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Authors: Maria Zannini
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her silks and virtue?
The lady must have been a court favorite and Luísa could only guess at the delicious scandals that swirled around this decadent courtesan with her fine perfumes and delicate silks.
She pressed a whisper of fabric against her bosom and let out a breath as the cool, silky chemise kissed her bare skin. A wicked thought occurred to her. Surely, no one would know if she slipped it on beneath her shirt.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stripped off her shirt and cotton shift and replaced it with this delicate morsel of decadence.
Sinful. No wonder courtesans sold their favors for these lovelies.
Papa would box her ears if he knew.
Her crime committed, she dug to the bottom of the chest where a fine mahogany box lay buried. ‘Twas her favorite treasure of all. Nervous fingers felt for the latch.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and laid the box on her lap, opening the lid carefully. The uppermost item was a lady’s mirror in alabaster so pure, it was almost translucent. Luísa stroked the handle covetously. When she first came aboard the Coral , her trousseau included a very fine mirror, but it had broken many years ago, leaving her only with the shards.
This indulgent prize more than made up for the loss.
There was a matching alabaster bowl filled with fine white powder that smelled like roses. She lifted off the lid and bent her head to take a sniff, then sneezed, sending a cloud of powder drifting all over her and the floor.
“Maggots!” She dusted the powder off her clothes. Papa would have tossed the entire chest overboard if he’d known she bandied with cosmetics. Only tarts and the royal hag, Queen Elizabeth, painted their faces like harlots, he’d say. And then he’d repeat it in three other languages just to make sure she got the message.
Luísa didn’t care. It was pretty and it smelled good. Better than the sunburnt men she toiled with every day.
She picked up the puff and dabbed a little into the bowl of powder. The puff touched her nose ever so lightly and she sneezed again, this time tumbling the remains of the bowl out of her lap and all over the floor.
“Son of a whore!” She slapped a hand to her mouth almost as soon as the words spilled out.
A moment later came a knock at the door. “Everything all right, Captain-ma’am?” It was Black Barbosa, the quartermaster.
Luísa cursed under her breath. All that beautiful powder, lost. “Aye, Tomas. All is well,” she said as calmly as she could, then winced at the travesty of spilt powder.
She scooped up whatever white heaven she could salvage then wiped the rest into the seams of the floor. “Wasted,” she cursed. “Wasted on mice and floorboards.”
Her fingers still white with powder, she wiped the perfumed residue on her face and throat. The silkiness on her fingertips was as slick as new butter. What harm could a little more do? She daubed the powder puff across her chest and down her breasts. Her indulgence complete, she’d have to spend a week in confession to repay all her sins for this day alone.
Luísa pulled out a blue silk gown festooned with ribbons that had come with the chest. How she wished she had a reason to wear such a thing. Perhaps if Daltry had seen her in this, he’d know she was a woman and not just a brigand.
Blasted heretic. Even for an Inglés , the look of him, so feral and stalwart made her weak in the knees. He was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. If a lady’s trousseau wasn’t enough to distract her than all she had left was work.
Luísa hid away her treasure and dressed, concealing any hint of the chemise beneath a stiff bodice, coarse enough to bury the woman inside.
She discussed course corrections with the sailing master, argued over charts, and listened absently as the quartermaster repeated the sounding reading. It took her several minutes before she realized Black Barbosa kept sniffing her.
He had said nothing. Neither did any of the other men who
The lady must have been a court favorite and Luísa could only guess at the delicious scandals that swirled around this decadent courtesan with her fine perfumes and delicate silks.
She pressed a whisper of fabric against her bosom and let out a breath as the cool, silky chemise kissed her bare skin. A wicked thought occurred to her. Surely, no one would know if she slipped it on beneath her shirt.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she stripped off her shirt and cotton shift and replaced it with this delicate morsel of decadence.
Sinful. No wonder courtesans sold their favors for these lovelies.
Papa would box her ears if he knew.
Her crime committed, she dug to the bottom of the chest where a fine mahogany box lay buried. ‘Twas her favorite treasure of all. Nervous fingers felt for the latch.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and laid the box on her lap, opening the lid carefully. The uppermost item was a lady’s mirror in alabaster so pure, it was almost translucent. Luísa stroked the handle covetously. When she first came aboard the Coral , her trousseau included a very fine mirror, but it had broken many years ago, leaving her only with the shards.
This indulgent prize more than made up for the loss.
There was a matching alabaster bowl filled with fine white powder that smelled like roses. She lifted off the lid and bent her head to take a sniff, then sneezed, sending a cloud of powder drifting all over her and the floor.
“Maggots!” She dusted the powder off her clothes. Papa would have tossed the entire chest overboard if he’d known she bandied with cosmetics. Only tarts and the royal hag, Queen Elizabeth, painted their faces like harlots, he’d say. And then he’d repeat it in three other languages just to make sure she got the message.
Luísa didn’t care. It was pretty and it smelled good. Better than the sunburnt men she toiled with every day.
She picked up the puff and dabbed a little into the bowl of powder. The puff touched her nose ever so lightly and she sneezed again, this time tumbling the remains of the bowl out of her lap and all over the floor.
“Son of a whore!” She slapped a hand to her mouth almost as soon as the words spilled out.
A moment later came a knock at the door. “Everything all right, Captain-ma’am?” It was Black Barbosa, the quartermaster.
Luísa cursed under her breath. All that beautiful powder, lost. “Aye, Tomas. All is well,” she said as calmly as she could, then winced at the travesty of spilt powder.
She scooped up whatever white heaven she could salvage then wiped the rest into the seams of the floor. “Wasted,” she cursed. “Wasted on mice and floorboards.”
Her fingers still white with powder, she wiped the perfumed residue on her face and throat. The silkiness on her fingertips was as slick as new butter. What harm could a little more do? She daubed the powder puff across her chest and down her breasts. Her indulgence complete, she’d have to spend a week in confession to repay all her sins for this day alone.
Luísa pulled out a blue silk gown festooned with ribbons that had come with the chest. How she wished she had a reason to wear such a thing. Perhaps if Daltry had seen her in this, he’d know she was a woman and not just a brigand.
Blasted heretic. Even for an Inglés , the look of him, so feral and stalwart made her weak in the knees. He was like an itch she couldn’t scratch. If a lady’s trousseau wasn’t enough to distract her than all she had left was work.
Luísa hid away her treasure and dressed, concealing any hint of the chemise beneath a stiff bodice, coarse enough to bury the woman inside.
She discussed course corrections with the sailing master, argued over charts, and listened absently as the quartermaster repeated the sounding reading. It took her several minutes before she realized Black Barbosa kept sniffing her.
He had said nothing. Neither did any of the other men who
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