by Arlem Hawks
The gears in Dominic’s head ground to a stop. He shut his mouth, teeth clicking together. Not women dressed as men. Ill crew members. What an imbecile. And he’d almost given himself away. Clearly he needed rest.
“Are you all right, sir?” Her strained voice kicked his brain into action.
“Yes, of course. Seven ill with fever. Unfortunate business.” He wanted to hit himself for his stammering. “Tell the captain I appreciate the news and to keep me informed of any developments.”
She saluted and hesitantly mounted the ladder. He hurried for his room and threw himself into his cot. Fool! Dominic pulled his pillow over his head.
Sleep. He needed sleep. And to stop those whirling thoughts in his head that centered on Georgana Woodall.
Georgana didn’t usually mind the dark or being alone. She sat near the windows, sketchbook in her lap, gazing at the full moon’s reflection on the calm sea. Tunes from a fiddle and Irish flute skipped through the open window, punctuated by men’s laughter.
Her father had gone above to observe the merriment. He had never invited her to join in on the nights of music and dancing. Most nights she did not have much desire for it.
But in a month or two, she wouldn’t be able to refuse to join in the dance. After so many years of refusing to let Georgana learn to dance, Grandmother no doubt would implement a rigorous training schedule. Then she would watch Georgana’s every move at balls and assemblies in order to belittle her for mistakes afterward. That routine would end only when Georgana secured a match.
“George.”
The whispered name sent a tingle up her spine. She knew the voice before she looked up to see Peyton’s head poking through the door.
“You are missing the amusement.”
“I don’t mind.” But she did. Tonight she regretted being alone in the dark.
“I won’t stand for it. You may draw tomorrow night. Come join your shipmates.”
She glanced down at the book in her lap. Her father hadn’t exactly forbidden her to come up. The music called to her, and before she knew it, she’d hidden her sketchbook in her hammock and was rushing out of the cabin after the beaming lieutenant.
Stars glittered above, but no one on the Deborah’s deck paid them any mind. Lanterns were strewn around the company gathered at the mainmast. Men swung about to the fiddle and flute’s duet, while their companions clapped with the music. It was a scene Dominic had viewed many times in his career.
He and Georgana kept to the outer edge of the gathering, on the opposite side from where the captain watched. He didn’t know if Captain Woodall had seen them yet, but he suspected the protective father would have come over if he had.
Georgana watched the proceedings with a faint smile on her face. To most she would have appeared only mildly amused, but Dominic knew better. This rare smile meant that for once she felt comfortable above deck.
Despite the October chill, Dominic slid a finger between his neck and collar to loosen it. So many bodies on the deck made him warm.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” He could already see it in her face, but he wanted to hear it.
“Very much, sir.” The sound hid in the roar of men’s voices. “They all dance so well.”
“Do you dance, Mr. Taylor?” He hadn’t meant to emphasize the alias. If he didn’t take more care, he’d reveal his secret and hers, and then the Woodalls truly would hate him. Lucky for him, she didn’t seem to catch his tone in the noise.
“Not since I was small.” Her hands beat together with the tune, and when it finished, she applauded with the others.
Someone called for a hornpipe, and other sailors eagerly seconded the motion. An idea tickled Dominic’s mind. He glanced around and spotted an empty place behind the mast, sheltered from view of the officers but within hearing of the music.
He extended a hand to her. “Come, dance the hornpipe with me.” He stared at his hand. What was he doing? He turned the gentlemanly gesture into a wave for her to follow him. Heat crept across his face. Focus, Dominic.
“But I don’t know it.”
“Follow what I do. I’ll show you.”
She followed him behind the mast as the fiddler began the introduction. Dominic folded his arms in front of him, one atop the other. Georgana followed suit. Her eyes flitted toward the rest of the group, as though worried the other men could see them.
“I’m not certain this is a good idea,” she said.
He stepped in front of her, catching her gaze. “No one is watching.”
“You are watching.”
“But I am a friend. That hardly counts.” He winked as the dance started. “First, we march in a circle, like this, then step back, step back. Good!”
She watched his feet on their first turn, shuffling through the steps with uncertainty. He bowed to one side, then snapped to attention. That step she did very well. She practiced coming to attention many times throughout the day.
“I feel ridiculous,” she said.
“To dance is to be a little ridiculous, is it not?”
As they bowed back and forth with the song, the terror on her face melted away. Each turn, she stepped with a little more animation. Her face glowed. Before long they were both panting as they pushed through the steps, which mimicked hauling, winding, and rowing. Her movements didn’t show fatigue. Indeed, she looked as full of life as he’d ever seen her. He had been right—she made a lovely dancer.
At the end of the tune, the rhythm picked up speed. Georgana cried out as it forced her feet to move faster and faster. Dominic’s heavy breathing and racing pulse silenced his chuckle at her distress. She kept up with the wild frenzy, stepping back in place until the fiddle struck the final chord with a glorious shout.
Georgana stumbled to the mainmast and collapsed against it. He stopped beside her, hands on his knees and gasping for breath.
A laugh—a warm flash that split the night—spilled out as she slid down the mast to sit on the deck. No one glanced their way, and the feminine tone was lost in the shouts of the next round of dancers. Little droplets glinted from corners of her eyes.
He sank quietly to the floor beside her, not wanting to disrupt the scene. She drew in gulps of fresh sea air as her peal of laughter wafted away like autumn leaves on the wind. It was no wonder she never laughed on board. She’d mastered the facade of a shy cabin boy, but he didn’t think she could ever mask her laugh.
She wiped the moisture from her eyes and watched the bright moon above them. He ignored the moon and the way it tripped across the waves. Tonight he forgot the ocean. He watched her.
His heart pounded between his ribs, and he nearly let it push him forward to kiss that contented smile. How would it feel to have Georgana Woodall’s soft lips caressing his own? To be wanted by someone like her would be a wondrous thing.
Dominic straightened, giving his head a sharp shake. What was he thinking? As though he could ever conceal a kiss with three hundred other men milling about or while this close to her father. Besides, he couldn’t see her welcoming a kiss that could compromise her disguise.
“What is it? Are you sure you’re well, Lieutenant?” She leaned toward him, face upturned.
He needed to get out before his reckless nature took over and he did something they’d all regret. “Yes, quite well.” He leaped to his feet and offered her a hand up. She grasped it, rather than delicately setting her hand into his, as a lady would. This was how it was supposed to be. He pulled her up with enough force to lift her off the ground. She tripped into him before righting herself. He could almost see the pink in her cheeks in the lantern light.
“Are you certain? You seemed out of sorts this morning, and now—”
He held up his hands. “I am well. I only need to collect my things before the next watch. Shall I take you to your . . . the captain? Or back to the main cabin?”
Her face fell, and he looked away quickly before it could convince him to stay. “I’ll find the captain. Thank you.”
Dominic ran for the hatchway but stopped to see she’d safely arrived at her father’s side. Jarvis had stayed up on the forecastle with Lieutenant Rimmer, so Dominic needn’t worry about a confrontation between him and Georgana.
The captain’s brows went up at the sight of her. He said very little, and they both turned back to watch the dance. The gleam in her eyes had faded.
Dominic trudged down to the wardroom, trying to no avail to dampen the unfamiliar swirl of heat within.
Chapter 20
Water poured over the deck, and the scratch of rough bristles filled the air as dozens of crouching men and boys scrubbed. Georgana scrubbed too, at the black-and-white tiled floor of the captain’s quarters. They’d taken down the walls and stowed her and her father’s things below for the weekly cleaning.
The briny scent of seawater rose up from the deck. Though not her favorite smell, it made her stomach skip. If he were here, Peyton would drink in the concentrated aroma of his beloved ocean. Then that grin, the one that stopped time and worry, would light his face. She’d seen it more often since they left Antigua.
The first lieutenant and her father had gone above to oversee a course correction, since the winds had taken an odd turn. That left Jarvis stalking the gun deck with his usual dour expression.
Georgana kept to the corner of the deck in hopes he wouldn’t notice her. On the opposite end of the deck, hammocks were strung across the width of the ship. All hammocks were usually removed when they swabbed the decks, but too many were sick today. Fifteen ill since Wednesday—three just that morning.
The crew gave the sick bay a wide berth, hoping to not be among the next sailors stricken. There had been no deaths since Charlie Byam’s, but it seemed only a matter of time. The lightness within Georgana plummeted at the thought.
A shoe nudged her ribs hard enough to hurt. “Get to work.”
Georgana rubbed her brush faster over the slick floor. Her fingers itched to reach back and feel the bindings to make sure they hadn’t loosened at his kick, but she didn’t want to provoke Jarvis further.
“Slow work will get you nowhere in the navy, lad,” he said. “If this were my ship, I would have flogged you for laziness by now.”
If this were her ship, she would have flogged him for insubordination by now.
“A pampered boy like you has no place on a ship.”
Georgana kept her gaze on the tiles. Black tile, then white tile. Up and down, back and forth. If she didn’t react, he’d go away eventually. Grandmother always did.
His fist grabbed the back of her coat and her shirt and waistcoat with it. The bindings pulled tight as he dragged her to her feet. She dropped the brush and tried to pull away.
“Are you listening to me, Taylor?” His face jutted toward hers, inches from touching. The sickly sweet rum on his breath made her gag. “Tell me, do you swim?”
She didn’t answer. He couldn’t take her above without her father seeing, but still her pulse thundered in her ears. For all her years on board, she’d never actually been in the sea.
A nasty smirk split Jarvis’s face. He snatched the handle of one of the windows and threw it open. The panes rattled as they hit the next window.
“I’d wager I could cram you through there.”
Georgana struggled against his grip. The men on the gun deck behind them kept their heads down, as though oblivious to her plight. She pried at Jarvis’s hand with numb fingers. “Why are you doing this?”
He slammed her into the wall, her head flying through the window. All the air fled from her lungs, and she fought to draw in breath as he pressed against her. The breeze ripped the tan cap from her head. It tumbled through air and into the waves below.
“You have no ambitions in the navy,” he growled into her ear. “You couldn’t care where you serve, so long as you have a plush cushion at the captain’s feet and the bones from his table. But some of us have fought for every inch we’ve gained, and I won’t lose it all to a sniveling little pickthank.”
Georgana clawed at the windowsill, knowing it wouldn’t do much to keep her inside. “Please, sir.” She hardly recognized her own wheezing voice. The wind swept past her wet hands, making them tremble with cold. The shaking reverberated to her core.
“The next time you interfere with my disciplinary actions, I won’t hesitate.” Jarvis threw her to the floor and slammed the window closed.
Georgana crawled on hands and knees back to her brush. Her chest heaved, but she couldn’t get enough air to soothe the panic.
“Sir!” a cry came. “It’s Wallace!”
A man lay unmoving on his side by one of the guns. Jarvis walked calmly away from her, not looking back.
Georgana bit back tears. She had prayed Jarvis would let this go, but clearly he hadn’t forgotten his grudge. She worried it was only a matter of time before he sought revenge again.
Men clambered up to the gun deck for services. Everyone huddled toward the captain’s quarters, as far from the overflowing sick bay as possible. Twenty-seven were stricken now. Dominic shook his head. At this rate, half the crew would be down within a week.
Georgana sat in a corner across the room from the officers’ gathering. Most officers had chairs brought up for services, but for several weeks Dominic had forgone the practice to sit with her. However, today she’d come out of the captain’s cabin later than usual and taken a place far from him. He couldn’t make sense of it.
The previous day, she’d hidden away after the crew had finished cleaning the gun deck. Dominic had attributed it to her father’s orders, but now he wondered. She didn’t meet his eyes. She pulled out a prayer book, set her sketchbook on top of it, and began to draw.
Had he done something to upset her? Or worse, had she seen through his ruse? She was a perceptive woman. Perhaps she had seen his ridiculous longing to kiss her Friday evening.
Dunce. How had he let himself come to that?
Her hand reached up to pull on the back of her short hair. She wore no cap today. Odd. She always wore her cap and jacket. And she never brought her drawing things to services.
The chaplain stood to begin, and Dominic stood with him. He stole behind the officers’ chairs and dropped down next to Georgana. She didn’t look up.
“And ye shall serve the Lord your God,” the chaplain read, “and he shall bless thy bread, and thy water; and I will take sickness away from the midst of thee.”
Dominic nudged her rigid shoulder, but she continued to draw. A wave took shape on the page before her.
“What is the matter?” he whispered.
She lifted the pencil to put a finger to her lips, then returned the pencil to the page.
“I will send my fear before thee,” recited the chaplain.
Dominic glanced around. Everyone sat in front of them, faces toward the chaplain. He wrapped his fingers around the pencil, brushing the skin of her hand. She instantly drew hers away, leaving the pencil in his grasp.
“I will make all thine enemies turn their backs unto thee.”
He twisted his arm to write across the top of the page, out of the way of her work. Why will you not tell me?
Her lips pressed together. She took the proffered pencil and wrote, It is of no consequence. It will pass.
She went back to her sketch, but he slid the pencil out of her fingers again. I can help.
No.
Georgana didn’t give him the pencil. She traced the crest of the wave, adding a line of foam. He rubbed his brow. He’d never seen her stew like this. At least not since he found her on the gun deck after her fight with Fitz.
Dominic stopped her drawing again. Where is your cap?
I lost it.
He scanned the deck for Jarvis, but the third lieutenant hadn’t graced them with his presence. Dominic’s stomach twisted into a knot. Who took it?
No one. It fell in the sea.
He let her resume her work. Jarvis had something to do with it. Dominic could feel it in his gut. Why she wouldn’t
tell him, he couldn’t say. She still did not trust him completely. How could she, with her secret? One thing he did know—he had grown tired of secrets. When she returned to England, he would try to form a real friendship with Georgana. One without all these lies.
A light tapping on his arm lugged him out of his thoughts. Georgana pointed with the pencil to a new line of writing on her paper. The letters now crowded around her sketch. Are you listening to the sermon?
Clearly.
You should be.
Despite himself, he had to swallow a laugh. How he wished he could understand what went on in that head of hers.
She didn’t wait for a response before writing. It is a good sermon and very relevant. You should set the example for your men.
Dominic held up his hands. At her satisfied nod, he lifted his attention to the chaplain.
Though he tried to focus on the encouraging message and pleas for divine protection for the disease-riddled crew, his mind kept straying to the young lady beside him and the strange predicament in which he found himself. How much longer could he pretend to be oblivious while at the same time becoming completely preoccupied with Georgana Woodall?
Chapter 21
Étienne stood at the table in the captain’s cabin. Dark circles stained the skin below his eyes, and his mess of curls hung wildly. Georgana hid in the corner with her mending. Her shoulders hunched a little lower with each sentence Étienne spoke.
“There are now thirty-six, and I have suspicions we will reach fifty before tomorrow has concluded.”
Fifty. Georgana’s stomach lurched. More than a quarter of the crew.
“I have reason to hope that Mr. Pearce . . . But I should not make these speculations. His condition has stabilized. However, Mr. Noyse is not doing well.”
Her father sat with hands clasped on the table. “You believe Pearce will make a recovery?”
The Frenchman lifted his shoulders. “I only hope that young Mr. Byam was simply an unlucky case.”
“And you still cannot say what it is? What caused it?”
