Hart's Passion (Pirates & Petticoats Book 2) (20 page)

The stain on her skin had better be masking the heat creeping up her cheeks. She ducked her head to hide her embarrassment and pretended to scan the shoreline. “Did he get the medicine?”
 

“Aye. He did. Put him out of business fer a while, still.”

A flash of silver caught Keelan’s eye, and the Widow Camsby floated by toward the steps leading to the helm. Landon seemed to note her approach and moved away from the wheel permitting the helmsman to take over. He descended the steps and met her near the rail where Keelan and Henry stood.

Annette made no effort to lower her voice.

“Good day, Captain Hart,” she smiled sweetly over the frilly fan she fluttered before her face. “I sent word with your man before we set sail that I wished to speak with you privately, but alas, you never came. I am forced to seek you out instead.” She pouted and angled partly away from him coyly and waved her fan at her chest. Keelan narrowed her eyes at the shameless flirtation.

Henry made a small choking noise. Landon shot a warning look over Annette’s shoulder at the old sailor, even as a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. With an eyebrow arched, he then turned his attention to the young widow fluttering in front of him like a moth.

“Good day, Madame Camsby.” He gave her a slight bow before gesturing at the ship around them. “As you can see, I have been a bit busy. Do you have a concern you wish to share with me?”
 

Keelan gulped and pulled the brim of her hat lower, while casting surreptitious glances at the pair.
 

Annette maintained her pout. “Well, yes, I do.”

He waited, hands clasped behind his back.

“I had expected for you, as host, to see to the comforts of your passengers more appropriately," she chastised, in a hurt tone. “These voyages are extraordinarily boring. I need some companionship." She batted her long black lashes then lowered her voice. “Join me in my cabin this evening. We’ll sup together.”
 

Landon focused his attention on Annette and bowed graciously. “Forgive my poor manners, Madame Camsby. I would be honored if you would join me for dinner this evening at eight.”

It was as she’d feared. Landon and Annette seemed to be rekindling their relationship. It was time for her to move away. She’d heard enough.

Annette lowered her lashes as a slow smile seeped across her face. She lowered her fan and swayed it in a slow sultry motion in front of her very ample bosom, which was barely contained within the bodice of her gown.
 

She’d seen enough. Clenching her fists until her nails bit into her palms, Keelan turned away.

Landon continued, “Captain O’Brien and I have yet to meet the other passengers aboard. Tonight’s dinner will give us all an opportunity to become better acquainted. I will then be able to introduce you to your fellow passengers, so you will have others to talk with to break the monotony.”

His words made Keelan pause. He’d given her a very subtle rejection. She chanced a quick sideways glance at Annette from under the brim of her hat.
 

Annette’s pleased expression faltered a little, but she nodded her head. “I look forward to this evening.” She slapped her fan shut and made to leave, then paused before stepping closer to Landon. She placed her hand familiarly on his chest and murmured something to him. He shrugged in response, and she smiled wider as he offered his arm. They strolled away in the direction of the aft deck.

Keelan shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped away from the rail before she pushed Annett over it and into the churning sea below. What was Landon’s plan? Had he invited his mistress to sail with him or not? With those barbs tumbling around in her mind, she went below to check if Marcel was in need of her assistance. Pondering Landon’s motivations and being near Annette’s flirtations only gave her a headache.

Keelan spent the next couple of hours helping the cook prepare supper for the captain, passengers, and crew, serving up rice and salted fish into their various bowls and trenchers. She wasn’t yet used to the bawdy comments and jokes the men tossed around and her ears burned as she served helpings of Hopping John.
 

Marcel flew about the small galley like a fly in a jar, chopping sweet potatoes and stirring the pudding. He took a spoon, dipped it into the soup, and after blowing to cool it, took a sip. “Ah!” Marcel said, pleased. “Ze first meal at ze captain’s table must be
perfect,"
he said with a flourish of hands. “All ze passengers will be dining wiz him and Captain Hart tonight.” He cocked his head and peered at her more closely.

“You are most solemn, young Mahdi, is all well with you?”

Images of Landon and Annette together had been pestering her mind like a swarm of gnats flying around inside her head. She did her best to squelch them. It would not do for her to draw any extra attention from the cook. She had to keep her charade consistent and believable.

“Aye, sir. Just a bit off-balance. Remus said it might take a day or two before I got my sea legs.”

“Ah,” the cook nodded. “I have a remedy.” He reached for a small tin and pulled out a dried piece of root. He sliced off a small bit and gave it to her. “Chew on this a while. It will help.”

“What is it?” She eyed it curiously.

“Root of Ginger. Chew it.”

She did as she was told and found the flavor unique and sharply pleasant.

Marcel pointed to the wooden box under the chopping block. “Pull out ze dishes and goblets from zat trunk over there.”

Keelan opened the trunk and removed the woolen cover. Beneath it lay neatly stacked pewter plates, bowls, goblets and silver placed between layers of thick woolen squares.
 

The galley had two doors. One opened to a short hallway leading to the stairs and upper deck. She hadn’t opened the second door. Marcel gestured to it now as he dunked a piece of bread into the sauce to sample.
 

“Set ze Captain’s table. You will find ze linens in a cupboard in zere.”

Keelan nodded and counted out the number of plates she would need. They clinked softly as she removed the cloth separating them and placed them in a neat stack. Nimbly stepping around the mumbling cook, she lifted the latch with her elbow and nudged the door open with her shoulder.
 

On the right, was a desk strewn with papers and maps, as if someone had impatiently tossed them there. The desk was tightly affixed to the corner walls. Cupboards covered the rest. How many she would have to go through before she found the one housing the table linens? The opposite wall contained another door, perhaps a closet.

The table stood directly in front of her, its end bolted to the wall. The two long benches tucked neatly underneath were surrounded by a raised border of narrow planks, keeping them from sliding away.

She couldn’t find the linens while holding the plates, so she moved back to the cluttered desk and gently shoved the papers and maps aside to put them down.

“I thought I was helping by clearing off the table.”

She jumped, losing her grip on the plates. They tottered and began to slide toward the floor. The top two clattered on the wooden planks. A long bare arm reached over and steadied those that remained. Landon’s handsome profile stirred a mixture of surprise, trepidation, and suppressed joy. He bent to retrieve the fallen items.

“I’m sorry if I startled you," he said. “You’re the new galley boy, young Mr. Mahdi, correct?”

She hunched her shoulders, ducked her head and nodded, afraid to speak. She would have stepped further away if she could trust the rest of the dishes to stay put.

Landon collected the fallen plates and placed them on a bench. She glanced at his tanned bare back,
 
and the muscles rippling beneath his skin with his movements. He straightened and pointed to the cupboard nearest the galley door.

“You’ll find the linens in there," he said. “Please tell Marcel our guests have all accepted the invitation for dinner this evening.”

She faced the cupboards, keeping her back to him and listened as he walked away. It had never occurred to her his cabin could be accessed directly off the galley. She groaned. Now she would have to be ever vigilant to his comings and goings and not relax her charade even a little.

His voice startled her. “And, boy…”

She paused.

“The passengers are to be treated with the utmost respect, regardless of your personal feelings. Understood?”

Her stomach jumped as she shifted to peer at him from beneath the brim of her hat. Did he suspect anything?

Landon stood inside his cabin door, hand on the knob, and ran the other through the glossy black curls on his head. “While I have been told you are quite capable of taking care of yourself against thieves and ruffians, and it appears you have a keen ear for a yarn, I fear you might be lacking experience in the area of dueling with a woman’s tongue and mood. Be warned that Mrs. Camsby tends to take out her anger on the nearest warm body.” He glanced at her, a small pained smile played at his lips. “’Tis in your best interest to steer clear of her, as her mood on this trip may be quite dour.”

Lips tightening, she nodded again.
 

 
“Good. Please tell Marcel to set out a bottle of Madeira. If I recall correctly, Mrs. Camsby has a liking for it.”

She flinched and tried to ignore the sudden anger beginning to roil inside her. Of course he would stock his mistress’s favorite wine! She clenched her jaw and nodding once more, didn’t move or breathe until she heard him close the door.

She yanked open a cupboard. Steer clear of Widow Camsby, indeed! She huffed at the notion Landon Hart viewed her as a whipping boy. She’d like to see Annette
try
to strike her. Or was he warning her away from that gaudy piece of skirt like a prancing stag in rut?
 

“Sail away with him, huh!” She grabbed the tablecloth and shook it out with an angry jerk. “I am out of his sight for a fortnight and he is already strutting like a dandy to another. Lies, lies, lies.”

 
His words were a farce, designed to steal a kiss, perhaps even take her virtue simply for sport. With his lusts appeased, he would have left her for the next feminine form to catch his eye. Apparently, he preferred his more experienced mistress to accompany him at sea.

She grabbed the plates from the desk and dumped them on the table with a loud clatter. She moved around the table, slapping them down as she went.

“The arrogant lout. Conceited cad.”

An amused voice sounded from the captain’s doorway. “Have the trenchers insulted you, Mahdi? From the din you were making, I was sure you had been attacked by an angry stack of pewter platters.”

She jumped. Landon’s head poked out from behind his cabin door.
 

“Nay, sir," she said in a low voice, as she placed the last plate on the table. “I am sorry for disturbing you.” She briskly escaped through the door into the galley.

When she entered, Marcel pointed to two steaming buckets near the door.

“Take zem to Captain Hart. Ze bath iz filled but for ze hot water.”

Scowling, she opened her mouth to protest and then closed it again, as she could give no good reason to avoid her duty without arousing the cook’s suspicion. Fine. She’d simply knock, deposit the buckets inside the room, and let the captain add them to his own bath. Content with her plan, she hefted her burden, nudged the galley door open, and crossed the dining cabin to his door. Still fuming, she knocked smartly with her toe.

At Landon’s beckoning, she entered the cabin. The water sloshed to and fro in the buckets as she pushed open the door. His furnishings were tasteful without being ostentatious. A mahogany tallboy stood against the far wall, while directly to the left stood a bed of the same, cloaked with a simple navy silk canopy. Next to the tallboy was a closed door, which had to lead to the outside hallway.

Landon’s voice resonated through the room. “Just pour in the water, Marcel.”

She turned toward the voice and almost dropped the buckets. Landon was lowering himself in the tub, showing more of his natural state than Keelan wished to view. His hips were slim, his belly taut and flat. A thin line of black hair traveled downward—she squeezed her eyes shut, aghast at where her gaze traveled.

Thankfully, he did not look up, for if he did, he would have seen a heightened blush covering young Mahdi’s face. Instead, he immediately reached for a slab of soap and rubbed it in his hands then briskly rubbed the soapy suds over his face. He paused in his work and cocked his head to the side.

“The warm water, Marcel?”

There was no way to avoid her duties, it’d be best to take advantage of Landon’s temporary blindness. Keeping her gaze carefully averted, she pitched the first bucket into his bath. In her haste to be done, she didn’t think to divert the stream away from his body. The hot water hit him full force in the chest.
 

At his yelp of pain, Keelan froze and it took her a fraction of a second before she jerked into action. She picked up a nearby pitcher and to reverse the effect of the scalding deluge, flung the contents in the same general direction.

At the sudden blast of colder water on his lap, Landon’s eyelids flew open. A bellow followed as soapy rivulets streamed in to his eyes. He hurriedly splashed his face to cease the merciless burning.

“
Damnation
!” he roared, rising from the water and reaching for a towel to mop his face. “Are you trying to maim me or geld me?”

Horrified at the sights he revealed, she stepped back as the sound of running feet approached from the hallway behind her. The cabin door flung open wide, hitting her full force on her backside and sending her flying headfirst onto Landon’s chest. Momentum carried both man and waif back into the tall brass tub with a loud splash.

Conal’s voice sounded concerned. “Landon, I heard—”.

Her hips hinged over the lip and her feet flailed in the air as she made a desperate attempt to heave her upper body up and out. The smooth wet sides were slippery, and she couldn’t push herself up, her face plunged back in the water covering Landon’s lap. She floundered madly to gain purchase and push herself upright.
 
Landon finally grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face out of the water.