Amaryllis, p.5
Amaryllis, page 5
“Do you intend to refer me to Captain Mulworthy every time I have a question or complaint?” The angry words rushed out.
He snapped his fingers with exaggerated surprise. “I forgot. As your master, you must answer to me in all things.”
Slimy cur. She ground her molars to avoid growling like a dog. When not outright angry, he reveled in sarcasm and seemed to take perverse pleasure in her strained circumstances. Releasing a measured breath, she counted numbers in her head to cool her ire. “You seem to find this state of affairs amusing.”
“In a time like this, humor is a lifeline. I leave tragedies for the playwrights.”
“This predicament needn’t be a tragedy if you’d have faith—”
“Faith,” he scoffed as he sat forward. He rested his elbows on his open thighs. “I can assure you I will pray to the good Lord for a safe and quick journey.”
“You needn’t get angry.” Goodness, his moods turned faster than a spinning wheel.
The linens on the bed crinkled when he shifted and dropped his stocking-clad feet to the floor. He leaned forward, and his fingers gripped the edge of the mattress. With rising apprehension, she sensed another shift in his mood. Then it came.
“If the circumstances had been different, if there wasn’t a war, I would have gladly helped you…” He paused with a forlorn expression. A wave of a hand dismissed whatever he’d intended to reveal. He stood, and back to her, stared out the window. “As the captain said, what’s done is done.”
Remorse knotted her stomach. She never meant to cause trouble. If only he could accept her decision. Passage on the Providence was her only option. If she had it to do again, she would.
“You must be proud of your quick work,” he said with an ironic note in his voice. He pushed away from the window and dropped into the chair across from her at the table. “Who else did you inconvenience to see your crazy scheme successful?”
Her chest squeezed. She hated to lie, but she could never reveal she worked for Cecil Jones. “My maid secured these servant clothes. When everyone was asleep, I managed to hire a carriage in the street.”
“I see.”
Discouraged by his cynical tone, she remained silent, uncertain what more she could say to make things better. She wiped her damp palms on her breeches. She wished she could trust him, but if Cecil was correct, Griffin was a spy. While her mind raced to redirect their conversation, her stomach grumbled. Blushing, she clutched her belly.
“Hungry?”
“A little.” In truth, she was ravenous. She’d eaten only a piece of cheese and a bit of bread since Uncle Percy’s party. Her throat was parched. “I could use something to drink.”
A pitcher and an earthenware glass sat on the table. He poured and slid the glass toward her. She drank it to the last drop. The room-temperature barley water tasted refreshing.
“I suppose you didn’t get any sleep last night?” His elbows planted on the table, he continued his study of her. “You look exhausted.”
“The rats were boisterous.” She shuddered. The living nightmare had required all her strength not to rush shrieking from the storage room. A seemingly endless and vile experience, it ranked alongside her first ocean voyage for sheer unpleasantness. On her first trip, she’d been scared, lonely and confused about why Papa had sent her away. In spite of last night’s adventure, she managed a few hours of sleep reclined on a sack of wheat. Even now, the smell of bilge water and mildew clung in her nostrils. How she longed to rid herself of her smelly clothes and wash her body.
“Which do you prefer first, food or sleep?”
Sleep? Her frantic gaze jumped to the rumpled bed covers.
“Not with me.” His brusque tone suggested he’d been insulted. “I’m not a brute although we must agree on reasonable sleeping arrangements. I meant, would you care to rest, alone, or would you care for something to eat?”
“Oh.” She swallowed her mortification. This tiring escapade had unnerved her more than she’d anticipated and caused her to act like an idiot. “Food would be wonderful.”
“Excellent.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you, though.”
Chortling, he stood and stepped toward her. Alarmed, she swung away then realized her foolishness. Any notions she might be in danger were baseless. He’d always been a polite, nice boy. However, people change. This adult Griffin was a completely new beast. She didn’t know what to expect.
He thrust her hat at her. “Put this on and keep it pulled down.”
“Why?” She tried to read his face, saw the corners of his eyes crinkle.
“Since you signed on as my cabin boy, you may go to the galley and procure food. While you’re there, get us ale, too.”
Her jaw dropped. All her life she lived with servants. Being cast in the role of his servant left her stunned. “Why, I never.”
“Come along.” His voice cheery, he tugged her to her feet.
No, she wouldn’t go, nor would she play this charade. Feet pressed to the floor, she tried to stand her ground but was no match against his strength. “I’m not hungry. I’ll wait until…until supper.”
One hand flung open the door. His other hand jostled her along. “You’ve been on a ship before.”
“Not in seven years.” She hated how feeble and afraid she sounded.
“Things haven’t changed much.” Smiling affably, he pointed toward the bow. “Make sure you tell Cook it’s for me and don’t dawdle. Once you get the food, it will be best to come straight back here.”
Hand at her back, he nudged her over the threshold. With an outraged bellow, she twirled around just in time to hear the door close in her face. “Bastard.” She resisted a blazing urge to kick the door.
A short while later, in a snit, she stomped back to his cabin. A tray of food in one hand and the other poised to knock on the door, she paused. Why should she do as he commanded? Who was he to order her about? If he wanted food he could damn well get it himself.
Chapter Seven
Griffin nudged Lily out the door and hurried to his desk, grateful for the sudden opportunity to hide the ciphering materials in his trunk. Once he’d locked the material among his clothes in the chest, he stretched out on the bed. He relaxed in the persistent pitch and sway of the boat and expelled a contented sigh.
He couldn’t help but smile at the picture of Lily in the form-fitting breeches and a jacket with sleeves so long they touched her knuckles. And the silly hat! No servant’s garb could hide the proud stance. The woman could no more act the obedient servant than the queen herself. Mulworthy was correct. She was the prettiest boy he’d ever seen.
On a more serious note, he wondered how they could carry out this charade. How could he, in good conscience, spend the night, much less a whole month with her in this cabin? As to any hope he might sleep when her every movement, her every sigh would be a whisper calling to him—well, it would be impossible.
Clearly, the woman was desperate, even a bit mad to go haring across the ocean dressed as a boy, and all for a father who hadn’t the time to call her home after seven years. Whatever she hoped to gain from this familial reunion, he prayed it lived up to her expectation. It pained him to think she might be on a fool’s errand.
He adjusted the pillows behind his neck and shoulders, unable to shake the notion her presence suggested a more sinister motivation. Ignorant of her political inclinations and coming from a British household, he had no reason to trust her in spite of her beguiling nature and devotion to her father. A rap at the door jerked him from his reverie. “Come in,” he called, oddly excited as he sat up.
Samuel Church, first officer to the captain, popped his head inside. “Captain wanted you to study these maps, sir.”
“Put them on the table, if you would.”
Church, with hair black as night, crossed the short distance. His heels knocked against the planked floor and he set the items on the table.
“Did you, perchance, see Mr. Marks?” Griffin asked.
“Would that be the boy found earlier in dry storage?”
“The very same.” No news remained secret for long on a ship. Griffin wondered when someone would guess the truth about the silly pretense of master and cabin boy. Then what? An uneasy chill flittered over his neck. Perhaps it made more sense to abandon the whole charade. After all, what could Mulworthy do? He imagined Lily locked in the hold. The picture of her asleep in a filthy hammock, surrounded by the salty crew and the lack of privacy raised his hackles.
He leaned forward and massaged his temple. “I sent Mr. Marks to fetch food and drink.”
“Saw him head topside, sir.”
Topside?
And so the trouble begins, he concluded. “Thank you, Mr. Church.”
Brow tight, Griffin donned his coat and followed Church through the doorway. Worry chipped away at him. Peck. Peck. Peck. As he climbed the ladder to the upper deck, his mind churned with all manner of unpleasant scenarios. When he didn’t find her at the stern, he headed toward the bow. Just beyond the foresail, he caught sight of her sky-blue costume and the glint of a metal tray placed at her feet. What was she doing? Curious, he slowed his pace.
Nearby, the big fellow called Tubbs, along with three other sailors, worked a piece of cordage. Another sailor, wrinkled and weathered from the sea and sun, stitched a rip in a sail. Typical day topside.
“Eh, you. Boy.” The breeze riffled Tubbs’ sandy hair.
Lily turned to the man. In her hand, she clasped a chubby chicken leg. The broad rim of her floppy hat shadowed her face yet didn’t disguise her wary expression.
“You can’t stand there.” Growling, Tubbs stomped forward where she stood at the railing. She stiffened. He towered over her like Goliath to the tinier David. “We got work to do here.” With a beefy arm, he gestured to the uncluttered area of the wooden deck. “Ain’t you never been on a ship before?” A derisive snicker brought a halt to the work of his shipmates. Their hungry gazes fixed on the game of cat tormenting mouse with amused expressions. Reveling in his power, he jutted his chin at the tray of victuals.
“Chicken?” he sneered. “Food’s too fancy for a cabin boy.” With gleeful menace, he thrust his face in hers. She jumped back, and her shoulders smacked the rail. At her painful grimace, the nasty man laughed coarsely and drew a few sniggers from his cohorts. “Go below, boy, and tend to your master.”
“Leave off, Mr. Tubbs.” Griffin spoke with quiet authority. He forced an easy gait and strolled closer. At his side, he stretched fingers that itched to curl and pound the lout. “Mr. Marks is not familiar with ship protocol.”
“And you.” He pointed at Lily. A quick appraisal revealed glistening chicken grease on her full lips. “Come with me.”
As her jaw dropped, he spun about and marched off, his steps brusque as they slapped the deck. Before he headed below to his quarters, he glanced over his shoulder, appeased to see the dutiful servant follow in his wake. A blend of emotions clouded her face. Humility was not among the mix.
Inside the cabin, he spoke with uncustomary gruffness. “Close the door.” He crossed to the desk on the far side of the room, half expecting the door to slam behind him. Instead, it closed with a soft click. Debating how to handle the situation, and annoyed he should even have to, he dropped like a boulder into his desk chair, swiveled around and pierced her with his stare.
Shoulders pinned to the door, she clutched the brass knob as if she might bolt. Where she might seek comfort or safety on this ship, he couldn’t say. Even as she scowled with brows like jagged black paint strokes against a white canvas, he found her beautiful. As to her ferocity… He admired it, as well.
“Put the food on the table,” he directed.
Whether in defiance or remorse, she remained fused to the door, the pewter tray balanced on one arm.
“Put it on the table!”
At his bark, she startled and paled.
Immediately, he regretted his outburst. He wasn’t the sort of man to frighten women. However, fear might make her do as told and keep her safe. Yet he found her sudden wariness of him, a man who only wanted to help her, offensive.
“I’m no saint, Lily. But I won’t treat you cruelly.”
A tense moment passed. At last she unpeeled herself from the door and crossed to the table with a stilted gait. She set down the tray.
“Please.” He softened his tone. “Sit.”
She slid into a chair, bowed her head and clasped her hands like a penitent.
He drew in a slow, steady breath aware he didn’t want her in his cabin, didn’t want her on this ship and didn’t want her in his life. With a sigh, he released his frustration and resolved to accept the circumstances at hand.
The slouch hat hid her face. One sock hung loose at her calf. Her shoulders caved inward and she appeared both comical and pathetic.
“Please. Allow me.” He came around the table. When he lifted her hat, she drew in a noisy breath. “I prefer to see your face.” What a lovely face she had, with its high, rounded forehead and delicate chin. Full lips hinted at seductive, sweet mysteries.
“Would you care for a drink?” He tossed her silly hat on the bed. A sniff of the flask she’d brought from the kitchen made him glower. “This isn’t ale,” he complained. Once again he realized the challenge of their living arrangement. Heavy with foreboding, he sat and poured the weak wine into his mottled tumbler.
“I don’t care for ale,” she said in an even tone.
“I see. Not only did you fail to procure what I requested, you didn’t return to the cabin.” He tried to smile. The muscles in his face felt frozen. “As my servant, you need to follow directions.”
A gust of chilly wind, almost as cold as her expression, blew through the open window. It fluttered the curtains and crackled the air with a volatile charge. With calculated slowness, she leaned forward and palms flat against the tabletop disarmed him with her pointed stare. “This bears saying once and not again.” Spoken just loud enough for him to hear, her frosty tone sent a shiver over his skin as effective as any winter breeze. “I am not your boy.” Each word snapped like a symphonic staccato and raised the fine hair on his arms.
Oh ho!
A thrilling quiver shot though his body, the kind experienced before a battle. What better fun than a good fight with a worthy opponent? In an effort to cage his exhilaration, he broke off a corner of bread, popped it in his mouth, and chewed with deliberation.
Chin elevated, shoulders thrown back, she sat as proud and prickly as a rose bush. With effort, he managed a placid expression. To laugh seemed unwise.
He poured wine into a cup and slid it across the table. Their gazes locked. He read the challenge daring him. She raised the cup to her lips and drank. The ripple of her creamy throat as she swallowed captivated him. Finished, she set the cup on the table and with a fingertip, dabbed a corner of her luscious mouth.
“Please, eat something.” He slid the tray of food forward. “I promise not to confuse you for a piece of cheese and bite.”
She growled low in her throat. “You were always such an amusing boy.” Well-manicured fingers broke off a piece of the coarse-grained bread. Rather than devour it completely, she picked at the knob of bread and nibbled like a bunny.
Except for the creaks, thumps, and bumps of the ship, they sat in silence. In spite of the strained circumstances, he experienced a peculiar pleasure, almost as if he were at home bantering playfully with his siblings. Only Lily was far from family and his attraction to her in no way brotherly.
“Since death by starvation is no longer imminent, why don’t you explain why I shouldn’t treat you as my ship boy?”
“Bah! You mean to annoy me. You aren’t so dim-witted as to think I’ll accept Mulworthy’s plan.”
“Such lashing remarks will win you no support or friendship on this ship.” To his dismay, those stunning eyes filled with moisture. Oh, no. He hated tears. “Forgive me,” he stammered. “I meant—”
A raised palm halted further explanation. “I understand what you meant. It’s I who should beg forgiveness. I have a sharp tongue, or so I’ve been told often enough. It’s one of my many faults.” A raw, vulnerable quality rasped in her voice
“Many faults?” How could this be? He crossed his arms and studied her, intrigued by the contrast between her reckless, confident demeanor and her personal condemnation. Anyone would agree she was lovely and an accomplished lady, as evidenced by her comportment and manner of dress last evening. What had happened in her life to cause such a harsh self-appraisal? Where did this loathing come from? He wondered if she’d been happy in London. Suddenly, against all wisdom, he wanted to know everything about her. “Tell me about your life in London.”
She expelled a weary sigh. Gone was the fire of a few moments ago. Spine curled forward, her chin dipped valiantly as she batted away at her distress. As his brain scrambled to think of a sensitive remark to salvage the moment, she raised her head. “Do you intend to punish me for the rest of the trip because I resorted to this ruse?”
Punishment seemed a just reward for her imbecilic actions, yet such spiteful behavior was beneath him. It would also drive her away. Until he learned her true intentions and whether she could be trusted, he would hold her close.
Scooping a shiny apple from a wooden bowl, he tossed it in the air and caught it easily in one hand. “You think I’m the sort of man to make sport of a desperate woman?”
Her spine straightened. One inky brow arched in her milky smooth forehead. “I prefer the word persistent to desperate. I’m dogged when I want something.”
“A regular terrier,” he grumbled and replaced the apple to the bowl.
“As to your character…” The intensity of her fixed stare, as though she saw to his innermost core, unnerved him. “I’m in the dark. You heroically come to my rescue in the morning, and in the evening you meet with my uncle on mysterious business.”
