One Night with a Scoundrel

by Shelly Thacker

  “Your pet didn’t do any permanent damage,” he assured her. “The ship’s doctor closed the wounds with a few stitches.”

  She winced, imagining how painful that must have been. “I am sorry. I…” She lowered her lashes. “I never meant for you to be hurt. I…would not want you to be hurt, Saxon.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Koi bat nahin.” His voice had softened. “It is nothing.”

  When she looked up at him again, there was some emotion in his gray eyes that she had never seen before. She felt a fluttery sensation in her middle—one that was becoming familiar whenever she was in his company. “Thank you for letting me keep Nico. Especially after he hurt you, it was…very kind of you.”

  A mysterious smile curved his mouth. “If I recall, you said you would do anything in exchange for your tiger’s life.”

  “Yes,” she said warily, sitting up, holding the covers to her chin.

  He stood and extended a hand toward her. “Then come with me.”

  Ashiana hesitated, darting a quick, surreptitious glance in the direction of his bookshelf. But she no longer had to worry about staying here to prevent him from discovering the sapphires. They were safe below with Nicobar.

  She met his gaze again, and the warmth in his eyes made her decide to trust him, just a little. She put her hand in his and let him lead her out of the cabin.

  They were in the corridor before she remembered one rather important detail. “Saxon, wait.” She tugged on his hand. “I cannot go anywhere dressed like this!” She was wearing nothing but one of his shirts, though it was so large on her, it covered her from her neck to below her knees.

  “Here.” He grabbed what looked like a blanket from a hook on the wall beside his cabin door. “I wear this when it rains. It’s called a ‘cape’.” He wrapped the dark blue fabric around her and showed her the openings on each side so she could have her arms free. The hooded garment was so long, it trailed behind her on the deck, but wearing his shirt and the cape was much more comfortable than wearing the awful kor-set and gow-oon.

  Fastening the worn fabric at her throat with a silver chain, Saxon took her hand again and led her through the narrow passageway, swiftly mounting the steps at the far end.

  As they stepped outside into the moonlit darkness, Ashiana looked around and realized the two of them were alone but for a few gulls diving around the masts. The Valor appeared deserted. She gasped. “Where has everyone gone?”

  “We have the main deck to ourselves for a couple of hours, until I call the next watch.” He led her toward the stern of the ship. “There are certain advantages to being captain.”

  Glancing up at the stars in the cloudless sky, Ashiana inhaled deeply of the first fresh air she had enjoyed in days. “But will your ship not go off course? Who is steering?”

  Saxon escorted her to a sheltered corner near the stairs that led up to the quarterdeck and pointed at the ship’s wheel above them, which had been fastened by a metal device. “The wheel lock is in place and we’re in a dead calm. If we go off course, it will only be by inches, not miles.”

  Ashiana barely heard him, her attention on the surprising display in front of her: a lantern had been hung from the quarterdeck railing overhead, illuminating a cozy arrangement of colorful blankets, striped pillows to sit on, dishes covered with small metal domes, two china plates, and a metal teapot and two cups.

  “Arey,” she gasped in wonder, shaking her head. “You…you did all this for me?”

  “The ship’s cook did most of the work. And I did this for entirely selfish reasons.” He gestured for her to choose a seat. “I thought you’d make a better supper companion than a half-dozen sweaty sailors in the officer’s mess.”

  Ashiana smiled at him, not believing that explanation for a moment. He was being kind to her…again. Somehow, he could not seem to help himself. “Thank you.”

  “Just don’t tell my crew,” he grumbled as he helped her sit on one of the pillows.

  “I understand. A captain must maintain strict order and discipline.” She arched one brow. “And make everyone think he is made entirely of stone and steel.”

  “I am made entirely of stone and steel. With a little sea water mixed in.” He sat on one of the pillows across from her, his back against the wall of the quarterdeck.

  Grinning, she did not try to argue with him. She arranged the voluminous blue cape around her and leaned forward to sniff the enticing aromas rising from the domed dishes—spices and garlic. “I hope this is not my last meal before I will have to walk the plank.”

  “Very funny.” He set a plate in front of her and took one for himself. “I’m not a pirate, Ashiana.”

  “I know.” She nodded. “Mr. MacNeil explained to me what a smuggler is. I…I am sorry,” she said with genuine regret. “I should not have been so quick to think the worst of you.”

  “You’re not the only one guilty of that.” His voice gentled a bit and he waved a hand over the dishes. “I thought perhaps this might help make up for keeping you locked in my cabin since we left port.”

  She studied him, her heart suddenly beating too hard. “Does this mean I am no longer your prisoner?”

  He returned her gaze, the lantern’s glow highlighting the strong angles of his face, the moonlight tracing shadows through the rigging across his broad shoulders

  “It means I believe you’re telling the truth, Ashiana,” he said finally. “You were forced into stealing from me. You’re not working with my enemies.”

  She could not catch her breath. He believed her. It was what she had hoped for, desperately. But somehow, she did not feel happy and relieved that she had managed to keep her true identity and mission secret.

  She felt guilty for deceiving him.

  “Do you have many enemies?” she asked softly.

  “I have more enemies than I care to count.” Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his beard-stubbled jaw. “But you’re not one of them. Logic and instinct tell me that a man named Greyslake is behind this.”

  “Who is that?”

  “An old friend. Who wants me dead.”

  The casual way he said that made her ache. What sort of friend would wish him dead? “I think you need better friends.”

  “Or at least fewer enemies.” He lifted the metal dome off one of the dishes, changing the subject. “I asked the ship’s cook to make a biryani without meat for you.”

  “Arey,” she gasped again, almost sighing in amazement and delight as he lifted the lids off the other two dishes. In addition to the biryani made with rice and vegetables, there was a chole curry of chickpeas cooked in a spicy coconut sauce, and a plate of aloo paratha, rounds of fried potato bread. Her stomach growled. “How…how did you…?”

  “A well-fed crew makes for a well-run ship,” he explained, “so a good cook is a captain’s wisest investment. Ours is one of the best in the Company.” He handed her a spoon. “He always makes good use of the local foods wherever we go.”

  Ashiana took the spoon, touched by Saxon’s thoughtfulness…even as she was troubled by the way it made her feel.

  What was happening between the two of them? Where was the anger and dislike and hostility she had felt toward this man only days ago?

  She could not find any of those feelings in her heart anymore.

  They had been replaced by other, softer emotions she did not want to examine too closely.

  Focusing her attention on the tempting supper instead, she scooped some biryani onto her plate. She had to eat, she reasoned, her mouth watering at the familiar scents of cardamom, cloves, and ginger. There was no harm in sharing one meal with him.

  One meal with a scoundrel would not cause her to forget her duty.

  “The crew likes their food spicy.” Saxon picked up another spoon and started filling his plate. “I hope it’s not too hot for you.”

  “That would not be possible.” She plucked a small pepper out of the chole curry and bit into it. “I have always loved spicy foods.”
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  He regarded her in bemusement. “Most ladies prefer dishes that are rather bland.”

  She finished the pepper and picked up a round of paratha bread. “I am not like most ladies.”

  “Undeniably true,” he said ruefully. Tearing off a piece of bread, he used it to scoop up some chole.

  They became quiet as they ate, Ashiana savoring every bite of the fragrant biryani made with carrots, peas and almonds, and the creamy heat of the chole, and the fried bread sprinkled with coriander. The familiar, mingled tastes were simply perfect. When she could eat no more, she set her empty plate aside, reached for the teapot, and filled both cups.

  Handing one to Saxon, she turned to sit against the quarterdeck wall, facing the same way he was. She folded the hood of the cape behind her head and rested back against it, looking up at the night sky as he continued eating.

  “Thank you, again,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  She sampled the tea, a spiced brew sweetened with sugar. It was as delicious as the rest of the meal. “I had almost forgotten how much I loved this,” she said wistfully, watching the gulls swoop through the topsails.

  “What? Sipping tea with a smuggler?”

  “No.” She grinned at his joke. “Being at sea. The way the stars spill across the sky like that, all the way to the edge of the world. The lapping of the waves.” She closed her eyes. “And that scent—salt air and the wood of the ship and…something more. Maybe it is all the rope.”

  “Maybe it’s all the sweaty sailors.”

  “It is not all the sweaty sailors.” Smiling, she took a drink from her cup. “It is the special scent of the sea. When I was a child, I lived aboard my father’s merchant ship—”

  “I remember. You said you were born at sea, like I was.”

  She nodded. “And when I was a girl, my plan was to spend my whole life sailing the oceans. I dreamed of becoming a sea captain.”

  “But…” He wolfed down the last of the paratha bread. “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you’re a female.”

  “I was five years old.” She frowned at him. “Everything seems possible when you are five. What did you want to be when you were five?”

  He did not even have to pause to think about it. “A sea captain.”

  She sighed. “Well, I am glad that things turned out well for one of us.”

  “There was never any other choice for me. It’s the family business.” Pushing the empty supper dishes out of the way, he stretched his long legs out across the pillows and blankets. “The D’Avenants—my family—have sailed for the East India Company since it was chartered more than a hundred and fifty years ago.” He leaned back against the quarterdeck wall. “In London, it’s said that we D’Avenants are born with salt water instead of blood in our veins. From the age of fourteen, I’ve probably spent more time at sea than on land.”

  They sat in silence for a long moment, side by side, looking up at the sky.

  “This has always been home,” Saxon murmured. “A deck under my boots, the snap of the wind in the sails, another new place always on the horizon, the sun and stars to help navigate my way there…”

  She could hear in his voice how much he loved it. “It all sounds wonderful.”

  He cleared his throat, as if he had not meant to say all of that aloud. “Yes, well, not every day is fair winds and clear skies.” He drank his tea in one long draught. “There have also been gales to contend with. A hurricane or two. Malaria. Scurvy. Pirates—who are always eager to get their hands on a Company ship. And the reason why I spend so much on our cook is because I’ve eaten more hardtack, sour grog, and salt pork than I care to remember.”

  She sighed. “It still sounds wonderful.”

  Laughing, he tossed his empty cup onto the pile of dishes. “You are the adventurous sort, sundar.”

  She lowered her lashes, feeling her cheeks warm as he called her beautiful. “But I have not had nearly as many adventures as you.” Reaching for the metal tea pot, she poured the last of the sweet brew into her cup. “While you were at sea learning how to command a ship, I was in the harem learning how to plait my hair. And gossip. And play endless games of pachisi. And train pigeons to perform tricks.”

  “Pigeons can perform tricks?”

  “It was a skill I never did master.” She shook her head ruefully at the memory.

  “Pachisi and pigeons.” He looked disappointed. “That’s not at all what I imagined went on in a harem.”

  “Why do men have such wicked imaginations?” Her mouth curved downward. “No, we do not spend our days practicing kama sutra positions.”

  “Damn. Next you’ll tell me there are no naked pillow fights.”

  “There are no naked pillow fights. What is a pillow fight?”

  He picked up one of the pillows. “It would be easy to demonstrate—”

  “Never mind.” She plucked the pillow out of his hands, unable to keep from laughing. “I think I can guess. And I am sorry to tell you, despite what all males seem to think, the harem is simply the place where the women of the palace live our lives.” She put the pillow behind her back, snuggling into it, sipping her tea. “And I have lived there so long, I had almost forgotten what it is like to breathe air that is not scented with perfumes.” She inhaled deeply and exhaled on a sigh. “You may not believe this, but when I was little, I even loved the storms at sea.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “I thought I was the only one who loved storms. Most sailors hate them.”

  “Then you are not like most sailors.” She finished her tea, looking up at the masts that stretched high over their heads. “Arey! I remember more words now, from when I was a little girl, more Portuguese words—”

  “Besides all the curses?”

  “Yes, besides all the curses. Sail, vela.” She pointed with her empty cup. “Ropes…cordas. Deck, baralho…” She paused, caught unaware by another memory, her hand still outstretched.

  “What is it?”

  “My name,” she whispered, setting the cup aside. “The name I was born with…it has been so long, I had almost forgotten the sound of it.” She blinked a sudden rush of dampness from her eyes, speaking it aloud for the first time in many years. “Ashiana de Canto e Calda.”

  Saxon glanced at her with an expression of surprise. “You come from a noble family.”

  “I do?” She dabbed at her eyes, furrowing her brow in confusion. “I do not remember that. How can you know, merely from a name?”

  “The ‘de’ in a Portuguese name indicates a member of the aristocracy. It means you are descended from a baron or count or marques of some sort.” He pantomimed taking off a hat and bowing. “I should be calling you Lady Ashiana.”

  “No one has ever called me that.” She smiled. “The sailors who raised me did not teach me any aristocratic ways.”

  “Just an excellent vocabulary of curse words.” He grinned. “Which helps explain how you came by your love of adventure. Any child raised by sailors would want to travel the oceans and see the world.”

  “Nahin, it was not only that I wanted to see the world, I…” Ashiana stopped herself. She had already shared too much with him tonight, revealed far too much of the truth about herself, her past…her feelings.

  But the words kept tumbling out. “I wanted to stay with the people I loved, forever. It w-was so hard when…when I had to leave them.”

  Saxon didn’t reply. Not with words.

  But after a moment, he took her hand in his.

  She swallowed past a lump in her throat. “It was not easy moving into the harem when I was a child. The older women told me I was too willful and outspoken. And the girls teased me about my appearance.”

  His voice was quiet. “What could they possibly find wrong with your appearance?” He looked puzzled.

  “They…” She shrugged. “They used to call me bhoot, ghost. Because I was so pale and thin, and they said my eyes looked spooky.”

  He muttered what sounded
like an English oath. “Wrong, on every count.” He let go of her hand, turning toward her. “Ashiana…has no one ever told you?” He reached out to tilt her chin up, his touch as gentle as his voice. “I am not teasing when I call you sundar. Your eyes are the color of ocean waves in the morning sun. Your skin is like the silk the Hindus call ‘the white of the clouds when the rain is spent.’ And the rest of you…” His voice deepened. “…is delicate and feminine and perfect.”

  Ashiana felt tears shimmering in her eyes. Saxon made her feel beautiful, in a way she never had before.

  She turned away from his touch, resisting the warmth that flowed through her—and an unfamiliar emotion that made her heartbeat unsteady. Merciful gods above, she was not allowed to have feelings of any kind for this man. Never mind how gallant and thoughtful and caring he could be. It was forbidden.

  He was forbidden.

  “Clearly you were never meant to be a harem girl at all,” he said lightly, running his thumb over the tattoo on her left arm. “You were meant to be a sea captain.”

  How did he do that—make her want to laugh and cry at the same time?

  She turned to face him, thinking it best to end their evening together. “Thank you, for all of this. It was very kind of you.”

  “It didn’t require that much effort,” he said gruffly.

  “It was kind,” she insisted, wishing he did not have to resume being the stern, harsh commander he always needed to be. “You may be a smuggler and a scoundrel, Captain Saxon D’Avenant…” She lowered her gaze, whispering, “but there is great gentleness in your soul.”

  When she glanced up, he was shaking his head in denial. But that soft look had come into his eyes again, making them all warm and smoky. “Only where a certain lady sea captain is concerned.”

  For a moment, neither of them said another word. Or moved a muscle.

  Ashiana sensed that something had changed between them, something she could not yet name…but something, she knew, that she could not change back.

  Unable to resist the impulse, she lifted her hand and lightly touched his face. He remained still as her fingertips caressed the stubble that darkened his tanned cheek…and the hard line of his jaw. Her thumb traced over the strong, square shape of his chin.