“Miss Morgan is not to leave her cabin,” he said, his cold gaze still locked on hers.
Then, without warning, he grabbed her bodily and shoved her into her cabin. Heart in her throat, Heather stumbled forward and braced for inevitable impact. Despite her efforts, her hip struck the edge of the chest of drawers before she landedsideways upon her hanging bed. The pain, however, was naught when compared to the fear that ignited in her chest.
The earl meant to keep her locked in her cabin for the entirety of their month-long journey.We cannot arrive in the Americas. Dread crept up her spine in an alarming tingle. If she couldn’t find a way to apprehend the earl before they reached land, her power would be significantly diminished, for surely the man’s servants would fight on his behalf, and authorities in the Americas would do naught about a man accused of crimes across the ocean.
“Might I at least have my book?” she called out.
She ought to have requested a meeting with the captain directly upon discovering information on the earl, rather than ruminating on it. Hell, but she hadn’t the faintest understanding of a captain’s relationship to his crew; might he listen to a man such as Percy, particularly when it came to incriminatory information regarding an honoured guest? The earl might very well strike before Percy had the opportunity to speak with the captain, resulting in Percy being put in the brig instead.
Her breath all but froze in her chest. What had she done?
CHAPTER 7
Afortnight later
Clunk…thunk…clunk…thunk—clonk!
With a hard thump, Heather was tossed to the floor of her small cabin. Pain lanced through her head as it connected with the edge of her chest of drawers, and she pressed a hand to the spot, just above the hairline near her temple. She hissed, her head swimming and nausea churning in her belly.
Hot, sticky liquid oozed between her fingers, and she blinked numbly into obscurity, her stomach in upheaval.
Blinking, she attempted to dispel the foggy puzzlement clouding her mind. It had to be the middle of the night, for nary a sliver of light came from beyond her door. The air was heavy with salty humidity, and Heather groaned at the dampness between and under her breasts.
Clunk…thunk. The hanging bed rocked between the wall and the chest of drawers as the ship tilted. With a squeak, Heather pressed her free hand to the wall and extended her legs so that she might avoid rolling into the door.
Her pulse sped, and her stomach heaved as the ship rocked in the opposite direction. She blinked again, struggling to comprehend the sudden movements in the pitch darkness.
A storm.
While her cabin hadn’t any windows, it was impossible to know not only the hour, but also the weather. A storm, however, was decidedly obvious.
Clunk…thunk.
For the past fortnight, she’d been imprisoned in her cabin with a guard stationed at her door. Berta came by thrice daily to offer a pitiable meal, refill her pitcher, and empty both her chamberpot and washbasin, but said nary a word. At least Heather had been able to soddingcleanherself.
Early in her imprisonment, she’d pleaded with her guard to send word to the captain, but the men were staffed by the earl and wouldn’t risk punishment.
Clunk…thunk.
A warm, tickling sensation crept down her cheek and jaw, and she groaned.
“Bugger it all,” she cursed, pressing her palm firmly to her temple.
TheSapphirepitched sideways, and her stomach lurched once more.
Hell. She must stand and dress if she was to slip past her guard and see the ship’s surgeon.
Ropes creakedand voices sounded above as Percy attempted to sleep in his hammock. The steep waves of the storm rocked him in time with the other men around him, their hammocks occasionally bumping into each other.
Christ, but it had been an age since he’d slept aboard a ship. And while he truly hated to admit it to himself, he’d bloody well missed the satisfyingly deep sleep that he achieved while being rocked by the ocean. The sailor beside him, however, was a man to whom Percy had to grow accustomed, for the volume of his snoring alone was enough to wake the dead. It wasn’t just the volume that bothered Percy but thewayin which the man snored, wheezing, hissing, gurgling, and making all manner of other strange noises. In time, he knew, the sleep would come—as it had every night for the past fortnight—but until then, he would remain half-awake, listening to the cacophony of aggressive snoring from his neighbour.
Muffled rhythmic thumping came from the officers’ cabins as their beds knocked against their cabin walls—though Christ knew he’d heard countless men fucking the boredom away behind those walls over the years—and Percy attempted to focus on the sound. Something else, however, captured his attention: grumbled cursing.
Percy’s eyes snapped open.There.Another curse and a soft thump. It sounded very like Heather.
Despite himself, his pulse skipped.
A sodding fortnight had passed since they’d spoken, but he’d been so badly reprimanded for continuously attempting to speak with the captain that he’d lost not only his credibility but also his sway. No matter how he made the attempt, Heather’s bloody guards refused to permit him a moment to speak with her, or to return her book.
