Halfway to the sky, a sailor named Davie called down, “Aye, lass. If you think ‘tis easy to climb up here, ye be wrong.”
She stared up skeptically. “How hard can it be?”
“What could you know of a man’s job?” called another.
“It looks no harder than climbing trees,” she teased.
“Aye, is that so?” said Davie. “Yer welcome to prove yer skill, lass, anytime.”
Knowing the captain still slept, Christina strode to the ropes with purpose.
“All right, I shall prove it.”
“You canna climb wearing that!” Davie exclaimed.
Christina glanced down at herself, frowning. “Why ever not?”
“It’s not fit fer climbin’. Ye need…er, breeches.”
-78-
The Lady and the Dragon
Christina pondered his stammers. Where would she get breeches? In her cabin. Yes! She’d spied an old pair of Hancock’s lingering in an abandoned trunk. But a shirt…
Besieged with a plan, she ran to her cabin and grabbed the breeches.
Clutching the garment in hand, she tip-toed to the door separating her cabin from the captain’s. As she opened the portal, it creaked. She winced and crept farther into the room.
She discovered that the captain slept naked.
Besides the pile of discarded clothing at the foot of his bed, including yesterday’s breeches and his mask, her gaze roved across the privateer.
She took in the strength of his sculpted back. Broad, bronzed shoulders dominated over half of his wide bed as he lay on his stomach, exposing the beguiling dragon tattoo on his back. Below that, a trim waist tapered to narrow hips…then firm buttocks shades paler than his back. Slightly spread legs gave her a glimpse of the heavy sac between.
His nudity evoked tingling, warm sensations in places her grandmother had never discussed with her. Very like the time the Black Dragon had kissed.
What would the rest of him look like?
Christina knew she should be shocked. Instead, excitement zinged through her. Sneaking these forbidden stares felt deliciously scandalous…but the view was even more appealing. Of course, she didn’t have another man’s backside with which to compare the captain’s, but his enticed her.
The possibility of glimpsing his bare face gripped her next. She could not see his naked profile from where she stood, but if she tip-toed a few paces toward him, maybe she could get a glimpse of the countenance he took such pains to hide from the world.
One step. Then two. Getting close… A board creaked beneath her feet. She stood frozen to see if the sound had awakened him. Nothing.
She drew another step closer, restraining an oath when the floor beneath her creaked again. Christina held her breath as the Black Dragon stirred and rolled to his side, away from her. He grabbed at the blanket riding low on his hips and pulled up. The scintillating view of his buttocks disappeared.
-79-
Shelley Bradley
Fearing he would wake at any second, Christina cursed beneath her breath and tip-toed in retreat.
Blast it all, anyway. Her curiosity about the man’s face and anatomy would go unfulfilled. Why did the autocratic oaf rouse her interest?
Holding in a sigh, she bent and grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor, trying not to stare at the accusing eye of the captain’s dragon tattoo. She could have found a clean shirt, she supposed, but none lay in sight. This one smelled of him, man, salt, sea. Her insides tightened. Part of her wanted to stay with him and simply stare, but she refused to miss out on this new adventure that he, no doubt, would not approve of.
Christina darted for her cabin and threw on her borrowed clothing. The breeches fit well enough, as Hancock was a small man, except for the waist.
She snatched a ribbon off one of her dresses and belted it about her middle.
The captain’s shirt presented another challenge, however. The shirt tails hung to the middle of her thighs. One collar slid down to bare her shoulder.
Knowing there was no help for the shirt’s size, Christina gathered up the loose ends in front of her and tied a knot about her waist. She glanced down at herself with a grin, refusing to contemplate her atrocious breach of fashion.
Focusing on how displeased her grandfather would be if he could see her was much more gratifying.
Humming beneath her breath, she found her way to deck again and spotted Davie, who had returned to solid ground. “Now I’m ready to climb.”
The man’s eyes could have left his head, for all they bugged out of their sockets. “You canna mean to wear that.”
With an annoyed grunt, she picked up the dangling collar from her shoulder again and covered the exposed shoulder of her chemise. “You said I needed breeches. Now I have them.”
“Aye, no mistake. But look around ye, lass. Yer gettin’ more attention than a sea full of the Admiralty’s schooners.”
Christina glanced around to test his assertion. Indeed, all activity about her seemed to have stopped. Their gazes appeared all but sewn to her body. She stiffened her spine.
-80-
The Lady and the Dragon
“Let them stare,” she said coolly and reached for the ropes. “I intend to have fun.”
“But—but…” Davie called.
Christina stepped up on the first rung of what Davie called the ratlines, which led to the rigging. Ascending the first few feet wasn’t too difficult. She focused on the well-worn leather in her hands and maintaining the shifting footing beneath her.
“Don’t go too high, lass,” Davie warned.
“I shall climb to the top,” she assured him, laughing.
He protested with all the vehemence of a scandalized matron. “You canna mean to go to the topgallant. ‘Tis too dangerous.”
She grinned. “This is fun!”
Scrambling up farther, Christina chuckled into the breeze that had steadily turned warmer as they’d sailed south over the past weeks. A fine mist dampened her hair, her skin as the sun breathed golden fire on her face. This was living!
How many other of the ton’s misses could claim such adventure? Not a one.
She laughed as she licked sea spray from her face.
The wind kicked up. Christina ignored the gales that whipped her tresses across her face. More gusts followed, harder ones, tearing away the bow holding her hair at her nape. Suddenly, the ratlines teetered beneath her. As she held on for balance and tried to grip the ropes beneath her with her hands and feet, her heart pumped with wild anxiety. Then, the ropes flipped, forcing her beneath the ratlines. Her feet left the leather, and she found herself dangling like a rag doll in the wind. She looked down and panicked. When had she climbed so high? Only the vise-grip of her hands on the ropes prevented her from crashing to the deck in a heap.
“Hold on, lass!” Davie called, his voice faint in the wind.
A glance down confirmed that the crew on deck all stared up at her like a spectacle from a traveling fair, yet no one climbed up to help her.
The wind stirred again, thrashing her about. Her fingers ached. Her stomach crunched in fear. If she fell…
-81-
Shelley Bradley
Feet flailing, grip slipping, she kicked out, praying she could find some footing on the ropes in front of her again. Her feet caught—and slipped—
through the damp rungs. Sweat beaded on her upper lip and broke out across her back. Her arms ached with a fierce burn. She looked down again. The flat deck stretched beneath her like vengeful stone, as if to remind her she did not belong on board.
Then came the worst vision of alclass="underline" the captain.
Shirtless and scowling, he strode out on deck, casting his masked gaze up in the lines, along with everyone else.
She knew the instant the Black Dragon saw her. He tensed, then pushed the sailor aside.