Page 16 of The Pirate Takes A Bride

He sat and allowed his long legs to drop over the side of the berth. He had slept in his clothing, as had she, and that was something to be thankful for. How she would have relished a hot bath and clean clothes. It seemed years since she’d had either. A knock sounded on the door, and she jumped out of Nick’s way as he stood and crossed the small cabin to open it. A boy stood there, his arms laden with a jug and clean towels. “Will ye be wanting these now, Cap’n?”

“Yes, Mr. Fletcher. Set them on the washstand and find my razor. I’m in need of a shave.” He took the hot towels from his cabin boy and pressed them to his face. Ashley watched with envy.

The boy set the rest of the items on the washstand, as instructed, glancing at Ashley sidelong. She might have smiled, but she noted the steam curling from the jug of water. “Is that hot water?” she asked.

Nick had opened his wardrobe and was perusing the contents. “Of course. I’m not about to shave with cold.”

She waited for him to offer her hot water, as a gentleman ought, but he merely pulled out a snowy white shirt with far too many ruffles and shook it. As she watched, he pulled the wrinkled shirt he’d slept in over his head and held out a hand to his cabin boy. The words on Ashley’s tongue, words she’d planned to use to lash out at him for his poor manners, died away. She could hardly catch her breath. His chest was broad and muscled from his shoulders to where it tapered at his waist. He was dark bronze, almost golden really, from exposure to the sun, and his abdomen was flat and lean. She’d run her hands over it, months and months ago—in another lifetime—and she remembered thinking his body felt so different from other men’s bodies. Not that she’d explored many men’s bodies that intimately, but she’d felt their soft paunches as they’d pressed close when dancing. There was nothing soft about Nick.

He took the strip of wet linen from his boy and wiped himself down quickly. Ashley averted her gaze then, and he chuckled. “Forgot to play the demure virgin for a moment, did you?”

She hated him for that comment. “I was merely thinking of how you would look with your belly split open when you’re drawn and quartered. Is that still the punishment for piracy?”

The cabin boy gasped in shock at her comments, but she ignored his response. She was not afraid of his captain.

He pulled the shirt over his head. “I believe summary execution is more common now.”

“Too bad. I would have enjoyed seeing you suffer.”

“I am certain you will have a perfect view as you will be right there with me, accused of being my accomplice, wife.”

She glared at him, but before she could think of a rejoinder, he reached for his breeches. “Here is the part you have been waiting for.”

“Arrogant man,” she spat and turned her back on him. She could hear him chuckle softly and the rustle of clothing, and she tried to ignore it. The back of her neck prickled, though, when she considered how near he was to her and all but naked. That night they’d spent together, she hadn’t seen his thighs. Were they as muscled and bronze as the rest of him? And what of his manhood? She’d touched it, briefly, but she hadn’t seen it in the light. What did it look like? Were the paintings she’d seen accurate depictions?

The cabin boy rushed past her, collected his master’s boots, and rushed back. Ashley turned to see the pirate captain slide his arm through the coat of his...should she call it a costume? He wore tight breeches with a red sash, a ruffled linen shirt, loose at the collar, and topped by a red tailcoat. It was not cut in the current fashion but reminded her of something her grandfather might have worn. It came to mid-thigh and was embroidered with red thread, most ostensibly on the cuffs. He hadn’t buttoned it—it was not designed to be buttoned—instead he tied a red bandana about his head and fastened a cutlass about his waist. Ashley blinked at the man standing before her. The transformation was indeed complete. He was no longer Lord Nicholas. This man looked every inch the pirate.

His clear blue eyes rested on her, seeming to measure her reaction to him as he adjusted the cutlass and belt, anchoring both securely over his sash.

“Would you like me to shave you, Cap’n?”

“No. There are enough people in this room trying to kill me. I’ll do it myself.”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

“You can go.” He took the razor and the strop from the boy, slid the blade along the leather several more times, then dipped the brush in lather and spread some on his cheeks. He turned to a mirror he had fastened on the inside door of the wardrobe and brought the blade down his cheek with a sharp scraping sound.

He lifted one of the towels, wiped the blade, then wrapped the towel around his neck, she supposed to capture any stray lather or water. “Have you ever watched a man shave before?” he asked as he brought the razor down cleanly and confidently again.

“My brothers a time or two,” she said. What she did not say was that she had not found the activity nearly as fascinating when they had done it. Nick seemed to make an art of it. His wrist and his hand moved swiftly and surely and before long she could see the clean skin on one side of his face.

She liked seeing him clean-shaven. He looked younger and not as dangerous, though with the bandana and cutlass, she could not quite forget that he was indeed dangerous in this new role. “I don’t usually shave with my shirt and coat on,” he said as he finished. “But I did not want to upset your delicate sensibilities.”

“My delicate sensibilities? Yes, you are quite the gentleman.”

“I am a gentleman,” he said, taking the last clean strip of linen and drying his face. “Which is why I am above being ogled.”

“Ogled? I was not—” But she broke off when she saw what he was about to do. He’d taken the basin and the jug with the last of the hot water and crossed to one of the large windows along the wall of the cabin. Before she could cry out to stop him, he dumped the contents out. She stared at the sea outside the window, now dark blue in the light of the rising sun.

“You didn’t want that hot water, did you?” he asked, setting the pitcher and basin on the washstand, which like the rest of the furnishings had been nailed to the floor. “I believe it was you who wished to be left to your own devices. Far be it from me to do you any favors.”

She glowered at him, but as the only words she could think to say were not fit for a lady, she said nothing at all. Only when she realized he was leaving her alone in the cabin, did she cry out. “Wait! I will not be held prisoner in the cabin all day again.”

He paused at the doorway and looked over his shoulder at her. “I’ll tell Mr. Fellowes to escort you about the deck. And Lady Nicholas?”

“My name is Ashley!”

He grinned. “Very well. Ashley Martingale, if you wish for hot water, all you need to do is ask me for it.” He strolled through the cabin door, leaving her alone. She stood for a moment, and when she didn’t hear the key in the lock, she rushed toward it. But as soon as she reached the wooden door, she heard the telltale grate and click. Had he been teasing her? Making her think she had a chance to escape?

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