Victoria and the Rogue Read Free

amidst all the monotonous grays and browns that made up the garb of the crew. Only
    one person on board—with the exception of herself, of course—wore such bold colors, and that was
    someone Victoria hadn’t the slightest interest in speaking to just at that moment—or any moment, to be
    honest. She turned her face resolutely toward the shoreline, though the damp wind that was tugging on
    the hem of her pelisse blew from that direction, throwing occasional stinging drops of wet upon her
    cheeks.
    “…safe as a kitten in a basket,” Mrs. White was going on. Then she broke off with a glad cry. “Why,
    Captain Carstairs! There you are! I was just saying to Lady Victoria that she needn’t fear the swing, that
    in fact it is quite safe. Do reassure her as well, won’t you?”
    Mr. Carstairs, Victoria noted after the briefest of glances in his direction, still wore the insolent grin he
    seemed to have had on ever since Lisbon. Insufferable man! She pressed her lips together and wished
    heartily, as she’d been doing ever since that unfortunate incident off the Portuguese coast—where the
    captain had interrupted her moonlit proposal—that Jacob Carstairs might suffer a shipboard accident that
    would render him comatose.
    Sadly, it did not appear that any such calamity had befallen the young gentleman, since he seemed to
    have total mastery over his own tongue.
    “I am certain,” he said in the cool, mocking tone that so infuriated Victoria every time she heard it, “that
    her ladyship needs no such assurances from me. Any young woman who has been brought up, as Lady
    Victoria informs me that she has, by four decorated British officers in the wilds of Jaipur—an area, I
    believe she said, that is rife with tigers—is unlikely to be daunted by a mere swing.”
    Victoria sent the young man what she hoped he’d read as a scornful look. It was impossible to say what
    Captain Carstairs would make of her expression, however, since he persisted in seeking her
    acquaintance despite everything she’d done to discourage him.
    “Tigers?” Mrs. White looked horrified. “Really, my lady? I must say, I… Tigers? Fearsome creatures, I
    understand. Are you saying you encountered them? Regularly? How ever did you manage to get away?”
    “I shot them, of course,” Victoria replied with some asperity, and, at Mrs. White’s gasp, flicked an
    irritated glance in Jacob Carstairs’s direction. Honestly, if he wasn’t poking fun at Victoria’s suggestion
    to Captain White that the decks be swabbed with lye instead of vinegar so that they’d get cleaner, he
    was making light of her assertion that lemon juice made the best rinse for ladies’ hair. Apparently lemons
    were not as bountiful in England as they were in India. But how was she to have known that? He seemed
    to have an opinion on everything, and not the least compunction about sharing those opinions… most
    especially those for which he had not been asked.
    As if this were not irritating enough, Mr. Carstairs had the added fault of looking exceedingly agreeable,
    despite his distressingly low collar points. His coats and breeches were impeccably tailored, his Hessians
    highly shined, and his dark hair neatly trimmed. It was quite objectionable that so maddening an individual
    should be so attractive.
    How very different Jacob Carstairs was from a certain other young man Victoria could—but wouldn’t,
    for propriety’s sake—name! As different as day and night, though the other gentleman was every bit as
    handsome… but certainly better skilled at turning his shirt collar, as well as holding his tongue.
    It was unfortunate that Victoria had not quite mastered that particular art as well, since Mrs. White was
    all in a dither over her tiger remark.
    “Shot them!” Mrs. White cried, her face going white as the lace inside her bonnet. “My lady! With a
    rifle?”
    It occurred to Victoria a bit belatedly that proper young English women did not as a general rule