you to eat so much at the end of the day.”
“I’ll remember to tell Jacques,” said Brent with a crack of laughter. “From now on we’ll have fruit, with bread and cheese for those who feel the need of something a little more sustaining.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me,” Summer said resentfully. “I know I act like a rustic; I am one. But I also know there’s no way to get fruit and cheese in the middle of the ocean, and that men who work in the riggings all day need something more than a banana for the evening meal. But people like you should watch how much they eat.”
“People like me!” Brent roared, his words so explosive Summer reeled back. “Just what in hell do you mean by that extremely ill-chosen phrase?”
Summer went weak-kneed with fright before the lightning flashes of his blazing eyes. “I don’t mean anything in particular,” she said, hoping to soothe the pride she had so unexpectedly lacerated. “I just thought that since you didn’t do as much work as the other men …”
“What makes you think that?” he demanded, his rage growing rather than subsiding.
“Well, you don’t go into the riggings,” she blurted out. “And you don’t haul the ropes or row the boats,” she added desperately. “So you can’t be getting as much exercise as the men who do the heavy work.”
Brent was shaking with such rage Summer thought he was going to strike her. He picked up a wooden chair and, with an incredibly quick wrenching motion, tore the back from the base. Then with one rapid move after another he snapped the inch-thick oak dowels that formed the back as if they were pieces of dried sugar cane.
“Before the week is out, I’ll show you the kind of exercise I get on this ship,” he said in an ominously quiet voice. “Then I’ll let you decide whether I’m an armchair leader like your Captain Bonner. Until I do, make the most of your privacy. You’re not going to have very much of it.”
Brent slammed out of the room without looking back. Word quickly spread through the ship that the young countess had made the captain so angry that he’d stormed back into the dining room, picked up a knife, and thrown it at the wall. It had come to a quivering halt between the eyes of King William V of the Netherlands. Not even Smith had ever known Brent to do anything like that. Everyone was at pains to move quietly and speak only after giving thought to each word. The last person to make the captain that mad had been pitched overboard into a boiling sea.
“I knew that girl would mean trouble,” said Smith after they’d left Brent alone with his brandy. “She hasn’t been on board half a day, and already the captain is mad enough to murder his mother.”
“What could she have done?” wondered one of the younger men.
“You can never tell with a woman,” Smith informed him. “I wouldn’t have thought she was the kind to go about causing trouble.”
“But she’s a real beauty,” pointed out another.
“That just makes it worse,” Smith said morosely. “Did you ever see a man kick up a fuss or fall into a thundering rage over an ugly female? It’s always the pretty ones that cause the trouble, and that one is pretty enough to cause a whole war.”
“I never thought of it like that.” This comment came from one of the younger men. He was digesting this novel idea.
“Ordinarily you wouldn’t have to, you being at sea all the time,” Smith said, “but now that we’ve got a female on board, we’ll be lucky if we make it back to port without some kind of upset.”
“Aw, come now,” said a third, “one little bit of a lass can’t do all that, even if she is a countess.”
“Then you don’t know anything about women,” Smith said with biting emphasis. “One little lass can do a whole lot more than that, and without being a countess. You listen to me: never underestimate any female, especially if she’s young and pretty. There’s no such thing as a
“I’ll remember to tell Jacques,” said Brent with a crack of laughter. “From now on we’ll have fruit, with bread and cheese for those who feel the need of something a little more sustaining.”
“You don’t have to make fun of me,” Summer said resentfully. “I know I act like a rustic; I am one. But I also know there’s no way to get fruit and cheese in the middle of the ocean, and that men who work in the riggings all day need something more than a banana for the evening meal. But people like you should watch how much they eat.”
“People like me!” Brent roared, his words so explosive Summer reeled back. “Just what in hell do you mean by that extremely ill-chosen phrase?”
Summer went weak-kneed with fright before the lightning flashes of his blazing eyes. “I don’t mean anything in particular,” she said, hoping to soothe the pride she had so unexpectedly lacerated. “I just thought that since you didn’t do as much work as the other men …”
“What makes you think that?” he demanded, his rage growing rather than subsiding.
“Well, you don’t go into the riggings,” she blurted out. “And you don’t haul the ropes or row the boats,” she added desperately. “So you can’t be getting as much exercise as the men who do the heavy work.”
Brent was shaking with such rage Summer thought he was going to strike her. He picked up a wooden chair and, with an incredibly quick wrenching motion, tore the back from the base. Then with one rapid move after another he snapped the inch-thick oak dowels that formed the back as if they were pieces of dried sugar cane.
“Before the week is out, I’ll show you the kind of exercise I get on this ship,” he said in an ominously quiet voice. “Then I’ll let you decide whether I’m an armchair leader like your Captain Bonner. Until I do, make the most of your privacy. You’re not going to have very much of it.”
Brent slammed out of the room without looking back. Word quickly spread through the ship that the young countess had made the captain so angry that he’d stormed back into the dining room, picked up a knife, and thrown it at the wall. It had come to a quivering halt between the eyes of King William V of the Netherlands. Not even Smith had ever known Brent to do anything like that. Everyone was at pains to move quietly and speak only after giving thought to each word. The last person to make the captain that mad had been pitched overboard into a boiling sea.
“I knew that girl would mean trouble,” said Smith after they’d left Brent alone with his brandy. “She hasn’t been on board half a day, and already the captain is mad enough to murder his mother.”
“What could she have done?” wondered one of the younger men.
“You can never tell with a woman,” Smith informed him. “I wouldn’t have thought she was the kind to go about causing trouble.”
“But she’s a real beauty,” pointed out another.
“That just makes it worse,” Smith said morosely. “Did you ever see a man kick up a fuss or fall into a thundering rage over an ugly female? It’s always the pretty ones that cause the trouble, and that one is pretty enough to cause a whole war.”
“I never thought of it like that.” This comment came from one of the younger men. He was digesting this novel idea.
“Ordinarily you wouldn’t have to, you being at sea all the time,” Smith said, “but now that we’ve got a female on board, we’ll be lucky if we make it back to port without some kind of upset.”
“Aw, come now,” said a third, “one little bit of a lass can’t do all that, even if she is a countess.”
“Then you don’t know anything about women,” Smith said with biting emphasis. “One little lass can do a whole lot more than that, and without being a countess. You listen to me: never underestimate any female, especially if she’s young and pretty. There’s no such thing as a
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