Read Online The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) by Ava Morgan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ava Morgan
Tags: Book One, Curiosity Chronicles
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do so.”
“She’s within her accommodations. My crewmen are to not disturb her. The same applies to you.”
“With all due respect, Lady Dimosthenis and I are subjects of Aspasia, not New Britannia.” Nikolaos’ mouth remained locked in a tight smile.
“You are passengers on my ship. You will abide by my rules. Is that clear?”
“Very well, Ambassador.”
“Captain will suffice.”
Nikolaos glided down the steps and waited at the base. “My quarters, if you would, Captain.”
Rhys glared at him. It was going to be a long voyage.
Chapter 8
After depositing her small toiletry case on the bedside table, along with a pistol given to her by her father, Lydia assessed her new surroundings. There was no mistaking this was Rhys’ cabin.
His effects were arranged neatly around the efficiently furnished room. On the polished surface of the mahogany desk, a heavy brass compass served as a paperweight to stationery engraved with Rhys’ initials and ambassadorial title.
She proceeded to a narrow door nestled in the corner of the back wall. She opened it to find a water closet with facilities, a sink, and a curious glass cabinet with a copper nozzle protruding from the wall.
Lydia turned a knob. Cold water shot out of the nozzle. She drenched her sleeve as she turned the knob back into its original position. The water flow ceased. That which had fallen swirled on the tiled floor of the cabinet before going down a drain.
Marvelous. Indoor plumbing on a ship. Only the wealthier homes in Aspasia contained such.
Lydia blotted her sleeve with a towel before leaving the water closet. A knock at the cabin door shook her from her musings. “Your ladyship.” Malcolm’s gruff voice sounded from the other side.
He barged in as soon as she unlocked the door. He shook a wooden tea tray. The teapot clattered against a saucer holding two stacked biscuits. “Where do you want this?”
“The desk.” Lydia scurried out of his way before he could run her over in his haste to deposit her breakfast. Tea leaked from the spout to drop on the desk. Muttering an oath, Malcolm used the hem of his shirt to wipe the surface dry.
“I’ll come back tonight with supper.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clark.”
Her expressed gratitude made him slow his harried movement. “I see you discovered the ship’s water pipes.” Malcolm looked at her wet sleeve. “You’ll be in here for the trip duration. I’ll bring some sails in need of mending to keep you occupied.”
“I…I don’t sew, Mr. Clark.”
“Don’t sew?”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t. I can’t, at least not very well.”
“Women tinkerers.” Malcolm ducked out of the room like a bull, his head and lumbering shoulders leading the rest of his body.
Lydia poured herself a cup of tea. She shuddered as the bitter liquid hit her tongue. If the British were exacting in their tea preparation, then Malcolm was the exception.
Teacup in hand, she circled the small room again, looking at the brass knobs of the desk and bookcase. Though she stifled the urge to nose around in Rhys’ belongings, she couldn’t help remain curious. Rhys was bundled with contradictions, the least of which were his assorted occupations of ambassador, COIC agent, and merchantman. Beneath that charm, there was another aspect of him, something not very refined at all. She saw glimpses of it in his dark eyes when he gazed at her for a little too long and in his touch when he shielded her in the cavern. Now she was traveling on a ship with him. Unless she confined herself to her cabin for the entire duration and refused to go up on deck for fresh air, she’d see him again. And often.
Lydia let another sip of bitter tea wash down her throat. Rhys intrigued her, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
#
Mediterranean Sea, off the coast of Sardinia
“I should have given Lord Abeiron his own space upon the ship,” Rhys remarked to Malcolm on the fourth morning of
“She’s within her accommodations. My crewmen are to not disturb her. The same applies to you.”
“With all due respect, Lady Dimosthenis and I are subjects of Aspasia, not New Britannia.” Nikolaos’ mouth remained locked in a tight smile.
“You are passengers on my ship. You will abide by my rules. Is that clear?”
“Very well, Ambassador.”
“Captain will suffice.”
Nikolaos glided down the steps and waited at the base. “My quarters, if you would, Captain.”
Rhys glared at him. It was going to be a long voyage.
Chapter 8
After depositing her small toiletry case on the bedside table, along with a pistol given to her by her father, Lydia assessed her new surroundings. There was no mistaking this was Rhys’ cabin.
His effects were arranged neatly around the efficiently furnished room. On the polished surface of the mahogany desk, a heavy brass compass served as a paperweight to stationery engraved with Rhys’ initials and ambassadorial title.
She proceeded to a narrow door nestled in the corner of the back wall. She opened it to find a water closet with facilities, a sink, and a curious glass cabinet with a copper nozzle protruding from the wall.
Lydia turned a knob. Cold water shot out of the nozzle. She drenched her sleeve as she turned the knob back into its original position. The water flow ceased. That which had fallen swirled on the tiled floor of the cabinet before going down a drain.
Marvelous. Indoor plumbing on a ship. Only the wealthier homes in Aspasia contained such.
Lydia blotted her sleeve with a towel before leaving the water closet. A knock at the cabin door shook her from her musings. “Your ladyship.” Malcolm’s gruff voice sounded from the other side.
He barged in as soon as she unlocked the door. He shook a wooden tea tray. The teapot clattered against a saucer holding two stacked biscuits. “Where do you want this?”
“The desk.” Lydia scurried out of his way before he could run her over in his haste to deposit her breakfast. Tea leaked from the spout to drop on the desk. Muttering an oath, Malcolm used the hem of his shirt to wipe the surface dry.
“I’ll come back tonight with supper.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clark.”
Her expressed gratitude made him slow his harried movement. “I see you discovered the ship’s water pipes.” Malcolm looked at her wet sleeve. “You’ll be in here for the trip duration. I’ll bring some sails in need of mending to keep you occupied.”
“I…I don’t sew, Mr. Clark.”
“Don’t sew?”
“Well, it’s not that I don’t. I can’t, at least not very well.”
“Women tinkerers.” Malcolm ducked out of the room like a bull, his head and lumbering shoulders leading the rest of his body.
Lydia poured herself a cup of tea. She shuddered as the bitter liquid hit her tongue. If the British were exacting in their tea preparation, then Malcolm was the exception.
Teacup in hand, she circled the small room again, looking at the brass knobs of the desk and bookcase. Though she stifled the urge to nose around in Rhys’ belongings, she couldn’t help remain curious. Rhys was bundled with contradictions, the least of which were his assorted occupations of ambassador, COIC agent, and merchantman. Beneath that charm, there was another aspect of him, something not very refined at all. She saw glimpses of it in his dark eyes when he gazed at her for a little too long and in his touch when he shielded her in the cavern. Now she was traveling on a ship with him. Unless she confined herself to her cabin for the entire duration and refused to go up on deck for fresh air, she’d see him again. And often.
Lydia let another sip of bitter tea wash down her throat. Rhys intrigued her, and she didn’t know what to do about it.
#
Mediterranean Sea, off the coast of Sardinia
“I should have given Lord Abeiron his own space upon the ship,” Rhys remarked to Malcolm on the fourth morning of
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