The Other Miss Bridgerton (Rokesbys #3)(52)

Wasn’t it?





Chapter 14




Poppy awakened the following morning with the strangest feeling. It was almost vertigo, and she grasped the bed rail for several seconds before she realized— They were not moving.

They were not moving!

She leapt out of the bunk and rushed to the window, inexplicably stumbling on the stillness. With an excited breath, she pulled back the curtains to reveal . . .

Docks.

Of course.

She wasn’t sure why it hadn’t occurred to her that she would not be able to see the proper center of Lisbon from her ship’s window. The docks in London weren’t anywhere near the sights of the capital.

Still, it was something to look at that wasn’t the endless water of the Atlantic, and Poppy took it all in eagerly. She could see only a small sliver of what was surely a large canvas, but even so, the scene before her was buzzing with life and activity. The men—and they were all men, she did not see a woman among them—moved about with strength and efficiency, carrying crates, pulling on ropes, performing all manner of tasks, the purpose of most Poppy could not deduce.

And how strange and different the men were . . . and at the same time, not different at all. They were performing all the same tasks she assumed English dockworkers did, jostling and laughing and arguing in the manner of men, and yet even if she had not been aware that she was in Portugal, she would have known that these men were not English.

It was not their looks, although it was true that many had darker hair and skin than most of Poppy’s countrymen. It was more in their movements, their gestures. When they spoke, she could tell just by looking at them that their words were of a different language. The men’s mouths moved differently. They used different muscles. They made different expressions.

It was fascinating, and she wondered if she would have noticed it if the sounds of their voices had not been brought to such a low volume by the wall and windows between them. If she could hear them—really hear the sound of the Portuguese language—would her eyes have found the changes in their faces?

There was so much to think about. So much to see.

And she was stuck in this cabin.

Captain James had made it clear that she would not be permitted to disembark in Lisbon. He’d said it was too dangerous, he wasn’t there to serve as a guide, he had business to conduct, this wasn’t a pleasure voyage . . .

He was just full of reasons.

Then again, he had also told her that under no circumstances would she be allowed on deck.

And last night he had changed his mind.

Poppy leaned her forehead on the window, the glass cool and soothing against her skin. As she’d lain in bed the night before, reliving every moment up under the stars, she’d allowed herself to hope that maybe he would relent and take her into town.

Something had changed the night before, and she wasn’t thinking of the kiss.

Well, no, she was certainly thinking about the kiss. She might have declared that they should never speak of it again, but she’d been aghast when the captain had suggested that they pretend it never happened. She’d almost told him so, was going to say in no uncertain terms that it was exactly the sort of thing a person should take care to remember, if only to make sure it wasn’t repeated.

That had seemed petty, though, and maybe even mean, so then she almost said that it was her first kiss, and a girl only got one of those, and he was mad if he thought she was going to pretend it never happened.

But that was exactly the sort of thing he’d misunderstand. She didn’t want him to think she was lying in bed thinking about him, even if she was.

For now.

It wasn’t as if she had plans to lie in bed and think about him for the rest of her life. She would be back in England in less than a week, and then she’d never see him again. If Elizabeth kept her mouth shut, Poppy’s life would continue as normal, which meant that eventually she would marry some nice gentleman her family approved of, and she’d lie in bed and think about him for the rest of her life.

And if Elizabeth didn’t keep her mouth shut, and Poppy’s social standing drew down to zero, she’d have far bigger problems keeping her awake than the devastatingly handsome Captain Andrew James.

Poppy glanced over at the clock to check the time, and as if on cue, Billy knocked on her door. She did not need to hear his voice to know it was he. Billy and the captain were the only two people who ever came to see her, and their knocks were as different as chalk and cheese.

“Come in!” she called, because unlike the captain, Billy always waited for her permission to enter. Her hair was still in its sleeping braid, but she’d given up caring about that. And since she slept in her clothes, it wasn’t as if anyone would ever see her improperly dressed.

“I brought breakfast, miss,” he said, carrying his usual tray. “It’s nothing fancy. Just some toast, tea, an’ apples. Most of the men will be going ashore to eat.”

“Will they?” Poppy murmured, her envious eyes wandering back to the window.

Billy nodded as he set down the tray. “They have to finish up on board, of course, an’ they can’t all leave the ship at once, but the captain makes sure everyone has a chance to stretch his legs.”

“Everyone, eh?”

Billy missed her undertone and sailed on. “Oh yes, though it’s a right confusing place if you don’t know what’s what. It’s not just the language, though it’s good to know a few words. Sim for yes, no for no.”