The Lady Machinist (Curiosity Chronicles Book 1) by Ava Morgan Page B

the narrow confines of the ship, his arm brushed against hers.
    Heat ran along her skin at the contact. “I don’t think he’s learned how to swear in English yet.”
    “He’ll have ample opportunity before this voyage is through. The ship needs multiple repairs, not to mention extensive bailing. I’ve yet to inspect the hold for damage.”
    Lydia thought of the automatons and the rest of her personal belongings stored in the cargo hold. However, the welfare of the crew and the ship were of more importance at the moment. “Where did those pirates come from?”
    “France. Broussard’s gaggle of sea thieves spotted The Enlightened and thought to take the ship for their own.”
    Lydia shook her shoulders free of tension. All of them came too close to being at the mercy of pirates.
    The door to the cabin hung wide open as Lydia left it when she dashed out. The water had drained, but the bedcovers lay ruined at the foot of the bed. Her trunk didn’t tip over, thankfully, but papers from Rhys’ desk had spilled from the drawers and formed a pulpy mass on the floor.
    Water squelched and bubbled from the rug as Rhys walked upon it. He surveyed the open bookcase. Lydia tensed as he set the volumes in order one after the other.
    He shut the glass panel. “Gather your remaining dry clothing and blankets. You’ll have to make do with our company on deck until this room is dry again.”
    Lydia set to her task, grateful that he decided not to leaf through the encyclopedias. “How did Mr. Clark and the others fare?”
    “Most are injured but all are accounted for.”
    His succinct manner made her uneasy. Since the voyage began, Rhys’ polished veneer chipped bit by bit until today’s violent storm and pirate attack scraped it away completely. What remained was raw, determined, and would not tolerate defiance from anyone. The similar demeanor of the pirates that she fought off from Aspasia’s shores came to mind. Perhaps the perils of sailing gave all seafaring men a coarse edge.
    She threw items into her toiletry case. “You have things to tend to. I’ll make it up to topside shortly. You needn’t wait for me.”
    “I can’t have you traipsing around alone. The men are ill at ease. Half of them think having you onboard brought on the dual misfortune.”
    She clutched a stack of shirts and a set of linens in her arms. “When you speak like that, I believe you think as they do.”
    “I’m not one for superstitions, but I do expect obedience from anyone that sails under my flag.”
    Lydia’s weary sigh was muffled by the linens as she shifted them to one arm. She reached for the toiletry case with the other. “All I heard was the storm battering the ship. I thought you were gone. Fallen overboard or—or swept away.” She stopped, ashamed of herself when she realized her voice had grown high and distraught. The last thing Rhys needed to think was that he brought a fretful, histrionic woman aboard.
    He came forward and took the linens from her arms. He lingered in front, his body separated from hers by a few articles of folded fabric. “I would not leave you.”
    He waited for her to come before he closed the door to the cabin.
     
    #
     
    Rhys knew he locked the glass panel of the bookcase well before Lydia came to occupy his cabin. The pitching of the ship must have knocked the tumbler loose during the storm. He meant to return and see if the COIC mission papers were in their rightful place. Hopefully, he wouldn’t find them in the mass of pulp that sat by the desk, sponging more water from the carpet.
    The pile of linens caressed Rhys’ jawline when he shifted them in order to open the topside door. Their soft texture and clean juniper scent tantalized as though they were Lydia herself. Either the passing storm managed to lay waste to his senses, or Malcolm was right. It was fast becoming perilous to bring Lydia onboard. Even her bed sheets were getting the better of him.
    She moved through the door ahead of