Kitty watched him descend the ladder from the deck, easing off her work as soon as his luxuriant black mane fell below her line of vision. Scurvy knave! What gave him the right to treat her like this; she, The Hon. Catherine Tremayne, on her hands and knees scrubbing like a scullerymaid. And a scullerymaid with a very sore behind and little to cover it at that. She knelt up, chewing her lip and making plan after plan, all of which ran out of steam the minute a theoretical Captain Prince caught her out in another lie. He could not be lied to. He was impossible. He was...very attractive though. That voice. Her toes curled as she imagined him whispering sweet nothings into the prickling shell of her ear.
But he wouldn't whisper sweet nothings -- he was no gentleman. Disgusting obscenities would probably fall from his lips in his version of courtship. One day...when all this bad business had blown over... she would get her revenge on him. She would see him horsewhipped on the steps of the Bath Pump Rooms. Or somewhere similarly public. She would see him hang! Even better.
A brief hissing sound shook her from her reverie.
She looked around in confusion, readying herself to resume a hardworking stance in case the Captain should be anywhere in the vicinity. But it was Tom, the cabin boy, slouching awkwardly over the rails, his cheeks aflame.
"He's gone down below," said the boy diffidently. "You could take a little break if you wanted."
Kitty sat back on her heels, wincing slightly at the contact they made with her bottom and half-smiled at her accomplice.
"Thanks for the tip," she said. "Tom, isn't it?"
"Aye." He nodded eagerly. "I don't know your name."
"Kitty. Have you been on this ship for long?"
"No, just a few months."
"How old are you?"
"I'm seventeen, the youngest aboard. Unless you...?"
"No, I'm eighteen. Nearly nineteen, as it happens. Though I'll probably spend my birthday locked in some rancid hellhole at the mercy of your villain of a Captain."
"Ssh. You might be heard. He's very hard on you, isn't he?"
"I had noticed." Kitty flushed and looked away, mortified.
"Why is he punishing you?"
"I won't tell him anything about myself. Did you run away to sea?"
"No, I didn't. My father sold me into indentureship with the Captain."
"What? Why would your own father sell you to a pirate?"
Tom shrugged. "Money was scarce. I've got seventeen brothers and sisters."
"Seventeen?"
"One a year."
"Do you like the seafaring life?"
"It's hard. I get...a lot of stick from the crew. The Captain is a hard man, but he does see that I am not roughed up too much. I wish I could go back to dry land. My sea legs aren't the best. I'm contracted until I'm twenty one though."
Kitty gave him a sympathetic look. Four years of this life would be enough to kill a sensitive lad like Tom, she thought. At least she was going to be off this floating crime scene when they next anchored.
"I ought to go," said Tom, glancing furtively around. "I've work to do. I only came here to say that if you ever need a friend...I'm here."
"Thank you, Tom," said Kitty sincerely. He might not be much of an ally, but it meant a lot to her that somebody was on her side. She watched him hop off down the ladder, sighed and picked up her scrubbing brush once more.
*
A soup of dried beans and herbs, mopped up with a heel of very stale bread was Kitty's evening repast. Naked once more opposite the Captain, she ate particularly slowly, chewing every morsel a hundred times in an effort to put off the fateful moment when his inquisition would begin anew. Perhaps if she threw herself at his feet? Perhaps if she offered him money? But she had none. Perhaps if she offered him money in the future? No, he wouldn't fall for that. Perhaps if she kissed him... There was a thought. Would he spare her for a kiss? Her heart began to quicken as the hare-brained scheme took shape. Was it worth a try? Would it lead to even worse trouble? But what could be worse than yet another horribly painful spanking?
"Finished, Kitty?" asked the Captain, who had been silently contemplative all evening, politely.
"I..." She wanted to say no, but there was not a drop of soup nor crumb of bread left. "Yes."
"Shall we?" he drawled urbanely, with a sweeping gesture down to his lap. "I have plans to add a little variety to tonight's proceedings."
Christ, what dark intent did he have now? She shuffled over to his chair and lifted her pleading brown eyes to him. But instead of placing herself over his lap, she perched on one knee and swiftly locked the back of his head with her hands, lunging forward to kiss his lips. She was shaking with fear at what his response might be...but he was pulling her closer...and kissing her back; a long, hungry kiss that pitted his firm lips against her yielding ones, scraping her delicate skin with his whiskers and stimulating a hundred different tingling nerves on her full mouth. She was spinning into the sensation, falling into his rum-soaked breath and his masculine heat, letting it take her away from her sheltered, ladylike identity and towards womanhood. But then she squawked as he nipped hard at her lower lip, pulling back indignantly.
