Starlight & Promises by Cat Lindler Page A

waited by the railing, consulting the watch in his hand. “Not bad. And with two minutes to spare. You learn quickly, nearly as quickly as a dog. I once read that a dog can learn any trick in three days.”
    Samantha growled.
    “Tame that temper, or I’ll tame it for you and have you climbing the rigging.”
    “So, what is your pleasure today,
Master?”
she said, her good sense having taken flight. “Emptying the bloody slops? Scraping the bloody barnacles off the bloody hull? Keelhauling the bloody damned malingerers?”
    He made a clucking sound with his tongue. “Watch your mouth. Your aunt raised you to be a lady.”
    “As though you would know a lady from a stinkpot turtle,” she muttered.
    He wagged a finger. “Temper, temper. You’ll only make it harder on yourself. Until now, I’ve taken it easy on you.”
    She snarled, gathered her nerve to punch him again, and sighed instead. ‘Twould be a futile gesture. He was too big, and she could not truly hurt him. Why expend the energy and damage her hand only to have him laugh at her? Besides, he would then chop her up for shark bait and toss her overboard. Failing that, he would surely set them ashore, bag and baggage, at the first landfall.
    “Can you cook?” he asked.
    She looked up, eyeing him with suspicion. “Of course.”
    Christian crossed his arms over his chest.
“What
can you cook?”
    She tapped a forefinger against her chin and rolled her eyes skyward. “Well, let me think. I can make canapés and French finger pastries, radish roses, which are difficult in the extreme because the little edges tend to break off, pâté swans—I sculpt those especially well—and cucumber sandwiches. You know, those little triangles without the crust? My specialty would be strawberries dipped in chocolate silvered with sugar.” She flashed him a triumphant smile.
    “In other words, you cannot cook.”
    Samantha poked a finger in his chest and stamped a foot on the deck. “Of course I cannot cook, you bloody halfwit! I’m a
lady
. I
employ
a cook.”
    One dark eyebrow arched sharply. “Beg pardon, what did you call me?”
    “Nothing you would wish to hear again,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. Her finger ended up in her mouth, where she trimmed the edges of a tattered nail.
    “Hitch up that skirt, your ladyship. You’re going up the rigging. You can stand watch in the crow’s nest.”
    Halting her unconscious manicure, she gave him a startled look. Her bottom lip trembled. “I will not!”
    The eyebrow rose higher. “You what?”
    “I cannot.” Her voice wavered, and her lashes swept downward to shield her emotions from his relentless stare. “I suffer from a fear of heights,” she whispered.
    He exhaled a long breath. “Then report to the galley.” He gestured at a small building sitting on deck. “You’ll learn to prepare meals. This ship is feeding more mouths than one cook can handle.”
    When Christian turned and walked away, Samantha mocked him with an insolent parody of a salute. “Aye, aye, Captain
Bluebeard.”

C HAPTER N INE
    T he
Maiden Anne
docked at Charleston, South Carolina, the first landfall since sailing from Boston. Samantha propped her elbows on the rail, rested her face in her palms, and gazed at the gleaming city. Morning light glittered on graceful brick homes adorned with wrought-iron balconies and towering white columns. Late-blooming magnolias overpowered the odors of salt and fish with heady perfume, and lacy shawls of Spanish moss draped stately cypress and live oaks.
    They would load supplies for only one day and leave on the dawn tide. The crew and Samantha’s family readied themselves to go ashore and chattered in excited voices behind her. Captain
Bluebeard
had ordered her confined to the ship for some slight and completely justifiable insubordination. Christian was making her life miserable, which ‘twas his obvious intent. She sighed. Arguing only merited more punishment.
    Aunt Delia came up beside her