"You bear your suffering in noble silence?"
"Yes, and now I must have my well-deserved rest." He sat up, grinning at her. His fingers went to the buttons on his shirt, but his eyes remained on her face, mocking, drawing.
And she'd left, of course, standing in the companionway outside the cabin while he undressed.
She still wasn't used to that wretched floor, she thought now, stretching to ease her stiff muscles.
"I've never been to Jamaica," she said to Rollo.
"If you are unfortunate enough to be attacked by ruffians in St. Thomas, perhaps the captain will take you aboard again."
"I suppose I can smile about it now, just a bit," she said. "We were very lucky that you were there and willing to assist us."
"The capt'n is a fair man," was all Rollo said.
But none of them was smiling toward evening. A storm was blowing up. She was with Lyon when they heard Rafael curse in at least two different languages. Then he gave a series of sharp orders. Several sailors scrambled up the rigging, agile as monkeys, to reef the sails and secure all the lines.
"We will have a night of it, I'm afraid," Rafael said to Diana and Lyon. "I suggest you fasten down any loose items in your cabin, and please, stay below."
And that includes me, Diana thought. She looked at the angry waves slapping against the ship, the darkening sky overhead.
The storm hit at eight o'clock. Diana was sitting on the floor on her nest of blankets when the ship lurched suddenly and she was tossed sideways.
"Diana, are you all right?"
She was grumbling to herself and rubbing her bruised elbow. "No! Should you like to trade places with me?"
"I am not a fool. I think you'd best douse the lamp. I don't want us to set the ship on fire."
She did and stretched out, trying to get comfortable. She wasn't particularly worried about the storm. Living on an island had accustomed her to them. She remembered very clearly the only time she'd been terrified. It was the great hurricane in 1799, so fierce that it had destroyed nearly all their sugarcane, demolished part of the plantation house and killed fourteen slaves. She shuddered, remembering it, and herself, small and frightened, huddled against Dido's stiff skirts, Dido's soft voice soothing her.
Lyon, misunderstanding that shudder, said in an effort to distract her from the storm, "So what happened to the count? The hero of your novel?"
"Oh, him. The brave Count of Milano saved the heroine, saved her father, saved her fortune, and butchered the villain, in a fair fight, of course."
"And clasped her to his manly bosom on the last page?"
"Something like that. Ouch!"
Lyon said after a moment, his voice as bland as the stewed vegetables they'd eaten for dinner, "Perhaps you'd best join me tonight."
"Don't be absurd!"
"If you like, I will sleep under the covers and you can arrange yourself on top, with your own blankets for cover, naturally."
"Be careful, Lyon, else your true lecherous colors might come to the fore."
"Diana, do not be a twit. I do not wish you to show yourself on the morrow covered with bruises. The captain and his crew will believe that I beat you."
"You could always take the floor."
"Not I. I didn't get us into this impossible mess."
"You are not at all honorable. You are a ---"
"Bastard? Arrogant fool? Selfish rake?"
The ship hit a deep trough and she was hurled a good three feet toward the cabin door.