“Do you mind?” she asked frostily. “As I was trying to say, I was rather frightened when the ship’s rolling tumbled me out of bed. You were not here and I surmised, quite correctly I might add, that you had gone above to help the others in the storm. I did not feel at all comfortable waiting in my cabin while the wind tossed this ship around like so much driftwood, so I decided to find you. Thinking I might begin my education immediately I borrowed a few of your things to wear and went on deck. Before I had even the opportunity to look for you, not that I could see much in that rain, someone who plainly did not recognize me, ordered me to help secure the mainsail. I said no, Rhys. Honestly, I did. But who could hear me in that gale? I was practically dragged to the rigging and there was nothing for it but to begin climbing.”
Rhys’s jaw was working from side to side and his eyes were flinty. “I’ll have the man who forced you keelhauled.”
“I haven’t vaguest notion who it was,” she said. “And if I did, I wouldn’t say. He didn’t know who I was and he was only carrying out the captain’s orders. Anyway, keelhauling, whatever it is, sounds positively barbaric.”
“It is,” Rhys assured her with no remorse. “I may yet use it on you.”
“Well, that would be different, because I probably deserve it,” she pointed out calmly.
“Don’t tempt me. Carry on.”
“There is not much more to explain. I was fearful of disobeying because I didn’t know what would happen. For all I knew I might have been tossed overboard. I started up the rigging. Oh! That’s when I kicked off your shoes. Have they turned up?”
It occurred to Rhys that his patience might put him in the company of saints. “Someone found them and brought them here after I carried you to the cabin.”
“Imagine that. I can’t quite think how they weren’t washed away.”
“A bloody miracle,” he said wryly.
Kenna could not fail to miss the edge in his voice. She took a more cautious sip of her drink and continued quickly. “I think you know the rest. I climbed the rigging and helped the others secure the sail. I don’t mind telling you I was frightened and there is no need for you to forbid me to do it again because I’ve already made up my mind. Nothing could induce me to go up there a second time. I kept telling myself that I would prove I was no hothouse flower, that I was up to the task, but it was out of bounds really. And useless. My feet touched the ground and poof!” She spread her hands and fingers. “I wilted like a plucked daisy.”
Rhys doubted this was the moment to point out that a daisy hardly qualified as a hothouse flower. He fought down a smile. If she suspected how effectively she had disarmed him, he would forever be at her mercy. “Then this is the end of it,” he said.
“The end.”
“And I will never have to look overhead to find you.”
“Never.”
“And if I should find you in the rigging…”
“I know,” she said sagely. “Keel-hauling would be too good for me.”
“Exactly.” Rhys hesitated, thinking over his words carefully. “All things considered, it was a good piece of work.”
Her cheeks reddened a bit beneath his praise, knowing what it cost him to voice it. “Thank you.”
A genuine smile touched Rhys’s mouth and he eased back in his chair and relaxed. “Now, why don’t you finish your coffee, eat your breakfast, and dress? There are some papers and things in Johnson’s cabin that I want to share with you.”
During the weeks that followed Kenna proved herself to be more than an eager pupil. She was a bright and learned one as well. Rhys marveled at her quick grasp of figures and her ability to plot a course with unfailing accuracy. They shared every idea, every scheme, that would bring Canning Shipping back from financial disaster. With Captain Johnson’s knowledge of the type of ships remaining with the line, Kenna and Rhys planned the actions they needed to take. The problem loomed clear before them. They needed to raise capital by taking command of the quickest routes with the best profits.
A scant week beforeCaraseawould dock in Boston Harbor Kenna was still mulling over their chief concern. The task was made difficult because Rhys was nibbling her neck and showed every sign that he was not going to content himself with only one portion of her anatomy.
Kenna was languishing in the copper tub, up to her shoulders in water scented with a few drops of perfume. The cabin was lighted by more than a dozen candles Rhys had set out on the table and Kenna was not insensitive to the effort he’d made. Some evenings they were so exhausted from their labors they simply fell into bed and were asleep before their heads touched the pillow they shared. Tonight was definitely not one of those evenings; not after nearly a week of abstinence when Rhys was considerate of the embarrassment she felt because of her monthly courses. “I thought you were going to wash my back,” she said. Dipping her fingers in the warm water, she flicked a few drops backward and hoped they met her target.
“I thought that’s what I was doing,” he whispered against her ear. The light from the candles flickered across the strands of red-gold hair. Rhys never admitted how happy he was to see the last of the mahogany dye wash away.
“Then you should have paid more attention when I was scrubbing yours. I don’t think you’ve mastered the way of it.”
“Pity. I think I’ve lost the cloth.”
Before his hand could dive beneath the water, Kenna stopped him. “I’ll find it. Don’t trouble yourself.”
“No trouble,” he assured her, grinning wickedly behind her.
She slapped his hand again for good measure. “I can always count on you to state the obvious.” Kenna groped beneath the surface and came up with the cloth. “Here it is.” She handed it over her shoulder and leaned forward, hugging her knees and sighing with pleasure as Rhys trickled water over her back. He applied the cloth gently in an ever-widening circle. “I’ve been thinking,” she said dreamily, then qualified quickly. “About the routes and cargoes.”
“Pity.” Rhys echoed his earlier sentiment.
