“There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.
Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.
Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.
Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.
As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”
“Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.
Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and sat up. “Where—?”
“Just there, sir, pukin’ up enough brine to fill a bucket, but he’ll do,” someone said with a hearty laugh. “We’d ha’ lost pore Timmy, weren’t for you!”
Jack fell back onto the wildly rocking deck and closed his eyes. Not Laurel. He began to laugh. Would he have gone in after the boy had he known? Probably, he thought, but he would have kept his bloody head while doing it.
This preoccupation with a wife might be the death of him. He laughed harder as the rain pounded and the wind raged.
“You all right, sir?” One of the crew who pulled him in began untying the rope from around his waist.
“Aye,” Jack said, rolling over, sitting up again and slicking his hair back with both hands. He had a job to do yet. Moments later he was busy again, tying down the brights while dodging the monstrous wheels with his bare feet.
The storm abated at last and the damage proved minimal. No one had been lost and only a few sustained injuries. Weary to the bone, Jack headed for his cabin to dry off and rest. He encountered the captain on the way.
“Join me for dinner, you and your wife,” Captain Pollack said. The invitation sounded like an order, but Jack knew it for an honor.
“Very well, Captain. Thank you.” He clenched his eyes shut for a moment to clear them and proceeded to his quarters.
Laurel waited for him in the common room to which each of their cabins opened. She rose when he came inside. “It’s over,” she said, stating the obvious. The ship’s motion had grown relatively calm.
“We’re asked to dine with the captain,” he told her. “Are you well enough?”
“Very well,” she said, frowning at him. “You look done in. Was it very bad?”
“I’ve seen worse,” he admitted, passing her to reach his cabin door. “At least it blew us in the right direction.” He noted how pale she was. “Were you afraid we would die?”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t death I feared. We were taught not to fear it.”
He gave a snort of disbelief. “Well I was taught not to welcome it. So you just thought to meet it face-to-face in the gale instead of taking precaution?” He felt unreasonably angry that she hadn’t been afraid at all and he had been scared out of his bloody mind for her.
She ducked her head as she shook it. “I didn’t want to leave you out there.”
Oh. He blew out the pent-up breath he’d been holding lest he say something else that was mean and uncalled-for. “I’d better change,” he muttered and left her there in the common room.
God, he had wanted to grab her and hold her close, kiss her like a madman and declare how profoundly glad he was that it had not been her bobbing up and down in the sea.
Damn, but being married was a maddening thing, especially to a virgin you couldn’t have yet and to a girl who hadn’t sense enough to get in out of the rain.
The captain’s table was a great deal more formal than the one in the common room they had passed through to go there. Laurel marveled at the china and crystal, even finer than that of the Orencio household. The table linen was spotless and every man there was dressed formally, except Jack and a young lad clad in white.
Everyone stood when they entered. “Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Worth,” the captain said with a warm smile. He proceeded to introduce them to each of the five men present, all officers of the ship. And then he gestured to the young boy whom she guessed to be about thirteen. “Timothy Bromfield, my godson and cabin lad to Mr. Tomlinson, my second in command. Say your piece, Tim.”
The dark-haired boy turned wide brown eyes to her, bowed and said, “Ma’am.” Then he spoke to Jack. “Sir, I owe you my life and I thank you for your heroic deed. If ever I can repay you in any way, you must call upon me.” He smiled the sweetest smile. “They say in the Orient that if you save a life, it belongs to you.” He shrugged. “Or something equivalent to that.”
Everyone laughed, including the captain. “Well, you can’t take it with you, Mr. Worth, because we should miss this fellow aboard. And may I add my eternal gratitude. He is my brother’s only son. Should I have lost him at sea his first time out, I would have been persona non grata in my family home forever.”
Mr. Tomlinson piped in, “The way you leaped over the side and performed the rescue, one would think you’d had years at sea yourself!”
Jack smiled self-consciously. “Almost twenty years of it, sir. I began as a cabin lad myself aboard the Mosquitobit.”
Laurel paid only half attention. She still couldn’t process the fact that Jack had jumped overboard to save the boy. He had said nothing about it!
All sorts of feelings rushed through her, from hot anger that he would take such a mortal risk to abject pride in the champion he turned out to be.
But she had known already how unselfish he was, hadn’t she? Everything he had done for her proved he was heroic and this feat only seconded that. The men were raising a toast to Jack at that moment. Laurel quickly reached for her glass and joined them.
Later when they were returning to their cabins, she requested that they take a stroll about the deck rather than retire immediately. “I want to see the ocean calm or I shan’t sleep,” she said.
“A good idea,” he agreed, and led her down the gangway and up the steps.
“That was a very brave thing you did, saving young Tim,” she said.
“An impulse, I assure you. Had I stopped to think, I probably would have tossed him a buoy instead.”
Laurel knew better. She smiled up at the stars that were abundant in the clear night sky. Canvas had been unfurled and they were sailing along as if nothing had happened. Several of the other guests were out on deck, ostensibly for the same reason she had wanted to be there.
Suddenly she stopped and looked up at the wooden pole they were passing by. “The spar,” she remarked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That is a spar, isn’t it?” she asked as she reached over to touch it lightly.
“It is. Have you read of ships then?”
She shook her head and placed her fingertips to her temple as an image occurred. “I remember it from when I sailed before. The word