Read Online The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) by Danelle Harmon - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Danelle Harmon
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tars in their hats, neckerchiefs and red waistcoats, the officers in blue and white. “Looks remarkably similar to ours. Do you copy our English uniforms as well as our songs and the colors in our flag?”
Ruaidri moved toward her, offering both his elbow and most blinding smile. “I was hopin’ ye’d say we wear it better, but tha’ ’twould be stretching me expectations, eh?”
“I am delighted, Captain, that you do. Think , that is. Because so far I have seen little evidence of that claim.”
He grinned, because he was indeed thinking. Thinking of how soft and silky her skin looked and how he ached to run the back of his knuckles along the little hollow beneath her cheekbone. Thinking of what it would be like to push his fingers up through her hair and claim that disdainful mouth in a kiss. Thinking of how her lips would—
“I cannot eat that gruel,” she said.
“What’s wrong with it? Find a weevil?”
“The spoon is dirty.”
At this, young Cranton, standing several feet away near the helmsman, let out a guffaw.
“Quiet,” Ruaidri said, unwilling to let the lady suffer humiliation at the hands of his crew. Again, they were turning to stare at her, some of them grinning like love-struck schoolboys. “Get back to work, all of ye. And the first one of you slackers who casts more than a fleetin’ glance at our guest goes without his grog tonight.”
A few elbow-jabs to ribs, one or two veiled smirks, but the men did what they were told.
He turned back to his hostage, one brow raised in amusement. “So here you are again. Can’t get enough of me, eh?”
“Do you know, Captain, I think you take a great and perverse delight in irritating me.”
“Aye, I might indeed.”
“And so, because I have an equal desire to irritate you, I am not going to respond to your baiting.”
“’Tis a pity, that. I rather like it when ye’re irritated. The way yer eyes flash. The way yer mouth makes a tight line and the roses bloom in yer cheeks.”
“All the more reason not to let your odious presence affect me.”
“You accuse me of not thinkin’, Lady Nerissa. But I can’t help it. Thinkin’, that is. Thinkin’ that if ye found me so objectionable, ye’d have stayed in the cabin and not sought me out here on deck, eh?”
“Yes, well, I am bored.”
“’Tis a pity, that. I have no balls, soirees, fancy dinners or silken sheets to offer ye. Ye’ll have to make do until ye get back to yer fancy lifestyle.”
“And how am I supposed to ‘make do’? I have no maid. I have no change of clothing. I am a prisoner.”
“Life’s what ye make of it. Ever been on a ship before, Sunshine?”
She snorted in contempt. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“What reason would I have to be on a ship? I live out in the country. I do not go anywhere, except to London once in a while or for the Season. I have no need to go anywhere.”
“That’s yer life?”
“It is a very good life,” she said defensively.
“Ah, well, then. I can see why ye’re bored, I can.”
She did not deign to answer him, merely turning away to gaze with unwilling curiosity at her surroundings. Her nose was small and pert, her skin as white as milk, and her blue eyes were fringed with long, pale lashes and down-turned at the outer corners. A proper English rose, she was, ripe for the plucking but guarded by the thorns of class, culture and breeding. He wished he had a hat for her—five minutes of the sun, when it came out, would burn her like toast. So caught up was he in simply gazing at the perfection of her profile, wondering where he could find one, that it was a moment before he realized she had spoken.
“I said, Captain O’ Devir, what does that sail do?”
She was standing there, her head tilted back as she looked up at the huge mainsail and the topsail above it, a bulging rectangle against the clouds.
“What all sails do, Lady Nerissa. Powers the ship. That one just happens to be the biggest
Ruaidri moved toward her, offering both his elbow and most blinding smile. “I was hopin’ ye’d say we wear it better, but tha’ ’twould be stretching me expectations, eh?”
“I am delighted, Captain, that you do. Think , that is. Because so far I have seen little evidence of that claim.”
He grinned, because he was indeed thinking. Thinking of how soft and silky her skin looked and how he ached to run the back of his knuckles along the little hollow beneath her cheekbone. Thinking of what it would be like to push his fingers up through her hair and claim that disdainful mouth in a kiss. Thinking of how her lips would—
“I cannot eat that gruel,” she said.
“What’s wrong with it? Find a weevil?”
“The spoon is dirty.”
At this, young Cranton, standing several feet away near the helmsman, let out a guffaw.
“Quiet,” Ruaidri said, unwilling to let the lady suffer humiliation at the hands of his crew. Again, they were turning to stare at her, some of them grinning like love-struck schoolboys. “Get back to work, all of ye. And the first one of you slackers who casts more than a fleetin’ glance at our guest goes without his grog tonight.”
A few elbow-jabs to ribs, one or two veiled smirks, but the men did what they were told.
He turned back to his hostage, one brow raised in amusement. “So here you are again. Can’t get enough of me, eh?”
“Do you know, Captain, I think you take a great and perverse delight in irritating me.”
“Aye, I might indeed.”
“And so, because I have an equal desire to irritate you, I am not going to respond to your baiting.”
“’Tis a pity, that. I rather like it when ye’re irritated. The way yer eyes flash. The way yer mouth makes a tight line and the roses bloom in yer cheeks.”
“All the more reason not to let your odious presence affect me.”
“You accuse me of not thinkin’, Lady Nerissa. But I can’t help it. Thinkin’, that is. Thinkin’ that if ye found me so objectionable, ye’d have stayed in the cabin and not sought me out here on deck, eh?”
“Yes, well, I am bored.”
“’Tis a pity, that. I have no balls, soirees, fancy dinners or silken sheets to offer ye. Ye’ll have to make do until ye get back to yer fancy lifestyle.”
“And how am I supposed to ‘make do’? I have no maid. I have no change of clothing. I am a prisoner.”
“Life’s what ye make of it. Ever been on a ship before, Sunshine?”
She snorted in contempt. “Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“What reason would I have to be on a ship? I live out in the country. I do not go anywhere, except to London once in a while or for the Season. I have no need to go anywhere.”
“That’s yer life?”
“It is a very good life,” she said defensively.
“Ah, well, then. I can see why ye’re bored, I can.”
She did not deign to answer him, merely turning away to gaze with unwilling curiosity at her surroundings. Her nose was small and pert, her skin as white as milk, and her blue eyes were fringed with long, pale lashes and down-turned at the outer corners. A proper English rose, she was, ripe for the plucking but guarded by the thorns of class, culture and breeding. He wished he had a hat for her—five minutes of the sun, when it came out, would burn her like toast. So caught up was he in simply gazing at the perfection of her profile, wondering where he could find one, that it was a moment before he realized she had spoken.
“I said, Captain O’ Devir, what does that sail do?”
She was standing there, her head tilted back as she looked up at the huge mainsail and the topsail above it, a bulging rectangle against the clouds.
“What all sails do, Lady Nerissa. Powers the ship. That one just happens to be the biggest
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