Page 50 of A Prince Among Pirates
Sharpe ignores me as he opens a drawer to rifle through a stack of papers. I watch him for a moment, trying to work out what he’s looking for if he can’t read. Then I realize he’s ruining the order in which I had those papers, and I hurry around the side of the desk to push his hand out of the drawer.
“You’re messing everything up,” I insist when he gives me a wide-eyed look that could be either shock or just his version of a death stare. I raise my eyebrows back at him in a silent challenge, then reach into the drawer to pull the papers out myself. “What are you looking for?”
“My letter of marque from the last time we were in Port Royal. I’ll need it when we dock.”
I roll my eyes and flip through the papers. “Who signed it?”
Sharpe’s chair gives a low creak as he leans back. “Lewis or Lawes? Whatever that prick’s name is.”
“Not a fan of the governor of Jamaica, I take it?” I ask as I slip the document in question from the pile and set it down on the desk. “Do you know what it says?”
For a moment I think he might take offense to my question. But he picks up the paper and studies it. “I remember the gist of it,” he says. “And no, I’m not a fan of the tyrant of Jamaica.”
I’m not going to touch that one. I put the rest of the papers back into the drawer and ease it shut. “Well, I’m off.”
“Tydes will be down with Cook, discussing provisions.”
“Right,” I say as I snatch up my ledger. I don’t add that I have no intention of finding Mr. Tydes. Every time that man looks at me, he still gets an expression on his face as if something in my vicinity smells rank. It’s hardly conducive to feelings of amity. I turn to leave but stop myself and face Sharpe once more. “I could teach you, you know.”
The tense silence that follows makes me nervous I have overstepped. I bite my lip and am considering simply leaving the cabin when Sharpe finally offers me a strange smile that I cannot read.
“That’s kind of you, Kitten.”
“Is it?” I ask with a grimace.
He chuckles, and the tension melts from my shoulders. “Aye, it is. But I think it’s a bit late to teach this old dog new tricks.”
“Poppycock. I could teach you with the very same novel I’ve been teaching Tristan with.”
At that, he laughs—and warmth swells in my belly. “Thefilthy one that has him staring at you in horror with those big doe eyes?”
“The very one.”
“I may have to take you up on that, then, Kitten,” Sharpe says with a purr.
I give him my best flirtatious smile and narrow my eyes. “Wonderful. I’ll have you reading words like ‘copulation’ and ‘erogenous’ in no time.” With that, I turn to leave his cabin, the sound of Captain Sharpe’s delighted laughter following me out.
Since I would rather dive headfirst into the ocean in my silks than ask Mr. Tydes to chaperone my shopping trip, I instead make my way to the hold, where I assume Tristan and Trevor will be shirking their duties.
I’m pleased to find that my assumption is correct. I grin at them as I step into the hold and lean against a stack of crates. “Does Renard know you’re down here?”
Tristan lifts his head, wrinkling his nose at the question, and I see that they’re playing some dice game they’ve likely tried to teach me. Gambling has never been for me. Not that the risk doesn’t sound like fun—but I’d rather spend my coin on booze and company. And besides, dice is boring.
“No,” Trevor says, sitting back. “Want to play?”
“Not particularly,” I say as I move to sit with them, setting my ledger in my lap. “How about I just give you each a shilling when we get to port and we can say I played?”
Trevor wrinkles up his nose at the offer, but Tristan laughs. “I won’t say no to free coin,” he says. I smile back at him, feeling a little lazy as I lean against a crate full of sugar we filched off a merchant vessel some weeks ago.
“I didn’t think you would.”
Tristan chuckles and rolls the dice, then mutters something under his breath, and it’s Trevor’s turn to laugh. I close my eyes and allow myself to enjoy the sound of the dice dancing on the wooden floor, of Tristan’s and Trevor’s voices as they take turns laughing and insulting each other. When the sounds of their game stop, I open my eyes and look at them both. “Finished already?”
Tristan grins. “Ye fell asleep.”
“Did I?”
“Ye snore,” Trevor says.
