Page 49 of Valour

“Hester,” he said, voice low, taking her wrists tightly and backing her into the closed door. He pinned her hands by her head with a smack of skin on wood, and she stopped laughing, her heart thumping against her ribs as his sapphire eyes locked onto hers.

Oh.

“What is it that you want from me, little witch?” he said, his voice like thunder, pressing his body against hers to stop her from wriggling. Hester’s breathing hitched, heat racing south.

“Do you want me to chase you?” He leant so close that his breath hit her ear, and she stilled. “To capture you?” And then his voice dropped as he pressed against her more firmly, and her head felt light as blood rushed elsewhere. “To punish you?”

His voice reverberated through her, and she let out a strangled whimper as her loins burned. Yes, she wanted that. She wanted all of that, and more.

He huffed a laugh, the deep sound sending shivers down her spine. The smell of him, the weight of him against her. It was almost too much to bear. She knew it was ridiculous. Knew she was being absurd. And she melted all the same.

“Take your cat,” he rumbled, “and go back to your ship. I’ll give you a head start.” He released her wrists and drew his pistol. “Ten, nine⁠—”

Oh, yes. Hester darted across the small cabin to swipe Satan from the bed, cackling again as she saw he had done the necessary business on the pillow, and bolted for the door, the cat scratching wildly as she tucked him under her arm. She crashed into Victor in the corridor, sending him flying into the wall, and she did not stop, sliding out on the icy deck and skidding to a halt by the ladder. Hester bundled Satan into her overall and raced down the rungs and out onto the ice, pelting over it.

Shots fired, bullets exploding into the ice either side of her, and she shrieked, cursed at the top of her lungs, and laughed with delirious joy all the way back to the Valour.

She released Satan from her overall on the deck, then went down below and slammed the door of her cabin shut.

Charlotte walked side by side along the corridor with Arnold, past the door to Hester’s cabin. Muffled sounds were coming from inside, and then a fractured shout of “OH YES” rang out.

Charlotte frowned, turning to Arnold.

“What on Earth is she doing in there?” she asked.

Arnold laughed. “I think the captain is having some alone time.”

Charlotte’s eyes widened, her cheeks flushing. “Is that what she’s calling captainly tasks?”

17

IN WHICH THERE IS A PERFECTLY CIRCULAR HOLE IN THE ICE

18th February 1915, Weddell Sea

Hester looked up from the sordid scene in the book she was reading. Someone had just knocked on her cabin door. “Hello?” This had better be important.

The door opened and Peggy stuck her head around the door. “Septimus wants you.”

Hester thought her face might crack from the smile that spread across it. So, he had finally sent for her. It would have been better if he had come himself, but she could look past that. She hopped down from her bed and followed Peggy out into the corridor. A thrill ran down her spine as she wondered whether he’d want her on top or underneath him, playing out all the things she wanted him to do to her.

She rubbed her hands together. “Thank you, Peggy. I’ll take it from here.”

“Er, no. He wants us all. Roll call.”

What? He wanted to see her entire crew? For a roll call? She frowned, and the heat that had been warming her from the inside fizzled and died like a spent flare. “Why?” Was all she could splutter.

“Not sure. Frank seemed upset when he came over a few minutes ago.”

They filed up onto the icy deck and passed down the ramp with the rest of the crew, over the ice and into the shadow of the Intrepid, where Septimus and his men stood. The air was heavy, and all thoughts of sex fled Hester’s mind as she looked upon the grim faces of the men. She raised her eyes to Septimus’s. “What happened?” For clearly something had occurred. The tension could have been cut with a knife.

Septimus gestured to the ice, where a perfectly circular hole had been cut. There was a pile of clothing next to it. A reindeer fur coat, breeches, boots, shirt. “James is missing. These are his clothes.” Septimus’s voice was taut. He raked a hand through his hair, pulling half of it from its tie.

Hester swallowed, her heart skipping a beat. “You don’t think…” If he had stripped off and gone into that ice hole, he would be dead. There was no doubt about it.

“The evidence suggests that he did,” Septimus said.

“But why?! Why would he do that?”