Once belowdecks, he summoned her to his cabin, intent on making his displeasure known and putting his foot down once and for all. He was the bloody captain, damn it!

“You rang, your lordship,” she said with a jaunty bow.

Rhystan gaped at her appearance. Somewhere in the last day, she’d purloined a pair of loose trousers and a shirt, a patched coat, and a pair of scuffed boots. The overall look was better suited to a cutpurse on the streets of St. Giles than a lady. It was also disturbingly provocative. The woolen fabric of her shortened pants outlined the shapely lines of her legs to indecency, and the coat buttons strained in their moorings over the distracting swell of her bosom. None of her clothing did anything to hide those feminine curves.

“What the bloody hell are you wearing?”

“Clothes?”

The corners of his mouth drew down. “Not suited to a lady.”

“If I have to run around your ship, this is better for mobility than a dress, trust me.” She arched a dark eyebrow with a cheeky look that made him want to bend her over his knee. “Unless of course you plan to throw a ball anytime soon. Then, by all means, I shall rush to be garbed in all my best finery.”

“You are a lady,” he growled, ignoring her sass.

“But as you’ve commanded, I’m your cabin boy.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the motion propping her bosom upward, and adopted a studious expression. Warning bells began going off in Rhystan’s brain. “I’ve been talking to some of the boatswains, you see, and apparently I am expected to perform other duties as well. As cabin boy, that is.”

Rhystan dragged his eyes from her breasts and focused on her eyes.

Mistake. They sparkled with mischief.

“Other duties?” he mumbled, the base of his neck tingling as it always did when he suspected trouble.

“Of the carnal variety. They used a specific word that I’m not familiar with. Bug—”

He choked and nearly fell out of his chair, the urge to commit murder flashing through his mind as he cut her off. “Who exactly have you been talking to?”

She waved an arm. “No one in particular. And I’m certain I couldn’t remember their names.”

Of course she couldn’t. The little scamp was protecting their identities. And for good reason—he’d thrash the lot of them.

“This is not that kind of ship,” he said tightly. “And my carnal needs are well in hand, thank you very much.” Twin flags of color leaped into her cheeks, and Rhystan reminded himself that two could play at this game, despite the heavy, clamoring ache in his groin. “Unless, of course, you were volunteering your services, which is an entirely different proposition.”

Her hands dropped to her sides. “Hardly.”

“Then button those smart lips of yours and do your job.”

“Yes, sir, yes!”