He had a schoolmistress tucked against him? Now that he thought about it, Nick had no difficulty picturing Miss Chase instructing a gaggle of girls on proper behavior.
“Why did you leave her employ?” Miss Chase’s adventurous nature had undoubtedly got her in trouble before. He was now convinced her prim and proper façade was just that, a façade. A proper lady would not have jumped to help restrain a loose gun on deck, or have the gumption to hang on underwater, carriage dragging her down, for as long as Miss Chase had. He opened his eyes quickly, to dissipate the image that sprang to mind of her white-knuckled grip on the rope, the rest of her out of sight in the deep, dark sea. He shivered again.
“She died.”
Crazy old ape-leader.
“She left no will so the school reverted to her brother.”
Old bawd should have known better and had a will. No telling when the ol’ ticker will give out.
“No one thinks they will die before thirty, but no one plans to get hit by a runaway carriage, do they?”
Thirty? “The brother didn’t keep the school? Offer employment to you teachers?”
“He did offer employment. We all declined his … proposition.”
“Ah, no doubt a lower wage than paid before.”
“No, actually a much higher salary. Nearly double.”
“Yet all of you declined?”
“He turned the school into a brothel.”
Nick laughed, then quickly sobered at the glare Miss Chase directed his way. No, not an appropriate source of amusement for someone who had lost their livelihood. He cleared his throat. “My sympathies.”
“Thank you.”
There was a moment of silence, grieving for the lost school and employment, before she spoke again.
“Those slippers are unexpected.”
Nick wiggled his toes, encased in red and black striped wool. “My middle sister knits them. Gives me a pair every Christmas.”
“You have three sisters?”
“Five. None of the others can knit worth a da— darn, though.”
She was quiet a moment. “Where do you fall in the family order?”
“Youngest.”
She tilted back to look at him, then tucked her head against him once more. “It must have been quite a relief for your mother, to finally bear an heir for your father after having five girls.”
Nick wasn’t going to respond to that. Ever. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to need a reply. Her shivering had almost stopped.
Nick noted the swells were lower, the troughs not as deep. By morning they should have calm seas again. He itched to be up on deck, overseeing the repairs, checking on the broken jib boom, searching for a break in the clouds to get a sextant reading, checking their position on the charts. Instead he cradled Miss Chase a little bit closer, letting her head fall on his chest, her quiet breathing indicating she’d fallen asleep. Nearly drowning tended to take the wind out of one’s sails.
He’d let her sleep for a bit and make sure she was all warmed up again before he went topside. His own warmth and comfort had no bearing on the decision, none whatsoever.
The cabin door slid open, startling Nick awake. His neck had a crick in it and his mouth was dry. He’d been snoring? At some point Miss Chase had wrapped her arms around his waist, her cheek flush against his chest. He couldn’t see her eyes—couldn’t see much of anything in the now-dim cabin for that matter—though her breathing was deep and even.
“Moon’s poking through the clouds, Cap’n,” Jonesy said softly, holding aloft a lantern. “Thought you might want to try for a fix.”
At his voice, Miss Chase popped her head up, clipping Nick on the chin. “Oh!” She pushed back from him, her hands flat on his chest, until she slid off the bunk and jumped to her feet. By the flickering lantern light he saw the flush steal across her cheeks, the imprint on her left cheek of the lacing of his shirt, her damp hair mussed. Sleep-tousled was a good look on her. He already missed holding her warm little body in his arms.
For crying out loud, they’d only been out to sea a few days. He shouldn’t be missing female companionship this much already.
