Despite her best attempts, Cassia found her eyes creeping back over to Nathan. How many men born to the peerage would ever do something so enterprising? When most second-born sons entered the clergy or lived a comfortable, privileged life, Nathan had joined the navy and then created a business of his own. This, when men in the peerage were dissuaded from doing anything considered menial. And her awe and appreciation redoubled.
She caught the look Lieutenant Albion cast over the top of her head and followed his stare.
Nathan had a dark glower fixed on his navigator. He shifted that disapproving glance briefly over to Cassia, and then swung it back to the navigator once more.
“Oh, you needn’t worry,” she assured him. “His bluster is far worse than his bite.”
The big, chestnut-haired fellow with suntanned skin chuckled. “Never let the captain hear you say that, Miss MacKay.”
Miss MacKay?
She puzzled her brow. And then it hit her. They wished to conceal that she was, in fact, a McQuoid.
As it is, your chances of your reputation surviving this mishap are slim indeed.
And yet, strangely, at this moment, with the warmth of the sun kissing her face and the light breeze a balm upon her skin, she could not bring herself to muster sufficient regret.
Cassia leaned up and in and whispered, “It cannot be MacKay. The MacKays are engaged in an ancient feud with my family. I can be anything but Ma—”
The gentleman brought his hands flying up. “Ohhhh, the captain said it is,” he interrupted on a rush, and Cassia stopped herself. “If you have problems with it, you will have to take it up with him.”
As one, Cassia and the navigator looked toward the gentleman in question.
Chapter 13
What the hell was Albion speaking with Cassia about?
What had the other man said that had been responsible for her damned smile and then laughter? And worse, what had he said to cause her to frown so, and for sadness to enter her eyes?
Nathaniel wasn’t sure which sent fury rippling through him more.
Even so, he made himself wrench his focus back from the pair, who’d returned to smiling at one another, looking at each other, and speaking with their heads angled close, like they were the only two souls in the world.
Nathaniel set his jaw.
It was fine.
As long as Albion was entertaining Cassia, the lady was occupied, and she was out of trouble and out of Nathaniel’s hair.
Why did that realization not bring with it the rush of relief it should?
Because his navigator had responsibilities on this ship, ones that decidedly did not include playing nursemaid to Cassia McQuoid. Nay, that task had fallen to big, intimidating-to-all Shorty.
That was the only reason he cared.
Nathaniel stole a glance at the bald-headed crew member he’d fetched from the gallows years earlier, who’d been only loyal to Nathaniel for that rescue.
The damned fellow wore the same silly grin as Albion did and Hayes had, looking just as gratingly besotted.
Shorty? Besotted?
What in hell power did the minx possess?
You know . . . It’s why you struggle to sleep long after Cassia drifts into her noisy, sleep-talking slumber, and why, against all reason and better judgment, you find yourself wearing that same damned grin when she is rambling on about . . . whatever matter she chooses to ramble on about at that particular moment.
A gust of wind tore across the ocean, and he welcomed the calming feel of it against his flushed skin.
“And I said . . . why . . . it is only . . .”
Those gusts of wind carried every other word Cassia now gaily spoke over to Nathaniel.
Boisterous laughter went up from her captivated audience of two.
He gritted his teeth. Bloody hell.
That was more than enough.
“Albion,” he bellowed, and the laughter down deck immediately died, and Cassia went silent, and damned if didn’t make Nathaniel feel somehow worse.
A moment later the navigator appeared beside him, issuing a respectful salute. “Capt—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Nathaniel snapped, interrupting that deferential greeting.
Lieutenant Albion puzzled his brow. “I . . .” He shook his head.
“You have a job on this ship.”
Anyone else would have quaked, and certainly wouldn’t have challenged Nathaniel on the point. “You advised me to escort the lady, and to show her to where—”
“Yes, I did. I didn’t ask you to join her for goddamned tea and biscuits.”
“The lady doesn’t eat biscuits. That is, unless they’re dipped in chocolate or marshmallow cream.”
He stared incredulously back at the other man. “You obtained all that in the time you were with the lady?”
“I offered her . . .” Color heightened in the other man’s cheeks, and Nathaniel strained to hear the remainder of Albion’s mumblings.
“What was that?” Nathaniel asked, cupping a hand around his ear. “It sounded as though you said . . .”
“I offered her refreshments.”
It’d been the considerate thing to do. The gentlemanly one. And Nathaniel should be grateful the other man had seen to it when Nathaniel himself had not. Lord knew he certainly didn’t have the time or inclination to be bothered watching after the sea sprite who’d invaded his ship.
Only, that relief didn’t come. Only more of this red-hot annoyance consumed him, knowing Albion should be spending time alone with Cassia.
You are losing your damned mind.
“You should have your head about you. We’ve a mission to complete,” he reminded his navigator.
The other man held his gaze. “That mission is still happening, then?”
First Hayes and now him. Nathaniel bristled. “Why wouldn’t it?” By his calculations, they were less than two days away from catching the French ship and overtaking the war plans they were transporting.
Albion looked pointedly toward Cassia, who watched them both intently. Cassia, who was innocent and garrulous, and who’d be thrust into the middle of a battle.
His gut clenched.
Nathaniel wrenched his gaze from hers. “It is happening,” he gritted out. He’d never abandoned a mission, and he didn’t intend to start now because—
“The lady will be in danger.”
Thoughts slipped in. Of a smoky, fiery sea battle. Of ruthless French sailors boarding the Flying Dragon and dragging Cassia from below deck.
Despite the warmth of the full sun overhead, cold sweat broke out on his brow and slicked his palms. “Nothing is going to happen to her, because nothing is going to happen to the ship.”
“But it . . . could,” Albion said quietly.
Nathaniel gnashed his teeth. Both his quartermaster and his navigator thought of her well-being before their mission. What was it about Cassia McQuoid that made a man lose his mind?
“Is there a problem, Nathan?”
Nathaniel whipped his gaze over to Cassia, who was making a march toward him and Albion.
He narrowed his eyes and welcomed the diversion from a discussion he’d not wanted to have with either his quartermaster or navigator. As Nathaniel saw it, there were any number of problems. All of which led back to her. The latest of which now included the minx who’d quit her previous place on the ship and joined him and Albion—Albion, whom she’d been smiling and laughing with. And who’d also had several of his crew thinking about quitting the mission over.