He straightened from the wall and breezed past me, headed to the armoire. From a drawer within, he removed a blue three-cornered hat trimmed in feathers and jammed it on his head. From another drawer, he pulled out a long swath of linsey-woolsey and splayed it on the mattress.

A gentleman’s loose nightgown.

Priest had never worn a stitch of clothing to bed. I preferred nudity, as well. But not here.

“Is that for me?” I lifted the hem, rubbing the coarse cloth between my fingers, relieved it wasn’t transparent.

“Yes.” He flicked a finger toward the privacy screen. “Wash yourself before retiring.”

He pivoted and strode toward the dining cabin, dressed in full uniform as if he were going somewhere.

“Ashley?” I waited until I had his eyes. “Where do I sleep?”

“There.” He thrust his steely chin at the bed behind me and resumed walking.

“Where are you sleeping?” At his silence, I hurried after him. “Where are you going?”

The click of the exterior door sounded his exit.

A growl of frustration vibrated in my chest. I raced past the desk in the day cabin, around the table in the dining cabin, and swung open the door.

Ashley stood on the other side, boots spread apart, hands clasped behind him, and blue eyes narrowed on mine. Expecting me.

My breath came up short. “You said I could wander freely.”

“Not dressed like that.” He shifted to the side and motioned at the two lieutenants behind him.

The men bustled in, carrying piles of mismatched fabric. They dumped the tattered garments on the table, along with a platter of sewing supplies, and swept out of the cabin.

“There’s enough cloth there,” he said. “You will fashion a proper wardrobe for yourself before you leave these quarters.”

“I don’t know how to sew.” I folded my arms over my chest.

He bent toward me and put his nose inches from mine. “Your upbringing says otherwise.”

I blinked, searching for the best retort. It was true that Lady Abigail Leighton had taught me how to work with a needle and thread. But the only sewing I’d done in the past seven years involved open wounds and bleeding flesh.

Another man stepped into the room, carrying a small medicine chest that rattled with glass vials.

“Madam.” The blond man glanced at my raw wrists, bloody shirt, and throbbing jaw. “I’m Lieutenant Flemming, the ship’s surgeon. Let’s look at your injuries, shall we?”

Shocked, I watched the wardroom warrant officer stride toward the day cabin. Behind him trailed a younger uniformed man holding a tray of fruit, meats, and biscuits.

After everything Ashley had unleashed on me today, never in a thousand lifetimes would I have expected this level of decency. There must be a catch.

When I turned back to the doorway, Ashley was gone.

21