Charles loved teasing this woman. That and looking at her. She was proud, but she wasn't arrogant. Not in the way he knew most ladies to be. What he did not love was how Flint now seemed to hover around her. The man had warned him this morning that if anything were to happen to her, he'd toss Charles overboard and let the sharks take care of him. It was an empty threat because Charles would do the same, and worse, to another man who even thought about touching her. He thought he'd made the message clear enough by pounding Dobb's face in, but these were pirates.

  Once the woman had left, Charles smirked to himself. This woman would be a challenge, but one he'd happily accept.

  As one day turned into two, the challenge became not getting close to her, but around Flint. The man kept the woman hidden away in the captain's quarters or escorted her everywhere if she wasn't. He imagined that at this point, she might be as frustrated as he was.

  He only had three or four days left before they reached Nassau. After that, he was fucked if he knew what the hell he or she would be doing on the island. They could part ways forever once their feet touched the ground. Charles wasn’t usually the type of man who cared about bullshit like that, but the fact that he was stewing over things like this, the feeling of regret, he hated that more.

  So, he had to come up with something quickly. It was easy enough to get the girl out of the room. All he had to do was knock on the door, she'd answer, and he'd persuade her out. She was trusting enough for that, but what was a good enough reason to get her out?

  She didn’t need clothing. Flint, out of necessity, had offered Emma one of Mrs. Barlow's spare dresses still on board, even though he looked at her in it like he looked at his enemy. Charles knew the man didn't hate her, but what happened at Charlestown had left deep scars.

  He could offer her a private place to bathe. He knew she wanted to bathe from the signs she was uncomfortable with her current state of filth. She smelled her underarms when she thought no one was looking and would frown every time. It seemed she couldn't do her hair very well, and her attempts left her fussing with it throughout the day. She'd sigh every so often over it, too. Usually, she braided her hair partway through the morning.

  That plan didn't seem likely, though, since she wouldn't trust him to keep his hands off of her.

  He wasn't the sort of man to give gifts. Nor did he want to be. Momentary weakness had caused him to be a bit more generous in his offerings to her the other night, but there had to be something. He just hadn't thought about it yet.

  He had little time to dwell on this because Flint found him.

  “There is a storm coming,” Flint told him.

  “Bad?” Charles asked.

  “It's fast-moving. Hopefully, it will pass without much damage. We've got to prepare now.” Flint told him.

  “Alright.”

  Charles and the crew got to work lowering the sails. He could see and now hear the storm coming. The water was getting choppy. The wind was picking up. There was the slight scent of rain carried in the strong breeze.

  Flint was right, the storm was fast. By the time they got the sails down, the storm was nearly upon them. Men stood at the ready for any sudden adjustments that needed to be made.

  The wind began to whistle as the waves started to push the ship into the water. The rain came at them like a solid wall of water. In seconds, the entire deck was drenched. Men started barking their orders to be heard over the booming thunder.

  Charles was thankful this was a passing storm and would be over soon, rather than a hurricane that would last an entire day or more.

  When things began to calm and the sun shone once more, the crew started to take care of the little that had been damaged. Water that had pooled on deck was being mopped, and clothes were stripped to hang and dry.

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  Charles was ringing out his shirt when Emma appeared on deck. She looked green and in a hurry. She rushed to the side of the ship and hurled up the contents of her stomach over the rail and into the sea below.

  Charles made his way over and, without asking, gathered the hair that had come loose and held it at the base of her neck as she threw up. She spared a glance at him and scowled before turning even greener in color and dry heaving.

  When it seemed her stomach was empty, she swatted away his hand and eased her way down to the deck's floor to take in deep breaths.

  “Are you alright?” Charles asked. He knew she was likely just seasick and it would pass, but he was still concerned for her. A storm at sea was a frightful thing for someone who'd never been through it.

  She didn't seem ready to talk, so she just nodded her head.

  Charles knelt to observe her to make sure she wasn't suffering from shock. She looked at him for so brief a second, he almost missed it, but he could see her cheeks turning a charming shade of red as she looked in the other direction.

  There were only two reasons a woman blushed in the presence of a half-naked man. She was shy. Or, she found him attractive. He knew she wasn't that shy.

  “Did you like what you saw?” Charles said as he held his arms open, giving her a better view of himself.

  She rolled her eyes, but must have quickly regretted it because it looked as if she was going to empty her stomach again from the motion.

  Charles moved to block the sun that was peeking through the breaking clouds.

  “Rest your head on your knees. Take deep breaths, it will pass.” Charles told her.

  She did as he suggested. After a few minutes, her stomach seemed to have calmed.

  “What is she doing on deck?” Flint's voice cut through the silence.

  “She got sick from the storm,” Charles explained as he kept himself between Flint and the woman.

  Flint stopped almost directly in front of him, as if he sensed the confrontation building in Charles already. He even looked down at the hand Charles had resting on the hilt of his blade.

  “I thought you said we weren't going to have a problem?” Flint growled.

  “Still don't. I don't like to be accused of anything.” Charles told him.

  “He told the truth.” The young woman seated beside him spoke up. “I didn't want to stink up the cabin with my vomit because I knew it would just cause me to get sick all over again.”

  “You could have opened a window?” Flint suggested.

  “Two were jammed, and I'd already filled the one bucket we had in the room.” The woman told him as she started to move her legs so she could stand.

  Charles offered his hand to her. She looked at it for a moment, then looked up at him, slightly surprised. She accepted it, though, and he helped her stand.

  When he pulled her up, he purposely pulled her closer to him at the same time. When she stood upright on her feet, she was mere inches from him. He held onto her hand a moment longer than he needed to, but she didn't pull it away either.

  “Thank you for your concern.” The young woman mumbled to him.

  Charles could tell it was the lady in her who was thanking him. In her world, it was impolite not to do so. He wondered if she would ever break that habit?

  “Come along, Emma,” Flint instructed the woman.

  Emma. Charles finally knew her name. It fit her. Not too plain. Not too fancy. Learning her name was enough for him to ignore the fact that Flint had just ordered about the woman he wanted to make his.

  The woman looked to Flint and nodded. She looked back at Charles for a moment. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn't. She chose to walk away from him instead, but she must have regretted it, because she turned back to look at him before she disappeared below deck again.

  He wondered what was up with that? As Charles went back to work on deck, a few men had stopped to watch what was going on. They all gave him appreciative looks and a few nods. One of the bastards even whistled at him. He didn't appreciate it in the slightest.

  “Get back to work!” He barked at them.

  They did, but a few more poked fun before he stopped them with a glare.