“One morning he accosted me below deck and dragged me into one of the empty cabins. He had my dress hitched up, and his hands seemed to be everywhere at once.” The horizon in front of her blurred. “I remember his breath smelled like dead fish as he tried to kiss me. He tore open the front of my dress. I screamed until my lungs burned, but it didn’t stop his hands.” She shuddered.
Taking a deep breath, she continued. “Old Tom came below to fetch me for breakfast and was able to intervene, thankfully. But my father decided it wasn’t safe for me to sail with him anymore. He sent me home to Nassau. A few months later, Papa brought home Gabrielle, another one of his rescues, to keep me company.”
“What happened to Fairly?”
She raised her chin, turning to meet his eyes. “My father shot him in the heart and threw his body overboard.”
****
Fury rose white hot in his chest as he listened to her story. But it abated some at the knowledge the bastard was dead. Jamieson always did take care of problems without mercy. Still she never should have had to experience that sort of terror. This is why women didn’t belong on ships. Jack strove to change the topic of conversation. He spied her sketch pad open; the breeze fluttered its pages. A drawing of two sailors winding rope, the line stretched taut between them, caught his attention. The muscles in their arms were alive with the push and pull of winding the rope into neat coils.
“This is quite good.” He pointed to the picture. “Is this what you do here in your hiding place? Sketch?”
Miss Jamieson sat back down beside him, her bare feet swung loose over the edge of the platform. Her face lit with enthusiasm. She flipped the page, showing him a drawing of Smith standing at the railing, windblown hair and lined face a perfect depiction. She turned another page, this one a drawing of the ocean. The sun was low in the sky and several dolphins arched through the air above the water’s surface.
“These are wonderful. Miss Jamieson, you have a rare talent for capturing people.”
“You may call me Vivian. Now that I have shown you my work, we must become friends. And I will call you Captain Jack just like the crew.” She gave him a wide smile, and his heart stumbled a bit in his chest at the pure sunshine it put forth.
“As you wish, Miss Vivian.”
He quickly lowered his eyes to the sketch pad. Turning a page, he found a drawing of himself standing at the wheel. The likeness was remarkable, but the expression on his face looked so somber, almost melancholy.
He looked up. “Do I always look this serious?”
“Well…” She took the sketch pad from his hands closing the cover, preventing him from exploring the contents any further. “You certainly don’t usually look like you’re having any fun. But as Captain, you have the greatest responsibilities, so that’s understandable.”
The glimpse of himself he had seen in her drawing unnerved him. Having fun? No, that he left behind with his misspent youth. He ran a serious business, a damned successful business. He spent years building something he could be proud of, a name he could be proud of. “Speaking of responsibilities, I better be getting back to work. As pleasurable as hiding with you has been, it is time for me to go. Until later, Miss Vivian.” He gave her a salute and began the descent to the deck below.
****
Vivian held her sketchbook close to her chest. Her drawings were her very personal way of sorting through life. On long voyages, she and her mother had passed the days sketching or painting together. Those afternoons with her mother, learning techniques to balance light or to properly capture facial expressions, were her most precious memories. Her pictures reflected things she found beautiful or interesting. They also revealed her worries, her anger, and her desires.
She never meant for the captain to see the pictures she drew of him. There were at least a dozen of them. Studying his face had developed into quite the pastime for her. Even though well-liked by his crew, he always kept himself apart from everyone else. As the captain, he was in a position of authority; still he seemed, well, rather lonely. Today they took a first step toward becoming friends and that made her happy.
Chapter Six
Over the next week, as they headed into the North Atlantic, the winds picked up, and the seas became much rougher. Smith informed Jack that Miss Beaumont, who had only ever sailed in the calmer waters of the Caribbean, had developed terriblemal de mer. She took to spending all her time in the cabin below decks where she could lie down. No doubt she wished to be close to the chamber pot if needed. Jack often spotted Miss Vivian with her sketch pad wandering about on deck, wrapped in a warm cloak as the temperature continued to plummet the farther northeast they sailed.
A particularly blustery day, today the gray skies promised rain. Miss Vivian stood in front of the deck railing, watching the seabirds dive and scoop up fish. Jack approached her from behind.
“Watching you from the helm, I am amazed you have not blown overboard by now in this wind.” She turned to him with a smile, eyes twinkling.
He only half joked. She was so petite that with her cloak billowing out around her she looked as though she could take flight at any moment. “How is Miss Beaumont? Smith says she is seasick, and I have not seen her about for several days.”
Vivian wrinkled her nose, “She has the worst case ofmal de mer. She is resting below and praying for the return of calm seas.”
“And are you feeling all right despite high seas?”
“Oh, I’ll not feel ill. I was born to sail. Although I do admit to being a little bored with Gabrielle feeling so unwell.”
“I have been thinking about you ever since I saw your sketchbook the other day.”
“Hmm, have you?” She raised one elegant eyebrow.
Was she flirting with him? She leaned back against the railing, crossing her legs at the ankles. He never tired of the sight of her shapely legs covered in those buff-colored breeches. It would be a damn shame when she would have to start wearing skirts again. No one but he would know what fine legs she had. His own breeches began to feel tight, and he tugged down the hem of his jacket with one hand.
Clearing his throat, he tried again, “Actually, I wondered if you would be willing to use your drawing talent to help me with a project. You see, I have just purchased a beautiful strip of land on Turtle Cay. I am planning on having a house built when I return from this voyage. I know I must make some sketches of what I want for the architect, but I am abysmal at getting my ideas onto paper. Could I persuade you to come inside and help me?”
