Victoria Janssen - The Duke and the Pirate Queen

“Captain,” Norris said. “I could stow His Grace more safely.”

“Where?” Imena asked. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to betray his hiding place. Very well, Norris. Do it now, then hop back up top as quickly as you can.”

Maxime waited impatiently as someone fussed with the chain and padlock on his door. When the door was flung open, he was startled to see Norris, Imena’s cabin girl. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

“This way,” she said. When he didn’t move, she hesitantly reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Where are we going?”

“I have orders to hurry.”

“Whose? Captain Leung’s? I pay her salary, you know. And that means I also pay yours, Norris.”

She heaved at his arm, but he braced his weight and didn’t budge. He said, “There’s no real rush, is there? Given that she left me here for half the night.”

“Please, Your Grace.” Norris released his wrist.

Maxime didn’t think Imena would blame Norris for his lack of cooperation, but the girl seemed distressed, so he sighed and said, “All right.”

He regretted acquiescing when he saw the narrow deck cubby into which he was expected to squeeze himself. “Is this your cabin?” he asked. Little more than the size of a small wardrobe, the enclosed space held only a hammock and a large trunk. “Have you been smuggling? Does the captain know? Of course she must—”

“Just climb in!” Norris struggled with the weight of the trapdoor as she wrestled it to the side.

“Is there air?”

“Enough. It won’t be long, I promise.” Another test? Was Imena testing his sincerity? He was willing to do a great deal more than pretend to be smuggled goods, if he could have her in the end. He managed to cram himself into the cubby, which smelled sweetly but strongly of the valuable balsam resin that had been stored within. Norris yanked the trapdoor over him and hammered it down with the heels of her hands. Maxime was left in warm, perfumed darkness.

Imena did her best to appear bored as the royal cutter’s first officer examined the papers Arionrhod, the purser, had handed over. Chetri stood at her side, chewing mastic, hands clasped behind his back. He looked casual but was ready, she knew, to draw his knife at a moment’s notice. Several of her crew handled inconsequential tasks within easy distance; she’d been careful to order most of the younger sailors to stay below on the lower cargo deck. At the first sign of trouble, the cutter’s first officer and his boat crew would become hostages. If worse came to worst, she might also claim diplomatic immunity; anything to gain time.

She might also accidentally knock the officer down for looking at her as if he’d like to pay for her services. A knife pressed to his genitals might give him more respect for women.

The officer peeled off the second sheet and returned it to her. Imena slid the page into its case. “As you can see, we’re in the employ of the duke Maxime.”

“You were scheduled to remain in port for another week. Why did you depart early? Without a full cargo?”

He wasn’t looking at her face, but at her bosom, despite its being bound into a bodice and concealed beneath a loose shirt. She was careful to show no hint of emotion as she said, “Personal matters.”

“Personal matters that caused you to recall your crew from shore leave and vanish from the docks in the wee hours of the morning?”

“I wanted to catch the tide,” she said blandly. “Are we finished here?”

“I’m curious as to the nature of these personal matters.” He glanced up at her face now, and smiled. He was a young man with bright teeth, symmetrical features and glossy hair. He wouldn’t be used to being refused.

“You will remain curious, then,” she said. “Chetri, will you escort the officer to his boat? I need to speak with Bonnevie.” She turned toward the wheelhouse.

“Oh, come now,” the officer said, looking annoyed. “You could at least offer me a drink.”

Imena frowned. “That’s not required by law.”

The officer’s back stiffened. “I wasn’t aware you particularly cared for laws, Captain Leung.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” She felt Chetri ease closer to her.

“Everyone knows why His Grace hired you. You’re a pirate.”

Chetri’s blade whistled from its sheath, and he spat the mastic gum at the man’s feet. Imena blocked his arm without breaking the officer’s gaze. She heard movement, then settling, as the sailors realized there would be no fighting. “I was a privateer, in the service of my government.”

“It’s all the same to us. We’ve been keeping an eye on you.”

“Have you.” She pushed on Chetri’s arm until it lowered and he stepped back to sheathe his blade. “Unless you are accusing me of piracy now, you will leave my ship.”

MAXIME HAD NEVER FEARED ENCLOSED SPACES, but as time passed, he felt more and more confined in his narrow cubby. The bottom wasn’t padded, and though he didn’t feel any splinters, it wasn’t comfortable, either. The trapdoor pressed entirely too close to the end of his nose, now numbed to the smell of balsam; his breath returned to him, forcing him to tell himself that he was not suffocating. It only felt as if there was no air. He could feel air: warmish, stale air, flowing across the soles of his feet. He could also feel the trapdoor against his chest if he took too deep a breath. Perhaps he was lucky he wore only trousers; if he’d been wearing his usual layers of clothing, this cubby would be considerably more stifling.

He opened his eyes. That was a little better. There was no light in the cubby, but it made him feel better anyway.

He’d heard quite a lot of noise from above: pounding feet in large numbers, a wooden thumping as of something heavy rocking into Seaflower’s hull, more feet. Then silence, until he heard more steps, closer, and the welcome sounds of someone wrenching open the trapdoor above his head.

As soon as the door was opened, he said, “I’ve had about enough of this game.”

Chetri stared down at him without answering, brown face studiously blank, light playing on his necklaces and array of silver earrings, many more than any courtier would wear. Despite all his adornments, he clearly had no fear of anyone’s branding him a dandy. He extended a hand, layered in calluses, to pull Maxime up.

Maxime was impressed there seemed to be no effort involved, despite the fact that he was considerably larger than Imena’s first mate. He eyed Chetri’s muscular chest, decorated across the pectorals with dense black tattooing. He wondered how much Imena liked looking at such a fine specimen of a man, day in and day out. “How far out to sea have we gone?”

Chetri looked him up and down slowly, without answering. “Come along,” he said. When Maxime didn’t follow, he grabbed his hand and tugged him.

Maxime soon discerned they were returning to his belowdecks cell. He said, “I shouldn’t be away for this long. Much as I’d prefer to stay, I’m expecting a royal envoy any day now.”

“I’ll fetch you out later on,” Chetri said, gently pushing him into his cell with a hand on his back.

Maxime grasped Chetri’s shoulder to stop him from closing the door. Imena would be displeased if Maxime seduced him. At the moment, he was in the mood to cause her displeasure. “You don’t need to lock me in here.”

“I suspect I do have to lock you in here,” Chetri said with a wry twist to his mouth.

Maxime tightened his hand on Chetri’s shoulder, squeezing gently and sensually. “Perhaps we could both be locked in here.”

Chetri turned his head and nipped at Maxime’s fingers. “I don’t trust myself, and I don’t trust you further than I could throw you, Your Grace.”