Taming the Wilde by Loki Renard

of the fact that he had not yet donned his coat and his upper body was clad in a loose sailor's shirt, which went a long way towards revealing the nature of his frame. Roake was built with a divine artistry that balanced elegance and power in one form, that my fleeting gazes revealed quite amply.
    “Belief must be between a woman and her God,” I said, neatly avoiding the trap he had set before me. “It is not for the likes of man to judge.”
    He smiled and bade me to sit, as if he were not aware that sitting itself was a painful adventure for me. “Have your breakfast, Miss Wilde, you will need your energies for the day ahead.”
    My mouth was dry and the ship's biscuit was too but I choked it down whilst Roake picked up the Bible and began waxing on the importance of a sound theological education for those still below decks.   I made noises of assent where appropriate, though my mind was drifting. I had heard enough sermons to last me a lifetime and my belief in a higher power had largely been buried with my father. If there was a God, then he and I were very much at odds. Perhaps that was the reason for my continuing misfortune. Perhaps, like Roake, God had determined that I should never be happy.
    Suffice to say I was relieved when the time for lessons came. Teaching the others gave me something to focus on other than my own miseries and seeing them improve within a short time was quite gratifying. Many of the women I found myself tutoring were quite able of mind but had simply never had instruction of any kind. To them the sounding of simple letters was quite a task, but when they recognized a new letter after a period of close inspection, their pleasure was all too real.
    When the end of the day came I felt quite satisfied with my labors. I was gratified that Roake seemed equally satisfied, indeed I had been careful with my behavior so that there could be no reason to deny me exercise and when Roake dismissed me I did not hide my eagerness to climb into fresh air.
    My first moments up on deck were awe-inspiring. I had been fearful of my reaction to open waters, for many had spoken of how fearsome and lonely they were, but when I saw the ocean spinning out to forever and the ship tossing atop the waves in the environment it was built to conquer I was awestruck. The Valiant was a busy place; everywhere men were working, yelling to one another, hauling ropes and manipulating the great sails that billowed overhead. I held to the railing and watched as a cabin boy scaled the rigging with the alacrity of a monkey, his shirt hanging loose off his back as he dashed up into dangerous heights without a care.
    The majesty of it all threatened to overwhelm me as I stared out in all directions, not a speck of land to be seen in any of them. It was as if we souls were the only in existence, as if the world itself had left us behind. As terrible as the thought was, I found a certain freedom in it. If we were never to strike land again, then we women were not truly prisoners; we were as free as any of the sailors. Thinking so made me smile, using muscles that had wasted in recent days and weeks.
    “Enjoying the view, Miss Wilde?” Captain Morrow addressed me from behind. I turned, blushed deeply and dipped into a reflexive curtsey. I had not seen him approach and he had caught me in a moment of wonder that I feared made me look rather simple.
    “It is beautiful,” I said, holding fast to the rail as the ship rode a swell.
    “There is no place like the open ocean,” he said, taking a spot next to me and casting his eye out across the waters. “She can put a spell on a man that will have him roaming her breadth all the days of his life.”
    I was just barely listening to his words, for my mind was consumed with how very fine and dashing he looked in profile view, a long straight nose, thick lashes about his eyes and a mouth set sensually near a firm jaw. It occurred to me that the other women would have been jealous if they