A Gentleman 'Til Midnight. Alison DeLaine

Boredom dripped from his tongue, but his eyes burned hot. He may have succeeded in controlling his anatomy, but in his thoughts he was doing with her exactly as he pleased.

      She laughed derisively to suppress a shiver. “You will contain much more than that, or you will meet the end of my cutlass.” She went to the door. “I shall send up some pie.”

      “Wait.” The command shot across the cabin—not a request, but a demand.

      She spun on her heel. “Do not speak to me in that tone, Lieutenant Barclay.” She was across the room in a heartbeat, face-to-face with him. “You are no lieutenant here, and I am your captain now.”

      “If I am your prisoner, then you are my gaoler,” he countered. “Not my captain. I only meant to ask whether I may expect to spend the entire voyage locked away.”

      “Perhaps you will, and for good reason,” she said, even though she’d already decided there would be little point to it. “For one thing, since we took you aboard my ship, you have demonstrated a difficulty in controlling your baser instincts.”

      He gave a laugh.

      “Moreover, you’ve shown yourself to be a liar. But most damning of all, far from being the insubordinate you claimed, it would seem that you and Captain Warre were practically of one mind. You are therefore complicit with him, and that alone makes me wish I did have a rack in the lower hold.”

      “It sounds as if I should be thankful that you at least removed the shackles.” He raised his wrist, rubbing it. The motion brought his hands a hairsbreadth from her breasts, a closeness she wished she hadn’t noticed.

      “There was some sincerity in that commendation.”

      His calculating gaze narrowed. “What if I told you that Captain Warre was the soddingest bastard I ever set eyes on, and that if he were here right now I would heartily recommend that you do your worst?”

      Katherine laughed and took the opportunity to move away. “I would say you’re a very smart man indeed, Mr. Barclay, with high marks in self-preservation.” He reeked of danger, but at least he was entertaining.

      “Then consider it my unswerving opinion, and leave the door unlocked when you go.”

      “I will give it my most thoughtful consideration. Good day, Lieutenant Barclay.” She let herself into the passageway, closed the door and paused, recovering from the effects of his smile. He would never succeed in overthrowing her command even should he attempt it. And he wasn’t a threat to Anne. No, the danger he presented was more in the area of Phil’s expertise.

      Soddingest bastard, indeed.

      She walked away without bolting the latch.

       CHAPTER SIX

      “IT’S THE MOST reckless thing you’ve ever done,” Phil declared the next evening as they lounged in the great cabin. “He left his door propped open all morning, and the sight of him lying abed was a terrible torment.” The gleam in her eyes made it clear she hoped to bait Katherine into acknowledging Lieutenant Barclay’s appeal. It wouldn’t work.

      “It’s astonishing that your duties took you past his cabin so frequently,” Katherine said, swirling the wine in her glass. She, of course, had only walked by in order to reassure herself that she had not made a mistake allowing Anne to finally go in and play nursemaid.

      “Indeed,” William laughed. “Astonishing.” He leaned across the table toward Phil. “My door is always open, too, you know.”

      “Perhaps Lieutenant Barclay needs a lock on the inside,” Katherine suggested.

      “Auntie Phil, you’re not listening,” India complained, propping her feet on the table as she popped a date in her mouth.

      “I am listening, dearest. To you, anyhow.” Phil poured herself more wine and shot a look at William. “But what you’re saying is so far-fetched that my mind naturally drifted to more realistic possibilities.”

      India made a noise. “I have no intention of sitting idly by doing needlework and learning sonatas on the pianoforte after our return.”

      “I daresay you’ll have little choice in the matter,” Philomena scoffed. “Your father will lock you away the moment you arrive.”

      “If he tries,” India said, pointing at Phil with a date, “I shall simply move in with you.”

      “Ha! I’ve quite had my fill of looking after you.”

      “Then I shall live with Katherine.”

      “Living with a pariah would do little for your marriage prospects,” Katherine said, reaching for the basket of kesra and tearing off a piece of the bread even though she was already full.

      Phil rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand why you persist in this notion that we shall be outcasts. Mysterious, certainly. Even scandalous, but that rarely does any real damage. I have yet to discover what a widowed countess cannot do and still receive more invitations than she can reasonably consider, and as for you—well, I daresay the same will hold true for a countess in her own right. Even a Scottish one. They will expect you to eat dainties and applaud their daughters’ mediocre musical accomplishments at more gatherings than you will be able to count.”

      William shuddered. “Hate those gatherings. Nothing to do a fellow in like a marriage-minded girl in command of a pianoforte.”

      “I don’t need marriage prospects,” India said, “because I have no intention of marrying.”

      Phil laughed. “You’ll be fortunate if your father hasn’t already paid some poor young man an offensively large amount to secure an arrangement.”

      Katherine rose to get another bottle of wine and raised a brow at India, who sprawled in her chair like a man. “Would have to, given the prize.”

      “You’re both insufferable!” India huffed, and bit into another date.

      William reached for a piece of fruit. “I resent being left out of that. Katherine, I fancy an apple. Slice it for me?” The apple sailed in her direction and she whipped out her cutlass, slicing it in midair. The halves fell to the table with a satisfying thud.

      “You’re insufferable, too, William,” India said. “You all are.” She shook her head defiantly. “If Father has arranged something, I shall run away,” she warned. She thought for a moment. “Or perhaps I could be a kept woman.”

      “I wouldn’t advise it,” came Lieutenant Barclay’s voice from the doorway. Katherine’s attention snapped toward him as if he’d fired a pistol. “All the drawbacks of marriage with none of its benefits.” A smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Well, very few.”

      India turned bright red, and Phil laughed. “Well put! Just look at you, Lieutenant, up and about. You appear quite recovered. Do you not agree, Captain?”

      Katherine watched his gaze sweep across the giant Italian table she’d fallen in love with in Venice, the Spanish walnut cabinet that kept her wine and glasses safe from the waves, the intricately inlaid Turkish chest where she kept her logbooks. It came to rest on the painting of three veiled women tending children in a Moroccan courtyard. Discomfort edged through her, as though he could see her own memories in that painting.

      “Improved, if not recovered,” she said. “The power of broth should never be underestimated.”

      “I confess to having a thirst for something of a slightly different nature.” He glanced around the table. “Perhaps, since your surgeon isn’t here...”

      “Lucky thing!” William said cheerfully, sliding a chair out with his boot. “Wine? Rum? Cognac?”

      Lieutenant Barclay eased into a chair next to Philomena. “Undoubtedly the cognac.”

      Katherine