Page 38 of A Prince Among Pirates
“My father,” I sigh. “People don’t love pretty boys like me. They use us up and leave us when they’re done. I’m no good.” Iopen my eyes then and turn my head to gaze up at him.
I can’t make sense of the look on his face as he stares at me. It’s an unfamiliar expression—one I have never seen before on anyone. I swallow hard, because the way he’s staring at me somehow makes it hard to breathe. I can’t make sense of that, either. Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “He’s never touched me, you know. Not once.”
“Your father?” Captain Sharpe asks, and his voice sounds nearly as strangled as mine.
I nod, because I can’t seem to speak. Not until I’ve taken a few shaky breaths. “Not even in anger.”
The captain’s jaw tightens. I know by the set of his mouth, even though I cannot see his skin pulled taut under his beard. I can tell he’s having some kind of inner struggle, but that, too, doesn’t make sense.
“Kit—”
“As a child, when I reached for him… he would pull away, like I might burn him, and call for the governess.” There is something hot and wet sliding back into my hair, creating a puddle under my ear on the pillow. “Why would he do that?” I ask in a whisper.
I don’t know why I’m askinghim. I don’t know why my chest aches like I cannot breathe. I don’t know why my throat is so tight and sore. It’s all so unusual, and the way Captain Sharpe is staring at me makes me feel ridiculous and small…
Andseen.
“Go to sleep, Kitten,” he whispers.
I nod, because what else can I do? I roll onto my side and close my eyes, a wet heat dampening my lashes as I do.
I can hear his breath hitch beside me, but if Captain Sharpe says anything after that, I don’t hear it. I do hear the curtain beside my head slide closed, and then… nothing.
Until the cannon fire.
Fourteen
It’s well past noon—I can tell by the position of the sun as I burst through the doors of the captain’s cabin and march out on deck like I own the place. In fact, I think it may be quite late. I’m a little alarmed Captain Sharpe let me sleep for so long.
“How dare you board my vessel? Have you the slightest inkling of who I am?” I demand.
Seven guns seem a tad much to be aimed at one person—especially when that person is me. I appear to have startled the men who boarded us. I stare down the barrels pointed at me in the silence following my outburst, ignoring the itch of Captain Sharpe’s gaze boring into the back of my skull.
They are most definitely French; I can see that now as I stand mere feet from them. French is good—they are less likely to know my father but will still understand the importance of his title. I look from man to man, trying to maintain my air of haughtydisgust and infuse it with a hint of aristocratic rage. Finally, I lock gazes with an officer, turning to him and raising one brow expectantly.
“Eh bien?” I demand. I hope my French isn’t rusty—I want them to be intimidated. “Vous, monsieur! Je suis Christopher-Henry Davenport, fils du vicomte de Falmouth. Vous perturbez mon voyage!”
He seems unmoved by my complaints.
“Is my French not clear enough?” I demand when he doesn’t respond. “You are disrupting my tour! If my father, the viscount, hears how the French navy boarded the vessel he carefully procured, then bullied his only son and heir, he will bring his complaints to the Prince of Wales himself!” I slide my father’s ring off my first finger and hold it out to him as proof of my identity.
This gets some reaction. The guns trained on me slacken, and the men turn their gazes to their officer, who is glaring at me now. I am grateful to past Kit for having the sense to steal this ring off my father’s desk months ago.
“Your French is perfect, Master Davenport.” That’s something no one has ever accused me of before. “You must forgive me…” He steps forward to see the ring, and I take advantage of the pause in his speech to interject.
“MustI?”
I’m sure he winces, but he recovers from it well. He stops a few feet from me and takes my ring. His frown deepens, but when he hands the ring back, all seven guns drop to the men’s sides. “You must forgive me,” he repeats carefully. “We were notmade aware of an official tour. We have only just begun a parley with your captain. You are on the king’s business, then?”
I scoff and slide the ring carefully back onto my finger, because I need time to come up with a response. I hadn’t realized we were in the midst of a parley. I do hope I haven’t muffed it up. Captain Sharpe moves into my periphery, and I take a mere second to glance his way. He’s crossed his arms and is looking like he wants to throttle me and kiss me at the same time.
“I’m on no one’s business but my own,” I say with a sneer. “I am nobility, not an errand boy. This tour was meant to be my last hurrah after Eton, before settling into married life. Surely you are familiar with the concept of a tour? Or can your nobility not afford such standard luxuries? Perhaps young Frenchmen must settle for a measly prenuptial feast at home?”
The officer is offended now. I can tell by the way his brow twitches and his fist clenches. He wants to punch me. Good. I’d prefer to annoy him into letting us alone, as this half-baked “plan” of mine certainly doesn’t hold any water.
“Shall I fetch my papers as well?” I ask, turning back towards the captain’s cabin to remind him of where I emerged. Whyelsewould I be sleeping in the captain’s cabin, were I not the person in charge on this ship?
Why else, indeed.
