Sea Change (22 page)

And he knew he wanted her.

It was terrifying to want Charley Alcott when he'd thought him a man. Now that he knew Charley was a woman the knowledge still terrified him, but in a very different manner. He wanted to storm back down to sick bay, lock the door, strip her of all her male clothing and explore the doctor's body from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, paying special attention to those parts in the middle.

David walked to the stern window and braced his hands on the frame, staring out at the water, but not seeing it. For once he was not in communion with his vessel and the ocean. All he could think about was Charley Alcott and what he had to do. The knowledge made him ache in an entirely different way than he'd ached before.

There was no way she could stay aboard the
Fancy
, not now that he knew she was a woman.

There was no way she could stay aboard the
Fancy
, not now that Captain Fletcher knew she was a woman.

Charley sat at her desk, staring down at her journal. It was open, waiting for her to update today's entries with her treatment of Reynolds's slashed hand, but her mind was as blank as the page before her. All she could think about was how once she would have been thrilled at the possibility of being put off the
Fancy.
Now the thought of leaving the ship sent her into a black depression.

Which was still better than dwelling on what she'd experienced earlier.

Her first kiss. Her fingers reached up and touched her lips, sensitized in a way they'd never been sensitive before.

Charley knew she was a normal woman--in some ways, at least. In all the ways that mattered. As a young girl she'd imagined what her first kiss might be like. It would be in a garden, in England, and she would be wearing a pretty dress, and the faceless young man who kissed her would be respectful and attracted to her and handsome.

The only thing that had carried over from that fantasy into today's reality was "handsome."

Maybe not the only thing. Captain Fletcher was attracted to her. She'd like to think she had more to attract him than being a knothole in a tree at the right height, but he was, nonetheless, attracted to her.

Charley stood and walked over to her mirror. It was small and she had to angle her head to see her full face.

Two eyes, a nose, lips, a square face, a firm chin. Clear skin, browner now from exposure to the tropical sun. She looked like Charley Alcott, the
Fancy's
surgeon.

Even she could see a difference though from before. Her lips were still slightly swollen, and reddened from his kisses. Her cheeks had an unaccustomed brush of color.

But it was nothing to attract a man like Black Davy Fletcher, who had his pick of swans.

Was it?

The ladies in the brothel had been full of advice on how to act the coquette, what to say and do, how to flatter a man. Charley had listened with interest, but no real desire to go down that path. The idea of acting in an artificial fashion--

An artificial fashion? More artificial than dressing in men's clothing and pretending you had just as big a pair as the man next to you?

"Oh Lord, I've made myself insane," Charley groaned aloud, putting her hands over her eyes.

The knock on the sick bay door froze her in the midst of her ravings.

"Dr. Alcott?" said Mr. Lewis, the steward. "Cap'n wants all hands on deck, including you."

Charley's breath caught in her lungs, then she let it out with a rush.

"Thank you, Mr. Lewis, I will be right up."

So this was it then. She checked herself over, her clothing neat and clean, her breasts discreetly bound once again, her hair brushed back close to her head, her cravat hiding her lack of other male characteristics.

She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and put on her hat and coat. Charley Alcott might not have all the same bits and pieces as the men up on deck, but she would show them she could hold her head high and face disaster as bravely as any of them.

David stood amidst his loyal crew, arms crossed over his chest and a stony expression on his face that he knew had the crew wondering. He'd waited for them to assemble before sending Lewis for Charley Alcott. Now she climbed up on deck, and he grudgingly admitted that the girl had guts, for many a man would have quailed at facing him and his crew of privateers.

He looked around the deck. His men were more or less in facing lines, waiting on his orders. What they lacked in military smartness they made up for in sheer bravery and determination, and he wanted to lead them knowing that he made the best decisions for them.

Charley Alcott paused, then walked across deck to stand at the end of the row, facing him, shoulders back, head up. David was flanked by Mr. Bryant and Mr. Purcell, and he knew they were puzzled, but awaited his explanation.

"Gentlemen," he said, putting a particular emphasis on the word, and Alcott had the nerve to twitch a smile.

"Gentlemen," he repeated, "we are changing course and heading for Jamaica."

This announcement was greeted by a murmur from the men as they looked at one another, and then Mr. Bryant asked what they all were no doubt wondering.

"Why Jamaica, Captain? It is crawling with the Royal Navy."

David locked eyes with Charley Alcott, who met his gaze head on, not looking away or fretting. He gave her points for
savoir-faire
, but continued.

"Because, Mr. Bryant, our good doctor here has been defrauding us!" He pointed his finger at her. "Charley Alcott is not a man. Charley Alcott is a woman, playing the man, and I will not have her aboard this vessel! We are taking her to Jamaica!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then the crew looked at one another, and turned their eyes back to Charley Alcott. She stood straight and tall, the color high on her cheeks, but she never took her eyes off of his.

"That ain't right!"

"Exactly, Reynolds--"

"No, Cap'n, I mean, that ain't right, putting our doctor off'a the ship."

Now it was David's turn to stand in stunned silence. He tore his eyes away from Charley's and looked at his men.

"What?"

"We need Dr. Alcott, Cap'n! Who'll take care of us if you put him off of the
Fancy
?"

"Didn't you hear me, I said--are you laughing, Mr. Bryant?"

Mr. Bryant was looking steadfastly out to sea, but his shoulders were shaking.

"As I value my life, no, Captain, I am not laughing!"

"See, Cap'n, this is how it is," continued Reynolds in reasonable tones, waving his bandaged hand for emphasis. "A woman can't be a doctor, right? And Alcott's a doctor. So, Alcott can't be a woman! And he's a right fine sawbones! Look how well he stitched up my hand, and my rheumatism's never been better since I started using his ointment!"

"Yeah, my arsehole doesn't burn no more since I started doin' what the doctor said!" Cook chimed in.

Mr. Bryant surrendered, walked over to the rail and braced himself against it. He was laughing so hard it was a wonder he could stand. David would deal with him later. Right now, he had to deal with the insanity at hand.

"Did you men not hear me? I said Charley Alcott--
that
Charley Alcott standing right there--is
a woman
! A woman! Aboard the
Fancy
!"

"Looks to me like it's the same Charley Alcott who bandaged my hand," Reynolds said, eyeing the ship's doctor up and down. "I ain't got complaints about that. Any of you men got complaints 'bout how the doctor's doing his job?"

The men all looked at each other and shook their heads, or shrugged.

"See? We need Dr. Alcott, Cap'n. We're all doin' better since he came aboard!" Reynolds said. "We're out here fightin' for 'fair trade and sailor's rights,' ain't that so? The way I see it, one of our rights is to have a good doctor to stitch us up!"

The Americans all muttered in agreement, some nodding their heads over this declaration of rights.

"But he can't wear a skirt!" Larkin yelled out from the back.

"Well, that's only fair," Reynolds acknowledged. "You don't want to wear a skirt, do you, Dr. Alcott?"

A pregnant silence hovered over the deck, only the wind in the canvas making a noise. David looked at his nemesis. Alcott had hi--
her
arms crossed over her chest and was watching him, one eyebrow cocked.

"If I stay aboard the
Fancy
, I promise not to wear a skirt."

The men relaxed and murmured their appreciation, the doctor's low alto tones not seeming to register with even the thickest among them--and he was beginning to suspect some of them were very thick indeed--that the doctor was hiding a nice pair of tits beneath hi--her,
her
, dammit!--frock coat.

"It is your move, Captain Fletcher," she said evenly.

David gave in to the inevitable and barked orders at his men to get back to their tasks.

"Dr. Alcott."

She looked up from where she was talking to Mr. Purcell, who was laughing and shaking her hand. It was fortunate for her she wasn't looking triumphant, or he would be contemplating dunking her in the ocean again.

"You will join me in my cabin for supper. There is much we need to discuss."

Hesitation entered her face. He almost wished she would refuse, so that he would have cause to put her off the ship, to say she was not fitting in and obeying orders.

"Yes, Captain."

He stomped off to be sure Cook would not be doing anything special for the Doctor's supper tonight!

"Cook has outdone himself tonight," Charley said. "I am astounded, for I vow, I did not know he had it in him."

David muttered beneath his breath and poured himself some more claret.

"Did you say something?"

"I suppose now that Cook's arsehole isn't paining him, he's showing his appreciation. At least I know now why he was too distempered to cook like this before!"

Dr. Alcott--for truly, it was how he had to view the interloper if he was going to keep a grip on his sanity--gave him a level look.

"This is uncomfortable for both of us, Captain Fletcher, but we do not need to exacerbate the situation."

That was easy for her to say. She wasn't the one mentally undressing the person sitting across from her at the table. He felt like a randy young buck, which was ridiculous, because Charley Alcott just wasn't that attractive. Granted, she had long-lashed eyes of the softest pearl gray shading to the color of a robin's egg in the dusk, and her chestnut hair gleamed in the lamplight like maple leaves in autumn and he already knew the taste of her honeyed mouth...

He poured himself more wine and scowled, looking for answers in the liquor.

"I am not happy with these events, not happy at all! I have to respect the wishes of the men though, and will keep you aboard the
Fancy
, for now. But when we return to Baltimore I will put you off this ship and hope to God I never have to deal with you again!"

She drew back in her seat as if he'd slapped her, but she kept her countenance.

"As you wish, Captain Fletcher. I see no reason why I cannot continue to perform my duties as I always have, to the best of my ability. That is what the men desire of me, and what they need me for. The less you and I have to deal together, the better it will be for us both."

His hand hovered over his glass as something clicked into place in his mind.

"Henry knew, didn't he?"

He remembered back to those times when he saw his brother and the doctor conferring together, their heads close, sharing laughter and private moments, and his hand tightened on his glass. He wanted Henry here in front of him to explain himself. Then David wanted to knock him on his arse.

Dr. Alcott studied him, as if gauging how much to reveal.

"He did not know at first, but we spent so much time together while he was healing that Henry was able to figure it out. I asked him to keep my secret, and he agreed, though he rightly feared it would anger you. This situation is not his fault and you should not blame him."

He scowled again. He would most definitely have words with that donkey Henry the next time he saw him. One arm or no, he'd be lucky if David did not lay him out on the deck with his fists.

"I suppose, too, Henry knows your true name, because I doubt your parents christened you 'Charley.'"

"It's close." A smile flickered across her lips. "I was christened 'Charlotte' and it was a short step to 'Charley.'" She took a sip of her wine and looked into its depths. A tiny drop of wine lingered at the corner of her mouth and he gripped the arm of his chair to keep from reaching across the table and wiping it off with his finger.

Or even worse, licking it off.

"Much of what I have told you is the truth," she said softly. "When you brought me aboard, you asked about my training and I said I assisted my father for many years. That is the truth."

Charley--for he could not bring himself to think of her as Charlotte--sighed.

"My mother died when I was young, and my father..." She smiled wistfully. "I think he had no idea what to do with me, but he loved me and did the best he could. I spent my youth dressed as a boy, assisting my father in his medical practice. I spent so many years as 'Charley' that it was second nature to me to dress in breeches and men's coats. Why, I would hardly know what to do with a dress after all this time. Before he died, my father told me how much he regretted teaching me medicine and making my life...strange. The one thing I loved, the one thing that gave my life meaning--helping people heal and easing their ills, and it was only cause for regret for him."

She fell silent, lost in her memories, and he resisted the urge to put his hand across the table and cover hers where it rested there, looking so capable, yet so small to take on the burdens it had.

"You had no other family?"

"A grandfather who cut his ties to my mother and father after they ran off together against his wishes. He contacted me when my father died and said he would take me into his household, but the tone of his letter made it clear he was only doing his duty, not doing it out of love and concern. And of course, if I went to live with him there would be no more dissections to study or treating the ill. Even the people in my village who'd accepted me as Charley for so long were beginning to look askance at me after my father was no longer there as a bulwark.