Read Online The Least Likely Bride by Jane Feather - Free Book Online

the drawings, men were working on the ship, sewing sails, splicing rope, climbing rigging. In some they were playing, dancing, laughing, listening to one of their fellows strumming a lute, his back against the mast. And then there were three or four where naked men stood beneath a pump on the deck, the water glistening on their skins, laughter in their eyes.
    Olivia had spent far too much time among the texts and illustrations of ancient Greece and Rome to be embarrassed by depictions of male nudity. But it seemed to her that this artist had no small talent for anatomy. The human form obviously intrigued him, judging by the number of small sketches of a hand, a foot, an ankle, the turn of a thigh. But the faces too were full of life, depicted in just a few lines, and yet an entire moment was captured in the tilt of a head, the slant of an eye.
    “In general, when my work is not in plain sight, it’s not for anyone’s eyes but mine.”
    Olivia hadn’t heard the door open. She looked up with a gasp, the drawings fluttering to the table, one or two sliding to the floor.
    The master of
Wind Dancer
stood in the cabin doorway, and his expression had lost its habitual amusement. A deep frown corrugated his brow and his eyes were annoyed.
    “I beg your pardon, I didn’t mean to pry,” Olivia said, flushing. “The drawer wasn’t locked or anything.”
    “No, because my people don’t make a habit of invadingmy privacy,” he said curtly. He was carrying two wooden buckets from which steam curled upward.
    He came into the cabin, kicking the door closed behind him, and set the pails down. “You wished to wash your hair, so I’ve brought you hot water.”
    “Thank you.” Olivia pushed her hands through her hair. She was embarrassed at being caught prying and didn’t know how to put it right. “I … I’m truly sorry for looking in your drawers. I … I just had this overpowering urge to find out about you … things about you. It didn’t feel like spying.”
    He regarded her still with an air of displeasure. “You could ask me anything you wish, or did that not occur to you?”
    “You weren’t here.” She shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. “And when I have asked you questions, you haven’t exactly been forthc-coming.”
    “So you simply followed an impulse.”
    Olivia nodded, a puzzled little frown drawing her thick black brows together. “I seem to be doing it rather a lot at the moment, like jumping onto that galleon. I wouldn’t have said I was impulsive. Phoebe’s the impulsive one of the three of us.”
    “Three of you?” He raised an interrogative eyebrow.
    “Phoebe, Portia, and me. We’re all related to one another but in rather roundabout ways. We’re best friends,” she added, reflecting that Anthony couldn’t possibly be interested in the ramifications of their complicated threesome. Simple friendship was easy enough to understand.
    It seemed she was right, because he didn’t press for more detail. He turned to open a cupboard in the bulwark. “So, do you like my drawings?”
    “They’re very accomplished,” Olivia said hesitantly, still embarrassed.
    “And the subjects?” he inquired, turning with an armful of towels. “What do you think of my subject matter?”
    He was definitely mocking her now; there was no disguising the slight sardonic tilt to his mouth, the ironic gleam in his eye.
    “I’ve noticed that anatomy is a frequent favorite with artists and draftsmen,” Olivia said, meeting his gaze, refusing to be put out of countenance. “I’m very familiar with the Renaissance artists, and I don’t expect to see fig leaves, if that’s what you mean.”
    He laughed, and the unpleasantness left his expression. “Of course, scholars are inclined to be less squeamish about naked truths than those who sit at home and sew fine seams.”
    “I c-can’t sew,” Olivia confided.
    “Oddly enough, I didn’t imagine you could.” He set the towels on the table and reached