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“Ahhheeee,” Beryl shrieked, pulling hard to get away.
To her surprise, he let her go so quickly she went crashing to the cabin wall.
Instantly, he stood up. “Are you injured?”
She shook her head. She’d simply had the wind knocked out of her and been given another fright to pile upon all the other frights she’d experienced, that was all. She was starting to hate traveling. More than once, she wished she were back in England with her mother and five younger brothers and sisters. Even if she left for home tomorrow, it would be months before she reached London.
“Where do you think you’re going?” the captain asked.
Shrugging, she told him the first thought in her head, “To find a privy.”
His eyebrows shot up, dark brows on a tanned face, under very dark hair, which was too long for civilized company. She would have said it was black if they were in England. But here, amongst the Chinese with their shiny ebony hair, she would say the captain’s was the deepest, richest brown.
His eyes were also extremely dark, but they were not unkind. Moreover, he spoke her language, so pirate or not, she ought to count herself better off than she’d been the day before.
“Immediately,” she added, feeling her cheeks heat up.
His eyes widened. Perhaps it was the first time a woman had uttered those words on board his ship.
“Of course,” he said. Then he gestured to a narrow door she hadn’t noticed. “Luckily, I have my own. It’s rather rudimentary, but my crew use a hole next to the bowsprit, so...”
If she took his meaning correctly, she had better not complain, or she would be on deck looking for the mysterious bowsprit.
“I’ll leave you in private,” he offered, which she thought was more than generous. “Just tap on the cabin door when you’re finished, and I’ll come back in.”
“Am I a prisoner, then?”
He took her measure with his dark eyes. “No, Miss Angsley, but you are female and beautiful, and on a ship of men, some of whom haven’t cracked Jenny’s tea cup in a while, if I may be so blunt.”
He could be blunt because it took her a long moment to understand it was a fancy way of saying ... oh! She understood it was nothing to do with drinking tea or cracking fine porcelain.
Her cheeks grew hotter. Moreover, he’d called her beautiful. He wasn’t such a bad pirate after all, despite his uncombed hair and his unshaved cheeks giving him a rakish air.
“It would be best,” he continued, “if you remain in my cabin until we decide what to do with you.”
What to do with her? Beryl wanted to discuss it at once except she could wait not an instant longer. With a curt nod, she hurried to the privy and closed herself in.
A few minutes later, feeling much relieved if a little mortified, she reentered the captain’s cabin. He seemed to be trying to protect her, but she would feel better if she had a weapon of her own.
Glancing around, she noticed his gun on the table but shivered. How would she ever figure out how to use it?
There was also a sword, but she couldn’t imagine running someone through or slicing them. She’d seen both last night on the deck of the junk as her rescuer led her away, and the terrible scenes had replayed in her dreams all night long.
Spying a candlestick, she snatched it up. This was more like it. Made of brass, she could hold it by the long end and give someone a good bashing on the head with the heavy base.
Practicing, Beryl swung it around a few times. Yes, it would work if she could only conceal it somehow.
Giving it another try, she raised the candleholder overhead. As the door opened, she turned.
“What in blue blazes are you doing?” The captain was carrying a tray of food, and she slowly lowered the candlestick, replacing it on the table.
“I was protecting myself.”
His face broke out into a grin, and her breath hitched. He was handsome already, but when he smiled, he was gorgeous.
“Are you a pirate?” she asked without preamble.
“No, Miss Angsley. I am a privateer, meaning I have a letter of marque from the queen herself.”
“Why aren’t you in the Royal Navy?”
He set the tray down next to the candlestick, pushing a large tin out of the way.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but if I were in the Royal Navy, I certainly wouldn’t be a captain, and the pay is not nearly as good.”
He grinned again, showing her his teeth, which she noted looked well cared for.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Yes, very much so.” Before she could inspect the tray, a flash of orange rushed in through the open door, ran around the long cabin, jumped onto the bed before jumping down again, and finally came over to rub against her legs.
“I wondered where you were,” the captain addressed the rather short-legged cat. Then he looked at Beryl. “I wasn’t really wondering at all, just humoring him.”
She nodded. Humoring a cat? Maybe the man was insane from too much saltwater. She’d heard that could be a problem. There was only one other chair at the table besides the one he’d vacated, and as she approached it, the captain pulled it out for her.
A gentleman, she thought. Before she could draw the food toward her, however, the cat sprung onto her lap.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as he looked up at her, his golden-eyed glance locking with her own. What could she do but stroke him from his soft head down along his sturdy body toward his absurdly fluffy tail?
“That’s a first,” the captain muttered.
“What is?” She continued as the animal began to purr loudly.
“Leo is usually a bit standoffish.”
Shrugging, she couldn’t explain it. She had never had a special way with animals, nothing out of the ordinary. Not like her best friend, Eleanor, who positively glowed when surrounded by ducks and sheep, or whatever else she found in nature.
However, gratifying as it was to be honored by the cat, Beryl was famished and, at last, pulled the tray close.
“Not to be rude, but what is that?” She pointed to what looked like a cracker only thicker and grayer.
“That’s there to scare you,” the captain said, and she stared at him.
“Only jesting, Miss Angsley. We have no bread as it spoils too quickly. That’s hardtack, like a dry, tasteless biscuit, only good for dunking in soup or keeping your teeth scraped and cleaned, but it is filling. Under here, however,” and he lifted a cloth from over the other dishes, “this should be more recognizable. Cook’s best porridge and eggs.”
“Eggs? But how—”
“We have hens on board.”
Nodding, with her stomach growling loudly enough to drown out the orange cat’s purr, Beryl couldn’t say another word until she’d eaten. Tucking into the meal, she noticed the captain resume his seat and also take one of the two mugs of tea off the tray.
It was certainly not like the first-rate dining she’d had upon the Royal Navy vessel on which she and her father had sailed from England. It didn’t matter. As she swallowed bite after bite, she started to feel better.
When she’d devoured every last morsel, trying not to drop any onto the cat’s head — and failing — she then reached for the tea.
“Shoo,” the captain said. “Go on, you moggy.” He reached over and gave the cat a shove so he jumped down. Leo paused only long enough to hiss at him before jumping onto the bed, curling up, and going to sleep.
“He doesn’t seem to like you,” she observed.
The captain shrugged. “He’s only mine by default.”
She waited, but he said no more on that matter, so she decided to focus on a more important one.
“Where are we docked?”
“We are anchored, not docked, in the Tunglung channel, specifically in what we call Rocky Bay.”
“Is it terribly dangerous?” she asked, pausing in sipping the tea, which was delicious — naturally, since they were in the heart of the tea-growing Far East.
“Do you mean because of the rocks or the opium smugglers?” the captain asked. Shrugging before she could answer, he added. “The answer is yes either way, but we know where the rocks are, and we can outrun or overpower most smugglers. The candlestick wouldn’t help you in either case.”
“The candlestick is not for what’s surrounding this ship. It’s for what’s on it. I have no idea whether I’ve gone from a bad situation to a worse one.” She got to the point. “If you are not a pirate, I take it I am not a prisoner. Will you set me ashore?”
He paused, which she didn’t think was a good sign.
“That depends. What are you doing in China, or the Great Qing Kingdom as they call it here? And don’t tell me you were trying to force your British religion on these people. They are just fine as Buddhists or Confuscists, or any number of other beliefs. They don’t need—”
“There is no ‘British religion,’ Captain,” Beryl cut in. “In any case, I’m not a missionary. I’m a diplomat’s daughter. Since the Treaty of Nanking, you must be aware the queen sends her representatives back and forth all the time, especially with the Qing emperor always grumbling about the treaty’s terms. I came over on a royal warship, with my father and a handful of other diplomats to soothe things over.”
“You say the word diplomat as if it were magical,” he remarked. “Yet there has been much bloodshed before and after diplomats have done their work.”
She frowned at him. Was he insulting her father? She wasn’t sure.
He sipped his tea, looking thoughtful. “If only people would stop dumping things into harbors — first the Americans with our tea in Boston and then the Qing’s administrator with our opium in the Canton harbor. This tossing away of British goods only brings the might of the crown down upon the perpetrators.”
“I don’t know about Canton, Captain, but the Americans seemed to have done just fine after tossing our tea into the Atlantic waters.”
“True, but if the Chinese had done as well, would you need to arrive in a fully armed British warship?”
“Your point is taken.” Though she knew the warship was for her safety and that of the diplomats on board, she hadn’t thought about why they needed to be kept safe or from whom.
“Shall we go back to the facts I am familiar with? I set foot on dry land a little over two months ago at Stanley — am I close to Stanley?” she asked, interrupting herself.
He shook his head.
“We then went overland to Victoria Town in the north of the Hong Kong Island. Am I close to Victoria?” she asked again.
Once more, he shook his head.
Her father must be frantic. “We’ve spent two months in China. My father met with many Manchu administrators, and we even went together to the mainland to Peking. I saw The Forbidden City from the outside. Have you seen it?” she asked him.
“No. I haven’t seen much beyond the coasts.”
What a shame, she thought, and told him so. “My father went inside the palace to visit with members of the Manchus. It was so beautiful. Recently, we traveled to Nanjing in the Jiangsu province because of the Taiping Rebellion. You’ve heard of it?”
He nodded.
“Our queen thought perhaps a British diplomat could help prevent bloodshed, as you mentioned.”
“You mean Queen Victoria’s advisors want to keep the country stable for the Manchus so Britain doesn’t lose any ground in its opium trade. A civil war could cause a disruption in the selling of opium to the Chinese people.”
Was that what all this was about? For her, it had simply been an opportunity to spend time with her father and buy first-rate silk and perfume, unlike anything her friends had back home. Moreover, she was enjoying her last months of freedom before marriage to her viscount. Rather, she had been enjoying it until she’d been kidnapped.
“Naturally, we went by coastal route to Nanjing, because of the Taiping marching all over the place. It was safer. I believe my father thinks it a lost cause and will take news back to the queen that war is imminent among the Chinese peoples. We’d only just arrived back on Hong Kong Island a few days ago. I barely got to feel the earth stop rolling beneath me when I was plucked off the street in plain sight of the British soldiers, or would’ve been if it hadn’t been black as pitch.”
“Why was it so dark?” he asked.
“Because I had a sack over my head, of course” Wasn’t he listening to her tale of abduction? “Next thing, I knew, I was in some kind of wagon and then on a small boat, I think two men were rowing, and then I was lugged aboard the Chinese junk where you found me. We’re supposed to be going home today, or maybe it was yesterday.”
“You’ve had quite an adventure, Miss Angsley. I’m glad to know your father is close, probably looking for you along with half the Royal Navy. We’ll sail to Stanley Harbor and put you ashore there. I doubt your father has left the area with you missing.”
“That would be most welcome, Captain. I just realized I don’t even know your name.”
“Captain Philip Carruthers, at your service.”
She set her mug down on the table.
“Could it be possible you are related to the Carruthers family who lost a son in a carriage accident? It seems too strange a coincidence if you are.”
She noticed his jaw had gone slack.