The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(17)

He filled her glass, and it was all very civilized. They ate in silence, and Poppy was reasonably content to remain in her own thoughts until the captain swallowed the last bite of his food and remarked, “It’s a comfortable bed. When one is not tied up, of course.”

Her head shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

“My bed,” he said, with a little motion in its direction. “It’s very comfortable. There is a rail—you pull it up and it clicks into place. It keeps one from falling out in bad weather.”

Poppy felt her eyes widen with alarm as she turned toward his berth. It was larger than she might expect for a sailing vessel, but surely it did not fit two. He couldn’t possibly imagine they would . . . No, he would never. But he wouldn’t be sleeping there. He’d said that he was giving her his room.

“Relax,” he said. “The bed is yours.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I’ll be on the floor.”

She gasped audibly. “In here?”

“Where else do you propose I lay my head?”

It took a few tries before she managed to get out, “Somewhere else?”

He shrugged. “No room.”

Her head shook from side to side, the motion tiny and quick, as if she might be able to jostle his words right out of the cabin. “That can’t be true.”

“There’s always the deck,” he said, “but I’ve been told I’m a restless sleeper. I could roll right overboard.”

“Please,” she begged, “be serious.”

His eyes met hers, and once again she was reminded that he was something more than a devil-may-care rogue. There was nothing amusing in his gaze, and nothing amused. “I am serious,” he said.

“My reputation—”

“Won’t change either way. If it’s discovered you’re gone, your reputation will be in tatters regardless of where I sleep. If it’s not discovered you’re gone, no one will be the wiser.”

“Your men will know.”

“My men know me ,” he said in a voice that brooked no dissent. “If I tell them you are an honorable lady, and that I sleep at the door to protect you, that is what they will believe.”

Poppy brought her hand to her mouth, a nervous gesture she indulged in for only the greatest moments of apprehension. Or at least this was the lie she told herself; she probably did it all the time.

“I can see you do not believe me,” the captain said.

“I will be honest,” she said. “I do not know what to believe.”

He regarded her for a long moment. “Fair enough,” he said, and somehow it felt like a compliment. He stood then, and walked to the door. “I will summon Billy to clear the dishes. The poor boy is beside himself, I’m afraid. I assured him he wouldn’t even know you were here, and now he’s required to carry all your meals.”

“He had to be assured that he would not see me? Am I really such a gorgon?”

Captain James smiled, but not with humor. “Any woman is a gorgon on this ship. Very bad luck.”

“Do you believe that?” Surely he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“I believe it was very bad luck that you came across my cave.”

“But—”

“No,” he interrupted with sharp authority. “I do not believe that women are inherently bad luck, on a ship or anywhere. But my men do, and I must take that into consideration. Now then, I’ve work to do. I’ll be gone at least three hours. That should give you time enough to prepare yourself for bed.”

Poppy’s mouth went slack as she watched him reach for the door handle, and he was halfway out before she yelled, “Wait!”





Chapter 5




Andrew allowed himself a long exhale before he turned around. Miss Bridgerton was standing near the bed, a nervous expression on her face.

No, not nervous. Ill-at-ease was probably a more accurate descriptor. She clearly had something she wished to say.

But she wasn’t saying it, which should have been cause for alarm.

“Yes?” he finally prompted.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He had enough experience with women to know that wasn’t true. “Are you certain?”

She nodded.

Very well. If she insisted. He acknowledged her evasion with a dip of his chin and turned back to the door.

“I just—”

Damn . He’d come so close. He turned again, the very model of patience.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” she said in a small voice.

He fought the urge to close his eyes, even for just one weary moment. He hadn’t thought her so frivolous. Surely she did not see the need for fancy frocks on the voyage to Portugal.

Then she added, “In which to sleep, and, well, for the days too.”

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?” he asked, flicking a hand toward her blue confection. The bodice was made of some sort of large-patterned lace, and the skirt was thankfully plain, with no hoops or bustles that might make shipboard life even more difficult for her.

He thought the dress looked quite nice on her. In fact, he’d entertained thoughts of peeling it from her body before he’d discovered her identity.