Kenna stiffened a little at the use of her nickname. It was rather deflating that after last night he could call her by a name that was more suited to a child. She was not so certain of herself that his address did not sting her pride. “Good morning.”
Rhys frowned slightly, observing her. “Have you had breakfast?”
She shook her head and smiled warmly at the captain. “I trust you are feeling well this morning.”
“The day just got a touch brighter, Mrs. Canning. I’d be honored if you’d let me escort you around the ship, then perhaps breakfast with me in my cabin. I’ve not yet taken my morning meal.”
Kenna looked at Rhys, hoping he would tell the captain that he wanted to be with his wife. When he said nothing and merely dropped his arm from around her shoulder Kenna wanted to clench her jaw in frustration. Instead she gave him a coolly polite smile and took Johnson’s arm. “I’d be delighted, Captain.” She glanced over her shoulder as the captain led her away, but Rhys had already turned his back on them and was discussing something with the sailor who held the ship’s wheel.
By afternoon Kenna’s mood was as gray as the skies. Rhys was busy in the ship’s hold when Johnson and she finished their meal and she realized there was no reason for her to stay on deck. She returned to her cabin and read for a while. When that could not hold her interest she began working on her dress. Rain lashed a steady staccato beat against the windowpanes as Kenna sewed. She told herself that she did not expect Rhys to entertain her, but neither did she think he would be so eager to ignore her, passing her off to the captain and finding more work to do simply to avoid her. He did not join her for lunch and when dinner arrived she had given up hope of seeing him. When he came through the door, shivering like a wet pup, Kenna nearly tipped back her chair in surprise.
She stood up quickly. All the sharp, self-pitying thoughts she had been thinking vanished in the face of her concern. “Rhys? Are you all right?”
Rhys nodded jerkily, stripping off his soaked shirt. “Just wet and cold.” He rifled the wardrobe for something to put on while Kenna picked up the wet shirt and wrung it out over the empty copper tub. He sat on one of the chairs and started to take off his boots. His fingers were so stiff with cold that after a few false starts he gave up and sagged against the back of the chair, clearly exhausted.
Kenna draped the shirt over the edge of the tub and smiled at Rhys’s abandoned efforts. Shaking her head gently from side to side she knelt in front of him and lifted one of his feet onto her lap.
“Kenna! You don’t have to do that. I’ll get them off in a few minutes.”
“And catch your death in the meantime,” she said briskly. She managed the first boot well enough but pulling on the second one sent her to the floor on her backside. “Ooof!” She rubbed her bruised posterior and gave Rhys a quelling look when a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Not a word, do you hear? Not a word. Now, get out of those wet trousers while I pour a warm drink for you and serve up a plate of stew.”
Rhys wisely tamped down the urge to salute and dutifully followed Kenna’s instructions. He put on a pair of warm trousers and a heavy pair of socks and sat back down at the table. Kenna placed a warm mug of tea in his hands and pushed a plate of steaming stew in front of him.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked as she seated herself across from him.
Rhys sipped his drink, feigning ignorance. “Was I?”
“You know you were. Am I so amusing?”
“Amusing?” His dark eyebrows lifted. “Mayhap I do find your efforts to mother me a trifle amusing.”
“Mother you? Is that what you thought I was doing?”
“Wasn’t it?” He put down his cup and began tucking into the stew. “Now don’t get your hackles up. It was not so long ago that you would have thrown water over me, pushed me out in the cold, and hoped I froze to death. I can tell you, I infinitely prefer this treatment.”
A ghost of a smile touched Kenna’s dark eyes. “It is not too late to throw you out,” she reminded him. “Keep smiling and I could be tempted.”
Rhys managed a remarkably grave face which brought a bubble of laughter to Kenna’s lips. “Am I so amusing?” he asked.
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
“Well, that’s all right then.”
Of a sudden Kenna felt very good. “Yes,” she said, looking straight into his soft pewter eyes. “It is.”
Rhys doubted he would ever completely understand her moods. She confounded him by seeming to be very pleased with herself. He shrugged philosophically and continued eating.
“You were busy today,” she said. She spread some preserves on a slice of bread and handed it to him.
Rhys took it, thanking her. “You cannot believe how much there is to learn, sprite. I’ve asked Captain Johnson to teach me everything about ship maintenance, building, and sailing. I confess I find it all more fascinating than I thought possible.”
“But surely you do not expect to sail yourself.”
“No. That will remain in the capable hands of men like Johnson, but I think it’s important that I know how every facet of how the business operates. There will be much more to learn once we are in Boston. So many people are depending on Canning Shipping. I don’t want to let them down, Kenna. I am going to make this work.”
Kenna believed him. When Rhys spoke with such conviction she could do no less. “Let me help you, Rhys. I want to. Please.”
“Help me? How?” He realized how that sounded and apologized immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
