Someone was snoring. Inside the cabin.
Harriet swung her legs over the side of the bunk and clutched the blanket to her chest. Had one of the sailors come inside the cabin to escape the storm?
There, by the door, suspended a few feet above the floor. A shape that hadn’t been there before.
Still clutching the blanket to her chest, Harriet crept forward, around the table. And tripped on her blanket. As the ship lurched toward the bottom of a swell, Harriet pitched forward, straight into the mysterious shape.
A warm body.
Sheffield’s warm male body.
“Ho there, you scurvy d—” He bolted upright, wrapping his arms around Harriet. “Well, hello.”
Harriet tried to pull back and straighten up but Sheffield’s hold didn’t loosen. Perhaps he was concerned she’d fall down, given the precipitous angle at which she leaned against his chest. “What are you doing in my cabin?”
“My cabin, Miss Chase.” Did his fingers just stroke her nape? His middle-of-the-night voice was an intimate, deep rumble.
“Yes, but…” The rough material beneath her fingers, beyond his shirt, must be a rope. The coil of rope and canvas she’d seen hanging by the door was his hammock. That meant… “You planned this? To sleep with me?”
“Sleep, yes, and I was doing it quite well until you started fondling me.” She felt his chest expand as he took a breath, and heard a smile in his voice. “Feel anything you like?”
She jerked backward and he loosened his hold just as the ship lurched again, and she fell to her knees. It took a moment before she was sure which way was up.
The hammock creaked as he must have leaned over the edge. “You all right down there?”
“Yes, I’m— Ow.” Trying to rise, she’d bumped her head against him as the hammock swayed. Just which part of his body she’d bumped, she didn’t want to know. At least in the total darkness he couldn’t see her blush. His hand landed on her head, patted her, then skimmed down her shoulder and upper arm. Before she could sputter a protest at being manhandled so, he leveraged under her elbow until she stood upright again.
She followed the edge of the rope to where it looped over the hook in the bulkhead. She should be safe here. “I am fine now.” She cleared her throat. “Thank you for your, ah, assistance.”
“Happy to offer you, ah, assistance any time, Miss Chase.” The rope creaked, the hammock swayed. Sheffield sighed.
The blasted man was at his ease, in her quarters, apparently going back to sleep. Just like that. “You can’t stay here,” she blurted.
“My ship. I can sleep wherever I bloody well want. And since you’re here alone, with no chaperone on a ship full of men, I want to sleep here.” She heard the ropes creak and his voice moved as he must have risen up on one elbow. “Do you need help getting back into bed?”
Images leaped to mind which she ruthlessly tamped down “I— No. No, I do not need your assistance getting into bed.” She cast about for an alternative, but there was nothing for it except to go back to the bunk, cover herself head to toe with the blanket, and wait for the interminable night to be over.
Clearly there would be no more sleep for her that night. Not with Sheffield at his ease just steps away. Breathing. Taking up all the space.
* * *
Nick opened his eyes as the dim grey dawn peeked through the window above the bunk. His hammock swayed violently with the force of the storm battering the Wind Dancer. He’d come below at midnight with the larboard watch to get dry and catch a few winks but now he needed to get back on deck. Make sure everyone had a safety rope, check on the masts and sail configuration, and a dozen other details that Jonesy and Bos’n were perfectly capable of handling but which Nick still felt compelled to check for himself.
He swung his legs over the side and stood, holding on to the rope for a moment while he got his bearings, and glanced at Miss Chase. She had curled onto her side in the bunk, one bare foot and calf hanging over the edge—a precarious perch with the swells they were cutting through. If he rolled her to her back and covered her up, would she appreciate his thoughtfulness? She’d probably lambaste him again.
She already had a poor opinion of him. Yesterday he could have told her he intended to sleep in the cabin, but he thought he’d be in and out without her even knowing. He’d never expected to be awakened by a sudden lapful of warm female in the darkness. He hadn’t intended for his hands to wander as he helped her up. It seemed they had a mind of their own when encountering a female form.
He should leave her be. Let her learn the hard way how to sleep—or not sleep—on a rolling ship. Minor bruises now might save her serious injury later.
He coiled his hammock, put on his greatcoat, braced himself for the elements, and went up into the storm.
* * *
Harriet woke up as her hip and elbow and other body parts abruptly connected with the deck, after being dumped out of the bunk by the ship’s motion. The deck tilted at such a steep angle, surely they were in danger of flipping aft over fore and sliding under the surface straight to the bottom of the sea. Weak daylight filtered through the window above the bunk. How had so much time passed? It was only a moment ago she had closed her eyes. Suddenly the ship began climbing the swell, and Harriet had to grab onto the bunk to avoid slamming into the bulkhead.
Much more of this, and she was going to lose the meager contents of her stomach. Going up on deck was out of the question, but perhaps if she went close to the hatch and breathed some fresh air, it would restore her equilibrium.
She quickly pinned her uncombed hair up into a bun to keep it out of her eyes, then stumbled to the gangway, holding onto the table, a chair, the door jamb, anything to keep her balance as the ship crazily pitched and rolled.
