Chapter 21
Nick was looking forward to dinner with Harriet in the privacy of his cabin, as they had done so often before. He was a little disgruntled that he had to tell Flynn to ask her to join him after she sat down to table with the larboard watch in the fo’c’sle. His mood did not improve when Norton and Zach invited themselves to dine at the captain’s table.
Nick couldn’t help noticing that Harriet moved a little stiffly after she’d been sitting for a while and had trouble grasping her utensils.
“Luigi prepared bacalhau and caldo verde?” Norton said in disbelief just before he ate a spoonful of the spicy soup.
“He consulted with Flynn,” Zach said, cutting his cod into bite-size pieces.
Harriet nodded when Nick silently offered to ladle more soup into her bowl as he served himself. “Why would Luigi consult with Flynn about dinner?”
“Luigi has never cooked Portuguese cuisine before,” Nick said. “Flynn was still our cook the last time we stopped in Portugal.”
“They just … swapped jobs?” She tried to hide a wince when she cut into her fish.
Nick resisted the impulse to reach over and cut it for her. “Luigi hurt his shoulder last summer. Still can’t climb very well. Flynn wanted to spend less time below deck. So they taught each other and traded duties.” She was staring at him in awe. “What?”
“You accommodated an injured crew member so he wouldn’t lose his job. Two of them, actually, if you count when Bos’n’s voice was damaged.” Oblivious to the other men at the table, her smile spread across her face, brightening parts of him that he hadn’t realized had been dark.
He cleared his throat, though his voice still came out gruffer than he intended. “Skills can be taught. They’re good men. Didn’t want to lose them.”
Whatever it was that she liked about what he’d said or done, he determined he had to do it again to get her to look at him that way, bordering on adoration. Often.
While they ate, Zach regaled them with tales of his mad dash on horseback across France and Spain to beat Hornsby. Nick tamped down irritation at the laughter Zach’s skill as a raconteur drew from Harriet. After all, this was part of how Zach got himself invited to so many dinners and house parties, allowing him to live at a loftier level than his modest annuity would fund. Gambling and charisma were his main sources of income.
“And then there was Bordeaux,” Zach was saying. “Oh, the wine! I could have stayed there for weeks and still not tried all the varieties. I did stay two nights, but only because Button threw a shoe and the farriers were busy.”
Flynn entered then with a tray laden with cheese, nuts, and a bottle of port wine, and removed the empty soup tureen and other dishes.
Harriet wasn’t leaving, and the men weren’t lighting up cigars, so Nick poured her a couple of inches of port.
“Button?” Harriet giggled. She’d barely had a sip.
“The previous owner had named the horse Beauté Noire,” Zach explained. “I find the French language pretentious. He seems to like being called Button.” He tossed back the wine in his cup and poured himself more.
Harriet laughed again, though she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle it. Nick began to suspect she was exhausted rather than tipsy, confirmed when she kept her hand up to hide a yawn. She’d spent all afternoon working as hard as any of the crew, after the morning adventure she’d had in the market.
“Before we go back to London,” Norton said, “are you going to put in to Lulworth Cove to get more of this cheese?” He cut off another hunk for himself and offered a piece to Harriet.
“Oh, yes, yes,” Zach said excitedly. “We must see how your friend Tony and his smuggler bride are doing.”
Nick ate a bite, not looking at Harriet who had paused mid-chew to stare at him. “She’s not a smuggler anymore. She and her gang make cheese now.” He held up a sample of their product before he ate it. “Though they can probably still get you a bargain price on excellent brandy.”
Dinner broke up soon after that, with Zach taking a cup full of wine and a chunk of cheese with him. As Norton rose to leave, he discreetly dropped a packet of headache powder in Nick’s lap, and set a tin of salve on the table with a significant tilt of his head toward Harriet. Nick tucked the packet in his coat pocket.
Flynn came and took the tray and finally, finally, Nick was alone with Harriet for the first time all day. Since their night at the estalagem, actually. Last night didn’t count, as she was sound asleep the entire time he’d been in the cabin. After taking care of updating his logbook, he’d given in to the pounding in his head and mixed a packet of the headache powder with a generous shot of rum, settled in his hammock, and hadn’t awakened until dawn.
“Let me see your hands,” he said.
She set them palm-down on the table. “Why? They’re fine.”
He tilted his chin down to look at her through his lashes. When his friend Alistair did that, women fluttered and melted at his feet. When Nick did it, green sailors had been known to freeze. Or at least stammer.
Harriet just looked at him like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
So much for fluttering or freezing.
He moved his hand next to hers on the tabletop, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and resisted the urge to flip her hand over. “Because you’ve been hauling on lines and climbing ropes all day. I saw how it hurt to use the knife to cut your food.”
