The Iron Duke (43 page)

“Yes.”

And too many special projects and assignments might be interpreted as the captain’s favoritism. For any other boy, that might have been something to embrace. Not for an earl’s son who was trying to fit in with the other midshipmen. “I don’t suppose we’ll be able to meet like this often.”

“No. If I was already a lieutenant . . .” With a shrug, he sighed. “I’m not.”

“It’s all right.” She understood.

Perhaps too well.

 

 

In ten days, the Dame and Hunt had made Rhys’s return to
the
Terror
’s decks as difficult as possible without actually destroying the crew or the ship. The navy’s food stores had been sold in the Ivory Market and replaced with rat-infested shit. Though Rhys had almost a full complement of seamen and warrant officers, the master and two of his senior mates had died of bug fever. With no lieutenants, that left no one who could be put in command of the ship during the night watches.

He left the wardroom and started for his cabin, wishing he could kill Hunt all over again. The food, he could replace quickly enough. All but one days’ worth of Yasmeen’s stores would be brought down to the
Terror
, and he’d send her north to the Ivory Market to replenish
Lady Corsair
’s hold and bring back enough for the
Terror
’s return to England.

And Scarsdale would have to take up a few of the watches. He’d trod the quarterdeck often enough to have a feel for it, and he’d know whether they strayed off course. Although the bounder was a damn fine navigator, however, Rhys wouldn’t be able to leave her in Scarsdale’s hands for long. The
Terror
needed more than someone pointing her in the right direction, but someone who knew the individual sails and lines, who understood the roles played by every member of her crew, who anticipated her response to every wave and breeze. To catch
Endeavour
, to carry them home, she had to be steady and strong . . . and Rhys couldn’t give her any less than he asked, though it would mean devoting less time to Mina than he wanted to.

And he hadn’t given the
Terror
as much as Mina almost had.

Christ.
Even a zombie biting into his arm hadn’t matched the horror of watching her slide down that rope, harpoon in hand. And even that had been dwarfed by the sick terror of watching her drop into the water. He’d have traded every man and the ship for her life. He’d have traded his own. But he’d been helpless to make that offer—helpless to do anything but watch her fall.

Decades had passed since he’d felt anything close to helplessness. He didn’t like it any more now than he had then.

Before he reached his cabin, the boy—Andrew—came through the door into the passageway, eyes widening when he saw Rhys. Quickly, he lifted his hat in salute. “Sir.”

“Mr. Wentworth.”

His acknowledgement brought Andrew to a halt, waiting for an order. Rhys looked the boy over—the boy that Mina had risked everything to save. What hold did he have on her? Not just blood. Scarsdale hated his family. Yet something about this boy made her love him enough to jump from an airship. Rhys wanted that from her.

But he also wanted to strangle her for jumping, no matter that she’d saved them all. He
would
strangle her if she ever risked her life for him.

Blast it all.
She’d made him helpless, irrational—and jealous of a boy.

A boy who was growing red and uncomfortable under his stare. Hell, no wonder. The uniforms might be all right farther north and south, but in the tropics they were ridiculous, hot, and constricting.

“This isn’t a navy ship, Mr. Wentworth. No need to salute or wear that uniform.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that we’re a pirate ship, now.”

His earnestness almost startled Rhys into laughter. What tales did these boys pass around? The reality of a pirate ship should have inspired dread, not excitement.

“No. She’s in my fleet, which makes her a merchant ship.”

The boy’s disappointment showed in the same twist of his mouth that Mina made. “Of course, sir.”

Rhys moved on down the passageway. “Don’t stomp on your hat too quickly, Mr. Wentworth. We’ll be back to England in four weeks. If your work and your lessons aren’t up to snuff, I’ll boot you off, and you’ll be looking for another ship in Chatham.”

“Yes, sir!” Andrew called after him. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Go on, then.”

Inside, Mina sat at his desk, arranging wax cylinders. Her hair was loose and dry. Still dripping, her wet coat and trousers had been hung over the front of the wardrobe. She’d changed into a blue frock, her ankles peeking out from beneath the skirt hem, her bare feet tucked neatly beneath the chair.

The image of her falling into the water flared behind his eyes again, her shock and fear as the boot gave way. He wanted to pick her up, hold her close. Afraid of crushing her, he walked to the windows and held on to rigid control, instead.

Outside, the sea was calm. The
Terror
would soon be cutting smoothly through those waters. “We’re about to weigh anchor. Do you want to come above decks to see her underway?”

“Yes. Thank you.” A reply as serene as the sea.

He watched a wavelet break at the crest, boiling over with white. “And you’ll never do anything like that fool stunt again.”

“Shooting a kraken in the eye? No, I can’t imagine that I’ll have reason to.”

He swung round. “No. Don’t risk your life again.”

She met his gaze squarely. “You must imagine that I’m someone else.
I
couldn’t stand by and do nothing while every man on this ship died.”

His jaw tightened. How could he tell her what not to be? She wasn’t part of his crew, to be ordered around. And he hadn’t been there to stop her, to protect her. Short of chaining her down, he had to accept this.

How
could he accept it? When she risked her life, she stole his.

“And despite the zombies,
you
risked coming down to the ship.”

Rhys frowned. “That’s not the same.”

“How?”

“My ship. My responsibility.”

She couldn’t seem to dispute that. But she wasn’t done. “You sink, yet you dove over to catch me.”

“I had a rope.” Though he’d have gone over without one, if necessary.

“So did I, to begin,” she said, and her brows arched up while her mouth curved into a smile, and he was lost. Arguing with her became impossible.

“I lied on the airship,” he told her instead. “It won’t be enough, only having you until we return to England. I won’t tire of shagging you.”

His statement left her frozen, except that her smile fell and her eyes closed and she shook her head. He’d never seen any woman seem so still while offering a denial that moved every visible part of her.

And it rattled him, threatened to tear him loose from his moorings. He wanted to take her, to pin her down. To demand that she stay. But he steadied himself. She
was
in his cabin. She didn’t have to be. They’d found her brother, and now there was nothing Rhys possessed that might hold sway over her. She could have remained aboard
Lady Corsair
. No one would have forced her onto one ship or the other.

But she’d come here, though every man on his ship—six times Yasmeen’s crew—would know that he’d have her in his bed. And four weeks remained for him to convince her to stay there.

So he had time yet. The knowledge gave him some ease. And now his only need was to take away the tension that his declaration had left in her, the fear that had tightened her lips and stiffened her shoulders.

“All right,” he said with the calm that came with lies. “Then I’ll shag you often enough that it won’t be necessary. Shall we go up, then?”

Nodding, Mina stood. Her lips parted. Apparently realizing that nothing lay between the deck and her bare feet, she looked at the toes peeking out from beneath her hem as if she’d never seen them before.

“It won’t matter,” he told her. “Most of the crew goes barefoot. It gives better grip on the decks and the ropes.”

“Oh. Will that be necessary for me?”

Probably not.
“I’ve asked Yasmeen to fetch you new boots from the Ivory Market,” he said.

She replied with a thank-you as she stepped forward, exposing all of her foot but the heel—but he could picture it clearly, tucked beneath the chair, the tough little mound that curved into a delicate arch. He could picture her heels digging into his back, into his ass.

In two long strides, he swept her up. She didn’t seem surprised, perhaps thinking that he was carrying her because of her bare feet or her injured knee, but when he steered toward the bed, she began laughing against his neck.

“Aren’t we weighing anchor?”

“We’ve still a few minutes.” A man starving, he rucked her skirts up to her waist. “Enough time for this.”

Four weeks never would be.

 

 

After the first day and night on the
Terror
, Mina didn’t wonder
that he’d thought a month wouldn’t be enough. On the airship, they’d been able to spend a full day in bed. Here, stealing more than a few minutes during the day was all but impossible. Though the crew changed shifts several times, Rhys stood over them from before dawn until well after midnight. He broke to eat dinner with Mina and Scarsdale, but even then he worked, describing the upcoming stretches of water to the navigator, relaying what the crew needed to accomplish during their shifts, and poring over maps and ledgers.

His dedication was beyond admirable. And perhaps she shouldn’t have judged him so harshly for comparing the management of a dukedom to captaining a ship—one he considered a very big ship. If Rhys put even half the effort into his holdings and his shipping interests, he still worked harder, and his decisions affected more lives than any other peer she knew. Taking his seat in the White Chamber would add another heavy burden.

He’d had to know that. Yet he’d agree to take his seat in order to possess her. And now that he’d had her, he claimed that he’d be done with her in weeks.

Parliament seemed a lot to pay for so little—and if she’d learned one thing about the Iron Duke, it was that he always demanded equal return. So he’d probably lied about letting her go after they reached London.

Mina didn’t even let herself dream of staying with him. Whatever he intended, she only had the
Terror
.

So she spent almost all of her time above decks, standing in the salty spray and the heat, just to be with him. Each night she fell asleep before he came into the cabin, but eagerly turned to him when he arrived, clung to him. And each night he took her, every kiss heated and hungry, each caress seeming to draw out forever, as if he refused to let the day exact its toll before he’d had her. And Mina found herself needing every moment, painfully aware that four weeks simply weren’t enough.

And soon, she only had three.

 

 

Though the day was warm, a downpour forced Mina below
decks. Oppressive gray clouds and the rain battering the boards over her head made the cabin seem smaller, isolated from the sounds of the ship. With some reluctance, she sat at the neglected phonograph. They’d been underway for a few days before Andrew had found the time to fix the recorder, and Mina had spent every spare minute with Rhys.

Both he and Scarsdale had known
of
Sheffield and his dreadnoughts better than they’d known the man, and so they’d had little to offer but impressions—and with
Endeavour
in front of them and Sheffield still weeks away, they’d spent little time discussing him.

Mina had tried to push thoughts of Sheffield away, but had still mentally composed her report to Hale hundreds of times, rephrasing and rewording in hopes of softening the blow of his betrayal.

If she’d listened to Haynes’s cylinders earlier, she wouldn’t have needed to expend all of that effort. In concise reports, the captain detailed his last days aboard the
Terror
.

And then, in a much longer recitation, his last morning.

The downpour had ended by the time Mina made her way back to the quarterdeck. The sky had already cleared to a deep blue, and the clouds formed a faint smudge to the east. The sun gleamed off the wet deck. She looked up at Rhys’s profile rather than squint against the glare.

“The Dame locked Haynes in his cabin before he was taken out in the boat for the demonstration,” she said. “He spent most of it at the phonographic recorder. Sheffield isn’t Black Guard. He’s the man who met Baxter in Port Fallow and told him about the auction.”

Rhys frowned and looked over the bow, his gaze unfocused as if he was reordering his thoughts. “Why in Port Fallow? That’s not Sheffield’s type of port.”

“I suspect that’s why they chose to meet there. Sheffield had Colbert’s invitation but didn’t plan to use it—until he was approached by the Black Guard, who hadn’t received one.”

“They probably heard about the weapon through their Horde resistance contacts,” he said softly. “So they blackmailed Sheffield? How?”

“Haynes didn’t say. What I know of Sheffield, however, I suspect they either threatened Hale or his purse.”

“His purse—His dreadnought contracts with the navy?”

“Yes.”

His gaze sharpened. “Anyone could threaten Hale. But for him to take the other seriously, it would have to be someone that actually
could
threaten those contracts.”

“And if it was someone with power in the Royal Navy, that would give him and Baxter reason to meet in secret.”

“Yes.” He studied her face. “You have more to tell me.”

“Sheffield came to the demonstration.” And although he might not have known that Haynes would die, he’d watched it happen—and hadn’t said a word of it after returning to London. So the Black Guard still had a hold over him. “But he wasn’t alone. Haynes recognized the man with him: Admiral Burnett, of the Gold Coast fleet.”