out on deck. At least they would dry quickly in the warm breeze. All except her bindings, which she could not risk revealing to any other eyes. They dripped alone, a saddened state in the corner.
Georgiana looked down at her newly donned shirt and took a sharp intake of air. It would not do, it just would not do at all. Pulling on the waistcoat and jacket she inspected herself further. The problem still manifested itself in a rather obvious way. She would have to wait some time before facing the crew of the Pallas once more.
There was a tap at the door.
‘George.’ Nathaniel’s voice sounded through the wooden panels.
She did not answer.
The handle shifted beneath Nathaniel’s hand, but the door stuck fast. ‘George,’ he persevered. ‘I shouldn’t have laughed at you. It was an unfortunate accident. You’re not hurt, are you?’
‘No. I’m quite recovered from the incident, sir.’
‘Open the door, I wish to speak with you.’ His voice sounded a little impatient.
Georgiana’s gaze scanned the empty cabin. ‘I cannot.’
‘Why not?’ She could hear his perplexity.
She paused, thinking quickly. ‘I…I’m not suitably dressed.’
‘Well, put some clothes on and be quick about it.’ Nathaniel Hawke could be a persistent man when it suited him.
A pool of water was collecting on the floor beneath the bindings. It would be some hours before they would be dry enough to wear again. Neither Captain Hawke, nor any other member of the crew, would believe that it took that length of time to bathe and dress. ‘It will take some considerable time, sir.’
‘I’ve letters to write. Come out when you’re ready.’ He listened for her reply, as his boots echoed across the wooden floor to his desk.
There was nothing else for it. She would have to tell him the truth. ‘Captain Hawke, are you still there?’
‘Yes.’
She pictured him sitting serenely at his desk, quill in hand, a sheet of paper in readiness before him. ‘Are you quite alone, sir?’
She felt his gaze shift from the paper to the door. ‘Yes. Is something the matter, George?’
A small silence.
‘Yes, sir.’
The boots had risen and were making their way back over to the other side of the doorway. ‘George?’
More silence.
Then, ‘I cannot leave the cabin until tomorrow, sir.’
‘Why ever not?’
She chewed on her lip. ‘It’s rather difficult to explain, sir.’
Nathaniel’s apprehension was mounting by the minute. The girl must have hurt more than her pride. Worry pulled at his brow. ‘Open this door at once, George.’
‘I cannot.’
‘If you don’t, I’ll take the whole damn wall down.’ What the hell had happened to make her afraid to open the door? Had Pensenby accosted her? Nathaniel felt suddenly apprehensive at the thought. ‘George!’ The door handle rattled uselessly in his fingers. He contemplated dismantling the flimsy structure—it was, after all, designed to be removed into storage during battle situations.
Georgiana leapt up off the bed and placed her hands against the door. ‘Please do not, sir. I beg of you.’
The girl was clearly distraught. He forced his voice to sound calm, reassuring. ‘I cannot help you if you won’t speak to me. Just open the door.’ And all the while the knot of worry within his stomach expanded.
Silence.
She sighed. It was no use, her rebuttals and half-explanations were just making things worse. For all his efforts, she could hear the unease in his voice. Slowly she removed the chair and opened the door.
‘Georgiana,’ Nathaniel uttered with relief and stepped through the portal. Nothing seemed to be amiss. She appeared fully dressed and uninjured. He grasped her shoulders and scanned her face. ‘What’s wrong? Why wouldn’t you open the door?’
He watched the rosy hue rise in her cheeks as she would not meet his gaze. It was quite unlike her normal behaviour. ‘Georgiana,’ he whispered again and pulled her into an embrace. He touched a kiss to the top of her head and soap and seawater tickled his nose. His hand slowed its caress across her back as he looked down into her eyes. ‘Is it Pensenby? Has he questioned you?’
The blush deepened. ‘Oh, no, nothing of that nature.’ She tried to pull away, but his arms only tightened around her. She swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps, it’s not so much of a problem as I’d imagined if it’s not apparent to you.’ Easing herself away from him, she stood back and, despite the mortification she was suffering, held herself open to his perusal. ‘Do you notice no change in my appearance, sir? Please be truthful.’
His brow wrinkled in puzzlement as he scrutinised her hair and face, his gaze dropping to examine her newly donned clothes. Was it his imagination, or had she, was she…? Brown eyes met blue and a dark winged eyebrow raised its enquiry. ‘Take off your jacket.’
‘No, indeed I will not!’ Two pink spots burned brighter upon her cheeks.
At last Nathaniel experienced a glimmer of understanding of his ship’s boy’s strange behaviour. ‘Come now, George, it’s better if I see the full extent of the problem.’
Embarrassing though it was, she supposed him to be right. The jacket was quickly thrown upon the bed. ‘Perhaps it’s not as obvious as I’d thought. If I were to keep my jacket on—’
‘It would not hide the fact that you have a most admirable figure, nephew George, a fact that would not go unnoticed by the entirety of the company.’ He raised appreciative eyes to hers. ‘Yes, I believe I understand your dilemma.’
She snatched the jacket back against her breast. For, once freed of its restraining bindings, Georgiana’s bosom was clearly apparent and in complete defiance of her ship’s boy status. The reappearance of the hitherto forgotten attribute rendered Miss Raithwaite uncomfortably self-conscious. ‘Captain Hawke, if you would kindly refrain from staring,’ she said.
‘I do beg your pardon, nephew George,’ replied Nathaniel, executing a small bow in her direction. ‘But the view is uncommonly good.’
‘Nathaniel Hawke!’
A broad smile spread across Nathaniel’s face. ‘Forgive me, George. It’s quite clear you must remain cabin bound until your, um, bindings are wearable once more.’
‘That,’ said Georgiana with some exasperation, ‘is what I’ve being trying to tell you.’
‘I’ll inform Mr Fraser that you’re assisting me with my letter writing and we’re not to be disturbed.’
A shiver
