Hell. Were those dirty dishes from last night’s meal? A cabin boy would have to be roused immediately to handle this mess, and Mr. Talbot too. Devlin prided himself on taking care of his men and would not expect any of them to work on empty stomachs.
But when he reached the sleeping quarters below deck and approached the cot Talbot favored over the hammocks, he instantly knew his cook would not be preparing food that day or for several days to come. His forehead was damp, his sleep the restless kind caused by high fever, and if that weren’t enough indication of Talbot’s malaise, the bucket next to his cot made it startlingly clear.
Devlin backed up a step to escape the sour stench of vomit. If Talbot was sick, his assistant would have to take over. Except the young man nicknamed Chopper, who’d so often leapt in to help whenever Talbot was indisposed, looked no better off than Talbot.
Good God! If there was an epidemic on board it would cripple the crew, extend the journey, lead to hunger and lack of fresh water before they reached port. It would be a catastrophe, not to mention he’d no bloody clue as to whom he could turn to in order to feed all these men. Four hundred and eighty souls depended on him and here they were, only three days’ sail from Lisbon, and now this! He glanced around at the sleeping men in their hammocks while panic began to set in. Perhaps they ought to turn back.
Perhaps…
A thought struck him.
Before he had time to consider the wisdom of the plan forming in his head, he strode forward and shook one of the cabin boys awake. “To the galley with you,” he ordered. “There’s a mess there that must be cleaned right away.”
The boy, barely fifteen years of age, stammered something incoherent before rolling out of his hammock and landing on wobbly legs. Devlin regretted having to rouse him but knew not what else to do. Talbot and Chopper both looked like death, and if they were contagious, he’d be an idiot to let them manage the food even if he were able to force them into action.
Instead, he woke another sailor and instructed him to help the cabin boy, assuring him he’d be allowed an extra hour’s sleep later as compensation. Satisfied something was being done to fix the situation, Devlin then made his way back to his cabin where Cassandra still slept so soundly, the very idea of waking her gave him pause.
But no. He could not afford to let her sleep when she was the only other person on board who knew how to cook well enough to solve the current dilemma. Devil take it, he ought to have learned himself if for no other reason than so he could leap in and help in such situations. But he hadn’t and lamenting his lack of culinary skills wouldn’t fill any stomachs.
So he sat on the edge of Cassandra’s bed and placed one hand on her shoulder. “Cass?” He nudged her a little and she responded with an agitated groan. “Wake up.” He shook her more roughly. She swatted him away as if he were some pesky insect.
Devlin sighed. There really wasn’t time for this. In another ten minutes or so the bell would signal the end of the watch, and men would rush to the galley expecting something. “Right then,” he muttered and promptly yanked the blanket away from Cassandra.
Her eyes flew open on a gasp. “What the bloody hell are you doing?” she asked as she pulled on her nightgown and did her utmost to protect her modesty.
Later, it would occur to him that her blaspheme should have surprised him since he’d never heard her curse before. But in that moment, the only thing his brain was able to process was the fact that her nightgown had crawled almost all the way to her waist, allowing him to glimpse the rounded curve of her bottom peeking out from beneath the fine muslin. Of course, he’d seen all there was to see of her thighs and legs and feet…but her bottom…
He cleared his throat. Time to take charge and remember his reason for waking her up in the first place. “Talbot and his assistant are both sick, so I need you to get up, get dressed, and come with me right now.”
She blinked. “But—”
“No time to argue.” He grabbed her by her elbow and hauled her to her feet. “The crew will need to be fed in—” The bell sounding the watch shift rang. Feet pounded across the deck above them. Devlin cursed beneath his breath. “Now.”
“I, um…” With a yawn, she nodded.
“Good.” Devlin grabbed some undergarments from one of the drawers beneath her bed and located a dress cut from practical brown linen. Tossing the lot on her bed, he proceeded to pull off her nightgown without preamble.
Which earned him a shriek.
He stilled. Let her nightgown fall. “Now is not the time for modesty, Cass, but for practicality and haste.”
“As if I was not made aware of that when you woke me in the rudest and most abrupt fashion I’ve ever experienced.”
“Sorry,” he muttered, because it was the thing to say, not because he actually felt it. How could he when his brash method had allowed him to fill in some of the gaps that existed in his most carnal fantasies? “I only thought to help.”
“I’m sure you did,” she told him with cutting force, “but I can manage perfectly fine on my own. Thank you.”
He gave a curt nod, deliberately choosing to ignore the disappointment he felt as he moved to the door. It wasn’t as if he expected her to profess her undying love for him because of one kiss, but he had, damn it all, expected it to changesomething between them. In his vast experience of kissing, theirs was the most spectacular, the most unforgettable – perfection itself. Yet now, she wouldn’t even let him—her husband, not some stranger, he told himself disdainfully— help her dress.
“Fine then. I’ll go and inform the crew that their breakfast is going to be late.” And with that he left her, before he succumbed to temptation and caused additional delay by kissing her.
“Christ have mercy,” he muttered as he stomped off, his mood defined by the problem he faced with Talbot and the unsated state he’d endured for so long he was sure it was starting to wear on his health. Like the rest of his men, he usually found a willing woman to tend to his needs when he was in port, but his betrothal to Cass had happened so soon after his arrival in London, he’d not had the time. And once he’d gotten betrothed, the idea of sleeping with someone else hadn’t entered his head. Which meant it was now…he did a quick sum and decided five months fit the bill.
Good God! Another man would likely have forced himself on his wife by now. Devlin winced. He hated himself for having such thoughts – for allowing himself to consider for even one second the fate she’d have had as another man’s wife. As if he wished he were able to be an unfeeling bastard and take what he wanted without hesitation.
He couldn’t and he wouldn’t, which meant he’d have to suffer the repercussions of marrying a woman who still mourned a man she’d never married, thirteen years after his death. She loved him. It made perfect sense that she did, and it would be foolish to think she wouldn’t. He was the man she’d picked to be her life partner, her childhood friend, Penelope’s father and, and, and…
The truth was Devlin was sick of Timothy and the hold he maintained on Cassandra’s heart.
