Wicked Little Minx (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

Chapter 8: Close Quarters

By the time Olivia returned to the sleeping area, Captain Warble was sound asleep. He lay motionless on his bed, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only indication of life. She'd wrapped a clean bandage around his head, covering the gash left by the falling spar. A shiver ran down her spine at the memory of those terrifying moments on the deck, the sight of the captain's blood on her hands.

Lingering in the doorway, she drank in the sight of the brave man who had risked his own life to save hers. Without a moment's hesitation, he had thrown himself in harm's way, shielding her as the spar came crashing down. And that was after he'd already saved her from being washed overboard. She owed him her life, and she was lying to him every moment. It didn't seem fair.

But what options did she have? She couldn't come clean. There was no telling how he might react. Not only was there a woman onboard, but one who had lied to him. Watched him undress. It was a terrible invasion of his privacy, even if she tried to always turn her back. Surely he would never forgive her, were he ever to find out.

In sleep, the lines of pain and worry were smoothed from his brow, making him look younger and more vulnerable. Somehow, that made her deception feel all the worse. It was a lot easier carrying on when he towered over her with his commanding presence that seemed to come as natural to him as his teasing charm.

Her gaze traced the strong lines of his face, the dark lashes that fanned out against his tanned cheeks. A lock of hair, still damp from the rain, curled over his forehead, and her fingers itched to brush it back, to feel the silky strands beneath her touch. But she held back. It had been far too intimate a touch when she did it earlier to loosen the knots from the blood in his hair.

Another shiver wracked her body, but this time it was because of the chill creeping into her bones from the wet clothes she still wore. She'd put the captain's clothes by the cabin door so she could wash them later, and tucked away the cloth and basin from cleaning him up. Too intent on making sure he was all right, she'd forgotten all about her own discomfort, but there was no denying it now as her teeth rattled.

With trembling hands, she peeled off her sodden shirt and breeches, wincing as the cold, clammy fabric clung to her skin. Throwing a quick glance at the captain to make sure he was still asleep, she rummaged through her trunk for a dry set of clothes, her movements hurried and clumsy in her haste to cover herself.

As she wound a fresh strip of linen around her chest, binding her breasts tightly against her body, she couldn't help but be acutely aware of the captain's presence, even if he was asleep. Part of her couldn't help but wonder what his reaction might be, should he stir right then. Her cheeks heated at the thought, and she silently cursed herself for the foolish notion.

She should have taken her clothes into the day cabin and changed there, but her hands were shaking by now and she desperately needed warmth. Even another moment felt like too long. Hastily, she pulled on a clean shirt, the hem falling to her knees. It was far too large for her, but it would have to do. She couldn't risk taking the time to find something more fitting, not with the captain sleeping just a few feet away. And the size of it would work in her favour if he did wake.

Exhaustion tugged at her limbs as she made her way to the hammock, the events of the day finally catching up to her. Climbing in, she pulled the warm blankets around her like a cocoon, praying for warmth. The wind howled outside the ship, making the wood groan under the pressure of the waves and gales. It made her hammock swing much more than she was used to, and it didn't take long before the nausea hit her like a physical blow. The rocking motion of the storm-tossed ship made her stomach churn and heave worse than the ocean.

She groaned, curling in on herself as she fought against the rising tide of sickness. So far, she'd not felt the sting of seasickness, but the swinging of her hammock was too much. She lay there for several long minutes, her eyes squeezed shut and her breath coming in shallow gasps. But no matter how she tried to calm her stomach, the nausea only seemed to grow worse with every sway of the hammock.