Page 62 of A Prince Among Pirates
By the time I come back to myself, Tristan is absent—as are my bloody clothes. I am alone in the room with Captain Sharpe, who sits in a wingback chair at the center of the room with his jacket off and his shirt open, a pint of ale in one hand. I must make some small sound, for he turns my way and is on his feet the moment our gazes meet.
“You’re awake.”
“Was I asleep?” I ask. My throat hurts.
Sharpe shakes his head and pushes the pint into my hand. “You were…” he trails off, as if unsure how to answer. “Here. Drink this. We need to get you to the ship while we still have the cover of dark. There’s a shirt, trousers, and shoes for you to wear.” He points to the second chair.
I drink the ale without questioning him, then hand it backwith a few sips left. He hesitates but takes it and finishes it off in one gulp. “Come on, Kitten. Can you dress yourself?”
The question seems absurd, but I am too aware of the stiffness of my body to make any protest. I simply nod and push myself to my feet. Captain Sharpe takes my arm and helps me up, then holds on to me, as if afraid I might collapse at any moment.
Maybe I will.
I let him hold me up, and focus on grabbing the trousers, on sliding in one leg at a time. The more I move, the easier it becomes. I pull on the shirt, tucking in the front but leaving the back tail out, and step into the shoes. They are too big, but for the short journey to the dock, they’ll do.
Then Sharpe’s fingers are in my hair. The sensation rips me from my anesthetized, in-between state and right into the present. I gaze up at him, but he says nothing as he smooths my hair back as best he can, holding it in a queue at the base of my neck. It’s impressive, considering we’re facing each other.
I watch him tug the blue ribbon from his hair with his free hand, and in the next moment it’s wrapped around my own dark waves and tied securely into place. “There.” His voice startles me. “No one will look twice at you in these clothes,” he says as he brushes a few loose hairs down to frame my cheekbones. “Let’s get you back to the ship.”
I never want him to stop touching me like this.
But then his hands fall away from me, and I am left feeling cold and empty once more. He pulls on his jacket and unlatchesthe door, waiting for me to join him before he opens it and ushers me from the room.
I don’t remember most of the night after Captain Sharpe smuggled me back on board theDeliverance. It’s just a blur of Sharpe’s voice, soft and low, his arms around me as I wept. When I wake in the morning, I am shocked to find him still abed—beside me.
I sit up on the sturdy mattress, heavy bedclothes rumpling in my lap. The curtains are drawn closed, but sunlight filters through them, giving the whole space a warm, cozy glow. I am still in the scratchy shirt and trousers Sharpe brought to me the night before, which means Captain Sharpe’s virtue remains intact.
Still, the shock of waking beside him has me reeling. I’ve never shared a bed with someone before. Of course I’ve had lovers—but never have I fallen asleep or awoken with another body beside me in my bed. I stare at Sharpe as he sleeps, unnerved by the sight. He seems peaceful in a way I have never seen him before. I have seen him relaxed, happy, and drunk… but never entirely at ease. It softens his features in a way that makes him look quite young.
I suppose that’s a silly thought; he’s only a few years my senior. But something about his presence makes him seem so much more worldly. I am tempted to lie back down and simply listen to his soft breathing, but his dark lashes flutter, and a moment later he is gazing back at me. I try not to think aboutthe funny little flip my stomach does as our gazes meet and hold for longer than I am comfortable with.
Then he sighs and sits up, his movements slow and languid. “Kitten…,” he mumbles, his voice gravelly with sleep.
I shiver a little despite the immense heat of the room. “Captain.”
He rubs at his face and pushes the bedclothes aside, then leans against the pillows. “I’ve called the men back. We’re leaving port as soon as everyone is on board.”
I blink at him, unable to wrap my head around his words for a moment because they aren’t at all what I expected to hear. “Have you?”
“After you fell asleep.”
So he didn’t just fall asleep beside me. He waited formeto fall asleep, left, and thendeliberately came backand climbed into bed with me. Heat spreads across my face from temple to temple. I’m not sure what to say, but as I flip through various possibilities in my mind, a flash of lifeless blue eyes pulls a gasp from me, and my entire body tenses up. By now I’ve seen men die before, but something about Jeffrey Reuter’s death feels more real, more violent. More terrifying.
Sharpe, reading my thoughts as he always does, reaches out silently and draws me to him. “You’re safe, Kitten,” he whispers into my hair as I melt against his chest in a way that is both foreign and frighteningly familiar.
I nod, swallowing down the lump forming in my throat as he tugs the ribbon loose from my queue. His fingers in my hair arejust too much, and I am overwhelmed with the need for more—but I dare not ask.
“What now?” I whisper.
“We’ll go to Le Cap to resupply. Your friend Captain LaBarre is likely gone by now.”
My friend. I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. “And from there?” I ask, relaxing a little more as my breathing begins to match his.
“From there we go to the colonies to sell whatever goods we have.”
“What about Jeffrey Reuter?”
“He isn’t my problem anymore.”
