How to Be a Proper Lady

“Aye aye, Cap’n.” He leaped to the stair. Viola stared blankly at the floor of her ship covered with another man’s property, and for the first time in her life felt trapped upon the sea.

“Cap’n Jin?” Little Billy slopped a ladle of a runny stew into a bowl and proffered it. “I been thinking.”

Jin settled with the bowl at the tiny table at the edge of the mess. The cabin that passed for a kitchen wasn’t five feet square, but it was one place he had never seen Viola Carlyle on her ship.

He needn’t make an effort to avoid her; she was seeing to that well enough. For four days she had passed every order to him through her sailors. His revelation had made an impression on her. Now he only needed time to determine how to make that impression serve him. And to control his temper. Her foolish defiance still burned as though she had insulted him personally. He must dampen that anger before approaching her again.

He lifted a spoonful of stew. “Thinking about what, Bill?”

“ ’Bout them rebel Scots we chased in the North Sea. And that boy we brung home afore that, from Spain.”

Jin swallowed the flavorless goo and took another bite. Best to get it over with swiftly, as he should be dealing with Miss Viola Carlyle. But he had not counted on her outright refusal.

He should have. He realized that now.

“Have you?” he murmured.

“That’s right, sir.” Billy dropped a whole unpeeled potato into the pot and stirred. “Didn’t see a lick of swag from them, though the gover’ment paid us all nice like. But I been wondering what we done them missions for.”

For justice. To help those in desperate straits. To serve the crown. In service to the Falcon Club.

Nearly two years ago he had set aside the work of that exclusive club and set out to find a missing person whose family had long since presumed her dead. All but her sister. But Serena Savege did not know of his mission, nor did Alex. He had not told them.

“We did those missions because His Majesty asked it of us, Bill.” The partial truth was better than none. Perhaps he should have given Viola Carlyle only the partial truth. Perhaps he still had leeway to invent another story, one that would convince her of the wisdom of his intention.

No. He had spent far too many years of his life embedded in lies. He would not begin that again now, especially not with a lady, no matter how hardheaded.

He swallowed the remainder of his stew and set the bowl on the counter.

“Enjoy the grub, sir?”

“No. But you are doing a fine job of pretending to cook.” He patted him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Bill.”

The lad’s face broke into a toothy grin. “Welcome to it, Cap’n.”

“Billy.”

“Welcome to it, Master Jin.” The lad winked.

Jin scanned the cannons and nodded to the sailors on the gun deck, then climbed the sagging companionway to the main deck. Atop, he halted. Beneath sails filled to capacity, Viola Carlyle sat at the forecastle surrounded by sailors and backed by a vibrantly blue sky and foam-tipped sea. Before her, a quartet of men stood in a perfect line, singing.

In the middle of the day. Flying at ten knots on a following sea.

Singing.

To her.

The song was unremarkable, a well-used chantey, though this time in impressive harmony. She obviously approved. She had pushed her hat back on her brow, revealing most of her face. She smiled, resting her gaze upon each singer in turn with appreciation, sun sparkling in her dark eyes.

For a moment, Jin could not move, restive heat tugging at him. In four days of barely glimpsing her he had simply not allowed himself to think about how pretty she was.

Clearly her men were thinking about it now. The gaze of each singer, and that of every other sailor sitting about her, was pinned to her. Nearly forty men sat rapt by their captain as the ship cut across low swells, bobbing forcefully yet nevertheless speeding on, apparently manned by ghosts.

The song came to an end, she lifted her hands to clap, and the sweetest, richest laughter came to him upon the wind. Beautiful laughter, full of fresh delight and incautious pleasure. Sailors stomped their approval on the boards. But Jin could hear only her.

Then her gaze shifted aft and came to him, and all sign of her enjoyment died.

Jin’s lungs tightened, his breaths thin. Even scowling, she enticed. She allured as she threw out spikes and he wanted to take her down beneath him and strip the displeasure from her eyes and replace it with eager compliance.

Which he could not do. Not in the manner he wished.

She broke the gaze. He strode forward, the dispersing sailors making way for him. The singers clouted each other on the backs, offering congratulations and looking smug. With sweet smiles and dulcet tones she doled out praise and thanks, rousing blushes on swarthy cheeks. As they passed Jin, he set them to tasks they should have already been doing, and continued toward their captain.

“Jonah, do you recall that little problem I mentioned last night that requires tending?” she said as he neared. The sailor before her pulled off his cap like a lackey addressing a lord and nodded eagerly.

“Sure do, Cap’n mum. The head’s needin’ unstopperin’.”

“Yes.” She offered a sympathetic tilt of her lips. “Things are bound to get uncomfortable if we leave it plugged up for long, aren’t they?”

“Yes, mum! I’ll set right to it in a jiffy.” His head bobbed on his skinny neck and he scampered away.

Jin stared at his back for a moment, then turned to the woman who sent a man off to clean the refuse hole with a happy grin. He gestured toward the forecastle.

“What was that about?”

Her brow lowered and she pushed her hat lower on it. “Good day to you too,” she muttered. “What’s got your goat? Or perhaps you’re always this ill-tempered.”

“Ill-tempered? This from a woman who insults me every occasion she can manage, then avoids me on all others?”

“I am not ill-tempered.” Her gaze flickered. “At least I wasn’t before you stepped on deck.”

“What were those men doing? The wind is full in the sails. They ought to have been at the sheets holding her to a steady course, not singing like fools for your pleasure.”

“The ship is running perfectly well,” she snapped. “As you can see.”

“And if the wind had changed abruptly, we would be capsized by now.”

“But it didn’t change and we are afloat,” Viola snapped. He was correct. But for a moment enjoying the simple company of her men and a relief from her too constant thoughts of this man, she’d been perfectly happy. And thoroughly irresponsible. “Are you questioning my knowledge of my ship?”

“Only your handling of its crew. What sort of captain countenances a concert at full sail on a following sea?”

“A captain who knows much more about her sailors than apparently you do. No surprise.” She moved to go around him and he stepped into her path. “Get out of my way, Seton, or I’ll take the butt of my pistol to your head.”

His voice lowered. “Do not threaten a man with beating who knows well how to give as good as he has gotten, Miss Carlyle.”

Something had changed, and for the first time since this man with a reputation for unbridled violence had come aboard her ship, she was frightened. Not by threat of violence to her. She didn’t believe he would harm her, not when he was calling her Miss Carlyle and intending to carry her back to her brother-in-law the earl in England. But the acute clarity had disappeared from his eyes, replaced by something quite different. Something heated and unsteady. On any other man she would think it uncertainty. Perhaps even confusion. On Jinan Seton-arrogant as the day was bright-it alarmed her.

Her hands went damp and cold, her belly contrarily hot.

She tried to shake it off. “If you call me that aboard my ship one more time, I will have you thrown over.”

“If you continue to sail this ship as you are doing, we are all likely to take a swim together.”