A Different Sort of Perfect by Vivian Roycroft

to
assess his guest with no need to guess at her reactions.
    Hennessy poured coffee, set the little creampot of
goat's milk in the table's center, and served chops, eggs, and soft
tack.
    "But this looks wonderful," she said.
    The note of puzzlement in her voice raised his
eyebrows. "'But'? Does that mean you considered us savages before
the bacon hit your plate?"
    She had the grace to redden. "Of course not. But one
hears stories of the naval officer's hard lot, and bad food always
claims a place of prominence in such a tale."
    "If we have to round the Cape in chase, without time
to stop for fresh provisions, you may yet experience those tales."
He paused for a sip of coffee. He'd long ago made certain Hennessy
knew his next breath depended upon the captain's morning coffee
being served hot and hot; there were times when life was good,
being the captain. "But early on in a voyage, we manage to scrape
out some reasonable style."
    She turned her attention to her plate and flushed
again, a soft pink that glowed like the misty sunlight beneath her
delicate, translucent skin. She'd pulled her hair into a simple
twist, tightened until it looked painful, but already the first
wisps drifted free and gathered about her ears and cheeks. Its
color was so light, too pale to be called flaxen, more like the
blooms of the acacia tree outside his bedroom window at home. It
looked softer than a setter puppy's undercoat.
    And far more inviting. He needed to keep his mind
where it belonged — on his plan. Until he could return her home,
she was his responsibility and he'd have to remember that.
    And only that.
    He cleared his throat and eased it with more coffee.
He'd eaten half the chop, but so much of his attention had been on
her, he couldn't recall a bite. Hopefully they weren't tough or
stringy; poor food was a sad way to welcome any guest, even an
uninvited, spoiled debutante. "I regret discussing business over
our meal, but the first full day out is generally a busy one and
this may be all the time we have until late."
    Her head shot erect. The sudden ferocious intensity
made him straighten. Her hair was pale but her eyes were dark, such
a dark brown they were next to black. At that moment, it required
little imagination to picture sparks flying from them and igniting
the table, the cloth, and the remains of their meal.
    "Business?" she asked.
    He nodded. "I thought we might work a trade."
    Make that the entire ship. Her intense response
astonished him. Did she imagine he meant something dishonorable?
He'd never allowed bawdy talk at his table, nor did he encourage it
amongst his officers and midshipmen, and he'd certainly never
intended to imply—
    No. He hadn't. And he hadn't. The widening of
her eyes was surprise, not outrage. She hadn't delved into murky
physical depths when considering what she might have to trade. Her
reaction could only stem from something else entirely, and prickles
of unease crept up his arms, overlying his unworthy disappointment.
Impossible to decide which was worse, his impure assumptions or her
unknown possibilities.
    He took a deep, soothing breath. The delicate part of
his plan approached at stu'nsail speed. "The problem is, Lady
Clara, I must carry you on the books in some manner."
    She shook her head. "On the books? I don't
understand."
    "Every ship maintains accounts. The purser mainly
keeps the books, but the captain holds the final responsibility.
There are ledgers for each consumable aboard — food, water,
gunpowder, the different types of shot, sail-maker's goods, ropes,
everything."
    Her shoulders drooped and the intensity vanished with
extraordinary suddenness. She pushed her plate aside. "And you must
account for my consumption."
    "Exactly." It wasn't precisely true, of course. Every
captain had the right to carry a guest aboard and not even the
notoriously parsimonious victuallers could quibble over the morsel
she'd eaten. Besides, during their hurried refitting in Plymouth,
he'd sent Hennessy