The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(24)

“Yes!” she exclaimed, obviously not comprehending his tone. “That’s exactly what happened. And I didn’t even get to drink my tea!”

He stared at her. Tea? Really?

“I almost cried,” she confessed. “I haven’t yet, you know, despite everything, and you have no idea how lucky you are that I’m not a crying sort of female. But when I was out there, and I realized my tea was going cold, I almost cried.”

She was so earnest that it was difficult to sustain an appropriate level of anger, but Andrew was determined to try. “You disobeyed me,” he said in a curt voice. “I specifically told you not to leave the room.”

“But the ship moved!”

“As they do ,” he ground out. “Perhaps you’ve noticed the ocean?”

Her lips pressed together at his sarcasm. “I am unfamiliar with ships,” she said through clenched teeth. “I did not expect such a jolt.”

He leaned in menacingly and spoke with the same frosty tone. “You shouldn’t have been hanging out the door.”

“Well, then I’m sorry for that,” she ground out, in what had to be the least gracious apology he’d ever heard.

But strangely, he thought it was sincere.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said sharply. But he spared her the indignity of having to respond by turning away and moving to his desk. He shoved the novel onto his shelf, not wanting her to think that he’d come down because he was trying to make her detention more pleasant. This was a ship, and bad behavior could not be rewarded. She had disobeyed his explicit instructions; if one of his men had done the same, he’d have been put on rat-catching duty for a week. Or been flogged, depending on the severity of the transgression.

He wasn’t sure Miss Bridgerton had learned her lesson—probably not, knowing her—but he rather thought he’d said all there was to say on the matter. So instead he pretended to look for something on his desk. He could only keep up such a ruse for so long, though, and she was just standing there staring at him, so he said, perhaps a bit more harshly than was necessary, “Eat your breakfast.”

And then—God above, he would swear it was like his mother was in that very cabin, yanking on his ear and telling him to mind his manners—he heard himself clear his throat, and he added, “Please.”



Poppy’s jaw dropped. Captain James changed topics with enough speed to make her dizzy. “I—all right.”

She watched him for a moment, then walked carefully—why, she did not know; it just seemed like she ought to be extra quiet—back to the table. She lifted the lid to the dish after she sat down. Eggs, bacon, and toast. Stone cold, all of it.

But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and technically it was her fault that she’d been locked out, so she ate quietly and without complaint. The eggs were less than appetizing, but the toast and bacon held up reasonably well at their lower temperatures.

She supposed she should be glad she hadn’t been served porridge.

The captain’s desk was on the far side of the cabin, so she had a perfect view of his back as he rummaged about. “Where is that navigation book?” he finally asked.

She took a moment to chew and swallow. “The one I was reading last night?”

“Yes.”

“It’s still on the bed. Do you need it?”

“For Mr. Carroway,” he said brusquely. “The navigator.”

“Yes, I know,” she said as she rose to her feet and walked over to the bed. “Billy told me about him. Your second in command is Mr. Jenkins, is that correct?”

“Indeed.”

“I suppose it is beneficial to know the names of the officers even if I am unlikely ever to interact with them.”

His jaw stiffened. “You do like to make that point, don’t you?”

“It is one of my few pleasures,” she murmured.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t otherwise reply, so she retrieved the navigation guide from the bed and handed it to him. “One would hope Mr. Carroway already possesses the skills outlined within.”

The captain made no sign of amusement. “I can assure you he possesses all the necessary skills.”

And then there it was again. That phenomenally foolish little devil on her shoulder, urging her to prove that she was every bit as clever as he. She curved her lips and murmured, “Do you possess the necessary skills?”

Her regret was instant.

He, on the other hand, seemed to relish the question. His smile was languid and vaguely patronizing, and the air between them grew hot.

He leaned forward, and for a moment she thought he was going to reach out and touch her. Instead she found herself awkwardly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, as if her raised arm could even pretend to offer protection from him.

“Oh, Miss Bridgerton,” he purred, “do you really want to pursue that line of questioning?”

Stupid, stupid girl. What had she been thinking? This was not a game she was qualified to play, especially not with him. Captain James was not like anyone of her acquaintance. He had the comportment and speech of a gentleman, and in so many ways he was a gentleman, but he took such obvious pleasure in poking at the boundaries of polite behavior. Granted, she had found herself in a situation for which there were no rules of polite behavior, but somehow she thought that if she met him in a ballroom, he’d behave in almost exactly the same manner.