulling out the pin would instantly release the entire line, enabling the frigate to change the position of her sails quickly and easily.
A man in a spotless blue coat, like Treynor’s, made his way toward them. Jeannette didn’t recognize the officer, but she had no desire to draw attention to herself by hanging about Treynor’s coattails. No doubt he had work to do—and she had a small problem herself.
“Jean, please gather eggs for the cook and take them down to the galley.” Treynor’s eyes rested on the man coming toward them as he spoke. Jeannette knew he wanted her gone, but she had no idea where to find the chickens, the eggs, or the galley.
“Where?” she whispered.
He nodded toward two boats tied to the deck just ahead, covered with canvas to keep out the rain.
As Jeannette drew close to them, she could hear the clucking of chickens. She looked for something to put the eggs in and found a wicker basket hung to one side. Pulling the handle over her arm, she peeled back the canvas cover to reach tentatively into the warm straw, nervous despite the simplicity of her task. This was servant’s work. She had no idea how anyone gathered eggs.