That generated a laugh, someone thumped her on the back, and the men got on with their meal, chatting and telling tall tales just as they had the night before. The main storyteller tonight was Tucker, the Scottish sailmaker, who recounted the results of a drinking contest between two rival captains that damaged both ships. Took him the rest of that voyage to repair the sails.
She did not attempt to join in the conversation though she listened raptly to every word.
“How does it feel,” Sheffield said in her ear a short time later, “to know that your adventure this afternoon will be the subject of fo’c’sle chatter for years to come?”
“Our adventure,” Harriet corrected, warm and self-assured from the rum-laced tea she’d imbibed, shivering in pleasure at his intimate tone. “I’m sure it will be suitably embellished in the retelling.”
Sheffield grinned and saluted her with his tankard, freshly filled by Luigi, then he was gone again, up the hatchway ladder, as quickly as he’d come.
When the watch changed, Harriet returned to the cabin and prepared for bed as best she could while still trapped within a gown. The green muslin would show wrinkles much worse than the brown wool. She had no choice, since she couldn’t undo the buttons by herself any better than she’d been able to do them up. It had taken Sheffield’s assistance to make her decent this afternoon. She trembled at the memory, though she was no longer cold.
A swift knock on the door startled her. As though conjured by her thoughts, Sheffield stepped in and closed the door.
“I offer my services as lady’s maid.” His eyes twinkled though his expression seemed earnest. No wolfish grin in sight.
As she continued to stare at him, his expression became politely remote. “But if you’d prefer to sleep in your gown again, I understand—”
“Yes!” She’d already taken the pins from her hair, so she quickly gathered the long brown mass to one side with her hands, baring her nape, and turned slightly away from him. Her heart pounded anew as his footsteps drew near. She closed her eyes as his fingertips, warm this time, brushed her skin as he undid the buttons on her gown. His breath softly ruffled the fine hairs on the back of her neck, sending delicious frissons of pleasure down her spine until her toes tingled. She felt his large, capable body standing close behind her, radiating warmth. So attuned were her senses that she felt his callused knuckles on her spine, through her shift, as he unbuttoned lower and lower. She only needed the first twelve buttons undone in order to get in and out of this dress, but he was undoing every last little mother-of-pearl button and she couldn’t for the life of her tell him to stop.
His fingers lingered when he reached the base of her spine, toying with the flimsy green muslin which gaped open, exposing her back to his gaze, only her thin chemise providing any hint of modesty. “Do you need help with anything else?”
The words were mundane but his voice was low and smoky, like honey being poured through gravel. The same tone that no doubt enticed women into his bed.
She was indeed going to sleep in his bed, or rather his bunk. Alone. “Thank you, no. That will be all.” She used both hands to keep her gown from sliding off her shoulders and pointedly turned so her back was no longer in his view. For all her proper behavior and good intentions, however, she felt sure her face betrayed the pleasure she’d taken from the intimate service he’d just performed. Her cheeks grew hotter as she thought of other meanings for those words. “Good night, Captain.”
He took her dismissal with good grace, though his eyes told her that was far from all. “Good night, Miss Chase.”
Alone again, Harriet hurriedly changed into her warm flannel nightgown and huddled under the blanket, her flannel wrapper draped on top for extra warmth. Her body ached and her mind roiled, reliving the events of the day, good and bad. She tried to concentrate on listening to the sounds of the ship and waning storm, and staying awake to see if Sheffield would sleep in a hammock by the door again.
The exertions of the day took their toll, however, and the next thing she knew, bright sunlight was streaming through the window. The hammock was neatly coiled on its hook so she had no indication if Sheffield had come in or not.
She quickly completed her morning ablutions and was reaching for a pin to put her hair up when she realized these were all the pins she had left. The others had been lost to the sea. She didn’t even have Betsy to borrow from. If she lost any others, she wouldn’t be able to properly dress her hair when they reached port. With a shrug, she braided her hair into one long plait down her back. Get some cotton or leather cording to wrap around it, and her braid would look like the queue Jonesy and a few of the other sailors wore.
Her good humor vanished as she eyed the green muslin gown with dismay. Her only other dress, a sprigged yellow print, was even more formfitting, requiring all of the buttons to be done or undone in order to get in or out of it.
If Sheffield had made any attempt at seduction last night, she doubted she would have resisted. Even in the bright light of day, she dare not subject herself to such temptation … which is why she tugged on the green muslin, threw on her wrapper to hide the gaping open back, and left the cabin in search of Luigi and breakfast before Sheffield could come below and lead her into temptation.
She had just finished her porridge and was about to go back to the cabin when a sailor stopped in front of her. She’d seen him before, part of the larboard watch, and noticed he tended to stay quietly in the background.
“Ahoy, miss,” he said. “The Old Man said you might wanna borrow somethin’ from the slop chest. Wanna take a look at what we got?”
Harriet was so intrigued by the man’s accent, it took a moment to register the meaning of his words. “Slop chest?” Isn’t ‘slop’ what was fed to pigs? She’d seen dwarf goats brought on board, but no pigs.
“Yes, miss, it’s just fore of the galley.” He pointed the way. His sun-bleached blonde hair was long enough it hid his eyebrows and fringed his sea-green eyes. His skin was tanned with a smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks. Just a handful of years older than Sheffield, he also was so tall he had to duck periodically to avoid the crossbeams overhead.
“Where are you from, Mr. …?”
“Smitty, miss. Joshua Smith. Everyone just calls me Smitty.” He fished a small ring of keys from a cord tied inside his shirt and unlocked a door on the far side of the galley. “I’m from Nawlins but haven’t been home in a while.” He slid the door open.
It took her a moment to translate. New Orleans. “American.” She’d never met anyone from the Colonies before.
“Yes, miss.” He reached in and hung up the lantern he’d carried. “See anythin’ you like?”
Smitty was quite handsome in his own right. Since she was planning to marry Percy, though, she tore her gaze away from the intriguing American and glanced through the doorway, half expecting to see a pig’s trough, or more likely a large sea chest or two.
She put a hand to her cheek. It was as though the entire contents of Miller’s Dry Goods shop in Brixham had been crammed into a closet. Shoes, hats, shirts, oilskin, and other clothing items overflowed baskets and chests, stacked high on the wall and on shelves, held in place by ropes and brackets. Other crates held toiletries, sewing kits, tobacco and pipes, knives and marlinspikes. Everything a sailor might need to bring or replace on a long voyage. There were even skeins of yarn and knitting needles of various sizes. She tried to picture any of Sheffield’s sailors knitting a shawl. Or perhaps his sister had taught him how to knit? Harriet almost chuckled. Scarves and stocking caps would be practical items for the men to knit, though, as well as warm slippers. She should keep an open mind.
Another basket held brightly colored skeins of delicate embroidery floss and folds of cloth ready to embroider. She’d heard of a naval officer’s wife who was so bored on their long deployment she’d embroidered an entire set of chair covers for their formal dining room at home.
