Page 66 of Cocky August Rake

She truly did.

But as he spoke of seams and spars and copper sheathing, her gaze drifted upward to the masts. To the sky beyond.

What would it be like, she wondered, to stand aboard when the ship was not pinned and stranded like this, but… moving? To watch London disappear. To sail toward places she had only ever heard named by men who wanted to sound impressive.

Foreign lands.

Open water.

No careful little rooms. No appointment books. No familiar corridors where she knew every sound and shadow.

A shiver moved through her and she wasn’t sure if it was excitement or fear.

Reginald looked down at her. “I’m boring you.”

“No.” Rose withdrew her hand at last, surprised that he’d still been holding it. “Only… imagining what it’s like to be a passenger.”

There was an unusual light in his eyes, but before he could answer, a voice called from near the gangway.

“Reg!”

Sam Dyer approached with his hat pushed back and his sleeves rolled to the forearms. He moved easily along the dock, utterly unphased by the noise and confusion.

When his gaze landed on Rose, recognition sparked at once.

“Miss Darling.” He dipped his head, not quite a bow, though there was respect in it. “Didn’t expect to see you down this way.”

“That makes two of us, Mr. Dyer,” she said.

“‘Tis my lucky day then.” His grin flashed. “I’ve been meaning to thank you. Your house has been right hospitable to the men.”

Reginald went still beside her and his first mate either didn’t notice or was pretending not to.

“Huxley says they’re mindin’ themselves right well enough,” he went on. “Could be the rules. Could be Boris standing about with those ham fists of his. Either way, fewer brawls. Less trouble so I’ll not complain.”

Rose felt a small, unexpected pleasure.

“I am glad they’ve been made to feel comfortable.”

“Oh, comfortable is one word for it.” Sam’s eyes danced.

“Enough, Sam,” Reginald said.

Sam looked at him, then back at Rose, his grin deepening.

“Aye. Enough.” He gestured toward the ship. “Yardmaster’s waiting on you. Says he needs you to sign off before removing the next section.”

Reginald’s attention sharpened at once, and the irritation vanished.

“Show me,” he said.

Sam led the way, and Reginald followed, his stride lengthening as they crossed the yard.

Rose just managed to keep up.

She watched as Reginald examined the opened bow. He listened to the yardmaster, asked questions she did not understand, then crouched to run his hand along a damaged plank. His fingers came away dark with old tar and dust.

No one called him ‘my lord’. But they hovered about him, respectful and attentive all the same, waiting on his decision.