The thought of her on Zach’s arm at a London ball or in Zach’s bed disturbed him in a way he didn’t yet want to examine.
Her fingers curled over his where he was still stroking her palm.
He looked at her face, to find sleepy brown eyes gazing back at him.
He cleared his throat and set her hand on the bed. “Just checking to see if you used the salve.”
She sat up and swung her legs over the side, her bare shins and feet visible because her long duck trousers were hanging up, still damp, and she was wearing the shorter, striped dungarees.
She opened her mouth to speak but shut it without uttering a sound when there was a tap on the door and Flynn entered with a tray.
“Thought you might need summat warm,” he said, addressing neither of them directly, and set the tray on the table. He tugged his forelock and shut the door behind him.
Whatever she was going to say was abandoned as her stomach loudly growled. She smiled self-consciously, quickly sat at the table, piled food on her plate, and dug in with an unladylike zeal that would have gratified Luigi to see.
Nick moved more sedately as he filled his plate and tucked in, enjoying watching her enjoy the meal of simple foods prepared during the storm. “Worked up an appetite, I see,” he said. While she continued to eat, he poured two steaming mugs of tea, added a splash of rum, a squeeze of lemon, and stirred in a spoonful of honey to one, and silently offered it to her. Luigi would have offered the lemon and honey to the crew, to go with their allotment of grog.
She enthusiastically nodded approval and wrapped her hands around the warm mug before taking a deep drink. “Between working on deck, taking care of the horses, and training with the lads, sometimes I forget to eat.”
The lads? Nick froze, his mug halfway to his mouth. Some of the ‘lads’ in his crew were old enough to be her father. Flynn had served with Nick’s grandfather. “Training?” he finally managed, proud his voice betrayed none of his turmoil. He swallowed a sip of tea and ate a bite of bacalhau, chewing carefully, the picture of nonchalance.
She washed a bite down with more of the tea. “The lads in the larboard watch are short one hand, so I’ve been helping them out. They said Zach is teaching me to fight like a gentleman but they think I should know how to fight like a sailor. They’ve been filling in gaps in my education.” She flashed him an artless smile before going back to her meal, slowing slightly now that she’d taken the edge off her hunger, her deeply ingrained manners returning to the fore.
Nick pictured Jack or one of his other tars flipping Harriet over his hip and straddling her, as he’d seen with Zach.
He’d gut them stem to stern and use their guts for garters. The galley had fillet knives. Nick would toss the remains overboard and let the fish dispose of any evidence. “They took it upon themselves to become your teachers.” Nick was confident there was no hint of homicidal plans in his voice.
“I wish I’d known some of their skills a year ago. I could have helped Sabrina more.”
He set aside mental images of a bloody deck. “Sabrina?”
“Miss Chetwynn. She taught sewing and embroidery arts at the Academy. She caught the fancy of one of the fathers who came to fetch his daughter at the end of Michaelmas term.”
Nick’s gut churned, now for another reason. “She did not appreciate his attention?”
“I heard them struggling in the salon. He’d snuffed out all the lamps so there was just the glow from the fireplace. Her dress was torn, her hair a mess. I stomped on his foot and shoved him to the floor while he was off-balance, grabbed Sabrina by the hand, and we ran.”
She took another sip and her expression grew more thoughtful. “Actually, I wish I’d known these skills so I could share them with the other teachers. Maybe then Sabrina would not have been dismissed and had to suffer a black eye and split lip.”
Nick, sadly, was not surprised. “Madame Zavrina turned her out?”
At the expression of fury that flitted across Harriet’s face, Nick considered it a good thing she hadn’t had access to Luigi’s fillet knives back then. “He insisted. Said she had accosted him.” She shook her head in disgust. “Best Madame Zavrina could do was pay Sabrina the next term’s wages as severance and write her a glowing reference.” She let loose a phrase in Mandarin.
Nick let his fork fall to his plate with a clatter. “It took me a fortnight to learn that one.”
Harriet grinned. “It’s strangely satisfying. Took me a while to get the pronunciation right.” She glanced up and to the left, and then, looking directly at Nick, expressed the same sentiment in German. She took a dainty sip of tea, pinky extended, and set the mug down. “I much prefer swearing in German. The language is more guttural. Visceral. Almost as satisfying as slamming a door. In someone’s face.” She picked up a biscuit. “Or other body parts.”
Nick chuckled. He couldn’t imagine the Miss Chase who boarded his ship in London slamming doors in a fit of temper, but he could certainly picture Harry doing so. Or flipping someone over her shoulder.
Which reminded him. “About you and Zach—”
“Do you know he keeps track of you and the ship so closely that he knows what Jack carved on the knife that he lost to Big Jim in a wager last month?”
The ship’s bell rang, signaling the end of the first dog watch.
“My turn to walk the horses.” She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her coat and wool cap from the hook by the door. “Zach couldn’t be more proud of you than if he could publicly acknowledge you as his son.”
Nick felt his mouth fall open.
