Page 44 of An Imperfect Scoundrel
Nodding, she picked up the last piece of bread on her plate and put the chunk in her mouth, an attempt to discourage him from asking any further questions.
“I hope you didn’t expect to be rescued this evening,” he said, indicating the window.
“There’s always hope, Captain Shaw,” she replied and yawned.
Clamping her hand over her mouth, she stifled the sound, her eyes rounding when he turned back toward her, an unreadable expression on his face.
“I suppose today has been overly taxing for someone like you, Dubois.” He pointed at the armoire. “Take a blanket and spread it on the floor.”
“But—”
“Did you expect to sleep in the bed with me?” Smirking, he tossed a small bag on the desk, the contents clinking together softly.
“No…” She drew out the word. “But I didn’t expect to sleep on the floor.”
“Are the accommodations not to your liking? Would you prefer to sleep in the brig with the rest of your shipmates?” he replied as he sat. “That can be arranged.”
She shook her head as she rose. The ship pitched, and she stumbled, falling back into her chair.
He chuckled. “You’ll figure it out.”
“How long does that take?” she grumbled, rising again and keeping her fingers curled around the edge of the table.
“Each man is different.” His gaze slid over her. “I’d estimate two weeks for you. Bring me the whiskey before you retire.”
She grabbed the bottle with her free hand, released the table, and spun, stumbling toward the desk. Her hips crashed into the edge, and she bent forward almost involuntarily, holding out the bottle.
“Do they get a bed in the brig?” she asked.
“No.” He snatched the whiskey from her hand, toasted her, and took a sip.
“I’ll stay here.”
“Wise choice. It’s much colder down there.”
Pushing away from the desk, she toddled across the room, her arms stretched out to the sides for balance. Once she reached the armoire, she pulled open the door, her eyes sliding over several stacks of men’s clothing.
“Do you strip them naked or just steal from their trunks?” she asked, her fingers brushing over the top of a luxurious shirt.
“Pardon?”
“Your apparel seems a bit too proper for life aboard a ship,” she replied and glanced back at him.
It was difficult to judge the expression coloring Captain Shaw’s eyes, the only place on his face that seemed to give away his true emotions. She wasn’t certain if she’d offended him.
“I like nice things.”
She nodded once and turned back, then bent down to select a folded blanket from the base of the worn piece of furniture. Shaking out the thin material, she spread the blanket on the floor, then knelt in the center and laid down. She pulled one side of the coverlet over her head, then curled into a tiny, shivering ball, drew her knees into her chest, and closed her eyes.
Exhausted as she was, the soft clink of coins, accompanied by low murmuring and the scratch of a quill, prevented her from falling asleep. Peeling open one eye, she peered at Captain Shaw through a small slit as he counted the gold from the sack.
His head jerked up, his gaze sliding over her. Slamming her eyelid shut, she exaggerated her breathing until the quiet jingle of gold coins tickled her ears again.
The ship’s severe rocking lessened, and Alana felt the ship slow, adopting a calmer bobbing motion. Fatigue took hold of her body, and she drifted to sleep, lulled by the soft lap of waves against the ship’s hull.
The floorboard nearest her head creaked.
Her eyes flew open, focusing on two scuffed boots directly in front of her face.
