His precious collection of books had been rearranged by binding color and then size—nautical and scientific texts mixed in willy-nilly with volumes of Shakespeare and poetry. It’d taken him hours to find one with charts he’d been working on, lodged neatly between Thoreau and Brontë. If she hadn’t boasted once upon a time that her own collection of books in Joor was meticulously arranged by subject and author, he would have thought it a blunder.
No, it had been intentional.
Rhystan supposed they were small acts of rebellion, considering how crudely he’d treated her that first day of discovery. But he hadn’t escaped punishment either. Despite the tomfoolery, desire was a double-edged sword that cared little for its wounded.
Her constant presence wore at him, getting under his skin and driving him mad. Her jasmine scent lingered everywhere. Not a day went by that he didn’t wake with an erection or go to bed without one, and his dreams were chock-full of erotic fantasies, all of which included her.
Not that he would ever admit that.
Once belowdecks, he summoned her to his cabin, intent on making his displeasure known and putting his foot down once and for all. He was the bloody captain, damn it!
“You rang, your lordship,” she said with a jaunty bow.
Rhystan gaped at her appearance. Somewhere in the last day, she’d purloined a pair of loose trousers and a shirt, a patched coat, and a pair of scuffed boots. The overall look was better suited to a cutpurse on the streets of St. Giles than a lady. It was also disturbingly provocative. The woolen fabric of her shortened pants outlined the shapely lines of her legs to indecency, and the coat buttons strained in their moorings over the distracting swell of her bosom. None of her clothing did anything to hide those feminine curves.
“What the bloody hell are you wearing?”
“Clothes?”
The corners of his mouth drew down. “Not suited to a lady.”
“If I have to run around your ship, this is better for mobility than a dress, trust me.” She arched a dark eyebrow with a cheeky look that made him want to bend her over his knee. “Unless of course you plan to throw a ball anytime soon. Then, by all means, I shall rush to be garbed in all my best finery.”
“You are a lady,” he growled, ignoring her sass.
“But as you’ve commanded, I’m your cabin boy.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the motion propping her bosom upward, and adopted a studious expression. Warning bells began going off in Rhystan’s brain. “I’ve been talking to some of the boatswains, you see, and apparently I am expected to perform other duties as well. As cabin boy, that is.”
Rhystan dragged his eyes from her breasts and focused on her eyes.
Mistake. They sparkled with mischief.
“Other duties?” he mumbled, the base of his neck tingling as it always did when he suspected trouble.
“Of the carnal variety. They used a specific word that I’m not familiar with. Bug—”
He choked and nearly fell out of his chair, the urge to commit murder flashing through his mind as he cut her off. “Who exactly have you been talking to?”
She waved an arm. “No one in particular. And I’m certain I couldn’t remember their names.”
Of course she couldn’t. The little scamp was protecting their identities. And for good reason—he’d thrash the lot of them.
“This is not that kind of ship,” he said tightly. “And my carnal needs are well in hand, thank you very much.” Twin flags of color leaped into her cheeks, and Rhystan reminded himself that two could play at this game, despite the heavy, clamoring ache in his groin. “Unless, of course, you were volunteering your services, which is an entirely different proposition.”
Her hands dropped to her sides. “Hardly.”
“Then button those smart lips of yours and do your job.”
“Yes, sir, yes!”
The added tongue-in-cheek salute made his jaw clench. “On that note, I think I will require a bath tomorrow evening. Tell Gideon to have the men use some of the rainwater we collected from the last squall.” The expression on her face was so full of longing that Rhystan nearly cackled. “If you behave, you may have a bath as well.”
She scrunched up her nose as if the thought of sharing his bathwater was beneath her but then shrugged as though her next thought was that beggars couldn’t be choosers. The frown reappeared when she narrowed her eyes at him in sudden suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you being so…generous?”
His smile was slow. “I consider it quite selfish actually. A beautiful woman bathing in my cabin? What’s not to want?”
“You won’t be anywhere in the cabin with me,” she said tartly. “I’ll forego the bath if I have to.”
He grinned, feeling the odds finally beginning to tip in his favor. “Care to make a wager on that? Because trust me, Princess, you’ll be begging for it.”
Six
Sarani itched everywhere. She had grime on her neck, in her armpits, behind her knees, in every imaginable bodily crease. And the more she thought of the proffered bath, the worse the itching became. It wasn’t as though she was dirty. She cleansed herself from top to bottom with a cloth and water from the wash basin every evening, but the thought of actually submerging her body into clean water, even if it was only a hip bath, made her delirious with need.
Damn Rhystan for putting it into her head! Bloody man.
You’ll be begging for it.
The five words became a taunting drumbeat to her pulse. By the time she’d consumed her simple meal of boiled beef, bread, and peas with Asha, she was a mess of want and anger and frustration. All over a sodding bath. One of the simple pleasures she’d taken for granted was now on her top list of coveted things. Not only was her temper holding on by a thread, but her vocabulary had taken on a distinctly unladylike slant. She had the boatswains to thank for that.
At first, they’d tried to curb their language, but when she didn’t gasp in ladylike horror, they’d fallen back to old habits. Now she had a very colorful collection of oaths, some she’d employed more than once in the past day. Under her breath, of course. And usually always directed to one rotten soul in particular.
If that man thought she was going to beg, he was mistaken. Sorely. Completely.
She scratched at her ribs beneath the rough clothing and sighed.
Who are you fooling?
No one, really. She wanted the bath. Badly. Blast it. She would eat humble pie. She would devour it and beg for more. She didn’t even care if Rhystan bathed first. He took meticulous care of his personal hygiene. She would know—she had to empty the used basin water from the small chamber in his quarters and refill it twice daily after his ablutions. Though he was a foul-tempered arse, he didn’t make her empty his chamber pot, thank goodness. He had Tej do that.