The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

She raised her chin in defiance. “Even if I had chosen to remain in your arms?”

No qualifying answer came from Rhys. “As you said, we breached protocol. It won’t happen again.”

“Never,” she affirmed. It hurt to hear his declaration, but despite her mixed emotions, she had no choice but to agree. It was the right thing to do, even if it felt wrong. She bit down on her lower lip, which was already starting to bruise. “And I don’t say that just because of duty. I can’t embrace a man who abides in secrets.”

“You just did,” he pointed out the obvious with sharp alacrity.

“Don’t jest. You know what I mean. Despite my lapse in letting you hold me and put your lips on mine, I could never allow it to go farther. I may be widowed, but I haven’t divorced my principles.”

“Principles, I understand. But is that what you consider what we shared? A lapse?” His anger brimmed as he latched on to the one word that demoted the emotions they just experienced. Lydia realized then that she used the wrong term, but it was too late. Rhys smoldered.

“In that case, I am even more motivated to find our coordinates speedily. I won’t have you suffer these lapses for much longer.” He closed the door with a quiet but affirmative click.

Lydia locked it after him and stood listening to his receding footsteps in the rain. His words had a right to sting her. She rejected him. Disappointment crept into every fiber of her body. She just saved herself from committing a big mistake. So why did she feel as though something were lost?

#

Rhys forgot his lamp. He left it on the chart table of the navigation room, but decided not to go back for it. Lydia made it very clear that she had no desire for him to come near her again tonight, and never in the fashion that took place.

Cold rain knifed through his shirt as he navigated past the tarp covers lining the quarterdeck. The downpour was ill effective at cooling his anger or the racing fire in his blood that one taste of Lydia’s lips stoked.

He broke nearly all boundaries with her. Everything he preached to the crew about holding fast to the mission fell in the face of one heated moment. No, he couldn’t lie to himself. There were many moments when the sight of Lydia tempted him.

His body still warmed at the remembrance of her feminine softness beneath the damp fabric of her clothes, her arms about his neck, every smooth curve pressed against the length of him. She was shaken by the storm and from being far from home. No matter how capable and quick-witted she was, her intelligent attributes did not conceal her vulnerability. His reaction to that vacillated from wanting to protect her to an even greater, primal urge to comfort her. Not just with assuring words, either.

Rhys shook his head free of the notions, hating that the very drive to do those things would be the same force that would wreak havoc on both of their causes if he had acted upon them. More importantly, there was Lydia’s honor to consider. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that her will prevailed over his. If she wanted him to remain in that navigation room for much longer…

Malcolm cut in on Rhys’ thoughts as he reached the deck. “How fares the lass?”

He wondered if Malcolm or any of the crewmen kept track of his time in the navigation room. If so, they would realize that the duration was a bit longer than it normally took to deliver a tray of food. “Better than any of us.” Rhys kept his reply simple.

“Aye, at least she has a roof over her head.” The bosun swilled rum as he surveyed activity on deck. The crew started to settle for the night, with each man seeking rudimentary shelter from the elements under makeshift tarpaulin awnings and inside the longboats.

Rhys wiped rain off his face. “I’m surprised you ask about her.”

The bosun stiffened his lip. “I asked because that whelp Finley will need the use of the navigation room on the morrow. Where will you put her, then?”

“The cabin will be dry if we can continue to draw water out from the manual pump. Have a crewman switch shifts in the engine room every hour.” He stopped when he heard a smug voice sound nearby.

“I am an Aspasian noble. I will not be forced to sleep out in the rain.”

Rhys peered in the direction where Nikolaos’ voice hailed and saw him arguing with O’Neil. The engineer sat under a makeshift tarp awning and shot back a retort.

“I don’t care who you are. I’ll not give up my tarp. There’s canvas coverings stored in the sail room. Get one and make your own shelter.”

Beard dripping water from the rain, Nikolaos raised his head and took notice of the navigation room on the quarterdeck. “Never mind. I will sleep there for the night.”

Rhys stepped up to him. “That area is off limits to you.”

Nikolaos took stock of him and sneered. “But not to you. Is that why you took your time delivering Lady Dimosthenis her evening rations?”

“If you ever make an insinuation about me and Lady Dimosthenis again, I will tie you to the hull and have you dragged from bow to stern.”

Nikolaos remained insolent. “You’ll have to speak Greek to me, Captain. I’m afraid I’m not well-versed in nautical terms.”

Rhys seized him by the collar and yanked him up and over the side rail of the ship. “Shall we start with ‘man overboard’?”

Nikolaos attempted to gain footing on the rails, but Rhys held him out too far. “You wouldn’t drown me for wanting to sleep out of the rain.”

“No.” Rhys moved closer to the rails, so Nikolaos’ legs danced a jig in mid-air above the rolling ocean. “But I should for you attempting to oust an injured man from his shelter, as well as refusing to lend aid to him and a crewman earlier when they needed your help. Why should my men see to your comfort when you have no regard for their lives?”

The crew formed a semicircle near Rhys and observed as he meted out justice. Rhys gave the Aspasian lord a shake. “Answer the question.”

Nikolaos clawed for a hold on the rails. “There was no time to save anyone but myself and Lydia.”

“You didn’t even bother to help her open the engine room door for Smythe until she begged you.”

“I am on diplomatic business. I am not required to give aid to workers.”

Rhys bared his teeth in disgust at the man’s arrogance. “Let’s see how well your diplomatic immunity can repel sharks.” He let his hold on Nikolaos’ collar slacken.

“No. Pull me up.” Nikolaos’ murmur could barely be heard over the ocean’s rush. “I will not make any more demands of the crew. I will sleep in the rain.”

“You’re a coward. Unfit to scrape barnacles, much less be of use to anyone.” Rhys hauled him up and tossed him on deck like a fish.

He landed sprawling. The crew jeered him as he rose on all fours and peered at Rhys with indignation and the will to preserve what remained of his dignity.

“You want shelter from the rain? I’ll give you one. Finley, Thomas, lock him up in the brig,” Rhys commanded.

The crewmen stepped forward to remove Nikolaos. As they took him below deck, the remaining men returned to their nesting spots for the night.

Malcolm remained where he stood. Something was on his mind.

“What?” Rhys asked.

“Do you think a man of his ilk can withstand a night in the brig?”

“He’ll be in there longer than a night. Noble or not, his behavior won’t be tolerated.”

“You didn’t confine him for insubordination. You sentenced him because you didn’t want him going near the lass.”

Rhys’ anger maintained its high point, even though Nikolaos was well away. “Nikolaos has every intention but the right one when it comes to Lydia. I promised her father that I’d protect her. I mean to stand by my word.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Now his irritation turned on Malcolm. “Are you questioning my orders?”

The bosun parried the accusation. “I just thought to caution you. Best not overcomplicate the mission.”

Rhys hated to admit it, but Malcolm’s logic was sound. He sighed, frustrated with himself and the endless mishaps that struck
The Enlightened
in one day. Now he lashed out at his long-standing friend. “Your advice has been noted.”

“Fair enough.” Malcolm sounded in his normal gruff tone. He went to his pallet. “I’ll see to the morning’s rations in a few hours.”

When Rhys was the only man left walking on deck, he went down below to see how Nikolaos fared in his new accommodations.

His lungs worked harder as the air thickened in the ship’s lower depths. The space would be unbearably hot and stuffy with the smells of mildew and rotting bilge by noonday tomorrow. He didn’t care to pay Nikolaos a visit for too long.

Rhys entered the brig. Nikolaos’ neck drooped as Finley and Thomas finished securing him behind the bars of a small holding cell that hung suspended from the rafters by heavy chains. Barely big enough to stand upright in, it hovered several inches from the ground.

“I’ll speak to him,” Rhys said.

The crewmen made no complaints of taking their leave early. The water’s motion was felt in every part of the ship, but the brig was the worst. Even the most hardy of salty dogs had been known to lose the contents of his supper after watching the ribs of the ship lurch to and fro.

Rhys stepped lightly along the crisscross wooden framework that made up the base of the ship.

“How long do you intend to keep me in here?” Nikolaos asked.

“Until we reach New Britannia. You’d better hope Finley can set our course soon.”

Nikolaos spat in the brown sludge water that covered his ankles. “Wait until Sabba hears of what you have done.”

“Before or after he learns that you took advantage of my hospitality? That constitutes a breach of agreement.”

“Was taking liberties with the king’s niece also a violation?”

Rhys planted his feet as the ship swayed. “You don’t know what you speak of.”

Nikolaos’ dark eyes probed him. “Lydia has been a longsuffering widow. Who knows what sweet whisperings and careful ministrations you may have used to make her comply with you?”

A low growl issued from Rhys’ throat. “Hold your tongue if you wish to keep it.”

“You have a temper. I will give you that. That volatile nature may have Lydia momentarily fascinated, but it will not last. Did she tell you of Galen?”

“What of her late husband?”

“When the young Lord Dimosthenis perished at sea, she took what remained of herself and threw it into her work.”

No wonder Lydia feared the ocean. Many of her actions made sense to Rhys now. His heart stirred with affection and equal parts sympathy for her. “In that case, it seems your efforts to make her your wife were doomed to fail, Nikolaos.”

“Mock me as you wish. This journey is not over yet. But why are you here, Captain? Judging by your impassioned responses to my words, it is obvious Lydia has done something to send you across this ship of fools looking for answers concerning her.” Nikolaos laughed. “I thought you looked perturbed this evening.”

“Don’t let those iron bars give you a false sense of security. They only prevent you from escaping. And on a ship, you only have so far to go.”

Rhys locked the door to the brig behind him. He walked alone through the two lower decks, the scarce wall lanterns casting dark shadows upon the floor. All the while, he thought of what Nikolaos said about Lydia, her husband’s death, and the fierce way she kept everything about herself so carefully guarded. It burned him that Nikolaos knew such intimate details, and incensed him even more that the man had no reservations about using them for his own purposes.

Rhys made it to the second level and entered his cabin, stepping past Lydia’s trunk to reach the bookcase. He pulled out the COIC mission papers and shoved the documents in his pocket, wondering what went through Lydia’s mind as she learned about the authorities granted him by the Crown. Espionage and battling pirates were hardly the tasks of a typical diplomat. Now what was he supposed to do, just when he managed to build a working trust with her? When he reached topside, Rhys stole a glance at the navigation room. No light shone through the crack at the bottom of the door. Lydia must have gone to bed.

He made his own pallet between the quarterdeck and longboats. The rain finally stopped. He lay awake, soaking in the damp chill of the night air and watching the sky, searching for a hint of true north. The expanse was muted and devoid of stars.

Rhys closed his eyes, letting go of any hope of finding clear direction for the ship or his association with Lydia. Tonight was truly a night for the lost.

Lydia woke up the next morning with a stiff back and sore neck from sleeping on the floor of the navigation room. She brought a hand to her mouth, where her lips remained tender from Rhys’ kiss. She thought of him for a long time last night before sleep finally overcame her.

Lydia didn’t know what made her more unsettled, the way Rhys so easily took command of her emotions and body, or the fact that she could not experience that closeness again with him so long as he remained secretive.

She turned on her side, drawing the blanket around her shoulders. Daylight grew stronger, coloring the navigation room in dusty grays and blues. Finley would soon be in to check the instruments. She needed to be up and out of his way.

Lydia went outside and found the cask of water Rhys left by the door. She retreated into the room to wash and dress. Finley arrived just as she carted her belongings outside. He barely made eye contact with her before he shut himself inside the room.

Lydia saw the sun peeking behind a filmy veil of clouds. At least there would be little chance of storms today.

“There you are.”

She stopped contemplating the heavens and stared at Malcolm as he lumbered around the fallen mast, dragging bolts of white cloth behind him. “Good morning. Are you making more repairs?”

He heaved the cloth bolts her way. They rolled to a stop at her feet. “I’m giving you a sewing lesson. We’ll start by mending these sails.” He tossed a small leather pouch onto the cloth.

Lydia opened it to find needles and a spool of thread. “I don’t know about this.”