The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(19)

“No, I would not.” He growled in answer.

She sighed. “Then I suppose it shall have to be Solitaire.”

For the next hour, Vesta dealt cards to herself and sipped wine while Hew paced the confines of the cabin, feeling like a caged tiger until he suddenly spun on her. “With us locked in like this, what do you suppose would happen if the ship were to wreck?”

She replied as if he was a simpleton. “Then I suppose you would have to break the windows if we really needed to escape. But I agree. This arrangement is much more tedious than I had imagined it would be. I’ve never been on a sailing ship before and would very much like to be above deck,” she said wistfully.

“Then what is to stop you?”

Vesta considered the question and suddenly brightened. “Well, I hadn’t considered it until now, but given we are well at sea, there’s nothing, I suppose! It’s not likely that you would jump into the ocean now, is it?”

“Then you can open this door.”

She grinned. “I only needed to ring the bell.”

He looked flummoxed. “The bell?”

“Over there.” She indicated the bell pull he had overlooked in his agitation. Before Vesta could even rise, Hew had already given the cord a violent tug. “Et tu, Brute?” Hew exclaimed when the elderly jockey answered the call. “Even you knew about this?”

“Aye, Cap’n Hew,” Pratt said, looking mighty green about the gills. “But when my lord commanded I was to be Man Friday to the little miss, I ne’er imagined ‘twould be shipboard.”

“You get no sympathy from me, old fellow. Let the punishment fit the crime, I say. Now, pray bring me my clothes!”

Pratt handed the captain a bundle with a rueful look. “I was expectin’ ye might be callin’ for ‘em.”

Hew snatched them with a glare and then turned back to Vesta. “Some privacy, please?”

“But I’ve already seen—”

“Out with you!” he bellowed.

“Fine then.” She threw her cards down with a scowl. “I’ll be up on deck with Pratt.”

Hew mumbled, “And may a great whale come and swallow you up.”

***

Although well accustomed to sea voyages, the lingering effects of the opiate, combined with the rolling of the ocean, soon had Hew swaying on his feet. Although the wine he’d imbibed didn’t help his balance, it had served to dull the throbbing in his head. The gust of damp sea air blasting his face as he ascended from below did wonders to dissipate the rest, as well as soothing his black temper.

If he wasn’t so damned incensed about it, he might even have been flattered to have made such an impression on the girl. Were he five or ten years younger and without the experience he’d gained in the dragoons, he would certainly have been mesmerized by her alabaster skin, glossy dark ringlets, guileless hazel eyes, and impish smile. Based on her good looks alone, certainly some unwary fool would take her. Why the devil she’d latched on to him with such ferocity before she’d even ventured out into society was beyond his comprehension. Didn’t young girls dream of balls and parties and all that nonsense?

Yet, here he was captive on a ship sailing God-knows-where because Vesta Chambers had set her cap for him. He shook his head in incomprehension. The girl was a deceptively powerful force of nature in a very tiny package, but if she thought for a moment to force his hand into marriage with this escapade, she had another thing coming.

While Hew considered himself a gentleman through and through and knew well the rules of conduct and the protocol to be followed where compromising virgins was concerned, he failed to see how those same rules applied when he was the one being compromised. He had kissed her, certainly. There was no denying that fact, but Vesta had said he’d not laid a hand on her. Strange, that. Hew certainly was in no position to refute it, given his dubious state of consciousness while they were alone together. If she had desired to force the issue of marriage, she’d only to say he had and be done with it, but she had not. Hew feared puzzling out the Vesta enigma might be well beyond his understanding.

He strode out to the foredeck, relishing the wind, the salt air, and the sense of freedom and well-being the sea always seemed to incite. Had he not been such an avid horseman, Hew thought he might have taken well to a life at sea. But here he was altogether against his will, a circumstance he was determined to rectify without further ado. Turning about, Hew made his way aft to seek out the pilot but realized upon reaching the quarterdeck that Vesta was nowhere to be seen. Pratt met him with a worried look.

“Where is she, Pratt?” Hew demanded. “Did she go back below deck?”

Pratt rolled his eyes. “I only wish.”

“What do you mean?”

The jockey pointed heavenward, and Hew’s heart lurched. There, one hundred feet above them in the crow’s nest, hugging the mainmast for dear life, was Vesta.

“She has the ship all in a pother,” Pratt said. “She just tied her skirts together and climbed the bleeding thing like a monkey, but now she won’t come back down. The first mate, Mister Campbell, tried to fetch her, and she refused to let go.”

“Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice...” murmured Hew. “No, Pratt, I’m not about to fall for the damsel in distress act again.”